The Mutiny of the Elsinore................................................................................................................................1

From the first the voyage was going wrong. Routed out of my hotel on a bitter March morning, I had crossed

Baltimore and reached the pier end precisely on time. At nine o'clock the tug was to have taken me down

the bay and put me on board the Elsinore, and with growing irritation I sat frozen inside my taxicab and

waited. On the seat, outside, the driver and Wada sat hunched in a temperature perhaps half a degree colder

Possum, the foxterrier puppy Galbraith had so inconsiderately foisted upon me, whimpered and shivered on

my lap inside my greatcoat and under the fur robe. But he would not settle down. Continually he whimpered

and clawed and struggled to get out. And, once out and bitten by the cold, with equal insistence he

His unceasing plaint and movement was anything but sedative to my jangled nerves. In the first place I was

uninterested in the brute. He meant nothing to me. I did not know him. Time and again, as I drearily waited, I

was on the verge of giving him to the driver. Once, when two little girlsevidently the wharfinger's

daughters went by, my hand reached out to the door to open it so that I might call to them and present

A farewell surprise package from Galbraith, he had arrived at the hotel the night before, by express from New

York. It was Galbraith's way. Yet he might so easily have been decently like other folk and sent fruit . . . or

flowers, even. But no; his affectionate inspiration had to take the form of a yelping, yapping two months' old

puppy. And with the advent of the terrier the trouble had begun. The hotel clerk judged me a criminal before

the act I had not even had time to meditate. And then Wada, on his own initiative and out of his own foolish

stupidity, had attempted to smuggle the puppy into his room and been caught by a house detective. Promptly

Wada had forgotten all his English and lapsed into hysterical Japanese, and the house detective remembered

only his Irish; while the hotel clerk had given me to understand in no uncertain terms that it was only what he

Damn the dog, anyway! And damn Galbraith too! And as I froze on in the cab on that bleak pierend, I

damned myself as well, and the mad freak that had started me voyaging on a sailingship around the Horn.

By ten o'clock a nondescript youth arrived on foot, carrying a suit case, which was turned over to me a few

minutes later by the wharfinger. It belonged to the pilot, he said, and gave instructions to the chauffeur how

to find some other pier from which, at some indeterminate time, I should be taken aboard the Elsinore by

some other tug. This served to increase my irritation. Why should I not have been informed as well as the

An hour later, still in my cab and stationed at the shore end of the new pier, the pilot arrived. Anything more

unlike a pilot I could not have imagined. Here was no bluejacketed, weatherbeaten son of the sea, but a

softspoken gentleman, for all the world the type of successful business man one meets in all the clubs. He

introduced himself immediately, and I invited him to share my freezing cab with Possum and the baggage.

That some change had been made in the arrangements by Captain West was all he knew, though he fancied

And it did, at one in the afternoon, after I had been compelled to wait and freeze for four mortal hours.

During this time I fully made up my mind that I was not going to like this Captain West. Although I had

never met him, his treatment of me from the outset had been, to say the least, cavalier. When the Elsinore lay

in Erie Basin, just arrived from California with a cargo of barley, I had crossed over from New York to

inspect what was to be my home for many months. I had been delighted with the ship and the cabin

accommodation. Even the stateroom selected for me was satisfactory and far more spacious than I had

expected. But when I peeped into the captain's room I was amazed at its comfort. When I say that it opened

directly into a bathroom, and that, among other things, it was furnished with a big brass bed such as one

Naturally, I had resolved that the bathroom and the big brass bed should be mine. When I asked the agents

to arrange with the captain they seemed noncommittal and uncomfortable. "I don't know in the least what it

is worth," I said. "And I don't care. Whether it costs one hundred and fifty dollars or five hundred, I must

Harrison and Gray, the agents, debated silently with each other and scarcely thought Captain West would see

his way to the arrangement. "Then he is the first sea captain I ever heard of that wouldn't," I asserted

confidently. "Why, the captains of all the Atlantic liners regularly sell their quarters."

"But Captain West is not the captain of an Atlantic liner," Mr. Harrison observed gently.

"Remember, I am to be on that ship many a month," I retorted. "Why, heavens, bid him up to a thousand if

"We'll try," said Mr. Gray, "but we warn you not to place too much dependence on our efforts. Captain West

To my astonishment Mr. Gray called me up several days later to inform me that Captain West had declined

A day later I received a letter from Captain West. The writing and the wording were oldfashioned and

formal. He regretted not having yet met me, and assured me that he would see personally that my quarters

were made comfortable. For that matter he had already dispatched orders to Mr. Pike, the first mate of the

Elsinore, to knock out the partition between my stateroom and the spare state room adjoining.

Furtherand here is where my dislike for Captain West beganhe informed me that if, when once well at

sea, I should find myself dissatisfied, he would gladly, in that case, exchange quarters with me.

Of course, after such a rebuff, I knew that no circumstance could ever persuade me to occupy Captain West's

brass bed. And it was this Captain Nathaniel West, whom I had not yet met, who had now kept me freezing

on pierends through four miserable hours. The less I saw of him on the voyage the better, was my decision;

and it was with a little tickle of pleasure that I thought of the many boxes of books I had dispatched on board

from New York. Thank the Lord, I did not depend on sea captains for entertainment.

I turned Possum over to Wada, who was settling with the cabman, and while the tug's sailors were carrying

my luggage on board I was led by the pilot to an introduction with Captain West. At the first glimpse I knew

that he was no more a sea captain than the pilot was a pilot. I had seen the best of the breed, the captains of

the liners, and he no more resembled them than did he resemble the blufffaced, gruffvoiced skippers I had

read about in books. By his side stood a woman, of whom little was to be seen and who made a warm and

gorgeous blob of colour in the huge muff and boa of red fox in which she was wellnigh buried.

"My God!his wife!" I darted in a whisper at the pilot. "Going along with him? . . . "

I had expressly stipulated with Mr. Harrison, when engaging passage, that the one thing I could not possibly

consider was the skipper of the Elsinore taking his wife on the voyage. And Mr. Harrison had smiled and

"It's his daughter," the pilot replied under his breath. "Come to see him off, I fancy. His wife died over a year

Captain West advanced to meet me, and before our outstretched hands touched, before his face broke from

repose to greeting and the lips moved to speech, I got the first astonishing impact of his personality. Long,

lean, in his face a touch of race I as yet could only sense, he was as cool as the day was cold, as poised as a

king or emperor, as remote as the farthest fixed star, as neutral as a proposition of Euclid. And then, just ere

our hands met, a twinkle ofohsuch distant and controlled geniality quickened the many tiny wrinkles in

the corner of the eyes; the clear blue of the eyes was suffused by an almost colourful warmth; the face, too,

seemed similarly to suffuse; the thin lips, harshset the instant before, were as gracious as Bernhardt's when

So curiously was I affected by this first glimpse of Captain West that I was aware of expecting to fall from

his lips I knew not what words of untold beneficence and wisdom. Yet he uttered most commonplace regrets

at the delay in a voice provocative of fresh surprise to me. It was low and gentle, almost too low, yet clear as

"And this is the young woman who is guilty of the delay," he concluded my introduction to his daughter.

Her gloved hand promptly emerged from the foxskins to meet mine, and I found myself looking into a pair

of gray eyes bent steadily and gravely upon me. It was discomfiting, that cool, penetrating, searching gaze. It

was not that it was challenging, but that it was so insolently businesslike. It was much in the very way one

would look at a new coachman he was about to engage. I did not know then that she was to go on the voyage,

and that her curiosity about the man who was to be a fellowpassenger for half a year was therefore only

natural. Immediately she realized what she was doing, and her lips and eyes smiled as she spoke.

As we moved on to enter the tug's cabin I heard Possum's shivering whimper rising to a screech, and went

forward to tell Wada to take the creature in out of the cold. I found him hovering about my luggage, wedging

my dressingcase securely upright by means of my little automatic rifle. I was startled by the mountain of

luggage around which mine was no more than a fringe. Ship's stores, was my first thought, until I noted the

number of trunks, boxes, suitcases, and parcels and bundles of all sorts. The initials on what looked

suspiciously like a woman's hat trunk caught my eye"M.W." Yet Captain West's first name was Nathaniel.

On closer investigation I did find several "N.W's." but everywhere I could see "M.W's." Then I remembered

I was too angry to return to the cabin, and paced up and down the cold deck biting my lips with vexation. I

had so expressly stipulated with the agents that no captain's wife was to come along. The last thing under the

sun I desired in the pet quarters of a ship was a woman. But I had never thought about a captain's daughter.

For two cents I was ready to throw the voyage over and return on the tug to Baltimore.

By the time the wind caused by our speed had chilled me bitterly, I noticed Miss West coming along the

narrow deck, and could not avoid being struck by the spring and vitality of her walk. Her face, despite its firm

moulding, had a suggestion of fragility that was belied by the robustness of her body. At least, one would

argue that her body must be robust from her fashion of movement of it, though little could one divine the

I turned away on my heel and fell moodily to contemplating the mountain of luggage. A huge packingcase

"Why, the Elsinore's piano, all renovated. When I made up my mind to come, I telegraphed Mr. Pikehe's

the mate, you know. He did his best. It was the fault of the piano house. And while we waited to day I gave

She laughed at the recollection, and commenced to peep and peer into the luggage as if in search of some

particular piece. Having satisfied herself, she was starting back, when she paused and said:

"Won't you come into the cabin where it's warm? We won't be there for half an hour."

So quick was the look she gave me that I knew she had in that moment caught all my disgruntlement and

Her readiness for give and take took me aback, and before I could speak she went on:

"Now you're not to be at all silly about my coming, Mr. Pathurst. I probably know more about longvoyaging

than you do, and we're all going to be comfortable and happy. You can't bother me, and I promise you I won't

bother you. I've sailed with passengers before, and I've learned to put up with more than they ever proved

they were able to put up with. So there. Let us start right, and it won't be any trouble to keep on going right. I

know what is the matter with you. You think you'll be called upon to entertain me. Please know that I do not

need entertainment. I never saw the longest voyage that was too long, and I always arrive at the end with too

many things not done for the passage ever to have been tedious, and . . . I don't play Chopsticks."

The Elsinore, freshloaded with coal, lay very deep in the water when we came alongside. I knew too little

about ships to be capable of admiring her lines, and, besides, I was in no mood for admiration. I was still

debating with myself whether or not to chuck the whole thing and return on the tug. From all of which it must

The trouble was that at no time, from the first thought of it, had I been keen for the voyage. Practically the

reason I was taking it was because there was nothing else I was keen on. For some time now life had lost its

savour. I was not jaded, nor was I exactly bored. But the zest had gone out of things. I had lost taste for my

fellowmen and all their foolish, little, serious endeavours. For a far longer period I had been dissatisfied

with women. I had endured them, but I had been too analytic of the faults of their primitiveness, of their

almost ferocious devotion to the destiny of sex, to be enchanted with them. And I had come to be oppressed

by what seemed to me the futility of arta pompous legerdemain, a consummate charlatanry that deceived

In short, I was embarking on the Elsinore because it was easier to than not; yet everything else was as equally

and perilously easy. That was the curse of the condition into which I had fallen. That was why, as I stepped

upon the deck of the Elsinore, I was half of a mind to tell them to keep my luggage where it was and bid

I almost think what decided me was the welcoming, hospitable smile Miss West gave me as she started

directly across the deck for the cabin, and the knowledge that it must be quite warm in the cabin.

Mr. Pike, the mate, I had already met, when I visited the ship in Erie Basin. He smiled a stiff, crackfaced

smile that I knew must be painful, but did not offer to shake hands, turning immediately to call orders to

halfadozen frozenlooking youths and aged men who shambled up from somewhere in the waist of the

ship. Mr. Pike had been drinking. That was patent. His face was puffed and discoloured, and his large gray

I lingered, with a sinking heart watching my belongings come aboard and chiding my weakness of will which

prevented me from uttering the few words that would put a stop to it. As for the halfdozen men who were

now carrying the luggage aft into the cabin, they were unlike any concept I had ever entertained of sailors.

One, a most vividfaced youth of eighteen, smiled at me from a pair of remarkable Italian eyes. But he was a

dwarf. So short was he that he was all seaboots and sou'wester. And yet he was not entirely Italian. So

One old man, who I learned was a bosun, was so decrepit that I thought he had been recently injured. His face

was stolid and ox like, and as he shuffled and dragged his brogans over the deck he paused every several

steps to place both hands on his abdomen and execute a queer, pressing, lifting movement. Months were to

pass, in which I saw him do this thousands of times, ere I learned that there was nothing the matter with him

and that his action was purely a habit. His face reminded me of the Man with the Hoe, save that it was

unthinkably and abysmally stupider. And his name, as I was to learn, of all names was Sundry Buyers. And

he was bosun of the fine American sailingship Elsinorerated one of the finest sailingships afloat!

Of this group of aged men and boys that moved the luggage along I saw only one, called Henry, a youth of

sixteen, who approximated in the slightest what I had conceived all sailors to be like. He had come off a

training ship, the mate told me, and this was his first voyage to sea. His face was keencut, alert, as were his

bodily movements, and he wore sailorappearing clothes with sailorseeming grace. In fact, as I was to learn,

The main crew had not yet come aboard, but was expected at any moment, the mate vouchsafed with a snarl

of ominous expectancy. Those already on board were the miscellaneous ones who had shipped themselves in

New York without the mediation of boardinghouse masters. And what the crew itself would be like God

alone could tellso said the mate. Shorty, the Japanese (or Malay) and Italian halfcaste, the mate told me,

was an able seaman, though he had come out of steam and this was his first sailing voyage.

"Ordinary seamen!" Mr. Pike snorted, in reply to a question. "We don't carry Landsmen!forget it! Every

clodhopper an' cowwalloper these days is an able seaman. That's the way they rank and are paid. The

merchant service is all shot to hell. There ain't no more sailors. They all died years ago, before you were born

I could smell the raw whiskey on the mate's breath. Yet he did not stagger nor show any signs of intoxication.

Not until afterward was I to know that his willingness to talk was most unwonted and was where the liquor

"It'd aben a grace had I died years ago," he said, "rather than to alived to see sailors an' ships pass away

"So she is . . . today. But what is she?a damned cargocarrier. She ain't built for sailin', an' if she was

there ain't no sailors left to sail her. Lord! Lord! The old clippers! When I think of 'em!The Gamecock,

Shootin' Star, Flyin' Fish, Witch o' the Wave, Staghound, Harvey Birch, Canvasback, Fleetwing, Sea

Serpent, Northern Light! An' when I think of the fleets of the teaclippers that used to load at Hong Kong an'

I was interested. Here was a man, a live man. I was in no hurry to go into the cabin, where I knew Wada was

unpacking my things, so I paced up and down the deck with the huge Mr. Pike. Huge he was in all

conscience, broadshouldered, heavyboned, and, despite the profound stoop of his shoulders, fully six feet

"I was, I was," he muttered sadly, and I caught the whiff of whiskey strong on the air.

I stole a look at his gnarled hands. Any finger would have made three of mine. His wrist would have made

"Two hundred an' ten. But in my day, at my best, I tipped the scales close to twoforty."

"And the Elsinore can't sail," I said, returning to the subject which had roused him.

"I'll take you even, anything from a pound of tobacco to a month's wages, she won't make it around in a

hundred an' fifty days," he answered. "Yet I've come round in the old Flyin' Cloud in eighty nine

dayseightynine days, sir, from Sandy Hook to 'Frisco. Sixty men for'ard that WAS men, an' eight boys,

an' drive! drive! drive! Three hundred an' seventyfour miles for a day's run under t'gallantsails, an' in the

squalls eighteen knots o' line not enough to time her. Eightynine daysnever beat, an' tied once by the old

"When did the Andrew Jackson tie her?" I asked, because of the growing suspicion that he was "having" me.

"And you sailed in the Flying Cloud nine years before that, and this is 1913why, that was sixtytwo years

"And I was seven years old," he chuckled. "My mother was stewardess on the Flyin' Cloud. I was born at sea.

I was boy when I was twelve, on the Herald o' the Morn, when she made around in ninety nine dayshalf

the crew in irons most o' the time, five men lost from aloft off the Horn, the points of our sheathknives

broken square off, knuckledusters an' belayin'pins flyin', three men shot by the officers in one day, the

second mate killed dead an' no one to know who done it, an' drive! drive! drive! ninetynine days from land

to land, a run of seventeen thousand miles, an' east to west around Cape Stiff!"

"Which I am," he retorted proudly, "an' a better man at that than the scrubby younglings of these days. A

generation of 'em would die under the things I've been through. Did you ever hear of the Sunny South?she

"I was on the Emanuela that day in Mozambique Channel when the Brisk caught us with nine hundred slaves

I continued to stroll up and down beside this massive relic of the past, and to listen to his hints and muttered

reminiscences of old mankilling and mandriving days. He was too real to be true, and yet, as I studied his

shoulderstoop and the agedrag of his huge feet, I was convinced that his years were as he asserted. He

"He was a great captain," he was saying. "An' in the two years I sailed mate with him there was never a port I

didn't jump the ship goin' in an' stay in hiding until I sneaked aboard when she sailed again."

"The men, on account of the men swearin' blood an' vengeance and warrants against me because of my ways

of teachin' them to be sailors. Why, the times I was caught, and the fines the skipper paid for meand yet it

He held up his huge paws, and as I stared at the battered, malformed knuckles I understood the nature of his

"But all that's stopped now," he lamented. "A sailor's a gentleman these days. You can't raise your voice or

At this moment he was addressed from the pooprail above by the second mate, a mediumsized, heavily

The mate grunted an acknowledgment, then added, "Come on down, Mr. Mellaire, and meet our passenger."

I could not help noting the air and carriage with which Mr. Mellaire came down the poopladder and took his

part in the introduction. He was courteous in an oldworld way, softspoken, suave, and unmistakably from

His features and expression were genial and gentle, and yet his mouth was the cruellest gash I had ever seen

in a man's face. It was a gash. There is no other way of describing that harsh, thinlipped, shapeless mouth

that uttered gracious things so graciously. Involuntarily I glanced at his hands. Like the mate's, they were

thickboned, brokenknuckled, and malformed. Back into his blue eyes I looked. On the surface of them was

a film of light, a gloss of gentle kindness and cordiality, but behind that gloss I knew resided neither sincerity

nor mercy. Behind that gloss was something cold and terrible, that lurked and waited and

watchedsomething catlike, something inimical and deadly. Behind that gloss of soft light and of social

sparkle was the live, fearful thing that had shaped that mouth into the gash it was. What I sensed behind in

As I faced Mr. Mellaire, and talked with him, and smiled, and exchanged amenities, I was aware of the

feeling that comes to one in the forest or jungle when he knows unseen wild eyes of hunting animals are

spying upon him. Frankly I was afraid of the thing ambushed behind there in the skull of Mr. Mellaire. One

so as a matter of course identifies form and feature with the spirit within. But I could not do this with the

second mate. His face and form and manner and suave ease were one thing, inside which he, an entirely

I noticed Wada standing in the cabin door, evidently waiting to ask for instructions. I nodded, and prepared to

He gave some orders to the second mate, who turned on his heel and started for'ard. I stood and waited for

Mr. Pike's communication, which he did not choose to make until he saw the second mate well out of

"Don't mention that little matter of my age to anybody. Each year I sign on I sign my age one year younger. I

"And you don't look a day older," I answered lightly, though I meant it in all sincerity.

"And I don't feel it. I can outwork and outgame the huskiest of the younglings. And don't let my age get to

anybody's ears, Mr. Pathurst. Skippers are not particular for mates getting around the seventy mark. And

owners neither. I've had my hopes for this ship, and I'd agot her, I think, except for the old man decidin' to

"Well off! If I had a tenth of his money I could retire on a chicken ranch in California and live like a fighting

cockyes, if I had a fiftieth of what he's got salted away. Why, he owns more stock in all the Blackwood

ships . . . and they've always been lucky and always earned money. I'm getting old, and it's about time I got a

command. But no; the old cuss has to take it into his head to go to sea again just as the berth's ripe for me to

Quite chilled through, I was immediately struck by the warm comfort of the cabin. All the connecting doors

were open, making what I might call a large suite of rooms or a whale house. The maindeck entrance, on the

port side, was into a wide, wellcarpeted hallway. Into this hallway, from the port side, opened five rooms:

first, on entering, the mate's; next, the two staterooms which had been knocked into one for me; then the

steward's room; and, adjoining his, completing the row, a stateroom which was used for the slopchest.

Across the hall was a region with which I was not yet acquainted, though I knew it contained the

diningroom, the bathrooms, the cabin proper, which was in truth a spacious livingroom, the captain's

quarters, and, undoubtedly, Miss West's quarters. I could hear her humming some air as she bustled about

with her unpacking. The steward's pantry, separated by crosshalls and by the stairway leading into the

chartroom above on the poop, was placed strategically in the centre of all its operations. Thus, on the

starboard side of it were the staterooms of the captain and Miss West, for'ard of it were the diningroom and

main cabin; while on the port side of it was the row of rooms I have described, two of which were mine.

I ventured down the hall toward the stern, and found it opened into the stern of the Elsinore, forming a single

large apartment at least thirtyfive feet from side to side and fifteen to eighteen feet in depth, curved, of

course, to the lines of the ship's stern. This seemed a storeroom. I noted washtubs, bolts of canvas, many

lockers, hams and bacon hanging, a stepladder that led up through a small hatch to the poop, and, in the

I spoke to the steward, an old Chinese, smoothfaced and brisk of movement, whose name I never learned,

When I had finished giving instructions to Wada for the arranging of my things I looked at my watch. It was

early yet, only several minutes after three so I went on deck again to witness the arrival of the crew.

The actual coming on board from the tug I had missed, but for'ard of the amidship house I encountered a few

laggards who had not yet gone into the forecastle. These were the worse for liquor, and a more wretched,

miserable, disgusting group of men I had never seen in any slum. Their clothes were rags. Their faces were

bloated, bloody, and dirty. I won't say they were villainous. They were merely filthy and vile. They were vile

Mr. Pike uttered these words sharply from the bridge above. A light and graceful bridge of steel rods and

planking ran the full length of the Elsinore, starting from the poop, crossing the amidship house and the

At the mate's command the men reeled about and glowered up at him, one or two starting clumsily to obey.

The others ceased their drunken yammerings and regarded the mate sullenly. One of them, with a face

mashed by some mad god in the making, and who was afterwards to be known by me as Larry, burst into a

guffaw, and spat insolently on the deck. Then, with utmost deliberation, he turned to his fellows and

I saw Mr. Pike's huge form tense convulsively and involuntarily, and I noted the way his huge hands strained

And then, to my surprise, he turned and walked aft along the bridge to where the tug was casting off its lines.

So this was all his high and mighty talk of kill and drive, I thought. Not until afterwards did I recollect, as I

turned aft down the deck, that I saw Captain West leaning on the rail at the break of the poop and gazing

The tug's lines were being cast off, and I was interested in watching the manoeuvre until she had backed clear

of the ship, at which moment, from for'ard, arose a queer babel of howling and yelping, as numbers of

drunken voices cried out that a man was overboard. The second mate sprang down the poopladder and

darted past me along the deck. The mate, still on the slender, whitepainted bridge, that seemed no more than

a spider thread, surprised me by the activity with which he dashed along the bridge to the 'midship house,

leaped upon the canvascovered longboat, and swung outboard where he might see. Before the men could

clamber upon the rail the second mate was among them, and it was he who flung a coil of line overboard.

What impressed me particularly was the mental and muscular superiority of these two officers. Despite their

agethe mate sixtynine and the second mate at least fiftytheir minds and their bodies had acted with the

swiftness and accuracy of steel springs. They were potent. They were iron. They were perceivers, willers, and

doers. They were as of another species compared with the sailors under them. While the latter, witnesses of

the happening and directly on the spot, had been crying out in befuddled helplessness, and with slow wits and

slower bodies been climbing upon the rail, the second mate had descended the steep ladder from the poop,

covered two hundred feet of deck, sprung upon the rail, grasped the instant need of the situation, and cast the

And of the same nature and quality had been the actions of Mr. Pike. He and Mr. Mellaire were masters over

the wretched creatures of sailors by virtue of this remarkable difference of efficiency and will. Truly, they

were more widely differentiated from the men under them than were the men under them differentiated from

I, too, by this time, was standing on the big hawserbitts in a position to see a man in the water who seemed

deliberately swimming away from the ship. He was a darkskinned Mediterranean of some sort, and his face,

in a clear glimpse I caught of it, was distorted by frenzy. His black eyes were maniacal. The line was so

accurately flung by the second mate that it fell across the man's shoulders, and for several strokes his arms

tangled in it ere he could swim clear. This accomplished, he proceeded to scream some wild harangue and

once, as he uptossed his arms for emphasis, I saw in his hand the blade of a long knife.

Bells were jangling on the tug as it started to the rescue. I stole a look up at Captain West. He had walked to

the port side of the poop, where, hands in pockets, he was glancing, now for'ard at the struggling man, now

aft at the tug. He gave no orders, betrayed no excitement, and appeared, I may well say, the most casual of

The creature in the water seemed now engaged in taking off his clothes. I saw one bare arm, and then the

other, appear. In his struggles he sometimes sank beneath the surface, but always he emerged, flourishing the

knife and screaming his addled harangue. He even tried to escape the tug by diving and swimming

I strolled for'ard, and arrived in time to see him hoisted in over the rail of the Elsinore. He was stark naked,

covered with blood, and raving. He had cut and slashed himself in a score of places. From one wound in the

wrist the blood spurted with each beat of the pulse. He was a loathsome, nonhuman thing. I have seen a

scared orang in a zoo, and for all the world this bestialfaced, mowing, gibbering thing reminded me of the

orang. The sailors surrounded him, laying hands on him, withstraining him, the while they guffawed and

cheered. Right and left the two mates shoved them away, and dragged the lunatic down the deck and into a

room in the 'midship house. I could not help marking the strength of Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire. I had heard

of the superhuman strength of madmen, but this particular madman was as a wisp of straw in their hands.

Once into the bunk, Mr. Pike held down the struggling fool easily with one hand while he dispatched the

"Bughouse," Mr. Pike grinned at me. "I've seen some bughouse crews in my time, but this one's the limit."

"And good riddance," he answered promptly. "We'll have our hands full of him until we can lose him

somehow. When he gets easy I'll sew him up, that's all, if I have to ease him with a clout of the jaw."

I glanced at the mate's huge paw and appreciated its anaesthetic qualities. Out on deck again, I saw Captain

West on the poop, hands still in pockets, quite uninterested, gazing at a blue break in the sky to the

northeast. More than the mates and the maniac, more than the drunken callousness of the men, did this quiet

figure, hands in pockets, impress upon me that I was in a different world from any I had known.

Wada broke in upon my thoughts by telling me he had been sent to say that Miss West was serving tea in the

The contrast, as I entered the cabin, was startling. All contrasts aboard the Elsinore promised to be startling.

Instead of the cold, hard deck my feet sank into soft carpet. In place of the mean and narrow room, built of

naked iron, where I had left the lunatic, I was in a spacious and beautiful apartment. With the bawling of the

men's voices still in my ears, and with the pictures of their drinkpuffed and filthy faces still vivid under my

eyelids, I found myself greeted by a delicatefaced, prettilygowned woman who sat beside a lacquered

oriental table on which rested an exquisite teaservice of Canton china. All was repose and calm. The

steward, noiselessfooted, expressionless, was a shadow, scarcely noticed, that drifted into the room on some

"You look as if you had been seeing things. The steward tells me a man has been overboard. I fancy the cold

"The man is a lunatic," I said. "This ship is no place for him. He should be sent ashore to some hospital."

"I am afraid, if we begin that, we'd have to send twothirds of our complement ashoreone lump?

"Yes, please," I answered. "But the man has terribly wounded himself. He is liable to bleed to death."

She looked at me for a moment, her gray eyes serious and scrutinizing, as she passed me my cup; then

"Now please don't begin the voyage by being shocked, Mr. Pathurst. Such things are very ordinary

occurrences. You'll get used to them. You must remember some queer creatures go down to the sea in ships.

The man is safe. Trust Mr. Pike to attend to his wounds. I've never sailed with Mr. Pike, but I've heard

enough about him. Mr. Pike is quite a surgeon. Last voyage, they say, he performed a successful amputation,

and so elated was he that he turned his attention on the carpenter, who happened to be suffering from some

sort of indigestion. Mr. Pike was so convinced of the correctness of his diagnosis that he tried to bribe the

carpenter into having his appendix removed." She broke off to laugh heartily, then added: "They say he

offered the poor man just pounds and pounds of tobacco to consent to the operation."

"But is it safe . . . for the . . . the working of the ship," I urged, "to take such a lunatic along?"

"This incident is nothing. There are always several lunatics or idiots in every ship's company. And they

always come aboard filled with whiskey and raving. I remember, once, when we sailed from Seattle, a long

time ago, one such madman. He showed no signs of madness at all; just calmly seized two boardinghouse

runners and sprang overboard with them. We sailed the same day, before the bodies were recovered."

"What would you? The sea is hard, Mr. Pathurst. And for our sailors we get the worst type of men. I

sometimes wonder where they find them. And we do our best with them, and somehow manage to make them

As I listened, and studied her face, contrasting her woman's sensitivity and her soft pretty dress with the brute

faces and rags of the men I had noticed, I could not help being convinced intellectually of the rightness of her

position. Nevertheless, I was hurt sentimentally,chiefly, I do believe, because of the very hardness and

unconcern with which she enunciated her view. It was because she was a woman, and so different from the

seacreatures, that I resented her having received such harsh education in the school of the sea.

"I could not help remarking your father'ser, er sang froid during the occurrence." I ventured.

"I knew it! It's his way. I've seen it so often. I remember when I was twelve years oldmother was

alonewe were running into San Francisco. It was in the Dixie, a ship almost as big as this. There was a

strong fair wind blowing, and father did not take a tug. We sailed right through the Golden Gate and up the

San Francisco water front. There was a swift flood tide, too; and the men, both watches, were taking in sail

"Now the fault was the steamboat captain's. He miscalculated our speed and tried to cross our bow. Then

came the collision, and the Dixie's bow cut through that steamboat, cabin and hull. There were hundreds of

passengers, men, women, and children. Father never took his hands from his pockets. He sent the mate for'ard

to superintend rescuing the passengers, who were already climbing on to our bowsprit and forecastlehead,

and in a voice no different from what he'd use to ask some one to pass the butter he told the second mate to

"Because he could see the situation. Don't you see, the steamboat was cut wide open. All that kept her from

sinking instantly was the bow of the Dixie jammed into her side. By setting more sail and keeping before the

"I was terribly frightened. People who had sprung or fallen overboard were drowning on each side of us, right

in my sight, as we sailed along up the waterfront. But when I looked at father, there he was, just as I had

always known him, hands in pockets, walking slowly up and down, now giving an order to the wheelyou

see, he had to direct the Dixie's course through all the shippingnow watching the passengers swarming

over our bow and along our deck, now looking ahead to see his way through the ships at anchor. Sometimes

"Of course, there were numbers drowned, but by keeping his hands in his pockets and his head cool he saved

hundreds of lives. Not until the last person was off the steamboathe sent men aboard to make suredid he

"It was splendid," I acknowledged. "I admire the quiet man of power, though I confess that such quietness

under stress seems to me almost unearthly and beyond human. I can't conceive of myself acting that way, and

I am confident that I was suffering more while that poor devil was in the water than all the rest of the

I came out from tea in the cabin to find the tug Britannia in sight. She was the craft that was to tow us down

Chesapeake Bay to sea. Strolling for'ard I noted the sailors being routed out of the forecastle by Sundry

Buyers, for ever tenderly pressing his abdomen with his hands. Another man was helping Sundry Buyers at

"Nancymy bosun; ain't he a peach?" was the answer I got, and from the mate's manner of enunciation I

Nancy could not have been more than thirty, though he looked as if he had lived a very long time. He was

toothless and sad and weary of movement. His eyes were slatecoloured and muddy, his shaven face was

sickly yellow. Narrowshouldered, sunkenchested, with cheeks cavernously hollow, he looked like a man in

the last stages of consumption. Little life as Sundry Buyers showed, Nancy showed even less life. And these

were bosuns!bosuns of the fine American sailingship Elsinore! Never had any illusion of mine taken a

It was plain to me that the pair of them, spineless and spunkless, were afraid of the men they were supposed

to boss. And the men! Dore could never have conjured a more delectable hell's broth. For the first time I saw

them all, and I could not blame the two bosuns for being afraid of them. They did not walk. They slouched

But it was their faces. I could not help remembering what Miss West had just told methat ships always

sailed with several lunatics or idiots in their crews. But these looked as if they were all lunatic or

feebleminded. And I, too, wondered where such a mass of human wreckage could have been obtained.

There was something wrong with all of them. Their bodies were twisted, their faces distorted, and almost

without exception they were undersized. The several quite fairly large men I marked were vacantfaced.

One man, however, large and unmistakably Irish, was also unmistakably mad. He was talking and muttering

to himself as he came out. A little, curved, lopsided man, with his head on one side and with the shrewdest

and wickedest of faces and pale blue eyes, addressed an obscene remark to the mad Irishman, calling him

O'Sullivan. But O'Sullivan took no notice and muttered on. On the heels of the little lopsided man appeared

an overgrown dolt of a fat youth, followed by another youth so tall and emaciated of body that it seemed a

Next, after this perambulating skeleton, came the weirdest creature I have ever beheld. He was a twisted oaf

of a man. Face and body were twisted as with the pain of a thousand years of torture. His was the face of an

illtreated and feebleminded faun. His large black eyes were bright, eager, and filled with pain; and they

flashed questioningly from face to face and to everything about. They were so pitifully alert, those eyes, as if

for ever astrain to catch the clue to some perplexing and threatening enigma. Not until afterwards did I learn

the cause of this. He was stone deaf, having had his eardrums destroyed in the boiler explosion which had

I noticed the steward, standing at the galley door and watching the men from a distance. His keen, Asiatic

face, quick with intelligence, was a relief to the eye, as was the vivid face of Shorty, who came out of the

forecastle with a leap and a gurgle of laughter. But there was something wrong with him, too. He was a

dwarf, and, as I was to come to know, his high spirits and low mentality united to make him a clown.

Mr. Pike stopped beside me a moment and while he watched the men I watched him. The expression on his

face was that of a cattlebuyer, and it was plain that he was disgusted with the quality of cattle delivered.

And still they came: one, pallid, furtiveeyed, that I instantly adjudged a drug fiend; another, a tiny, wizened

old man, pinchfaced and wrinkled, with beady, malevolent blue eyes; a third, a small, wellfleshed man,

who seemed to my eye the most normal and least unintelligent specimen that had yet appeared. But Mr.

"I ain't limpin', sir," the man answered respectfully, and, at a nod of dismissal from the mate, marched off

"He's a sailor all right," the mate grumbled; "but I'll bet you a pound of tobacco or a month's wages there's

The forecastle now seemed empty, but the mate turned on the bosuns with his customary snarl.

"What in hell are you doing? Sleeping? Think this is a rest cure? Get in there an' rustle 'em out!"

Sundry Buyers pressed his abdomen gingerly and hesitated, while Nancy, his face one dogged,

longsuffering bleakness, reluctantly entered the forecastle. Then, from inside, we heard oaths, vile and

filthy, urgings and expostulations on the part of Nancy, meekly and pleadingly uttered.

I noted the grim and savage look that came on Mr. Pike's face, and was prepared for I knew not what awful

monstrosities to emerge from the forecastle. Instead, to my surprise, came three fellows who were strikingly

superior to the ruck that had preceded them. I looked to see the mate's face soften to some sort of approval.

On the contrary, his blue eyes contracted to narrow slits, the snarl of his voice was communicated to his lips,

But the three fellows. They were small men, all; and young men, anywhere between twentyfive and thirty.

Though roughly dressed, they were well dressed, and under their clothes their bodily movements showed

physical wellbeing. Their faces were keen cut, intelligent. And though I felt there was something queer

Here were no illfed, whiskeypoisoned men, such as the rest of the sailors, who, having drunk up their last

paydays, had starved ashore until they had received and drunk up their advance money for the present

voyage. These three, on the other hand were supple and vigorous. Their movements were spontaneously

quick and accurate. Perhaps it was the way they looked at me, with incurious yet calculating eyes that nothing

escaped. They seemed so worldly wise, so indifferent, so sure of themselves. I was confident they were not

sailors. Yet, as shoredwellers, I could not place them. They were a type I had never encountered. Possibly I

As they passed before us they favoured Mr. Pike with the same indifferent, keen glances they gave me.

"What's your nameyou?" Mr. Pike barked at the first of the trio, evidently a hybrid IrishJew. Jewish his

nose unmistakably was. Equally unmistakable was the Irish of his eyes, and jaw, and upper lip.

The three had immediately stopped, and, though they did not look directly at one another, they seemed to be

holding a silent conference. Another of the trio, in whose veins ran God alone knows what Semitic,

Babylonish and Latin strains, gave a warning signal. Oh, nothing so crass as a wink or a nod. I almost

doubted that I had intercepted it, and yet I knew he had communicated a warning to his fellows. More a shade

of expression that had crossed his eyes, or a glint in them of sudden lightor whatever it was, it carried the

Murphy shrugged his shoulders in token that he did not understand. It was the poise of the man, of the three

"When you address any officer on this ship you'll say 'sir,'" Mr. Pike explained, his voice as harsh as his face

"Sir," Murphy answered, so softly and carelessly that it irritated the mate to further bullyragging.

"Well, Murphy's too long," he announced. "Nosey'll do you aboard this craft. Got THAT?"

"I gotcha . . . sir," came the reply, insolent in its very softness and unconcern. "Nosey Murphy goes . . . sir."

And then he laughedthe three of them laughed, if laughter it might be called that was laughter without

sound or facial movement. The eyes alone laughed, mirthlessly and coldbloodedly.

Certainly Mr. Pike was not enjoying himself with these baffling personalities. He turned upon the leader, the

one who had given the warning and who looked the admixture of all that was Mediterranean and Semitic.

"Bert Rhine . . . sir," was the reply, in tones as soft and careless and silkily irritating as the other's.

"And YOU?"this to the remaining one, the youngest of the trio, a darkeyed, oliveskinned fellow with a

face most striking in its cameolike beauty. Americanborn, I placed him, of immigrants from Southern

And the three laughed their silent, mirthless laugh. By this time Mr. Pike was beside himself with a rage that

"Now I'm going to tell you something, the bunch of you, for the good of your health." The mate's voice

grated with the rage he was suppressing. "I know your kind. You're dirt. D'ye get THAT? You're dirt. And on

this ship you'll be treated as dirt. You'll do your work like men, or I'll know the reason why. The first time

one of you bats an eye, or even looks like batting an eye, he gets his. D'ye get that? Now get out. Get along

"The limit," he grunted. "I know their kidney. They've done time, the three of them. They're just plain

Here his speech was broken off by the spectacle that greeted him on Number Two hatch. Sprawled out on the

hatch were five or six men, among them Larry, the tatterdemalion who had called him "old stiff" earlier in the

afternoon. That Larry had not obeyed orders was patent, for he was sitting with his back propped against his

seabag, which ought to have been in the forecastle. Also, he and the group with him ought to have been

"I can't, sir. I was drunk last night an' slept in Jefferson Market. An' this mornin' I was froze tight, sir. They

Larry blinked with the troubled, querulous eyes of a monkey. He was beginning to apprehend he knew not

"Well, I'll just be showin' you what an old stiff feels like, anyways." Mr. Pike mimicked the other's brogue.

And now I shall tell what I saw happen. Please remember what I have said of the huge paws of Mr. Pike, the

fingers much longer than mine and twice as thick, the wrists massiveboned, the armbones and the

shoulderbones of the same massive order. With one flip of his right hand, with what I might call an

openhanded, lifting, upward slap, save that it was the ends of the fingers only that touched Larry's face, he

lifted Larry into the air, sprawling him backward on his back across his seabag.

The man alongside of Larry emitted a menacing growl and started to spring belligerently to his feet. But he

never reached his feet. Mr. Pike, with the back of same right hand, open, smote the man on the side of the

face. The loud smack of the impact was startling. The mate's strength was amazing. The blow looked so easy,

so effortless; it had seemed like the lazy stroke of a goodnatured bear, but in it was such a weight of bone

and muscle that the man went down sidewise and rolled off the hatch on to the deck.

At this moment, lurching aimlessly along, appeared O'Sullivan. A sudden access of muttering, on his part,

reached Mr. Pike's ear, and Mr. Pike, instantly keen as a wild animal, his paw in the act of striking

O'Sullivan, whipped out like a revolver shot, "What's that?" Then he noted the sensestruck face of

Involuntarily I had glanced to see if Captain West was on the poop, and found that we were hidden from the

Mr. Pike, taking no notice of the man who lay groaning on the deck, stood over Larry, who was likewise

groaning. The rest of the sprawling men were on their feet, subdued and respectful. I, too, was respectful of

this terrific, aged figure of a man. The exhibition had quite convinced me of the verity of his earlier driving

I climbed the ladder on the side of the for'ard house (which house contained, as I discovered, the forecastle,

the galley, and the donkeyengine room), and went part way along the bridge to a position by the foremast,

where I could observe the crew heaving up anchor. The Britannia was alongside, and we were getting under

A considerable body of men was walking around with the windlass or variously engaged on the

forecastlehead. Of the crew proper were two watches of fifteen men each. In addition were sailmakers,

boys, bosuns, and the carpenter. Nearly forty men were they, but such men! They were sad and lifeless. There

was no vim, no go, no activity. Every step and movement was an effort, as if they were dead men raised out

of coffins or sick men dragged from hospital beds. Sick they werewhiskeypoisoned. Starved they were,

I looked aloft at the intricate ropes, at the steel masts rising and carrying huge yards of steel, rising higher and

higher, until steel masts and yards gave way to slender spars of wood, while ropes and stays turned into a

delicate tracery of spiderthread against the sky. That such a wretched muck of men should be able to work

this magnificent ship through all storm and darkness and peril of the sea was beyond all seeming. I

remembered the two mates, the super efficiency, mental and physical, of Mr. Mellaire and Mr. Pikecould

they make this human wreckage do it? They, at least, evinced no doubts of their ability. The sea? If this feat

I looked back at the misshapen, starved, sick, stumbling hulks of men who trod the dreary round of the

windlass. Mr. Pike was right. These were not the brisk, devilish, ablebodied men who manned the ships of

the old clippership days; who fought their officers, who had the points of their sheathknives broken off,

who killed and were killed, but who did their work as men. These men, these shambling carcasses at the

windlassI looked, and looked, and vainly I strove to conjure the vision of them swinging aloft in rack and

storm, "clearing the raffle," as Kipling puts it, "with their clasp knives in their teeth." Why didn't they sing a

chanty as they hove the anchor up? In the old days, as I had read, the anchor always came up to the rollicking

I tired of watching the spiritless performance, and went aft on an exploring trip along the slender bridge. It

was a beautiful structure, strong yet light, traversing the length of the ship in three aerial leaps. It spanned

from the forecastlehead to the forecastlehouse, next to the 'midship house, and then to the poop. The poop,

which was really the roof or deck over all the cabin space below, and which occupied the whole afterpart of

the ship, was very large. It was broken only by the halfround and halfcovered wheel house at the very

stern and by the charthouse. On either side of the latter two doors opened into a tiny hallway. This, in turn,

gave access to the chartroom and to a stairway that led down into the cabin quarters beneath.

I peeped into the chartroom and was greeted with a smile by Captain West. He was lolling back comfortably

in a swing chair, his feet cocked on the desk opposite. On a broad, upholstered couch sat the pilot. Both were

smoking cigars; and, lingering for a moment to listen to the conversation, I grasped that the pilot was an

As I descended the stairs, from Miss West's room came a sound of humming and bustling, as she settled her

belongings. The energy she displayed, to judge by the cheerful noises of it, was almost perturbing.

Passing by the pantry, I put my head inside the door to greet the steward and courteously let him know that I

was aware of his existence. Here, in his little realm, it was plain that efficiency reigned. Everything was

spotless and in order, and I could have wished and wished vainly for a more noiseless servant than he ashore.

His face, as he regarded me, had as little or as much expression as the Sphinx. But his slant, black eyes were

"What do you think of the crew?" I asked, in order to put words to my invasion of his castle.

"Buggyhouse," he answered promptly, with a disgusted shake of the head. "Too much buggyhouse. All

That was all, but it verified my own judgment. While it might be true, as Miss West had said, that every

ship's crew contained several lunatics and idiots, it was a foregone conclusion that our crew contained far

more than several. In fact, and as it was to turn out, our crew, even in these degenerate sailing days, was an

unusual crew in so far as its helplessness and worthlessness were beyond the average.

I found my own room (in reality it was two rooms) delightful. Wada had unpacked and stored away my entire

outfit of clothing, and had filled numerous shelves with the library I had brought along. Everything was in

order and place, from my shaving outfit in the drawer beside the washbasin, and my seaboots and oilskins

hung ready to hand, to my writing materials on the desk, before which a swing armchair,

leatherupholstered and screwed solidly to the floor, invited me. My pyjamas and dressinggown were out.

Here, aft, all was fitness, intelligence. On deck it was what I have describeda nightmare spawn of

creatures, assumably human, but malformed, mentally and physically, into caricatures of men. Yes, it was an

unusual crew; and that Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire could whip it into the efficient shape necessary to work this

vast and intricate and beautiful fabric of a ship was beyond all seeming of possibility.

Depressed as I was by what I had just witnessed on deck, there came to me, as I leaned back in my chair and

opened the second volume of George Moore's Hail and Farewell, a premonition that the voyage was to be

disastrous. But then, as I looked about the room, measured its generous space, realized that I was more

comfortably situated than I had ever been on any passenger steamer, I dismissed foreboding thoughts and

caught a pleasant vision of myself, through weeks and months, catching up with all the necessary reading

Once, I asked Wada if he had seen the crew. No, he hadn't, but the steward had said that in all his years at sea

"He say, all crazy, no sailors, rotten," Wada said. "He say all big fools and bime by much trouble. 'You see,'

he say all the time. 'You see, You see.' He pretty old manfiftyfive years, he say. Very smart man for

Chinaman. Just now, first time for long time, he go to sea. Before, he have big business in San Francisco.

Then he get much troublepolice. They say he opium smuggle. Oh, big, big trouble. But he catch good

lawyer. He no go to jail. But long time lawyer work, and when trouble all finish lawyer got all his business,

all his money, everything. Then he go to sea, like before. He make good money. He get sixtyfive dollars a

month on this ship. But he don't like. Crew all crazy. When this time finish he leave ship, go back start

Later, when I had Wada open one of the ports for ventilation, I could hear the gurgle and swish of water

alongside, and I knew the anchor was up and that we were in the grip of the Britannia, towing down the

Chesapeake to sea. The idea suggested itself that it was not too late. I could very easily abandon the

adventure and return to Baltimore on the Britannia when she cast off the Elsinore. And then I heard a slight

tinkling of china from the pantry as the steward proceeded to set the table, and, also, it was so warm and

In every way dinner proved up beyond my expectations, and I registered a note that the cook, whoever or

whatever he might be, was a capable man at his trade. Miss West served, and, though she and the steward

were strangers, they worked together splendidly. I should have thought, from the smoothness of the service,

The pilot ate in the charthouse, so that at table were the four of us that would always be at table together.

Captain West and his daughter faced each other, while I, on the captain's right, faced Mr. Pike. This put Miss

Mr. Pike, his dark sack coat (put on for the meal) bulging and wrinkling over the lumps of muscles that

padded his stooped shoulders, had nothing at all to say. But he had eaten too many years at captains' tables

not to have proper table manners. At first I thought he was abashed by Miss West's presence. Later, I decided

it was due to the presence of the captain. For Captain West had a way with him that I was beginning to learn.

Far removed as Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire were from the sailors, individuals as they were of an entirely

different and superior breed, yet equally as different and far removed from his officers was Captain West. He

was a serene and absolute aristocrat. He neither talked "ship" nor anything else to Mr. Pike.

On the other hand, Captain West's attitude toward me was that of a social equal. But then, I was a passenger.

Miss West treated me the same way, but unbent more to Mr. Pike. And Mr. Pike, answering her with "Yes,

Miss," and "No, Miss," ate goodmanneredly and with his shaggybrowed gray eyes studied me across the

table. I, too, studied him. Despite his violent past, killer and driver that he was, I could not help liking the

man. He was honest, genuine. Almost more than for that, I liked him for the spontaneous boyish laugh he

gave on the occasions when I reached the points of several funny stories. No man could laugh like that and be

all bad. I was glad that it was he, and not Mr. Mellaire, who was to sit opposite throughout the voyage. And I

I am afraid that Miss West and I did most of the talking. She was breezy, vivacious, tonic, and I noted again

that the delicate, almost fragile oval of her face was given the lie by her body. She was a robust, healthy

young woman. That was undeniable. Not fatheaven forbid!not even plump; yet her lines had that

swelling roundness that accompanies long, live muscles. She was fullbodied, vigorous; and yet not so

fullbodied as she seemed. I remember with what surprise, when we arose from table, I noted her slender

waist. At that moment I got the impression that she was willowy. And willowy she was, with a normal waist

and with, in addition, always that informing bodily vigour that made her appear rounder and robuster than she

It was the health of her that interested me. When I studied her face more closely I saw that only the lines of

the oval of it were delicate. Delicate it was not, nor fragile. The flesh was firm, and the texture of the skin

was firm and fine as it moved over the firm muscles of face and neck. The neck was a beautiful and adequate

pillar of white. Its flesh was firm, its skin fine, and it was muscular. The hands, too, attracted menot small,

but wellshaped, fine, white and strong, and well cared for. I could only conclude that she was an unusual

captain's daughter, just as her father was an unusual captain and man. And their noses were alike, just the

While Miss West was telling of the unexpectedness of the voyage, of how suddenly she had decided to

comeshe accounted for it as a whim and while she told of all the complications she had encountered in

her haste of preparation, I found myself casting up a tally of the efficient ones on board the Elsinore. They

were Captain West and his daughter, the two mates, myself, of course, Wada and the steward, and, beyond

the shadow of a doubt, the cook. The dinner vouched for him. Thus I found our total of efficients to be eight.

But the cook, the steward, and Wada were servants, not sailors, while Miss West and myself were

supernumeraries. Remained to work, direct, do, but three efficients out of a total ship's company of

fortyfive. I had no doubt that other efficients there were; it seemed impossible that my first impression of

the crew should be correct. There was the carpenter. He might, at his trade, be as good as the cook. Then the

A little later during the meal I ventured to talk about what had interested me and aroused my admiration,

namely, the masterfulness with which Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire had gripped hold of that woeful, worthless

crew. It was all new to me, I explained, but I appreciated the need of it. As I led up to the occurrence on

Number Two hatch, when Mr. Pike had lifted up Larry and toppled him back with a mere slap from the ends

of his fingers, I saw in Mr. Pike's eyes a warning, almost threatening, expression. Nevertheless, I completed

When I had quite finished there was a silence. Miss West was busy serving coffee from a copper percolator.

Mr. Pike, profoundly occupied with cracking walnuts, could not quite hide the wicked, little, halfhumorous,

halfrevengeful gleam in his eyes. But Captain West looked straight at me, but from oh! such a distance

millions and millions of miles away. His clear blue eyes were as serene as ever, his tones as low and soft.

"It is the one rule I ask to be observed, Mr. Pathurstwe never discuss the sailors."

It was a facer to me, and with quite a pronounced fellowfeeling for Larry I hurriedly added:

"It was not merely the discipline that interested me. It was the feat of strength."

"Sailors are trouble enough without our hearing about them, Mr. Pathurst," Captain West went on, as evenly

and imperturbably as if I had not spoken. "I leave the handling of the sailors to my officers. That's their

business, and they are quite aware that I tolerate no undeserved roughness or severity."

Mr. Pike's harsh face carried the faintest shadow of an amused grin as he stolidly regarded the tablecloth. I

Then Miss West kindly led the talk away from that subject, and soon had us laughing with a spirited recital of

Dinner over, I stepped to my room in quest of cigarettes, and incidentally asked Wada about the cook. Wada

"His name Louis," he said. "He Chinaman, too. No; only half Chinaman. Other half Englishman. You know

At this moment, entering the hall from the deck, Mr. Mellaire, just relieved by the mate, passed me on his

way to the big room in the stern where the second table was set. His "Good evening, sir," was as stately and

courteous as any southern gentleman of the old days could have uttered it. And yet I could not like the man.

His outward seeming was so at variance with the personality that resided within. Even as he spoke and smiled

I felt that from inside his skull he was watching me, studying me. And somehow, in a flash of intuition, I

knew not why, I was reminded of the three strange young men, routed last from the forecastle, to whom Mr.

Behind Mr. Mellaire slouched a selfconscious, embarrassed individual, with the face of a stupid boy and the

body of a giant. His feet were even larger than Mr. Pike's, but the handsI shot a quick glance to seewere

"He carpenter. He sat second table. His name Sam Lavroff. He come from New York on ship. Steward say he

As I approached the open port over my desk I again heard the swish and gurgle of water and again realized

that we were under way. So steady and noiseless was our progress, that, say seated at table, it never entered

one's head that we were moving or were anywhere save on the solid land. I had been used to steamers all my

life, and it was difficult immediately to adjust myself to the absence of the propellerthrust vibration.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked Wada, who, like myself, had never made a sailingship voyage.

Having lighted my cigarette, I strolled for'ard along the deck to where work was going on. Above my head

dim shapes of canvas showed in the starlight. Sail was being made, and being made slowly, as I might judge,

who was only the veriest tyro in such matters. The indistinguishable shapes of men, in long lines, pulled on

ropes. They pulled in sick and dogged silence, though Mr. Pike, ubiquitous, snarled out orders and rapped out

Certainly, from what I had read, no ship of the old days ever proceeded so sadly and blunderingly to sea. Ere

long Mr. Mellaire joined Mr. Pike in the struggle of directing the men. It was not yet eight in the evening, and

all hands were at work. They did not seem to know the ropes. Time and again, when the halfhearted

suggestions of the bosuns had been of no avail, I saw one or the other of the mates leap to the rail and put the

These, on the deck, I concluded, were the hopeless ones. Up aloft, from sounds and cries, I knew were other

men, undoubtedly those who were at least a little seamanlike, loosing the sails.

But on deck! Twenty or thirty of the poor devils, tailed on a rope that hoisted a yard, would pull without

concerted effort and with painfully slow movements. "Walk away with it!" Mr. Pike would yell. And perhaps

for two or three yards they would manage to walk with the rope ere they came to a halt like stalled horses on

a hill. And yet, did either of the mates spring in and add his strength, they were able to move right along the

deck without stopping. Either of the mates, old men that they were, was muscularly worth halfadozen of

"This is what sailin's come to," Mr. Pike paused to snort in my ear. "This ain't the place for an officer down

here pulling and hauling. But what can you do when the bosuns are worse than the men?"

I knew there was malice of some sort in his voice, but I answered that I'd like to very much.

In the pause that followed I could have sworn that Sundry Buyers was pressing his hands against his

abdomen, while Nancy, infinite bleakness freezing upon his face, was wetting his lips to begin.

Nancy it was who began, for from no other man, I was confident, could have issued so sepulchral a plaint. It

was unmusical, unbeautiful, unlively, and indescribably doleful. Yet the words showed that it should have

ripped and crackled with high spirits and lawlessness, for the words poor Nancy sang were:

"Quit it! Quit it!" Mr. Pike roared. "This ain't a funeral! Ain't there one of you that can sing? Come on, now!

He broke off to leap in to the pinrail and get the wrong ropes out of the men's hands to put into them the

Then out of the gloom arose Sundry Buyers' voice, cracked and crazy and even more lugubrious than

The second line was supposed to be the chorus, but not more than two men feebly mumbled it. Sundry

Then Mr. Pike took a hand, seizing the haulingpart next to the pin and lifting his voice with a rare snap and

He sang the devilmaycare lines on and on, lifting the crew to the work and to the chorused emphasis of

And to his voice they pulled, they moved, they sang, and were alive, until he interrupted the song to cry

And then all the life and lilt went out of them, and they were again maundering and futile things, getting in

one another's way, stumbling and shuffling through the darkness, hesitating to grasp ropes, and, when they

did take hold, invariably taking hold of the wrong rope first. Skulkers there were among them, too; and once,

from for'ard of the 'midship house, I heard smacks, and curses, and groans, and out of the darkness hurriedly

emerged two men, on their heels Mr. Pike, who chanted a recital of the distressing things that would befall

The whole thing was too depressing for me to care to watch further, so I strolled aft and climbed the poop. In

the lee of the chart house Captain West and the pilot were pacing slowly up and down. Passing on aft, I saw

steering at the wheel the weazened little old man I had noted earlier in the day. In the light of the binnacle his

small blue eyes looked more malevolent than ever. So weazened and tiny was he, and so large was the

brassstudded wheel, that they seemed of a height. His face was withered, scorched, and wrinkled, and in all

seeming he was fifty years older than Mr. Pike. He was the most remarkable figure of a burntout, aged man

one would expect to find able seaman on one of the proudest sailingships afloat. Later, through Wada, I was

to learn that his name was Andy Fay and that he claimed no more years than sixtythree.

I leaned against the rail in the lee of the wheelhouse, and stared up at the lofty spars and myriad ropes that I

could guess were there. No, I decided I was not keen on the voyage. The whole atmosphere of it was wrong.

There were the cold hours I had waited on the pier ends. There was Miss West coming along. There was the

crew of broken men and lunatics. I wondered if the wounded Greek in the 'midship house still gibbered, and

if Mr. Pike had yet sewed him up; and I was quite sure I would not care to witness such a transaction in

Even Wada, who had never been in a sailingship, had his doubts of the voyage. So had the steward, who had

spent most of a lifetime in sailingships. So far as Captain West was concerned, crews did not exist. And as

for Miss West, she was so abominably robust that she could not be anything else than an optimist in such

matters. She had always lived; her red blood sang to her only that she would always live and that nothing evil

Oh, trust me, I knew the way of red blood. Such was my condition that the redblood health of Miss West

was virtually an affront to mefor I knew how unthinking and immoderate such blood could be. And for

five months at leastthere was Mr. Pike's offered wager of a pound of tobacco or a month's wages to that

effectI was to be pent on the same ship with her. As sure as cosmic sap was cosmic sap, just that sure was I

that ere the voyage was over I should be pestered by her making love to me. Please do not mistake me. My

certainty in this matter was due, not to any exalted sense of my own desirableness to women, but to my

anything but exalted concept of women as instinctive huntresses of men. In my experience women hunted

men with quite the same blind tropism that marks the pursuit of the sun by the sunflower, the pursuit of

Call me blaseI do not mind, if by blase is meant the world weariness, intellectual, artistic, sensational,

which can come to a young man of thirty. For I was thirty, and I was weary of all these thingsweary and in

doubt. It was because of this state that I was undertaking the voyage. I wanted to get away by myself, to get

It sometimes seemed to me that the culmination of this worldsickness had been brought about by the

success of my playmy first play, as every one knows. But it had been such a success that it raised the doubt

in my own mind, just as the success of my several volumes of verse had raised doubts. Was the public right?

Were the critics right? Surely the function of the artist was to voice life, yet what did I know of life?

So you begin to glimpse what I mean by the worldsickness that afflicted me. Really, I had been, and was,

very sick. Mad thoughts of isolating myself entirely from the world had hounded me. I had even canvassed

the idea of going to Molokai and devoting the rest of my years to the lepersI, who was thirty years old, and

healthy and strong, who had no particular tragedy, who had a bigger income than I knew how to spend, who

by my own achievement had put my name on the lips of men and proved myself a power to be reckoned

Perhaps it will be suggested that success had turned my head. Very well. Granted. But the turned head

remains a fact, an incontrovertible factmy sickness, if you will, and a real sickness, and a fact. This I knew:

I had reached an intellectual and artistic climacteric, a lifeclimacteric of some sort. And I had diagnosed my

own case and prescribed this voyage. And here was the atrociously healthy and profoundly feminine Miss

West alongthe very last ingredient I would have considered introducing into my prescription.

A woman! Woman! Heaven knows I had been sufficiently tormented by their persecutions to know them. I

leave it to you: thirty years of age, not entirely unhandsome, an intellectual and artistic place in the world,

and an income most dazzlingwhy shouldn't women pursue me? They would have pursued me had I been a

hunchback, for the sake of my artistic place alone, for the sake of my income alone.

Yes; and love! Did I not know lovelyric, passionate, mad, romantic love? That, too, was of old time with

me. I, too, had throbbed and sung and sobbed and sighedyes, and known grief, and buried my dead. But it

was so long ago. How young I wasturned twentyfour! And after that I had learned the bitter lesson that

even deathless grief may die; and I had laughed again and done my share of philandering with the pretty,

ferocious moths that fluttered around the light of my fortune and artistry; and after that, in turn, I had retired

disgusted from the lists of woman, and gone on long lancebreaking adventures in the realm of mind. And

here I was, on board the Elsinore, unhorsed by my encounters with the problems of the ultimate, carried off

As I leaned against the rail, dismissing premonitions of disaster, I could not help thinking of Miss West

below, bustling and humming as she made her little nest. And from her my thought drifted on to the

everlasting mystery of woman. Yes, I, with all the futuristic contempt for woman, am ever caught up afresh

Oh, no illusions, thank you. Woman, the loveseeker, obsessing and possessing, fragile and fierce, soft and

venomous, prouder than Lucifer and as prideless, holds a perpetual, almost morbid, attraction for the thinker.

What is this flame of her, blazing through all her contradictions and ignobilities?this ruthless passion for

life, always for life, more life on the planet? At times it seems to me brazen, and awful, and soulless. At times

I am made petulant by it. And at other times I am swayed by the sublimity of it. No; there is no escape from

woman. Always, as a savage returns to a dark glen where goblins are and gods may be, so do I return to the

Mr. Pike's voice interrupted my musings. From for'ard, on the main deck, I heard him snarl:

"On the maintopsailyard, there!if you cut that gasket I'll split your damned skull!"

Again he called, with a marked change of voice, and the Henry he called to I concluded was the trainingship

"You, Henry, mainskysailyard, there!" he cried. "Don't make those gaskets up! Fetch 'em in along the yard

Thus routed from my reverie, I decided to go below to bed. As my hand went out to the knob of the

I did not sleep well. To begin with, I read late. Not till two in the morning did I reach up and turn out the

kerosene readinglamp which Wada had purchased and installed for me. I was asleep immediatelyperfect

sleep being perhaps my greatest gift; but almost immediately I was awake again. And thereafter, with dozings

and cat naps and restless tossings, I struggled to win to sleep, then gave it up. For of all things, in my state

of jangled nerves, to be afflicted with hives! And still again, to be afflicted with hives in cold winter weather!

At four I lighted up and went to reading, forgetting my irritated skin in Vernon Lee's delightful screed against

William James, and his "will to believe." I was on the weather side of the ship, and from overhead, through

the deck, came the steady footfalls of some officer on watch. I knew that they were not the steps of Mr. Pike,

and wondered whether they were Mr. Mellaire's or the pilot's. Somebody above there was awake. The work

was going on, the vigilant seeing and overseeing, that, I could plainly conclude, would go on through every

At halfpast four I heard the steward's alarm go off, instantly suppressed, and five minutes later I lifted my

hand to motion him in through my open door. What I desired was a cup of coffee, and Wada had been with

me through too many years for me to doubt that he had given the steward precise instructions and turned over

The steward was a jewel. In ten minutes he served me with a perfect cup of coffee. I read on until daylight,

and halfpast eight found me, breakfast in bed finished, dressed and shaved, and on deck. We were still

towing, but all sails were set to a light favouring breeze from the north. In the chartroom Captain West and

the pilot were smoking cigars. At the wheel I noted what I decided at once was an efficient. He was not a

large man; if anything he was undersized. But his countenance was broadbrowed and intelligently formed.

Tom, I later learned, was his nameTom Spink, an Englishman. He was blueeyed, fairskinned,

wellgrizzled, and, to the eye, a hale fifty years of age. His reply of "Good morning, sir" was cheery, and he

smiled as he uttered the simple phrase. He did not look sailorlike, as did Henry, the trainingship boy; and

It was Mr. Pike's watch, and on asking him about Tom he grudgingly admitted that the man was the "best of

Miss West emerged from the charthouse, with a rosy morning face and her vital, springy limbmovement,

and immediately began establishing her contacts. On asking how I had slept, and when I said wretchedly, she

demanded an explanation. I told her of my affliction of hives and showed her the lumps on my wrists.

"Your blood needs thinning and cooling," she adjudged promptly. "Wait a minute. I'll see what can be done

And with that she was away and below and back in a trice, in her hand a part glass of water into which she

I drank it. And at eleven in the morning she came up to my deck chair with a second dose of the stuff. Also

she reproached me soundly for permitting Wada to feed meat to Possum. It was from her that Wada and I

learned how mortal a sin it was to give meat to a young puppy. Furthermore, she laid down the law and the

diet for Possum, not alone to me and Wada, but to the steward, the carpenter, and Mr. Mellaire. Of the latter

two, because they ate by themselves in the big afterroom and because Possum played there, she was

especially suspicious; and she was outspoken in voicing her suspicions to their faces. The carpenter mumbled

embarrassed asseverations in broken English of past, present, and future innocence, the while he humbly

scraped and shuffled before her on his huge feet. Mr. Mellaire's protestations were of the same nature, save

In short, Possum's diet raised quite a tempest in the Elsinore teapot, and by the time it was over Miss West

had established this particular contact with me and given me a feeling that we were the mutual owners of the

puppy. I noticed, later in the day, that it was to Miss West that Wada went for instructions as to the quantity

Lunch won my continued approbation of the cook. In the afternoon I made a trip for'ard to the galley to make

his acquaintance. To all intents he was a Chinese, until he spoke, whereupon, measured by speech alone, he

was an Englishman. In fact, so cultured was his speech that I can fairly say it was vested with an Oxford

accent. He, too, was old, fully sixtyhe acknowledged fiftynine. Three things about him were markedly

conspicuous: his smile, that embraced all of his cleanshaven Asiatic face and Asiatic eyes; his even rowed,

white, and perfect teeth, which I deemed false until Wada ascertained otherwise for me; and his hands and

feet. It was his hands, ridiculously small and beautifully modelled, that led my scrutiny to his feet. They, too,

We had put the pilot off at midday, but the Britannia towed us well into the afternoon and did not cast us off

until the ocean was wide about us and the land a faint blur on the western horizon. Here, at the moment of

leaving the tug, we made our "departure"that is to say, technically began the voyage, despite the fact that

It was about the time of casting off, when I was leaning on the poop rail gazing for'ard, when Miss West

joined me. She had been busy below all day, and had just come up, as she put it, for a breath of air. She

"The barometer's very high30 degrees 60. This light north wind won't last. It will either go into a calm or

"The gale, by all means. It will help us off the land, and it will put me through my torment of seasickness

more quickly. Oh, yes," she added, "I'm a good sailor, but I do suffer dreadfully at the beginning of every

voyage. You probably won't see me for a couple of days now. That's why I've been so busy getting settled

"And I've seen father seasick on occasion," she answered. "Yes, and some of the strongest, hardest sailors I

Mr. Pike here joined us for a moment, ceasing from his everlasting pacing up and down to lean with us on the

Many of the crew were in evidence, pulling on ropes on the main deck below us. To my inexperienced eye

"The worst ever," he growled, "and I've seen some pretty bad ones. We're teachin' them the ropes just

"They are, they almost always are," Miss West answered, and her eyes roved over them in the same

appraising, cattlebuyer's fashion I had marked in Mr. Pike. "But they'll fatten up with regular hours, no

"Oh, sure. They always do. And you'll see them liven up when we get 'em in hand . . . maybe. They're a

I looked aloft at the vast towers of canvas. Our four masts seemed to have flowered into all the sails possible,

yet the sailors beneath us, under Mr. Mellaire's direction, were setting triangular sails, like jibs, between the

masts, and there were so many that they overlapped one another. The slowness and clumsiness with which

"But what would you do, Mr. Pike, with a green crew like this, if you were caught right now in a storm with

He shrugged his shoulders, as if I had asked what he would do in an earthquake with two rows of New York

"Do?" Miss West answered for him. "We'd get the sail off. Oh, it can be done, Mr. Pathurst, with any kind of

"The officers can perform miracles with the most worthless sailors, in a pinch," Miss West went on.

Again Mr. Pike nodded his head and agreed, and I noted his two big paws, relaxed the moment before and

drooping over the rail, quite unconsciously tensed and folded themselves into fists. Also, I noted fresh

abrasions on the knuckles. Miss West laughed heartily, as from some recollection.

"I remember one time when we sailed from San Francisco with a most hopeless crew. It was in the Lallah

"Your father's fifth command," he nodded. "Lost on the West Coast afterwardswent ashore in that big

earthquake and tidal wave. Parted her anchors, and when she hit under the cliff, the cliff fell on her."

"That's the ship. Well, our crew seemed mostly cowboys, and bricklayers, and tramps, and more tramps than

anything else. Where the boardinghouse masters got them was beyond imagining. A number of them were

shanghaied, that was certain. You should have seen them when they were first sent aloft." Again she laughed.

"It was better than circus clowns. And scarcely had the tug cast us off, outside the Heads, when it began to

blow up and we began to shorten down. And then our mates performed miracles. You remember Mr.

"Don't I though!" Mr. Pike proclaimed enthusiastically. "He was some man, and he must have been an old

"He was, and a terrible man," she concurred, and added, almost reverently: "And a wonderful man." She

turned her face to me. "He was our mate. The men were seasick and miserable and green. But Mr. Harding

got the sail off the Lallah Rookh just the same. What I wanted to tell you was this:

"I was on the poop, just like I am now, and Mr. Harding had a lot of those miserable sick men putting gaskets

"Let me see . . . the Lallah Rookh." Mr. Pike paused to consider. "Oh, say around a hundred feet."

"I saw it myself. One of the green hands, a trampand he must already have got a taste of Mr. Hardingfell

off the lowertopsail yard. I was only a little girl, but it looked like certain death, for he was falling from the

weather side of the yard straight down on deck. But he fell into the belly of the mainsail, breaking his fall,

turned a somersault, and landed on his feet on deck and unhurt. And he landed right alongside of Mr.

Harding, facing him. I don't know which was the more astonished, but I think Mr. Harding was, for he stood

there petrified. He had expected the man to be killed. Not so the man. He took one look at Mr. Harding, then

"Astonishing! Think of the jar to the man's nerves, falling to apparent death that way."

"He'd been jarred harder by Silas Harding, I guess," was Mr. Pike's remark, with another burst of laughter, in

Which was all very well in a way. Ships were ships, and judging by what I had seen of our present crew harsh

treatment was necessary. But that a young woman of the niceness of Miss West should know of such things

and be so saturated in this side of ship life was not nice. It was not nice for me, though it interested me, I

confess, and strengthened my grip on reality. Yet it meant a hardening of one's fibres, and I did not like to

I looked at her and could not help marking again the fineness and firmness of her skin. Her hair was dark, as

were her eyebrows, which were almost straight and rather low over her long eyes. Gray her eyes were, a

warm gray, and very steady and direct in expression, intelligent and alive. Perhaps, taking her face as a

whole, the most noteworthy expression of it was a great calm. She seemed always in repose, at peace with

herself and with the external world. The most beautiful feature was her eyes, framed in lashes as dark as her

brows and hair. The most admirable feature was her nose, quite straight, very straight, and just the slightest

trifle too long. In this it was reminiscent of her father's nose. But the perfect modelling of the bridge and

Hers was a slenderlipped, sensitive, sensible, and generous mouth generous, not so much in size, which

was quite average, but generous rather in tolerance, in power, and in laughter. All the health and buoyancy of

her was in her mouth, as well as in her eyes. She rarely exposed her teeth in smiling, for which purpose she

seemed chiefly to employ her eyes; but when she laughed she showed strong white teeth, even, not babyish in

their smallness, but just the firm, sensible, normal size one would expect in a woman as healthy and normal

I would never have called her beautiful, and yet she possessed many of the factors that go to compose

feminine beauty. She had all the beauty of colouring, a white skin that was healthy white and that was

emphasized by the darkness of her lashes, brows, and hair. And, in the same way, the darkness of lashes and

brows and the whiteness of skin set off the warm gray of her eyes. The forehead was, well, mediumbroad

and medium high, and quite smooth. No lines nor hints of lines were there, suggestive of nervousness, of blue

days of depression and white nights of insomnia. Oh, she bore all the marks of the healthy, human female,

who never worried nor was vexed in the spirit of her, and in whose body every process and function was

"Miss West has posed to me as quite a weather prophet," I said to the mate. "Now what is your forecast of our

"She ought to be," was Mr. Pike's reply as he lifted his glance across the smooth swell of sea to the sky. "This

ain't the first time she's been on the North Atlantic in winter." He debated a moment, as he studied the sea and

sky. "I should say, considering the high barometer, we ought to get a mild gale from the northeast or a calm,

She favoured me with a triumphant smile, and suddenly clutched the rail as the Elsinore lifted on an

unusually large swell and sank into the trough with a roll from windward that flapped all the sails in hollow

"The calm has it," Miss West said, with just a hint of grimness. "And if this keeps up I'll be in my bunk in

She waved aside all sympathy. "Oh, don't bother about me, Mr. Pathurst. Seasickness is only detestable and

horrid, like sleet, and muddy weather, and poison ivy; besides, I'd rather be seasick than have the hives."

Something went wrong with the men below us on the deck, some stupidity or blunder that was made aware to

us by Mr. Mellaire's raised voice. Like Mr. Pike, he had a way of snarling at the sailors that was distinctly

On the faces of several of the sailors bruises were in evidence. One, in particular, had an eye so swollen that

Most eloquent, and most unconscious, was the quick flash of Miss West's eyes to Mr. Pike's big paws, with

freshly abraded knuckles, resting on the rail. It was a stab of hurt to me. SHE KNEW.

That evening the three men of us had dinner alone, with racks on the table, while the Elsinore rolled in the

"You won't see her for a couple of days," Captain West told me. "Her mother was the same waya born

"It's the shaking down." Mr. Pike astonished me with the longest observation I had yet heard him utter at

table. "Everybody has to shake down when they leave the land. We've got to forget the good times on shore,

and the good things money'll buy, and start watch and watch, four hours on deck and four below. And it

comes hard, and all our tempers are strung until we can make the change. Did it happen that you heard

"Well, think of hearing them, and Homer, and Witherspoon, and Amato, every night for nights and nights at

the Metropolitan; and then to give it the goby, and get to sea and shake down to watch and watch."

"Yes, but the sea and all the longvoyaging has cheated me out of most of the music I oughta have had

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he murmured fervently, then regarded me with an eager wistfulness. "I've

halfadozen of her records, and I've got the second dogwatch below. If Captain West don't mind . . . "

(Captain West nodded that he didn't mind). "And if you'd want to hear them? The machine is a good one."

And then, to my amazement, when the steward had cleared the table, this hoary old relic of mankilling and

mandriving days, battered waif of the sea that he was, carried in from his room a most splendid collection of

phonograph records. These, and the machine, he placed on the table. The big doors were opened, making the

diningroom and the main cabin into one large room. It was in the cabin that Captain West and I lolled in big

leather chairs while Mr. Pike ran the phonograph. His face was in a blaze of light from the swinging lamps,

In vain I waited for him to start some popular song. His records were only of the best, and the care he took of

them was a revelation. He handled each one reverently, as a sacred thing, untying and unwrapping it and

brushing it with a fine camel's hair brush while it revolved and ere he placed the needle on it. For a time all I

could see was the huge brute hands of a brutedriver, with skin off the knuckles, that expressed love in their

every movement. Each touch on the discs was a caress, and while the record played he hovered over it and

During this time Captain West lay back and smoked a cigar. His face was expressionless, and he seemed very

far away, untouched by the music. I almost doubted that he heard it. He made no remarks between whiles,

betrayed no sign of approbation or displeasure. He seemed preternaturally serene, preternaturally remote.

And while I watched him I wondered what his duties were. I had not seen him perform any. Mr. Pike had

attended to the loading of the ship. Not until she was ready for sea had Captain West come on board. I had

not seen him give an order. It looked to me that Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire did the work. All Captain West

When Mr. Pike had played the "Hallelujah Chorus" from the Messiah, and "He Shall Feed His Flock," he

mentioned to me, almost apologetically, that he liked sacred music, and for the reason, perhaps, that for a

"And then I hit the dominie over the head with a baseball bat and sneaked off to sea again," he concluded

And thereat he fell to dreaming while he played Meyerbeer's "King of Heaven," and Mendelssohn's "O Rest

When one bell struck, at quarter to eight, he carried his music, all carefully wrapped, back into his room. I

"I've got a lot more good things," he said confidentially: "Coenen's 'Come Unto Me,' and Faure's 'Crucifix';

and there's 'O Salutaris,' and 'Lead, Kindly Light' by the Trinity Choir; and 'Jesu, Lover of My Soul' would

"Do you believe in them?" I was led to ask by his rapt expression and by the picture of his brutedriving

My sleep that night was wretched. Short of sleep from the previous night, I closed my book and turned my

light off early. But scarcely had I dropped into slumber when I was aroused by the recrudescence of my

hives. All day they had not bothered me; yet the instant I put out the light and slept, the damnable persistent

itching set up. Wada had not yet gone to bed, and from him I got more cream of tartar. It was useless,

however, and at midnight, when I heard the watch changing, I partially dressed, slipped into my

I saw Mr. Mellaire beginning his four hours' watch, pacing up and down the port side of the poop; and I

slipped away aft, past the man at the wheel, whom I did not recognize, and took refuge in the lee of the

Once again I studied the dim loom and tracery of intricate rigging and lofty, sailcarrying spars, thought of

the mad, imbecile crew, and experienced premonitions of disaster. How could such a voyage be possible,

with such a crew, on the huge Elsinore, a cargocarrier that was only a steel shell half an inch thick burdened

with five thousand tons of coal? It was appalling to contemplate. The voyage had gone wrong from the first.

In the wretched unbalance that loss of sleep brings to any good sleeper, I could decide only that the voyage

was doomed. Yet how doomed it was, in truth, neither I nor a madman could have dreamed.

I thought of the redblooded Miss West, who had always lived and had no doubts but what she would always

live. I thought of the killing and driving and musicloving Mr. Pike. Many a haler remnant than he had gone

down on a last voyage. As for Captain West, he did not count. He was too neutral a being, too far away, a sort

of favoured passenger who had nothing to do but serenely and passively exist in some Nirvana of his own

Next I remembered the selfwounded Greek, sewed up by Mr. Pike and lying gibbering between the steel

walls of the 'midshiphouse. This picture almost decided me, for in my fevered imagination he typified the

whole mad, helpless, idiotic crew. Certainly I could go back to Baltimore. Thank God I had the money to

humour my whims. Had not Mr. Pike told me, in reply to a question, that he estimated the running expenses

of the Elsinore at two hundred dollars a day? I could afford to pay two hundred a day, or two thousand, for

the several days that might be necessary to get me back to the land, to a pilot tug, or any inbound craft to

I was quite wholly of a mind to go down and rout out Captain West to tell him my decision, when another

AFRAID TO GO DOWN, TO CEASE IN THE DARKNESS? Bah! My own pride in my life pridelessness

saved Captain West's sleep from interruption. Of course I would go on with the adventure, if adventure it

might be called, to go sailing around Cape Horn with a shipload of fools and lunaticsand worse; for I

remembered the three Babylonish and Semitic ones who had aroused Mr. Pike's ire and who had laughed so

Night thoughts! Sleepless thoughts! I dismissed them all and started below, chilled through by the cold. But

"A pleasant evening, sir," he greeted me. "A pity there's not a little wind to help us off the land."

"I've seen many queer crews in my time, Mr. Pathurst. But I never saw one as queer as thisboys, old men,

cripples andyou saw Tony the Greek go overboard yesterday? Well, that's only the beginning. He's a

sample. I've got a big Irishman in my watch who's going bad. Did you notice a little, driedup Scotchman?"

"Who looks mean and angry all the time, and who was steering the evening before last?"

"The very oneAndy Fay. Well, Andy Fay's just been complaining to me about O'Sullivan. Says

O'Sullivan's threatened his life. When Andy Fay went off watch at eight he found O'Sullivan stropping a

"'Says O'Sullivan to me, "Mr. Fay, I'll have a word wid yeh?" "Certainly," says I; "what can I do for you?"

"Sell me your sea boots, Mr. Fay," says O'Sullivan, polite as can be. "But what will you be wantin' of

them?" says I. "'Twill be a great favour," says O'Sullivan. "But it's my only pair," says I; "and you have a pair

of your own," says I. "Mr. Fay, I'll be needin' me own in bad weather," says O'Sullivan. "Besides," says I,

"you have no money." "I'll pay for them when we pay off in Seattle," says O'Sullivan. "I'll not do it," says I;

"besides, you're not tellin' me what you'll be doin' with them." "But I will tell yeh," says O'Sullivan; "I'm

wantin' to throw 'em over the side." And with that I turns to walk away, but O'Sullivan says, very polite and

seducin'like, still astroppin' the razor, "Mr. Fay," says he, "will you kindly step this way an' have your

throat cut?" And with that I knew my life was in danger, and I have come to make report to you, sir, that the

"Or soon will be," I remarked. "I noticed him yesterday, a big man muttering continually to himself?"

He was lighting a cigarette at the moment, and with a quick movement he pulled off his cap, bent his head

I saw a grizzled head, the full crown of which was not entirely bald, but partially covered with a few sparse

long hairs. And full across this crown, disappearing in the thicker fringe above the ears, ran the most

prodigious scar I had ever seen. Because the vision of it was so fleeting, ere the match blew out, and because

of the scar's very prodigiousness, I may possibly exaggerate, but I could have sworn that I could lay two

fingers deep into the horrid cleft and that it was fully two fingers broad. There seemed no bone at all, just a

great fissure, a deep valley covered with skin; and I was confident that the brain pulsed immediately under

"A crazy sea cook did that, Mr. Pathurst, with a meataxe. We were thousands of miles from anywhere, in

the South Indian Ocean at the time, running our Easting down, but the cook got the idea into his addled head

that we were lying in Boston Harbour, and that I wouldn't let him go ashore. I had my back to him at the time,

"But how could you recover from so fearful an injury?" I questioned. "There must have been a splendid

"Yes; the captain had oldfashioned prejudices against antiseptics. He always used molasses for fresh

wounddressings. I lay in my bunk many weary weekswe had a long passageand by the time we

reached Hong Kong the thing was healed, there was no need for a shore surgeon, and I was standing my third

Not for many a long day was I to realize the dire part that scar in Mr. Mellaire's head was to play in his

destiny and in the destiny of the Elsinore. Had I known at the time, Captain West would have received the

most unusual awakening from sleep that he ever experienced; for he would have been routed out by a very

determined, partiallydressed passenger with a proposition capable of going to the extent of buying the

Elsinore outright with all her cargo, so that she might be sailed straight back to Baltimore.

As it was, I merely thought it a very marvellous thing that Mr. Mellaire should have lived so many years with

We talked on, and he gave me many details of that particular happening, and of other happenings at sea on

And yet I could not like the man. In nothing he said, nor in the manner of saying things, could I find fault. He

seemed generous, broadminded, and, for a sailor, very much of a man of the world. It was easy for me to

overlook his excessive suavity of speech and supercourtesy of social mannerism. It was not that. But all the

time I was distressingly, and, I suppose, intuitively aware, though in the darkness I couldn't even see his eyes,

that there, behind those eyes, inside that skull, was ambuscaded an alien personality that spied upon me,

measured me, studied me, and that said one thing while it thought another thing.

When I said good night and went below it was with the feeling that I had been talking with the one half of

some sort of a dual creature. The other half had not spoken. Yet I sensed it there, fluttering and quick, behind

But I could not sleep. I took more cream of tartar. It must be the heat of the bedclothes, I decided, that

excited my hives. And yet, whenever I ceased struggling for sleep, and lighted the lamp and read, my skin

irritation decreased. But as soon as I turned out the lamp and closed my eyes I was troubled again. So hour

after hour passed, through which, between vain attempts to sleep, I managed to wade through many pages of

Rosny's Le Termitea not very cheerful proceeding, I must say, concerned as it is with the microscopic and

overelaborate recital of Noel Servaise's tortured nerves, bodily pains, and intellectual phantasma. At last I

tossed the novel aside, damned all analytical Frenchmen, and found some measure of relief in the more genial

Over my head I could hear Mr. Mellaire steadily pace up and down. At four the watches changed, and I

recognized the agelag in Mr. Pike's promenade. Half an hour later, just as the steward's alarm went off,

instantly checked by that lightsleeping Asiatic, the Elsinore began to heel over on my side. I could hear Mr.

Pike barking and snarling orders, and at times a trample and shuffle of many feet passed over my head as the

weird crew pulled and hauled. The Elsinore continued to heel over until I could see the water against my port,

and then she gathered way and dashed ahead at such a rate that I could hear the stinging and singing of the

The steward brought me coffee, and I read till daylight and after, when Wada served me breakfast and helped

me dress. He, too, complained of inability to sleep. He had been bunked with Nancy in one of the rooms in

the 'midshiphouse. Wada described the situation. The tiny room, made of steel, was airtight when the steel

door was closed. And Nancy insisted on keeping the door closed. As a result Wada, in the upper bunk, had

stifled. He told me that the air had got so bad that the flame of the lamp, no matter how high it was turned,

guttered down and all but refused to burn. Nancy snored beautifully through it all, while he had been unable

"He is not clean," quoth Wada. "He is a pig. No more will I sleep in that place."

On the poop I found the Elsinore, with many of her sails furled, slashing along through a troubled sea under

an overcast sky. Also I found Mr. Mellaire marching up and down, just as I had left him hours before, and it

took quite a distinct effort for me to realize that he had had the watch off between four and eight. Even then,

"That is one thing, Mr. Pathurst, I always sleep like a baby . . . which means a good conscience, sir, yes, a

And while he enunciated the platitude I was uncomfortably aware that that alien thing inside his skull was

In the cabin Captain West smoked a cigar and read the Bible. Miss West did not appear, and I was grateful

Without asking permission of anybody, Wada arranged a sleeping place for himself in a far corner of the big

afterroom, screening the corner with a solidly lashed wall of my trunks and empty book boxes.

It was a dreary enough day, no sun, with occasional splatters of rain and a persistent crash of seas over the

weather rail and swash of water across the deck. With my eyes glued to the cabin ports, which gave for'ard

along the main deck, I could see the wretched sailors, whenever they were given some task of pull and haul,

wet through and through by the boarding seas. Several times I saw some of them taken off their feet and

rolled about in the creaming foam. And yet, erect, unstaggering, with certitude of weight and strength, among

these rolled men, these clutching, cowering ones, moved either Mr. Pike or Mr. Mellaire. They were never

taken off their feet. They never shrank away from a splash of spray or heavier bulk of down falling water.

They had fed on different food, were informed with a different spirit, were of iron in contrast with the poor

In the afternoon I dozed for halfanhour in one of the big chairs in the cabin. Had it not been for the violent

motion of the ship I could have slept there for hours, for the hives did not trouble. Captain West, stretched out

on the cabin sofa, his feet in carpet slippers, slept enviably. By some instinct, I might say, in the deep of

sleep, he kept his place and was not rolled off upon the floor. Also, he lightly held a halfsmoked cigar in one

hand. I watched him for an hour, and knew him to be asleep, and marvelled that he maintained his easy

After dinner there was no phonograph. The second dogwatch was Mr. Pike's on deck. Besides, as he

explained, the rolling was too severe. It would make the needle jump and scratch his beloved records.

And no sleep! Another weary night of torment, and another dreary, overcast day and leaden, troubled sea.

And no Miss West. Wada, too, is seasick, although heroically he kept his feet and tried to tend on me with

glassy, unseeing eyes. I sent him to his bunk, and read through the endless hours until my eyes were tired,

Captain West is no conversationalist. The more I see of him the more I am baffled. I have not yet found a

reason for that first impression I received of him. He has all the poise and air of a remote and superior being,

and yet I wonder if it be not poise and air and nothing else. Just as I had expected, that first meeting, ere he

spoke a word, to hear fall from his lips words of untold beneficence and wisdom, and then heard him utter

mere social commonplaces, so I now find myself almost forced to conclude that his touch of race, and beak of

power, and all the tall, aristocratic slenderness of him have nothing behind them.

And yet, on the other hand, I can find no reason for rejecting that first impression. He has not shown any

strength, but by the same token he has not shown any weakness. Sometimes I wonder what resides behind

those clear blue eyes. Certainly I have failed to find any intellectual backing. I tried him out with William

James' Varieties of Religious Experience. He glanced at a few pages, then returned it to me with the frank

statement that it did not interest him. He has no books of his own. Evidently he is not a reader. Then what is

he? I dared to feel him out on politics. He listened courteously, said sometimes yes and sometimes no, and,

Aloof as the two officers are from the men, Captain West is still more aloof from his officers. I have not seen

him address a further word to Mr. Mellaire than "Good morning" on the poop. As for Mr. Pike, who eats

three times a day with him, scarcely any more conversation obtains between them. And I am surprised by

what seems the very conspicuous awe with which Mr. Pike seems to regard his commander.

Another thing. What are Captain West's duties? So far he has done nothing, save eat three times a day, smoke

many cigars, and each day stroll a total of one mile around the poop. The mates do all the work, and hard

work it is, four hours on deck and four below, day and night with never a variation. I watch Captain West and

am amazed. He will loll back in the cabin and stare straight before him for hours at a time, until I am almost

frantic to demand of him what are his thoughts. Sometimes I doubt that he is thinking at all. I give him up. I

Altogether a depressing day of rainsplatter and wash of water across the deck. I can see, now, that the

problem of sailing a ship with five thousand tons of coal around the Horn is more serious than I had thought.

So deep is the Elsinore in the water that she is like a log awash. Her tall, sixfoot bulwarks of steel cannot

keep the seas from boarding her. She has not the buoyancy one is accustomed to ascribe to ships. On the

contrary, she is weighted down until she is dead, so that, for this one day alone, I am appalled at the thought

of how many thousands of tons of the North Atlantic have boarded her and poured out through her spouting

Yes, a depressing day. The two mates have alternated on deck and in their bunks. Captain West has dozed on

the cabin sofa or read the Bible. Miss West is still seasick. I have tired myself out with reading, and the

fuzziness of my unsleeping brain makes for melancholy. Even Wada is anything but a cheering spectacle,

crawling out of his bunk, as he does at stated intervals, and with sick, glassy eyes trying to discern what my

needs may be. I almost wish I could get seasick myself. I had never dreamed that a sea voyage could be so

Another morning of overcast sky and leaden sea, and of the Elsinore, under half her canvas, clanging her

deck ports, spouting water from her scuppers, and dashing eastward into the heart of the Atlantic. And I have

failed to sleep halfanhour all told. At this rate, in a very short time I shall have consumed all the cream of

tartar on the ship. I never have had hives like these before. I can't understand it. So long as I keep my lamp

burning and read I am untroubled. The instant I put out the lamp and drowse off the irritation starts and the

Miss West may be seasick, but she cannot be comatose, because at frequent intervals she sends the steward

I have had a revelation today. I have discovered Captain West. He is a Samurai.You remember the

Samurai that H. G. Wells describes in his Modern Utopiathe superior breed of men who know things and

are masters of life and of their fellowmen in a superbenevolent, super wise way? Well, that is what

We had a shift of wind today. In the height of a southwest gale the wind shifted, in the instant, eight

points, which is equivalent to a quarter of the circle. Imagine it! Imagine a gale howling from out of the

southwest. And then imagine the wind, in a heavier and more violent gale, abruptly smiting you from the

northwest. We had been sailing through a circular storm, Captain West vouchsafed to me, before the event,

Clad in seaboots, oilskins and sou'wester, I had for some time been hanging upon the rail at the break of the

poop, staring down fascinated at the poor devils of sailors, repeatedly up to their necks in water, or

submerged, or dashed like straws about the deck, while they pulled and hauled, stupidly, blindly, and in

Mr. Pike was with them, working them and working with them. He took every chance they took, yet

somehow he escaped being washed off his feet, though several times I saw him entirely buried from view.

There was more than luck in the matter; for I saw him, twice, at the head of a line of the men, himself next to

the pin. And twice, in this position, I saw the North Atlantic curl over the rail and fall upon them. And each

time he alone remained, holding the turn of the rope on the pin, while the rest of them were rolled and

Almost it seemed to me good fun, as at a circus, watching their antics. But I did not apprehend the

seriousness of the situation until, the wind screaming higher than ever and the sea asmoke and white with

wrath, two men did not get up from the deck. One was carried away for'ard with a broken legit was Iare

Jacobson, a dull witted Scandinavian; and the other, Kid Twist, was carried away, unconscious, with a

In the height of the gusts, in my high position, where the seas did not break, I found myself compelled to

cling tightly to the rail to escape being blown away. My face was stung to severe pain by the highdriving

spindrift, and I had a feeling that the wind was blowing the cobwebs out of my sleepstarved brain.

And all the time, slender, aristocratic, graceful in streaming oilskins, in apparent unconcern, giving no orders,

effortlessly accommodating his body to the violent rolling of the Elsinore, Captain West strolled up and

It was at this stage in the gale that he unbent sufficiently to tell me that we were going through a circular

storm and that the wind was boxing the compass. I did notice that he kept his gaze pretty steadily fixed on the

overcast, clouddriven sky. At last, when it seemed the wind could not possibly blow more fiercely, he found

in the sky what he sought. It was then that I first heard his voicea seavoice, clear as a bell, distinct as

silver, and of an ineffable sweetness and volume, as it might be the trump of Gabriel. That voice!effortless,

dominating! The mighty threat of the storm, made articulate by the resistance of the Elsinore, shouted in all

the stays, bellowed in the shrouds, thrummed the taut ropes against the steel masts, and from the myriad tiny

ropes far aloft evoked a devil's chorus of shrill pipings and screechings. And yet, through this bedlam of

noise, came Captain West's voice, as of a spirit visitant, distinct, unrelated, mellow as all music and mighty as

an archangel's call to judgment. And it carried understanding and command to the man at the wheel, and to

Mr. Pike, waistdeep in the wash of sea below us. And the man at the wheel obeyed, and Mr. Pike obeyed,

barking and snarling orders to the poor wallowing devils who wallowed on and obeyed him in turn. And as

the voice was the face. This face I had never seen before. It was the face of the spirit visitant, chaste with

wisdom, lighted by a splendour of power and calm. Perhaps it was the calm that smote me most of all. It was

as the calm of one who had crossed chaos to bless poor seaworn men with the word that all was well. It was

not the face of the fighter. To my thrilled imagination it was the face of one who dwelt beyond all strivings of

The Samurai had arrived, in thunders and lightnings, riding the wings of the storm, directing the gigantic,

labouring Elsinore in all her intricate massiveness, commanding the wisps of humans to his will, which was

And then, that wonderful Gabriel voice of his, silent (while his creatures laboured his will), unconcerned,

detached and casual, more slenderly tall and aristocratic than ever in his streaming oilskins, Captain West

touched my shoulder and pointed astern over our weather quarter. I looked, and all that I could see was a

vague smoke of sea and air and a cloudbank of sky that tore at the ocean's breast. And at the same moment

the gale from the southwest ceased. There was no gale, no moving zephyrs, nothing but a vast quietude of

And it came, from the northwest, a blast of wind, a blow, an atmospheric impact that bewildered and

stunned and again made the Elsinore harp protest. It forced me down on the rail. I was like a windlestraw.

As I faced this new abruptness of gale it drove the air back into my lungs, so that I suffocated and turned my

head aside to breathe in the lee of the draught. The man at the wheel again listened to the Gabriel voice; and

Mr. Pike, on the deck below, listened and repeated the will of the voice; and Captain West, in slender and

It was magnificent. Now, and for the first time, I knew the sea, and the men who overlord the sea. Captain

West had vindicated himself, exposited himself. At the height and crisis of storm he had taken charge of the

Elsinore, and Mr. Pike had become, what in truth was all he was, the foreman of a gang of men, the

A minute or so longer Captain West strolled up and down, leaning easily into the face of this new and

abominable gale or resting his back against it, and then he went below, pausing for a moment, his hand on the

knob of the chartroom door, to cast a last measuring look at the stormwhite sea and wrathsombre sky he

Ten minutes later, below, passing the open cabin door, I glanced in and saw him. Seaboots and

stormtrappings were gone; his feet, in carpet slippers, rested on a hassock; while he lay back in the big

leather chair smoking dreamily, his eyes wide open, absorbed, non seeingor, if they saw, seeing things

beyond the reeling cabin walls and beyond my ken. I have developed an immense respect for Captain West,

Small wonder that Miss West remains seasick on an ocean like this, which has become a factory where the

veering gales manufacture the selectest and most mountainous brands of crossseas. The way the poor

Elsinore pitches, plunges, rolls, and shivers, with all her lofty spars and masts and all her five thousand tons

of deadweight cargo, is astonishing. To me she is the most erratic thing imaginable; yet Mr. Pike, with

whom I now pace the poop on occasion, tells me that coal is a good cargo, and that the Elsinore is well

He will pause abruptly, in the midst of his interminable pacing, in order to watch her in her maddest antics.

The sight is very pleasant to him, for his eyes glisten and a faint glow seems to irradiate his face and impart to

it a hint of ecstasy. The Elsinore has a snug place in his heart, I am confident. He calls her behaviour

admirable, and at such times will repeat to me that it was he who saw to her loading.

It is very curious, the habituation of this man, through a long life on the sea, to the motion of the sea. There

IS a rhythm to this chaos of crossing, buffeting waves. I sense this rhythm, although I cannot solve it. But Mr.

Pike KNOWS it. Again and again, as we paced up and down this afternoon, when to me nothing unusually

antic seemed impending, he would seize my arm as I lost balance, and as the Elsinore smashed down on her

side and heeled over and over with a colossal roll that seemed never to end, and that always ended with an

abrupt, snapofthewhip effect as she began the corresponding roll to windward. In vain I strove to learn

how Mr. Pike forecasts these antics, and I am driven to believe that he does not consciously forecast them at

Toward the end of our little promenade I was guilty of impatiently shaking off a sudden seizure of my arm in

his big paw. If ever, in an hour, the Elsinore had been less gymnastic than at that moment, I had not noticed

it. So I shook off the sustaining clutch, and the next moment the Elsinore had smashed down and buried a

couple of hundred feet of her starboard rail beneath the sea, while I had shot down the deck and smashed

myself breathless against the wall of the charthouse. My ribs and one shoulder are sore from it yet. Now

And he never staggers nor seems in danger of being rolled away. On the contrary, such a surplus of surety of

balance has he that time and again he lent his surplus to me. I begin to have more respect, not for the sea, but

for the men of the sea, and not for the sweepings of seamen that are as slaves on our decks, but for the real

seamen who are their mastersfor Captain West, for Mr. Pike, yes, and for Mr. Mellaire, dislike him as I do.

As early as three in the afternoon the wind, still a gale, went back to the southwest. Mr. Mellaire had the

"We'll wear ship at four, Mr. Pathurst," the second mate told me when he came back. "You'll find it an

"The Captain's orders, sir. The watches will be changing, and we'll have the use of both of them, without

And when both watches were on deck Captain West, again in oilskins, came out of the charthouse. Mr.

Pike, out on the bridge, took charge of the many men who, on deck and on the poop, were to manage the

mizzenbraces, while Mr. Mellaire went for'ard with his watch to handle the foreand mainbraces. It was a

pretty manoeuvre, a play of leverages, by which they cased the force of the wind on the after part of the

Captain West gave no orders whatever, and, to all intents, was quite oblivious of what was being done. He

was again the favoured passenger, taking a stroll for his health's sake. And yet I knew that both his officers

were uncomfortably aware of his presence and were keyed to their finest seamanship. I know, now, Captain

West's position on board. He is the brains of the Elsinore. He is the master strategist. There is more in

directing a ship on the ocean than in standing watches and ordering men to pull and haul. They are pawns,

and the two officers are pieces, with which Captain West plays the game against sea, and wind, and season,

and ocean current. He is the knower. They are his tongue, by which he makes his knowledge articulate.

A bad nightequally bad for the Elsinore and for me. She is receiving a sharp buffeting at the hands of the

wintry North Atlantic. I fell asleep early, exhausted from lack of sleep, and awoke in an hour, frantic with my

lumped and burning skin. More cream of tartar, more reading, more vain attempts to sleep, until shortly

before five, when the steward brought me my coffee, I wrapped myself in my dressinggown, and like a

being distracted prowled into the cabin. I dozed in a leather chair and was thrown out by a violent roll of the

ship. I tried the sofa, sinking to sleep immediately, and immediately thereafter finding myself precipitated to

the floor. I am convinced that when Captain West naps on the sofa he is only half asleep. How else can he

maintain so precarious a position?unless, in him, too, the sea and its motion be ingrained.

I wandered into the diningroom, wedged myself into a screwed chair, and fell asleep, my head on my arms,

my arms on the table. And at quarter past seven the steward roused me by shaking my shoulders. It was time

Heavy with the brief heaviness of sleep I had had, I dressed and stumbled up on to the poop in the hope that

the wind would clear my brain. Mr. Pike had the watch, and with sure, agelagging step he paced the deck.

The man is a marvelsixtynine years old, a life of hardship, and as sturdy as a lion. Yet of the past night

alone his hours had been: four to six in the afternoon on deck; eight to twelve on deck; and four to eight in the

morning on deck. In a few minutes he would be relieved, but at midday he would again be on deck.

I leaned on the pooprail and stared for'ard along the dreary waste of deck. Every port and scupper was

working to ease the weight of North Atlantic that perpetually fell on board. Between the rush of the cascades,

streaks of rust showed everywhere. Some sort of a wooden pinrail had carried away on the starboardrail at

the foot of the mizzenshrouds, and an amazing raffle of ropes and tackles washed about. Here Nancy and

halfadozen men worked sporadically, and in fear of their lives, to clear the tangle.

The longsuffering bleakness was very pronounced on Nancy's face, and when the walls of water, in

impending downfall, reared above the Elsinore's rail, he was always the first to leap for the lifeline which

The rest of the men were scarcely less backward in dropping their work and springing to safetyif safety it

might be called, to grip a rope in both hands and have legs sweep out from under, and be wrenched

fulllength upon the boiling surface of an icecold flood. Small wonder they look wretched. Bad as their

condition was when they came aboard at Baltimore, they look far worse now, what of the last several days of

From time to time, completing his for'ard pace along the poop, Mr. Pike would pause, ere he retraced his

steps, and snort sardonic glee at what happened to the poor devils below. The man's heart is callous. A thing

of iron, he has endured; and he has no patience nor sympathy with these creatures who lack his own

I noticed the stonedeaf man, the twisted oaf whose face I have described as being that of an illtreated and

feebleminded faun. His bright, liquid, painfilled eyes were more filled with pain than ever, his face still

more lean and drawn with suffering. And yet his face showed an excess of nervousness, sensitiveness, and a

pathetic eagerness to please and do. I could not help observing that, despite his dreadful sensehandicap and

his wrecked, frail body, he did the most work, was always the last of the group to spring to the life line and

always the first to loose the lifeline and slosh kneedeep or waistdeep through the churning water to attack

I remarked to Mr. Pike that the men seemed thinner and weaker than when they came on board, and he

delayed replying for a moment while he stared down at them with that cattlebuyer's eye of his.

"Sure they are," he said disgustedly. "A weak breed, that's what they arenothing to build on, no stamina.

The least thing drags them down. Why, in my day we grew fat on work like thatonly we didn't; we worked

so hard there wasn't any chance for fat. We kept in fighting trim, that was all. But as for this scum and

slumsay, you remember, Mr. Pathurst, that man I spoke to the first day, who said his name was Charles

"Yes, and there was, too. He's in that 'midship room with the Greek now. He'll never do a tap of work the

whole Voyage. He's a hospital case, if there ever was one. Talk about shot to pieces! He's got holes in him I

could shove my fist through. I don't know whether they're perforating ulcers, or cancers, or cannonshot

wounds, or what not. And he had the nerve to tell me they showed up after he came on board!"

"All the time! Take my word, Mr. Pathurst, they're years old. But he's a wonder. I watched him those first

days, sent him aloft, had him down in the forehold trimming a few tons of coal, did everything to him, and

he never showed a wince. Being up to the neck in the salt water finally fetched him, and now he's reported off

dutyfor the voyage. And he'll draw his wages for the whole time, have all night in, and never do a tap. Oh,

he's a hot one to have passed over on us, and the Elsinore's another man short."

"No fear. I'll have him steering in a few days. I refer to the misfits. If we rolled a dozen of them together they

wouldn't make one real man. I'm not saying it to alarm you, for there's nothing alarming about it; but we're

going to have proper hell this voyage." He broke off to stare reflectively at his broken knuckles, as if

estimating how much drive was left in them, then sighed and concluded, "Well, I can see I've got my work

Sympathizing with Mr. Pike is futile; the only effect is to make his mood blacker. I tried it, and he retaliated

"You oughta see the bloke with curvature of the spine in Mr. Mellaire's watch. He's a proper hobo, too, and a

land lubber, and don't weigh more'n a hundred pounds, and must be fifty years old, and he's got curvature of

the spine, and he's able seaman, if you please, on the Elsinore. And worse than all that, he puts it over on you;

he's nasty, he's mean, he's a viper, a wasp. He ain't afraid of anything because he knows you dassent hit him

for fear of croaking him. Oh, he's a pearl of purest ray serene, if anybody should slide down a backstay and

ask you. If you fail to identify him any other way, his name is Mulligan Jacobs."

After breakfast, again on deck, in Mr. Mellaire's watch, I discovered another efficient. He was at the wheel, a

small, wellknit, muscular man of say fortyfive, with black hair graying on the temples, a big eagleface,

Mr. Mellaire vindicated my judgment by telling me the man was the best sailor in his watch, a proper

seaman. When he referred to the man as the Maltese Cockney, and I asked why, he replied:

"First, because he is Maltese, Mr. Pathurst; and next, because he talks Cockney like a native. And depend

It was at this moment that Miss West emerged upon the poop. She was as rosy and vital as ever, and

certainly, if she had been seasick, she flew no signals of it. As she came toward me, greeting me, I could not

help remarking again the lithe and springy limbmovement with which she walked, and her fine, firm skin.

Her neck, free in a sailor collar, with white sweater open at the throat, seemed almost redoubtably strong to

my sleepless, jaundiced eyes. Her hair, under a white knitted cap, was smooth and wellgroomed. In fact, the

totality of impression she conveyed was of a wellgroomedness one would not expect of a seacaptain's

daughter, much less of a woman who had been seasick. Life!that is the key of her, the essential note of

herlife and health. I'll wager she has never entertained a morbid thought in that practical, balanced,

"And how have you been?" she asked, then rattled on with sheer exuberance ere I could answer. "Had a

lovely night's sleep. I was really over my sickness yesterday, but I just devoted myself to resting up. I slept

"I wish I could say the same," I replied with appropriate dejection, as I swung in beside her, for she had

"On the contrary," I answered dryly. "And I wish I had been. I haven't had five hours' sleep all told since I

I held up a lumpy wrist to show. She took one glance at it, halted abruptly, and, neatly balancing herself to

I was of two minds. Her laughter was delightful to the ear, there was such a mellowness, and healthiness, and

frankness about it. On the other hand, that it should be directed at my misfortune was exasperating. I suppose

my perplexity showed in my face, for when she had eased her laughter and looked at me with a sobering

"You poor child," she gurgled at last. "And when I think of all the cream of tartar I made you consume!"

It was rather presumptuous of her to poorchild me, and I resolved to take advantage of the data I already

possessed in order to ascertain just how many years she was my junior. She had told me she was twelve years

old the time the Dixie collided with the river steamer in San Francisco Bay. Very well, all I had to do was to

ascertain the date of that disaster and I had her. But in the meantime she laughed at me and my hives.

"I suppose it iserhumorous, in some sort of way," I said a bit stiffly, only to find that there was no use in

"What you needed," she announced, with fresh gurglings, "was an exterior treatment."

"No." She shook her head emphatically while she enjoyed another paroxysm. "What you are suffering from is

"Of bedbugs," she concluded. And then, all seriousness and practicality, she went on: "But we'll have that

righted in a jiffy. I'll turn the Elsinore's afterquarters upside down, though I know there are none in father's

room or mine. And though this is my first voyage with Mr. Pike I know he's too hardbitten" (here I laughed

at her involuntary pun) "an old sailor not to know that his room is clean. Yours" (I was perturbed for fear she

was going to say that I had brought them on board) "have most probably drifted in from for'ard. They always

"And now, Mr. Pathurst, I am going down to attend to your case. You'd better get your Wada to make up a

camping kit for you. The next couple of nights you'll spend in the cabin or chartroom. And be sure Wada

removes all silver and metallic tarnishable stuff from your rooms. There's going to be all sorts of fumigating,

Such a cleaning up and turning over! For two nights, one in the chartroom and one on the cabin sofa, I have

soaked myself in sleep, and I am now almost stupid with excess of sleep. The land seems very far away. By

some strange quirk, I have an impression that weeks, or months, have passed since I left Baltimore on that

bitter March morning. And yet it was March 28, and this is only the first week in April.

I was entirely right in my first estimation of Miss West. She is the most capable, practically masterful woman

I have ever encountered. What passed between her and Mr. Pike I do not know; but whatever it was, she was

convinced that he was not the erring one. In some strange way, my two rooms are the only ones which have

been invaded by this plague of vermin. Under Miss West's instructions bunks, drawers, shelves, and all

superficial woodwork have been ripped out. She worked the carpenter from daylight till dark, and then, after

a night of fumigation, two of the sailors, with turpentine and white lead, put the finishing touches on the

cleansing operations. The carpenter is now busy rebuilding my rooms. Then will come the painting, and in

Of the men who did the turpentining and whiteleading there have been four. Two of them were quickly

rejected by Miss West as not being up to the work. The first one, Steve Roberts, which he told me was his

name, is an interesting fellow. I talked with him quite a bit ere Miss West sent him packing and told Mr. Pike

This is the first time Steve Roberts has ever seen the sea. How he happened to drift from the western

cattleranges to New York he did not explain, any more than did he explain how he came to ship on the

Elsinore. But here he is, not a sailor on horseback, but a cowboy on the sea. He is a small man, but most

powerfully built. His shoulders are very broad, and his muscles bulge under his shirt; and yet he is

slenderwaisted, leanlimbed, and hollowcheeked. This last, however, is not due to sickness or illhealth.

Tyro as he is on the sea, Steve Roberts is keen and intelligent . . . yes, and crooked. He has a way of looking

straight at one with utmost frankness while he talks, and yet it is at such moments I get most strongly the

impression of crookedness. But he is a man, if trouble should arise, to be reckoned with. In ways he suggests

a kinship with the three men Mr. Pike took so instant a prejudice againstKid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and

Bert Rhine. And I have already noticed, in the dogwatches, that it is with this trio that Steve Roberts chums.

The second sailor Miss West rejected, after silently watching him work for five minutes, was Mulligan

Jacobs, the wisp of a man with curvature of the spine. But before she sent him packing other things occurred

in which I was concerned. I was in the room when Mulligan Jacobs first came in to go to work, and I could

not help observing the startled, avid glance he threw at my big shelves of books. He advanced on them in the

way a robber might advance on a secret hoard of gold, and as a miser would fondle gold so Mulligan Jacobs

And such eyes! All time bitterness and venom Mr. Pike had told me the man possessed was there in his eyes.

They were small, paleblue, and gimletpointed with fire. His eyelids were inflamed, and but served to

ensanguine the bitter and coldblazing intensity of the pupils. The man was constitutionally a hater, and I

All the caress in his eyes for the books vanished as he turned his head to look at me, and ere he spoke I knew

"It's hell, ain't it?you with a strong body and servants to carry for you a weight of books like this, and me

How can I possibly convey the terrible venomousness with which he uttered these words? I know that Mr.

Pike, dragging his feet down the hall past my open door, gave me a very gratifying sense of safety. Being

alone in the room with this man seemed much the same as if I were locked in a cage with a tigercat. The

devilishness, the wickedness, and, above all, the pitch of glaring hatred with which the man eyed me and

addressed me, were most unpleasant. I swear I knew fearnot calculated caution, not timid apprehension,

but blind, panic, unreasoned terror. The malignancy of the creature was blood curdling; nor did it require

words to convey it: it poured from him, out of his redrimmed, blazing eyes, out of his withered, twisted,

tortured face, out of his brokennailed, crooked talons of hands. And yet, in that very moment of instinctive

startle and repulsion, the thought was in my mind that with one hand I could take the throat of the weazened

But there was little encouragement in such thoughtno more than a man might feel in a cave of rattlesnakes

or a pit of centipedes, for, crush them with his very bulk, nevertheless they would first sink their poison into

him. And so with this Mulligan Jacobs. My fear of him was the fear of being infected with his venom. I could

not help it; for I caught a quick vision of the black and broken teeth I had seen in his mouth sinking into my

One thing was very clear. In the creature was no fear. Absolutely, he did not know fear. He was as devoid of

it as the fetid slime one treads underfoot in nightmares. Lord, Lord! that is what the thing was, a nightmare.

"You suffer pain often?" I asked, attempting to get myself in hand by the calculated use of sympathy.

"The hooks are in me, in the brain, whitehot hooks that burn an' burn," was his reply. "But by what

damnable right do you have all these books, and time to read 'em, an' all night in to read 'em, an' soak in

them, when me brain's on fire, and I'm watch and watch, an' me broken spine won't let me carry half a

Another madman, was my conclusion; and yet I was quickly compelled to modify it, for, thinking to play

with a rattlebrain, I asked him what were the books up to half a hundredweight he carried, and what were

the writers he preferred. His library, he told me, among other things included, first and f oremost, a

complete Byron. Next was a complete Shakespeare; also a complete Browning in one volume. A full

halldozen he had in the forecastle of Renan, a stray volume of Lecky, Winwood Reade's Martyrdom of

Man, several of Carlyle, and eight or ten of Zola. Zola he swore by, though Anatole France was a prime

He might be mad, was my revised judgment, but he was most differently mad from any madman I had ever

encountered. I talked on with him about books and bookmen. He was most universal and particular. He liked

O. Henry. George Moore was a cad and a fourflusher. Edgar Saltus' Anatomy of Negation was profounder

than Kant. Maeterlinck was a mystic frump. Emerson was a charlatan. Ibsen's Ghosts was the stuff, though

Ibsen was a bourgeois lickspittler. Heine was the real goods. He preferred Flaubert to de Maupassant, and

Turgenieff to Tolstoy; but Gorky was the best of the Russian boiling. John Masefield knew what he was

writing about, and Joseph Conrad was living too fat to turn out the stuff he first turned out.

And so it went, the most amazing running commentary on literature I had ever heard. I was hugely interested,

and I quizzed him on sociology. Yes, he was a Red, and knew his Kropotkin, but he was no anarchist. On the

other hand, political action was a blindalley leading to reformism and quietism. Political socialism had gone

to pot, while industrial unionism was the logical culmination of Marxism. He was a direct actionist. The mass

strike was the thing. Sabotage, not merely as a withdrawal of efficiency, but as a keen destructionofprofits

policy, was the weapon. Of course he believed in the propaganda of the deed, but a man was a fool to talk

about it. His job was to do it and keep his mouth shut, and the way to do it was to shoot the evidence. Of

course, HE talked; but what of it? Didn't he have curvature of the spine? He didn't care when he got his, and

And while he talked he hated me. He seemed to hate the things he talked about and espoused. I judged him to

be of Irish descent, and it was patent that he was selfeducated. When I asked him how it was he had come to

sea, he replied that the hooks in his brain were as hot one place as another. He unbent enough to tell me that

he had been an athlete, when he was a young man, a professional footracer in Eastern Canada. And then his

disease had come upon him, and for a quarter of a century he had been a common tramp and vagabond, and

he bragged of a personal acquaintance with more city prisons and county jails than any man that ever existed.

It was at this stage in our talk that Mr. Pike thrust his head into the doorway. He did not address me, but he

favoured me with a most sour look of disapprobation. Mr. Pike's countenance is almost petrified. Any

expression seems to crack itwith the exception of sourness. But when Mr. Pike wants to look sour he has

no difficulty at all. His hardskinned, hardmuscled face just flows to sourness. Evidently he condemned my

consuming Mulligan Jacobs's time. To Mulligan Jacobs he said in his customary snarl:

And then I got a sample of Mulligan Jacobs. The venom of hatred I had already seen in his face was as

nothing compared with what now was manifested. I had a feeling that, like stroking a cat in cold weather, did

If ever I had seen murder in a man s eyes, I saw it then in the mate's. He lunged into the room, his arm tensed

to strike, the hand not open but clenched. One stroke of that bear's paw and Mulligan Jacobs and all the

poisonous flame of him would have been quenched in the everlasting darkness. But he was unafraid. Like a

cornered rat, like a rattlesnake on the trail, unflinching, sneering, snarling, he faced the irate giant. More than

It was too much for Mr. Pike; it was too impossible to strike that frail, crippled, repulsive thing.

"It's me that can call you the stiff," said Mulligan Jacobs. "I ain't no Larry. G'wan an' hit me. Why don't you

And Mr. Pike was too appalled to strike the creature. He, whose whole career on the sea had been that of a

bucko driver in a shambles, could not strike this fractured splinter of a man. I swear that Mr. Pike actually

"Go on to your work," he ordered. "The voyage is young yet, Mulligan. I'll have you eatin' outa my hand

And Mulligan Jacobs's face thrust another inch closer on its twisted neck, while all his concentrated rage

seemed on the verge of bursting into incandescence. So immense and tremendous was the bitterness that

consumed him that he could find no words to clothe it. All he could do was to hawk and guttural deep in his

throat until I should not have been surprised had he spat poison in the mate's face.

I can't get it out of my mind. The picture of the mate and the cripple facing each other keeps leaping up under

my eyelids. This is different from the books and from what I know of existence. It is revelation. Life is a

profoundly amazing thing. What is this bitter flame that informs Mulligan Jacobs? How dare hewith no

hope of any profit, not a hero, not a leader of a forlorn hope nor a martyr to God, but a mere filthy, malignant

rathow dare he, I ask myself, be so defiant, so deathinviting? The spectacle of him makes me doubt all

the schools of the metaphysicians and the realists. No philosophy has a leg to stand on that does not account

for Mulligan Jacobs. And all the midnight oil of philosophy I have burned does not enable me to account for

Was there ever such a freight of human souls on the sea as these humans with whom I am herded on the

And now, working in my rooms, whiteleading and turpentining, is another one of them. I have learned his

name. It is Arthur Deacon. He is the pallid, furtiveeyed man whom I observed the first day when the men

were routed out of the forecastle to man the windlassthe man I so instantly adjudged a drugfiend. He

"White slaver," was his answer. "Had to skin outa New York to save his skin. He'll be consorting with those

"A month's wages to a pound of tobacco that a district attorney, or a committee of some sort investigating the

New York police is lookin' for 'em right now. I'd like to have the cash somebody's put up in New York to

"That's what. But I'll trim their dirty hides. I'll trim 'em. Mr. Pathurst, this voyage ain't started yet, and this old

stiff's a long way from his last legs. I'll give them a run for their money. Why, I've buried better men than the

best of them aboard this craft. And I'll bury some of them that think me an old stiff."

"Mr. Pathurst, I've heard you're a writing man. And when they told me at the agents' you were going along

passenger, I made a point of going to see your play. Now I'm not saying anything about that play, one way or

the other. But I just want to tell you, that as a writing man you'll get stuff in plenty to write about on this

voyage. Hell's going to pop, believe me, and right here before you is the stiff that'll do a lot of the poppin'.

How I have been sleeping! This relief of renewed normality is deliciousthanks to Miss West. Now why did

not Captain West, or Mr. Pike, both experienced men, diagnose my trouble for me? And then there was

Wada. But no; it required Miss West. Again I contemplate the problem of woman. It is just such an incident

among a million others that keeps the thinker's gaze fixed on woman. They truly are the mothers and the

Rail as I will at Miss West's redblood complacency of life, yet I must bow my head to her lifegiving to me.

Practical, sensible, hardheaded, a comfortmaker and a nestbuilder, possessing all the distressing attributes

of the blindinstinctive racemother, nevertheless I must confess I am most grateful that she is along. Had

she not been on the Elsinore, by this time I should have been so overwrought from lack of sleep that I would

be biting my veins and howlingas mad a hatter as any of our cargo of mad hatters. And so we come to

itthe everlasting mystery of woman. One may not be able to get along with her; yet is it patent, as of old

time, that one cannot get along without her. But, regarding Miss West, I do entertain one fervent hope,

Captain West may be a Samurai, but he is also human. He was really a bit fluttery this morning, in his

reserved, controlled way, when he regretted the plague of vermin I had encountered in my rooms. It seems he

has a keen sense of hospitality, and that he is my host on the Elsinore, and that, although he is oblivious of

the existence of the crew, he is not oblivious of my comfort. By his few expressions of regret it appears that

he cannot forgive himself for his careless acceptance of the erroneous diagnosis of my affliction. Yes;

Captain West is a real human man. Is he not the father of the slenderfaced, strappingbodied Miss West?

"Thank goodness that's settled," was Miss West's exclamation this morning, when we met on the poop and

And then, that nightmare episode dismissed because, forsooth, for all practical purposesit was settled, she

And I accompanied her along the spidery bridge to the top of the 'midshiphouse, to look at the one rooster

As I accompanied her, my eyes dwelling pleasurably on that vital gait of hers as she preceded me, I could not

help reflecting that, coming down on the tug from Baltimore, she had promised not to bother me nor require

COME AND SEE THE CHICKENS!Oh, the sheer female possessiveness of that simple invitation! For

effrontery of possessiveness is there anything that can exceed the nestmaking, planetpopulating, female,

human woman?COME AND SEE THE CHICKENS! Oh, well, the sailors for'ard may be hardbitten, but

I can promise Miss West that here, aft, is one male passenger, unmarried and never married, who is an

equally hardbitten adventurer on the sea of matrimony. When I go over the census I remember at least

several women, superior to Miss West, who trilled their song of sex and failed to shipwreck me.

As I read over what I have written I notice how the terminology of the sea has stolen into my mental

processes. Involuntarily I think in terms of the sea. Another thing I notice is my excessive use of superlatives.

But then, everything on board the Elsinore is superlative. I find myself continually combing my vocabulary in

quest of just and adequate words. Yet am I aware of failure. For example, all the words of all the dictionaries

But to return to the chickens. Despite every precaution, it was evident that they had had a hard time during

the past days of storm. It was equally evident that Miss West, even during her seasickness, had not

neglected them. Under her directions the steward had actually installed a small oilstove in the big coop, and

she now beckoned him up to the top of the house as he was passing for'ard to the galley. It was for the

Where were the grits? They needed grits. He didn't know. The sack had been lost among the miscellaneous

stores, but Mr. Pike had promised a couple of sailors that afternoon to overhaul the lazarette.

"Plenty of ashes," she told the steward. "Remember. And if a sailor doesn't clean the coop each day, you

report to me. And give them only clean foodno spoiled scraps, mind. How many eggs yesterday?"

The steward's eyes glistened with enthusiasm as he said he had got nine the day before and expected fully a

"The poor things," said Miss Westto me. "You've no idea how bad weather reduces their laying." She

turned back upon the steward. "Mind now, you watch and find out which hens don't lay, and kill them first.

I found myself neglected, out there on top the draughty house, while Miss West talked chickens with the

Chinese exsmuggler. But it gave me opportunity to observe her. It is the length of her eyes that accentuates

their steadiness of gazehelped, of course, by the dark brows and lashes. I noted again the warm gray of her

eyes. And I began to identify her, to locate her. She is a physical type of the best of the womanhood of old

New England. Nothing spare nor meagre, nor bred out, but generously strong, and yet not quite what one

would call robust. When I said she was strappingbodied I erred. I must fall back on my other word, which

When we had regained the poop, and Miss West had gone below, I ventured my customary pleasantry with

"Not yet, Mr. Pathurst," was the reply, "though he nearly got them early this morning. Come on along, sir,

Vouchsafing no further information, the second mate led the way along the bridge, across the 'midshiphouse

and the for'ardhouse. From the edge of the latter, looking down on Number One hatch, I saw two Japanese,

with sailneedles and twine, sewing up a canvasswathed bundle that unmistakably contained a human body.

"No, sir, not Andy. That's a Dutchman. Christian Jespersen was his name on the articles. He got in

O'Sullivan's way when O'Sullivan went after the boots. That's what saved Andy. Andy was more active.

Jespersen couldn't get out of his own way, much less out of O'Sullivan's. There's Andy sitting over there."

I followed Mr. Mellaire's gaze, and saw the burntout, aged little Scotchman squatted on a spare spar and

sucking a pipe. One arm was in a sling and his head was bandaged. Beside him squatted Mulligan Jacobs.

They were a pair. Both were blueeyed, and both were malevolenteyed. And they were equally emaciated.

It was easy to see that they had discovered early in the voyage their kinship of bitterness. Andy Fay, I knew,

was sixtythree years old, although he looked a hundred; and Mulligan Jacobs, who was only about fifty,

made up for the difference by the furnaceheat of hatred that burned in his face and eyes. I wondered if he sat

beside the injured bitter one in some sense of sympathy, or if he were there in order to gloat.

Around the corner of the house strolled Shorty, flinging up to me his inevitable clowngrin. One hand was

"One more, sir, a sheeny. I didn't know his name before, but Mr. Pike got itIsaac B. Chantz. I never saw in

all my life at sea as many sheenies as are on board the Elsinore right now. Sheenies don't take to the sea as a

rule. We've certainly got more than our share of them. Chantz isn't badly hurt, but you ought to hear him

"In the 'midshiphouse with Davis, and without a mark. Mr. Pike got into the rumpus and put him to sleep

with one on the jaw. And now he's lashed down and talking in a trance. He's thrown the fear of God into

Davis. Davis is sitting up in his bunk with a marlinspike, threatening to brain O'Sullivan if he starts to break

loose, and complaining that it's no way to run a hospital. He'd have padded cells, straitjackets, night and day

nurses, and violent wards, I supposeand a convalescents' home in a Queen Anne cottage on the poop.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Mr. Mellaire sighed. "This is the funniest voyage and the funniest crew I've ever tackled.

It's not going to come to a good end. Anybody can see that with half an eye. It'll be dead of winter off the

Horn, and a fo'c's'le full of lunatics and cripples to do the work.Just take a look at that one. Crazy as a

I followed his glance and saw Tony the Greek, the one who had sprung overboard the first day. He had just

come around the corner of the house, and, beyond one arm in a sling, seemed in good condition. He walked

easily and with strength, a testimonial to the virtues of Mr. Pike's rough surgery.

My eyes kept returning to the canvascovered body of Christian Jespersen, and to the Japanese who sewed

with sailtwine his sailor's shroud. One of them had his right hand in a huge wrapping of cotton and bandage.

"No, sir. He's the sailmaker. They're both sailmakers. He's a good one, too. Yatsuda is his name. But he's

just had blood poisoning and lain in hospital in New York for eighteen months. He flatly refused to let them

amputate. He's all right now, but the hand is dead, all except the thumb and forefinger, and he's teaching

himself to sew with his left hand. He's as clever a sailmaker as you'll find at sea."

"It's put five men out of commission," Mr. Mellaire sighed. "There's O'Sullivan himself, and Christian

Jespersen gone, and Andy Fay, and Shorty, and the sheeny. And the voyage not started yet. And there's Lars

with the broken leg, and Davis laid off for keepswhy, sir, we'll soon be that weak it'll take both watches to

Nevertheless, while I talked in a matteroffact way with Mr. Mellaire, I was shockedno; not because

death was aboard with us. I have stood by my philosophic guns too long to be shocked by death, or by

murder. What affected me was the utter, stupid bestiality of the affair. Even murdermurder for causeI

can understand. It is comprehensible that men should kill one another in the passion of love, of hatred, of

patriotism, of religion. But this was different. Here was killing without cause, an orgy of blindbrutishness, a

Later on, strolling with Possum on the main deck, as I passed the open door of the hospital I heard the

muttering chant of O'Sullivan, and peeped in. There he lay, lashed fast on his back in the lower bunk, rolling

his eyes and raving. In the top bunk, directly above, lay Charles Davis, calmly smoking a pipe. I looked for

"It's hell, ain't it, sir?" was his greeting. "And how am I goin' to get any sleep with that baboon chattering

away there. He never lets upkeeps his chinmusic goin' right along when he's asleep, only worse. The way

he grits his teeth is something awful. Now I leave it to you, sir, is it right to put a crazy like that in with a sick

While he talked the massive form of Mr. Pike loomed beside me and halted just out of sight of the man in the

"By rights, I oughta have that lower bunk. It hurts me to crawl up here. It's inhumanity, that's what it is, and

sailors at sea are better protected by the law than they used to be. And I'll have you for a witness to this

"Shut up, you damned sealawyer, you," he snarled. "Haven't you played a dirty trick enough comin' on

board this ship in your condition? And if I have anything more out of you . . . "

Mr. Pike was so angry that he could not complete the threat. After spluttering for a moment he made a fresh

"I know the law, sir," Davis answered promptly. "I worked full able seaman on this here ship. All hands can

testify to that. I was aloft from the start. Yes, sir, and up to my neck in salt water day and night. And you had

"You were petrified and rotten before you ever saw this ship," Mr. Pike broke in.

"And if you go to shoutin' off your sealawyer mouth," Mr. Pike continued, "I'll jerk you out of that and

"Not if I bury you before we get in," was the mate's quick, grim retort. "And let me tell you, Davis, you ain't

the first sealawyer I've dropped over the side with a sack of coal to his feet."

Mr. Pike turned, with a final "Damned sealawyer!" and started along the deck. I was walking behind him

Not as an officer to a passenger did he thus address me. His tone was imperative, and I gave heed.

"Mr. Pathurst. From now on the less you see aboard this ship the better. That is all."

No, the sea is not a gentle place. It must be the very hardness of the life that makes all seapeople hard. Of

course, Captain West is unaware that his crew exists, and Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire never address the men

save to give commands. But Miss West, who is more like myself, a passenger, ignores the men. She does not

even say goodmorning to the man at the wheel when she first comes on deck. Nevertheless I shall, at least to

Which reminds me. Technically I am not a passenger. The Elsinore has no licence to carry passengers, and I

am down on the articles as third mate and am supposed to receive thirtyfive dollars a month. Wada is down

as cabin boy, although I paid a good price for his passage and he is my servant.

Not much time is lost at sea in getting rid of the dead. Within an hour after I had watched the sailmakers at

work Christian Jespersen was slid overboard, feet first, a sack of coal to his feet to sink him. It was a mild,

calm day, and the Elsinore, logging a lazy two knots, was not hove to for the occasion. At the last moment

Captain West came for'ard, prayerbook in hand, read the brief service for burial at sea, and returned

I shall not bother to describe the burial. All I shall say of it is that it was as sordid as Christian Jespersen's life

As for Miss West, she sat in a deckchair on the poop busily engaged with some sort of fancy work. When

Christian Jespersen and his coal splashed into the sea the crew immediately dispersed, the watch below going

to its bunks, the watch on deck to its work. Not a minute elapsed ere Mr. Mellaire was giving orders and the

men were pulling and hauling. So I returned to the poop to be unpleasantly impressed by Miss West's smiling

"Oh," she said, with all the tonelessness of disinterest, and went on with her stitching.

She must have sensed my frame of mind, for, after a moment, she paused from her sewing and looked at me

"Not any more than on the land." She shrugged her shoulders. "So many people die, you know. And when

they are strangers to you . . . well, what do you do on the land when you learn that some workers have been

killed in a factory you pass every day coming to town? It is the same on the sea."

"Yes, isn't it? And so early in the voyage, too." She looked at me, and when I could not forbear a smile of

"Oh, I know very well, Mr. Pathurst, that you think me a heartless wretch. But it isn't that it's . . . it's the sea, I

suppose. And yet, I didn't know this man. I don't remember ever having seen him. At this stage of the voyage

I doubt if I could pick out halfadozen of the sailors as men I had ever laid eyes on. So why vex myself with

even thinking of this stupid stranger who was killed by another stupid stranger? As well might one die of

"Oh, you'll get used to it," she assured me cheerfully, and returned to her sewing.

I asked her if she had read Moody's Ship of Souls, but she had not. I searched her out further. She liked

Browning, and was especially fond of The Ring and the Book. This was the key to her. She cared only for

For instance, the mention of Schopenhauer produced smiles and laughter. To her all the philosophers of

pessimism were laughable. The red blood of her would not permit her to take them seriously. I tried her out

with a conversation I had had with De Casseres shortly before leaving New York. De Casseres, after tracing

Jules de Gaultier's philosophic genealogy back to Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, had concluded with the

proposition that out of their two formulas de Gaultier had constructed an even profounder formula. The

"Willto Live" of the one and the "WilltoPower" of the other were, after all, only parts of de Gaultier's

I flatter myself that even De Casseres would have been pleased with the way I repeated his argument. And

when I had concluded it, Miss West promptly demanded if the realists might not be fooled by their own

phrases as often and as completely as were the poor common mortals with the vital lies they never

And there we were. An ordinary young woman, who had never vexed her brains with ultimate problems,

hears such things stated for the first time, and immediately, and with a laugh, sweeps them all away. I doubt

"Do you believe in God?" I asked rather abruptly. She dropped her sewing into her lap, looked at me

meditatively, then gazed on and away across the flashing sea and up into the azure dome of sky. And finally,

"I really don't know. I don't bother my head about such things. I used to when I was a little girl. And yet . . .

yes, surely I believe in God. At times, when I am not thinking about it at all, I am very sure, and my faith that

all is well is just as strong as the faith of your Jewish friend in the phrases of the philosophers. That's all it

"Ah, I have you now, Miss West!" I cried. "You are a true daughter of Herodias."

"And it isn't," I exulted. "Nevertheless, it is what you are. It is Arthur Symon's poem, The Daughters of

Herodias. Some day I shall read it to you, and you will answer. I know you will answer that you, too, have

We had just got upon the subject of music, of which she possesses a surprisingly solid knowledge, and she

was telling me that Debussy and his school held no particular charm for her, when Possum set up a wild

The puppy had strayed for'ard along the bridge to the 'midshiphouse, and had evidently been investigating

the chickens when his disaster came upon him. So shrill was his terror that we both stood up. He was dashing

along the bridge toward us at full speed, yelping at every jump and continually turning his head back in the

I spoke to him and held out my hand, and was rewarded with a snap and clash of teeth as he scuttled past.

Still with head turned back, he went on along the poop. Before I could apprehend his danger, Mr. Pike and

Miss West were after him. The mate was the nearer, and with a magnificent leap gained the rail just in time to

intercept Possum, who was blindly going overboard under the slender railing. With a sort of scooping kick

Mr. Pike sent the animal rolling half across the poop. Howling and snapping more violently, Possum regained

"Don't touch him!" Mr. Pike cried, as Miss West showed her intention of catching the crazed little animal

But it did not deter her. He was halfway under the railing when she caught him up and held him at arm's

"It's a fit," said Mr. Pike, as the terrier collapsed and lay on the deck jerking convulsively.

"Perhaps a chicken pecked him," said Miss West. "At any rate, get a bucket of water."

"Better let me take him," I volunteered helplessly, for I was unfamiliar with fits.

"No; it's all right," she answered. "I'll take charge of him. The cold water is what he needs. He got too close to

"First time I ever heard of a fit coming that way," Mr. Pike remarked, as he poured water over the puppy

under Miss West's direction. "It's just a plain puppy fit. They all get them at sea."

"I think it was the sails that caused it," I argued. "I've noticed that he is very afraid of them. When they flap,

he crouches down in terror and starts to run. You noticed how he ran with his head turned back?"

"I've seen dogs with fits do that when there was nothing to frighten them," Mr. Pike contended.

"It was a fit, no matter what caused it," Miss West stated conclusively. "Which means that he has not been

fed properly. From now on I shall feed him. You tell your boy that, Mr. Pathurst. Nobody is to feed Possum

At this juncture Wada arrived with Possum's little sleeping box, and they prepared to take him below.

"It was splendid of you, Miss West," I said, "and rash, as well, and I won't attempt to thank you. But I tell you

"No; but I'll take care of him for you. Now don't bother to come below. This is my affair, and you would only

And I was rather surprised, as I returned to my deck chair and sat down, to find how affected I was by the

little episode. I remembered, at the first, that my pulse had been distinctly accelerated with the excitement of

what had taken place. And somehow, as I leaned back in my chair and lighted a cigarette, the strangeness of

the whole voyage vividly came to me. Miss West and I talk philosophy and art on the poop of a stately ship

in a circle of flashing sea, while Captain West dreams of his far home, and Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire stand

watch and watch and snarl orders, and the slaves of men pull and haul, and Possum has fits, and Andy Fay

and Mulligan Jacobs burn with hatred unconsumable, and the smallhanded halfcaste Chinese cooks for all,

and Sundry Buyers perpetually presses his abdomen, and O'Sullivan raves in the steel cell of the

'midshiphouse, and Charles Davis lies about him nursing a marlin spike, and Christian Jespersen, miles

Two weeks out today, on a balmy sea, under a cloudflecked sky, and slipping an easy eight knots through

the water to a light easterly wind. Captain West said he was almost convinced that it was the northeast trade.

Also, I have learned that the Elsinore, in order to avoid being jammed down on Cape San Roque, on the

Brazil coast, must first fight eastward almost to the coast of Africa. On occasion, on this traverse, the Cape

Verde Islands are raised. No wonder the voyage from Baltimore to Seattle is reckoned at eighteen thousand

I found Tony, the suicidal Greek, steering this morning when I came on deck. He seemed sensible enough,

and quite rationally took off his hat when I said good morning to him. The sick men are improving nicely,

with the exceptions of Charles Davis and O'Sullivan. The latter still is lashed to his bunk, and Mr. Pike has

compelled Davis to attend on him. As a result, Davis moves about the deck, bringing food and water from the

Wada told me a strange thing this morning. It seems that he, the steward, and the two sailmakers foregather

each evening in the cook's roomall being Asiaticswhere they talk over ship's gossip. They seem to miss

little, and Wada brings it all to me. The thing Wada told me was the curious conduct of Mr. Mellaire. They

have sat in judgment on him and they do not approve of his intimacy with the three gangsters for'ard.

"But, Wada," I said, "he is not that kind of a man. He is very hard and rough with all the sailors. He treats

"Sure," assented Wada. "Other sailors he do that. But those three very bad men he make good friends. Louis

say second mate belong aft like first mate and captain. No good for second mate talk like friend with sailors.

No good for ship. Bime by trouble. You see. Louis say Mr. Mellaire crazy do that kind funny business."

All of which, if it were true, and I saw no reason to doubt it, led me to inquire. It seems that the gangsters,

Kid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and Bert Rhine, have made themselves cocks of the forecastle. Standing together,

they have established a reign of terror and are ruling the forecastle. All their training in New York in ruling

the slum brutes and weaklings in their gangs fits them for the part. As near as I could make out from Wada's

tale, they first began on the two Italians in their watch, Guido Bombini and Mike Cipriani. By means I cannot

guess, they have reduced these two wretches to trembling slaves. As an instance, the other night, according to

the ship's gossip, Bert Rhine made Bombini get out of bed and fetch him a drink of water.

Isaac Chantz is likewise under their rule, though he is treated more kindly. Herman Lunkenheimer, a

goodnatured but simpleminded dolt of a German, received a severe beating from the three because he

refused to wash some of Nosey Murphy's dirty garments. The two bosuns are in fear of their lives with this

clique, which is growing; for Steve Roberts, the excowboy, and the whiteslaver, Arthur Deacon, have been

I am the only one aft who possesses this information, and I confess I don't know what to do with it. I know

that Mr. Pike would tell me to mind my own business. Mr. Mellaire is out of the question. And Captain West

hasn't any crew. And I fear Miss West would laugh at me for my pains. Besides, I understand that every

forecastle has its bully, or group of bullies; so this is merely a forecastle matter and no concern of the

afterguard. The ship's work goes on. The only effect I can conjecture is an increase in the woes of the

Oh, and another thing Wada told me. The gangster clique has established its privilege of taking first cut of

the saltbeef in the meatkids. After that, the rest take the rejected pieces. But I will say, contrary to my

expectations, the Elsinore's forecastle is well found. The men are not on whack. They have all they want to

eat. A barrel of good hardtack stands always open in the forecastle. Louis bakes fresh bread for the sailors

three times a week. The variety of food is excellent, if not the quality. There is no restriction in the amount of

water for drinking purposes. And I can only say that in this good weather the men's appearance improves

Possum is very sick. Each day he grows thinner. Scarcely can I call him a perambulating skeleton, because he

is too weak to walk. Each day, in this delightful weather, Wada, under Miss West's instructions, brings him

up in his box and places him out of the wind on the awninged poop. She has taken full charge of the puppy,

and has him sleep in her room each night. I found her yesterday, in the chartroom, reading up the Elsinore's

medical library. Later on she overhauled the medicinechest. She is essentially the lifegiving,

lifeconserving female of the species. All her ways, for herself and for others, make toward life.

And yetand this is so curious it gives me pauseshe shows no interest in the sick and injured for'ard.

They are to her cattle, or less than cattle. As the lifegiver and raceconserver, I should have imagined her a

Lady Bountiful, tripping regularly into that ghastly steelwalled hospital room of the midshiphouse and

dispensing gruel, sunshine, and even tracts. On the contrary, as with her father, these wretched humans do not

And still again, when the steward jammed a splinter under his nail, she was greatly concerned, and

manipulated the tweezers and pulled it out. The Elsinore reminds me of a slave plantation before the war; and

Miss West is the lady of the plantation, interested only in the houseslaves. The field slaves are beyond her

ken or consideration, and the sailors are the Elsinore's field slaves. Why, several days back, when Wada

suffered from a severe headache, she was quite perturbed, and dosed him with aspirin. Well, I suppose this is

We have the phonograph in the second dogwatch every other evening in this fine weather. On the alternate

evenings this period is Mr. Pike's watch on deck. But when it is his evening below, even at dinner, he betrays

his anticipation by an eagerness ill suppressed. And yet, on each such occasion, he punctiliously waits until

we ask if we are to be favoured with music. Then his hardbitten face lights up, although the lines remain

hard as ever, hiding his ecstasy, and he remarks gruffly, offhandedly, that he guesses he can play over a few

records. And so, every other evening, we watch this killer and driver, with lacerated knuckles and gorilla

paws, brushing and caressing his beloved discs, ravished with the music of them, and, as he told me early in

A strange experience is this life on the Elsinore. I confess, while it seems that I have been here for long

months, so familiar am I with every detail of the little round of living, that I cannot orient myself. My mind

continually strays from things nonunderstandable to things incomprehensiblefrom our Samurai captain

with the exquisite Gabriel voice that is heard only in the tumult and thunder of storm; on to the illtreated and

feebleminded faun with the bright, liquid, painfilled eyes; to the three gangsters who rule the forecastle

and seduce the second mate; to the perpetually muttering O'Sullivan in the steelwalled hole and the

complaining Davis nursing the marlin spike in the upper bunk; and to Christian Jespersen somewhere adrift

in this vastitude of ocean with a coalsack at his feet. At such moments all the life on the Elsinore becomes

I am a philosopher. Therefore, it is unreal to me. But is it unreal to Messrs. Pike and Mellaire? to the lunatics

and idiots? to the rest of the stupid herd for'ard? I cannot help remembering a remark of De Casseres. It was

over the wine in Mouquin's. Said he: "The profoundest instinct in man is to war against the truth; that is,

against the Real. He shuns facts from his infancy. His life is a perpetual evasion. Miracle, chimera and

tomorrow keep him alive. He lives on fiction and myth. It is the Lie that makes him free. Animals alone are

given the privilege of lifting the veil of Isis; men dare not. The animal, awake, has no fictional escape from

the Real because he has no imagination. Man, awake, is compelled to seek a perpetual escape into Hope,

Belief, Fable, Art, God, Socialism, Immortality, Alcohol, Love. From MedusaTruth he makes an appeal to

Ben will agree that I have quoted him fairly. And so, the thought comes to me, that to all these slaves of the

Elsinore the Real is real because they fictionally escape it. One and all they are obsessed with the belief that

they are free agents. To me the Real is unreal, because I have torn aside the veils of fiction and myth. My

pristine fictional escape from the Real, making me a philosopher, has bound me absolutely to the wheel of the

Real. I, the super realist, am the only unrealist on board the Elsinore. Therefore I, who penetrate it deepest,

Paradoxes? I admit it. All deep thinkers are drowned in the sea of contradictions. But all the others on the

Elsinore, sheer surface swimmers, keep afloat on this seaforsooth, because they have never dreamed its

depth. And I can easily imagine what Miss West's practical, hardheaded judgment would be on these

speculations of mine. After all, words are traps. I don't know what I know, nor what I think I think.

This I do know: I cannot orient myself. I am the maddest and most sealost soul on board. Take Miss West. I

am beginning to admire her. Why, I know not, unless it be because she is so abominably healthy. And yet, it

is this very health of her, the absence of any shred of degenerative genius, that prevents her from being great .

A number of times, now, I have come in during the day to listen to her playing. The piano is good, and her

teaching has evidently been of the best. To my astonishment I learn that she is a graduate of Bryn Mawr, and

that her father took a degree from old Bowdoin long ago. And yet she lacks in her music.

Her touch is masterful. She has the firmness and weight (without sharpness or pounding) of a man's

playingthe strength and surety that most women lack and that some women know they lack. When she

makes a slip she is ruthless with herself, and replays until the difficulty is overcome. And she is quick to

Yes, and there is a sort of temperament in her work, but there is no sentiment, no fire. When she plays

Chopin, she interprets his sureness and neatness. She is the master of Chopin's technique, but she never walks

where Chopin walks on the heights. Somehow, she stops short of the fulness of music.

I did like her method with Brahms, and she was not unwilling, at my suggestion, to go over and over the

Three Rhapsodies. On the Third Intermezzo she was at her best, and a good best it was.

"You were talking of Debussy," she remarked. "I've got some of his stuff here. But I don't get into it. I don't

understand it, and there is no use in trying. It doesn't seem altogether like real music to me. It fails to get hold

"Y. . . es," she admitted grudgingly. "His New England Idylls and Fireside Tales. And I like that Finnish

man's stuff, Sibelius, too, although it seems to me too soft, too richly soft, too beautiful, if you know what I

What a pity, I thought, that with that noble masculine touch of hers she is unaware of the deeps of music.

Some day I shall try to get from her just what Beethoven, say, and Chopin, mean to her. She has not read

Shaw's Perfect Wagnerite, nor had she ever heard of Nietzsche's Case of Wagner. She likes Mozart, and old

Boccherini, and Leonardo Leo. Likewise she is partial to Schumann, especially Forest Scenes. And she

played his Papillons most brilliantly. When I closed my eyes I could have sworn it was a man's fingers on the

And yet, I must say it, in the long run her playing makes me nervous. I am continually led up to false

expectations. Always, she seems just on the verge of achieving the big thing, the superbig thing, and always

she just misses it by a shade. Just as I am prepared for the culminating flash and illumination, I receive more

perfection of technique. She is cold. She must be cold . . . Or else, and the theory is worth considering, she is

Was there ever such a voyage! This morning, when I came on deck, I found nobody at the wheel. It was a

startling sightthe great Elsinore, by the wind, under an Alpine range of canvas, every sail set from skysails

to trysails and spanker, slipping across the surface of a mild tradewind sea, and no hand at the wheel to

No one was on the poop. It was Mr. Pike's watch, and I strolled for'ard along the bridge to find him. He was

on Number One hatch giving some instructions to the sailmakers. I awaited my chance, until he glanced up

And then he exploded into action. The agelag left his massive frame, and he bounded aft along the deck at a

speed no man on board could have exceeded; and I doubt if very many could have equalled it. He went up the

poopladder three steps at a time and disappeared in the direction of the wheel behind the charthouse.

Next came a promptitude of bellowed orders, and all the watch was slacking away after braces to starboard

and pulling on after braces to port. I had already learned the manoeuvre. Mr. Pike was wearing ship.

As I returned aft along the bridge Mr. Mellaire and the carpenter emerged from the cabin door. They had

been interrupted at breakfast, for they were wiping their mouths. Mr. Pike came to the break of the poop,

called down instructions to the second mate, who proceeded for'ard, and ordered the carpenter to take the

As the Elsinore swung around on her heel Mr. Pike put her on the back track so as to cover the water she had

just crossed over. He lowered the glasses through which he was scanning the sea and pointed down the

Captain West strolled out of the chartroom. He said good morning in his customary way, courteously to me

and formally to the mate, and strolled on along the poop to the wheel, where he paused to glance into the

binnacle. Turning, he went on leisurely to the break of the poop. Again he came back to us. Fully two

Evidently the affair was not serious enough for Captain West to be the Samurai. He lighted a cigar and

resumed his stroll. And yet he had missed nothing, not even the absence of the ladder.

Mr. Pike sent lookouts aloft to every skysailyard, and the Elsinore slipped along through the smooth sea.

Miss West came up and stood beside me, searching the ocean with her eyes while I told her the little I knew.

She evidenced no excitement, and reassured me by telling me how difficult it was to lose a man of Tony's

"Their madness always seems to come upon them in fine weather or under safe circumstances," she smiled,

"when a boat can be lowered or a tug is alongside. And sometimes they take lifepreservers with them, as in

At the end of an hour Mr. Pike wore the Elsinore around, and again retraced the course she must have been

sailing when the Greek went over. Captain West still strolled and smoked, and Miss West made a brief trip

below to give Wada forgotten instructions about Possum. Andy Pay was called to the wheel, and the

It all seemed rather callous to me. Nobody was much concerned for the man who was overboard somewhere

on that lonely ocean. And yet I had to admit that everything possible was being done to find him. I talked a

little with Mr. Pike, and he seemed more vexed than anything else. He disliked to have the ship's work

"We are shorthanded enough as it is," he told me, when he joined us on the poop. "We can't afford to lose

The hail came from the mizzenskysailyard. The Maltese Cockney it was who first sighted the man and

called down the information. The mate, looking to windwards, suddenly lowered his glasses, rubbed his eyes

in a puzzled way, and looked again. Then Miss West, using another pair of glasses, cried out in surprise and

"He's on the ladder," he said. "I'd forgotten that. It fooled me at first. I couldn't understand it." He turned to

the second mate. "Mr. Mellaire, will you launch the long boat and get some kind of a crew into it while I back

"You go, too," Miss West said to me. "It will be an opportunity to get outside the Elsinore and see her under

Mr. Pike nodded consent, so I went along, sitting near him in the sternsheets where he steered, while half a

dozen hands rowed us toward the suicide, who stood so weirdly upon the surface of the sea. The Maltese

Cockney pulled the stroke oar, and among the other five men was one whose name I had but recently

learnedDitman Olansen, a Norwegian. A good seaman, Mr. Mellaire had told me, in whose watch he was;

a good seaman, but "crankeyed." When pressed for an explanation Mr. Mellaire had said that he was the sort

of man who flew into blind rages, and that one never could tell what little thing would produce such a rage.

As near as I could grasp it, Ditman Olansen was a Berserker type. Yet, as I watched him pulling in good time

at the oar, his large, paleblue eyes seemed almost bovinethe last man in the world, in my judgment, to

As we drew close to the Greek he began to scream menacingly at us and to brandish a sheathknife. His

weight sank the ladder until the water washed his knees, and on this submerged support he balanced himself

with wild writhing and outflinging of arms. His face, grimacing like a monkey's, was not a pretty thing to

look upon. And as he continued to threaten us with the knife I wondered how the problem of rescuing him

But I should have trusted Mr. Pike for that. He removed the boat stretcher from under the Maltese

Cockney's feet and laid it close to hand in the sternsheets. Then he had the men reverse the boat and back it

upon the Greek. Dodging a sweep of the knife, Mr. Pike awaited his chance, until a passing wave lifted the

boat's stern high, while Tony was sinking toward the trough. This was the moment. Again I was favoured

with a sample of the lightning speed with which that aged man of sixtynine could handle his body. Timed

precisely, and delivered in a flash and with weight, the boatstretcher came down on the Greek's head. The

knife fell into the sea, and the demented creature collapsed and followed it, knocked unconscious. Mr. Pike

scooped him out, quite effortlessly it seemed to me, and flung him into the boat's bottom at my feet.

The next moment the men were bending to their oars and the mate was steering back to the Elsinore. It was a

stout rap Mr. Pike had administered with the boatstretcher. Thin streaks of blood oozed on the damp,

plastered hair from the broken scalp. I could but stare at the lump of unconscious flesh that dripped seawater

at my feet. A man, all life and movement one moment, defying the universe, reduced the next moment to

immobility and the blackness and blankness of death, is always a fascinating object for the contemplative eye

of the philosopher. And in this case it had been accomplished so simply, by means of a stick of wood brought

If Tony the Greek be accounted an APPEARANCE, what was he now?a DISAPPEARANCE? And if so,

whither had he disappeared? And whence would he journey back to reoccupy that body when what we call

consciousness returned to him? The first word, much less the last, of the phenomena of personality and

Pondering thus, I chanced to lift my eyes, and the glorious spectacle of the Elsinore burst upon me. I had been

so long on board, and in board of her, that I had forgotten she was a whitepainted ship. So low to the water

was her hull, so delicate and slender, that the tall, skyreaching spars and masts and the hugeness of the

spread of canvas seemed preposterous and impossible, an insolent derision of the law of gravitation. It

required effort to realize that that slim curve of hull inclosed and bore up from the sea's bottom five thousand

tons of coal. And again, it seemed a miracle that the mites of men had conceived and constructed so stately

and magnificent an elementdefying fabricmites of men, most woefully like the Greek at my feet, prone to

precipitation into the blackness by means of a rap on the head with a piece of wood.

Tony made a struggling noise in his throat, then coughed and groaned. From somewhere he was reappearing.

I noticed Mr. Pike look at him quickly, as if apprehending some recrudescence of frenzy that would require

more boatstretcher. But Tony merely fluttered his big black eyes open and stared at me for a long minute of

"Put 'm back to work," was the reply. "It's all he's good for, and he ain't hurt. Somebody's got to work this

When we hoisted the boat on board I found Miss West had gone below. In the chartroom Captain West was

winding the chronometers. Mr. Mellaire had turned in to catch an hour or two of sleep ere his watch on deck

at noon. Mr. Mellaire, by the way, as I have forgotten to state, does not sleep aft. He shares a room in the

Nobody showed sympathy for the unfortunate Greek. He was bundled out upon Number Two hatch like so

much carrion and left there unattended, to recover consciousness as he might elect. Yes, and so inured have I

become that I make free to admit I felt no sympathy for him myself. My eyes were still filled with the beauty

One does not mind the trades. We have held the northeast trade for days now, and the miles roll off behind

us as the patent log whirls and tinkles on the taffrail. Yesterday, log and observation approximated a run of

two hundred and fiftytwo miles; the day before we ran two hundred and forty, and the day before that two

hundred and sixtyone. But one does not appreciate the force of the wind. So balmy and exhilarating is it that

it is so much atmospheric wine. I delight to open my lungs and my pores to it. Nor does it chill. At any hour

of the night, while the cabin lies asleep, I break off from my reading and go up on the poop in the thinnest of

I never knew before what the trade wind was. And now I am infatuated with it. I stroll up and down for an

hour at a time, with whichever mate has the watch. Mr. Mellaire is always fullgarmented, but Mr. Pike, on

these delicious nights, stands his first watch after midnight in his pyjamas. He is a fearfully muscular man.

Sixtynine years seem impossible when I see his single, slimpsy garments pressed like fleshings against his

form and bulged by heavy bone and huge muscle. A splendid figure of a man! What he must have been in the

The days, so filled with simple routine, pass as in a dream. Here, where time is rigidly measured and

emphasized by the changing of the watches, where every hour and halfhour is persistently brought to one's

notice by the striking of the ship's bells fore and aft, time ceases. Days merge into days, and weeks slip into

The Elsinore is never totally asleep. Day and night, always, there are the men on watch, the lookout on the

forecastle head, the man at the wheel, and the officer of the deck. I lie reading in my bunk, which is on the

weather side, and continually over my head during the long night hours impact the footsteps of one mate or

the other, pacing up and down, and, as I well know, the man himself is for ever peering for'ard from the break

of the poop, or glancing into the binnacle, or feeling and gauging the weight and direction of wind on his

cheek, or watching the cloudstuff in the sky adrift and ascud across the stars and the moon. Always,

Last night, or this morning, rather, about two o'clock, as I lay with the printed page swimming drowsily

before me, I was aroused by an abrupt outbreak of snarl from Mr. Pike. I located him as at the break of the

poop; and the man at whom he snarled was Larry, evidently on the main deck beneath him. Not until Wada

Larry, with his funny pug nose, his curiously flat and twisted face, and his querulous, plaintive chimpanzee

eyes, had been moved by some unlucky whim to venture an insolent remark under the cover of darkness on

the main deck. But Mr. Pike, from above, at the break of the poop, had picked the offender unerringly. This

was when the explosion occurred. Then the unfortunate Larry, truly halfdevil and all child, had waxed

sullen and retorted still more insolently; and the next he knew, the mate, descending upon him like a

Imagine, on Mr. Pike's part, that this was one for Larry and at least ten for Kid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and

Bert Rhine. I'll not be so absurd as to say that the mate is afraid of those gangsters. I doubt if he has ever

experienced fear. It is not in him. On the other hand, I am confident that he apprehends trouble from these

Larry could stand no more than an hour in irons, at which time his stupid brutishness overcame any fear he

might have possessed, because he bellowed out to the poop to come down and loose him for a fair fight.

Promptly Mr. Pike was there with the key to the handcuffs. As if Larry had the shred of a chance against that

redoubtable aged man! Wada reported that Larry, amongst other things, had lost a couple of front teeth and

was laid up in his bunk for the day. When I met Mr. Pike on deck after eight o'clock I glanced at his knuckles.

I cannot help being amused by the keen interest I take in little events like the foregoing. Not only has time

ceased, but the world has ceased. Strange it is, when I come to think of it, in all these weeks I have received

no letter, no telephone call, no telegram, no visitor. I have not been to the play. I have not read a newspaper.

So far as I am concerned, there are no plays nor newspapers. All such things have vanished with the vanished

world. All that exists is the Elsinore, with her queer human freightage and her cargo of coal, cleaving a

I am reminded of Captain Scott, frozen on his southpolar venture, who for ten months after his death was

believed by the world to be alive. Not until the world learned of his death was he anything but alive to the

world. By the same token, was he not alive? And by the same token, here on the Elsinore, has not the

landworld ceased? May not the pupil of one's eye be, not merely the centre of the world, but the world

itself? Truly, it is tenable that the world exists only in consciousness. "The world is my idea," said

Schopenhauer. Said Jules de Gaultier, "The world is my invention." His dogma was that imagination created

the Real. Ah, me, I know that the practical Miss West would dub my metaphysics a depressing and

Today, in our deck chairs on the poop, I read The Daughters of Herodias to Miss West. It was superb in its

effectjust what I had expected of her. She hemstitched a fine white linen handkerchief for her father while

I read. (She is never idle, being so essentially a nestmaker and comfortproducer and raceconserver; and

She smiled, how shall I say?oh, incredulously, triumphantly, oh, with all the sure wisdom of all the

"But they smile innocently and dance on, Having no thought but this unslumbering thought: 'Am I not

beautiful? Shall I not be loved?' Be patient, for they will not understand, Not till the end of time will they put

Ah, Symons knew women! His perfect knowledge she attested when I read that magnificent passage:

"They do not understand that in the world There grows between the sunlight and the grass Anything save

themselves desirable. It seems to them that the swift eyes of men Are made but to be mirrors, not to see

Faroff, disastrous, unattainable things. 'For are not we,' they say, 'the end of all? Why should you look

beyond us? If you look Into the night, you will find nothing there: We also have gazed often at the stars.'"

"It is true," said Miss West, in the pause I permitted in order to see how she had received the thought. "We

"'We, we alone among all beautiful things, We only are real: for the rest are dreams. Why will you follow

after wandering dreams When we await you? And you can but dream Of us, and in our image fashion them.'"

"True, most true," she murmured, while all unconsciously pride and power mounted in her eyes.

"But do you not see . . ." I began impulsively, then abandoned the attempt. For how could she see, being

woman, the "faroff, disastrous, unattainable things," when she, as she so stoutly averred, had gazed often on

She? What could she see, save what all women seethat they only are real, and that all the rest are dreams.

"Well," I admitted lamely, "we agree. You remember it is what I told you you were."

"I am grateful for the compliment," she said; and in those long gray eyes of hers were limned and coloured all

the satisfaction, and self certitude and answering complacency of power that constitute so large a part of the

Heavens!how I read in this fine weather. I take so little exercise that my sleep need is very small; and there

are so few interruptions, such as life teems with on the land, that I read myself almost stupid. Recommend me

a seavoyage any time for a man who is behind in his reading. I am making up years of it. It is an orgy, a

debauch; and I am sure the addled sailors adjudge me the queerest creature on board.

At times, so fuzzy do I get from so much reading, that I am glad for any diversion. When we strike the

doldrums, which lie between the northeast and the southeast trades, I shall have Wada assemble my little

twentytwo automatic rifle and try to learn how to shoot. I used to shoot, when I was a wee lad. I can

remember dragging a shot gun around with me over the hills. Also, I possessed an airrifle, with which, on

While the poop is quite large for promenading, the available space for deckchairs is limited to the awnings

that stretch across from either side of the charthouse and that are of the width of the charthouse. This space

again is restricted to one side or the other according to the slant of the morning and afternoon sun and the

freshness of the breeze. Wherefore, Miss West's chair and mine are most frequently side by side. Captain

West has a chair, which he infrequently occupies. He has so little to do in the working of the ship, taking his

regular observations and working them up with such celerity, that he is rarely in the chartroom for any

length of time. He elects to spend his hours in the main cabin, not reading, not doing anything save dream

with eyes wide open in the draught of wind that pours through the open ports and door from out the huge

Miss West is never idle. Below, in the big afterroom, she does her own laundering. Nor will she let the

steward touch her father's fine linen. In the main cabin she has installed a sewingmachine. All

handstitching, and embroidering, and fancy work she does in the deckchair beside me. She avers that she

loves the sea and the atmosphere of sealife, yet, verily, she has brought her homethings and landthings

Most essentially is she the woman and homemaker. She is a born cook. The steward and Louis prepare

dishes extraordinary and de luxe for the cabin table; yet Miss West is able at a moment's notice to improve on

these dishes. She never lets any of their dishes come on the table without first planning them or passing on

them. She has quick judgment, an unerring taste, and is possessed of the needful steel of decision. It seems

she has only to look at a dish, no matter who has cooked it, and immediately divine its lack or its surplusage,

and prescribe a treatment that transforms it into something indescribably different and deliciousMy, how I

do eat! I am quite dumbfounded by the unfailing voracity of my appetite. Already am I quite convinced that I

She has sailed "out East," as she quaintly calls it, and has an enormous repertoire of tasty, spicy, Eastern

dishes. In the cooking of rice Louis is a master; but in the making of the accompanying curry he fades into a

blundering amateur compared with Miss West. In the matter of curry she is a sheer genius. How often one's

So in this tradewind weather I see a great deal of Miss West. I read all the time, and quite a good part of the

time I read aloud to her passages, and even books, with which I am interested in trying her out. Then, too,

such reading gives rise to discussions, and she has not yet uttered anything that would lead me to change my

And yet she is not what one would call a cute girl. She isn't a girl, she is a mature woman with all the

freshness of a girl. She has the carriage, the attitude of mind, the aplomb of a woman, and yet she cannot be

described as being in the slightest degree stately. She is generous, dependable, sensibleyes, and sensitive;

and her superabundant vitality, the vitality that makes her walk so gloriously, discounts the maturity of her.

Sometimes she seems all of thirty to me; at other times, when her spirits and risibilities are aroused, she

scarcely seems thirteen. I shall make a point of asking Captain West the date of the Dixie's collision with that

river steamer in San Francisco Bay. In a word, she is the most normal, the most healthy, natural woman I

Yes, and she is feminine, despite, no matter how she does her hair, that it is as invariably smooth and

wellgroomed as all the rest of her. On the other hand, this perpetual wellgroomedness is relieved by the

latitude of dress she allows herself. She never fails of being a woman. Her sex, and the lure of it, is ever

present. Possibly she may possess high collars, but I have never seen her in one on board. Her blouses are

always open at the throat, disclosing one of her choicest assets, the muscular, adequate neck, with its

finetextured garmenture of skin. I embarrass myself by stealing long glances at that bare throat of hers and

Visiting the chickens has developed into a regular function. At least once each day we make the journey

for'ard along the bridge to the top of the 'midshiphouse. Possum, who is now convalescent, accompanies us.

The steward makes a point of being there so as to receive instructions and report the eggoutput and laying

conduct of the many hens. At the present time our four dozen hens are laying two dozen eggs a day, with

Already she has given names to most of them. The cock is Peter, of course. A muchspeckled hen is Dolly

Varden. A slim, trim thing that dogs Peter's heels she calls Cleopatra. Another henthe mellowestvoiced

one of allshe addresses as Bernhardt. One thing I have noted: whenever she and the steward have passed

death sentence on a nonlaying hen (which occurs regularly once a week), she takes no part in the eating of

the meat, not even when it is metamorphosed into one of her delectable curries. At such times she has a

Ah, I must not forget. I have learned that it was no maninterest (in me, if you please) that brought about her

sudden interest to come on the voyage. It was for her father that she came. Something is the matter with

Captain West. At rare moments I have observed her gazing at him with a world of solicitude and anxiety in

I was telling an amusing story at table yesterday midday, when my glance chanced to rest upon Miss West.

She was not listening. Her food on her fork was suspended in the air a sheer instant as she looked at her father

with all her eyes. It was a stare of fear. She realized that I was observing, and with superb control, slowly,

quite naturally, she lowered the fork and rested it on her plate, retaining her hold on it and retaining her

But I had seen. Yes; I had seen more than that. I had seen Captain West's face a transparent white, while his

eyelids fluttered down and his lips moved noiselessly. Then the eyelids raised, the lips set again with their

habitual discipline, and the colour slowly returned to his face. It was as if he had been away for a time and

And yet it was this same Captain West, seven hours later, who chastened the proud sailor spirit of Mr. Pike. It

was in the second dogwatch that evening, a dark night, and the watch was pulling away on the main deck. I

had just come out of the charthouse door and seen Captain West pace by me, hands in pockets, toward the

break of the poop. Abruptly, from the mizzenmast, came a snap of breakage and crash of fabric. At the same

Now Mr. Pike is incontestably a splendid seaman. Yet in this instance he had been wrong. I have come to

know him, and I can well imagine the hurt to his pride. And morehe has a wicked, resentful, primitive

nature, and though he answered respectfully enough, "Yes, sir," I felt safe in predicting to myself that the

poor devils under him would receive the weight of his resentment in the later watches of the night.

They evidently did; for this morning I noted a black eye on John Hackey, a San Francisco hoodlum, and

Guido Bombini was carrying a freshly and outrageously swollen jaw. I asked Wada about the matter, and he

soon brought me the news. Quite a bit of beating up takes place for'ard of the deckhouses in the night

Even today Mr. Pike is going around sullen and morose, snarling at the men more than usual, and barely

polite to Miss West and me when we chance to address him. His replies are grunted in monosyllables, and his

face is set in superlative sourness. Miss West who is unaware of the occurrence, laughs and calls it a "sea

But I know Mr. Pike nowthe stubborn, wonderful old seadog. It will be three days before he is himself

again. He takes a terrible pride in his seamanship, and what hurts him most is the knowledge that he was

Today, twentyeight days out, in the early morning, while I was drinking my coffee, still carrying the

northeast trade, we crossed the line. And Charles Davis signalized the event by murdering O'Sullivan. It was

Boney, the lanky splinter of a youth in Mr. Mellaire's watch, who brought the news. The second mate and I

O'Sullivan's troubles were over. The man in the upper bunk had completed the mad, sad span of his life with

I cannot understand this Charles Davis. He sat up calmly in his bunk, and calmly lighted his pipe ere he

replied to Mr. Mellaire. He certainly is not insane. Yet deliberately, in cold blood, he has murdered a helpless

"Because, sir," said Charles Davis, applying a second match to his pipe, "because"puff, puff"he

bothered my sleep." Here he caught Mr. Pike's glowering eye. "Because"puff, puff"he annoyed me. The

next time"puff, puff"I hope better judgment will be shown in what kind of a man is put in with me.

Besides"puff, puff"this top bunk ain't no place for me. It hurts me to get into it"puff, puff"an' I'm

"I told you, sir, because he annoyed me. I got tired of it, an' so, this morning, I just put him out of his misery.

An' what are you goin' to do about it? The man's dead, ain't he? An' I killed 'm in selfdefence. I know the

law. What right'd you to put a ravin' lunatic in with me, an' me sick an' helpless?"

"By God, Davis!" the mate burst forth. "You'll never draw your pay day in Seattle. I'll fix you out for this,

killing a crazy lashed down in his bunk an' harmless. You'll follow 'm overside, my hearty."

"If I do, you'll hang for it, sir," Davis retorted. He turned his cool eyes on me. "An' I call on you, sir, to

witness the threats he's made. An' you'll testify to them, too, in court. An' he'll hang as sure as I go over the

side. Oh, I know his record. He's afraid to face a court with it. He's been up too many a time with charges of

mankillin' an' brutality on the high seas. An' a man could retire for life an live off the interest of the fines

"Shut your mouth or I'll knock it out of your face!" Mr. Pike roared, springing toward him with clenched,

Davis involuntarily shrank away. His flesh was weak, but not so his spirit. He got himself promptly in hand

"You can't get my goat, sir," he sneered, under the shadow of the impending blow. "I ain't scared to die. A

man's got to die once anyway, an' it's none so hard a trick to do when you can't help it. O'Sullivan died so

easy it was amazin'. Besides, I ain't goin' to die. I'm goin' to finish this voyage, an' sue the owners when I get

Truly, I was divided between admiration for the courage of this wretched sailor and sympathy for Mr. Pike

Nevertheless he sprang upon the man with calculated fury, gripped him between the base of the neck and the

shoulders with both gnarled paws, and shook him back and forth, violently and frightfully, for a full minute.

He coughed and strangled, felt his throat, and made wry neck movements indicative of injury.

"The marks'll begin to show in a few minutes," he murmured complacently as his dizziness left him and his

This was too much for Mr. Pike, who turned and left the room, growling and cursing incoherently, deep in his

throat. When I made my departure, a moment later, Davis was refilling his pipe and telling Mr. Mellaire that

So we have had another burial at sea. Mr. Pike was vexed by it because the Elsinore, according to sea

tradition, was going too fast through the water for a proper ceremony. Thus a few minutes of the voyage were

lost by backing the Elsinore's maintopsail and deadening her way while the service was read and O'Sullivan

And we sit on the poop, Miss West and I, tended on by servants, sipping afternoon tea, sewing fancy work,

discussing philosophy and art, while a few feet away from us, on this tiny floating world, all the grimy,

sordid tragedy of sordid, malformed, brutish life plays itself out. And Captain West, remote, untroubled, sits

dreaming in the twilight cabin while the draught of wind from the crojack blows upon him through the open

ports. He has no doubts, no worries. He believes in God. All is settled and clear and well as he nears his far

home. His serenity is vast and enviable. But I cannot shake from my eyes that vision of him when life forsook

his veins, and his mouth slacked, and his eyelids closed, while his face took on the white transparency of

I wonder who will be the next to finish the game and depart with a sack of coal.

"Oh, this is nothing, sir," Mr. Mellaire remarked to me cheerfully as we strolled the poop during the first

watch. "I was once on a voyage on a tramp steamer loaded with four hundred ChinksI beg your pardon,

sirChinese. They were coolies, contract labourers, coming back from serving their time.

"And the cholera broke out. We hove over three hundred of them overboard, sir, along with both bosuns,

most of the Lascar crew, and the captain, the mate, the third mate, and the first and third engineers. The

second and one white oiler was all that was left below, and I was in command on deck, when we made port.

The doctors wouldn't come aboard. They made me anchor in the outer roads and told me to heave out my

dead. There was some tall buryin' about that time, Mr. Pathurst, and they went overboard without canvas,

coal, or iron. They had to. I had nobody to help me, and the Chinks below wouldn't lift a hand.

"I had to go down myself, drag the bodies on to the slings, then climb on deck and heave them up with the

donkey. And each trip I took a drink. I was pretty drunk when the job was done."

"And you never caught it yourself?" I queried. Mr. Mellaire held up his left hand. I had often noted that the

"That's all that happened to me, sir. The old man'd had a fox terrier like yours. And after the old man passed

out the puppy got real, chummy with me. Just as I was making the hoist of the last slingload, what does the

puppy do but jump on my leg and sniff my hand. I turned to pat him, and the next I knew my other hand had

"Heavens!" I cried. "What abominable luck to come through such a terrible experience like that and then lose

"Oh, just held it up and looked at it, and said 'My goodness gracious!' and took another drink."

"No, sir. I reckon I was so full of alcohol the germs dropped dead before they could get to me." He

considered a moment. "Candidly, Mr. Pathurst, I don't know about that alcohol theory. The old man and the

mates died drunk, and so did the third engineer. But the chief was a teetotaller, and he died, too."

Never again shall I wonder that the sea is hard. I walked apart from the second mate and stared up at the

magnificent fabric of the Elsinore sweeping and swaying great blotting curves of darkness across the face of

Something has happened. But nobody knows, either fore or aft, except the interested persons, and they will

This I do know: Mr. Pike has received a fearful blow on the head. At table, yesterday, at midday, I arrived

late, and, passing behind his chair, I saw a prodigious lump on top of his head. When I was seated, facing

him, I noted that his eyes seemed dazed; yes, and I could see pain in them. He took no part in the

conversation, ate perfunctorily, behaved stupidly at times, and it was patent that he was controlling himself

And nobody dares ask him what has happened. I know I don't dare ask him, and I am a passenger, a

privileged person. This redoubtable old searelic has inspired me with a respect for him that partakes half of

He acts as if he were suffering from concussion of the brain. His pain is evident, not alone in his eyes and the

strained expression of his face, but by his conduct when he thinks he is unobserved. Last night, just for a

breath of air and a moment's gaze at the stars, I came out of the cabin door and stood on the main deck under

the break of the poop. From directly over my head came a low and persistent groaning. My curiosity was

aroused, and I retreated into the cabin, came out softly on to the poop by way of the charthouse, and strolled

noiselessly for'ard in my slippers. It was Mr. Pike. He was leaning collapsed on the rail, his head resting on

his arms. He was giving voice in secret to the pain that racked him. A dozen feet away he could not be heard.

But, close to his shoulder, I could hear his steady, smothered groaning that seemed to take the form of a

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Always he repeated the phrase five times, then returned to his

Yet he resolutely stands his watches and performs all his duties of chief officer. Oh, I forgot. Miss West

dared to quiz him, and he replied that he had a toothache, and that if it didn't get better he'd pull it out.

Wada cannot learn what has happened. There were no eyewitnesses. He says that the Asiatic clique,

discussing the affair in the cook's room, thinks the three gangsters are responsible. Bert Rhine is carrying a

lame shoulder. Nosey Murphy is limping as from some injury in the hips. And Kid Twist has been so badly

beaten that he has not left his bunk for two days. And that is all the data to build on. The gangsters are as

closemouthed as Mr. Pike. The Asiatic clique has decided that murder was attempted and that all that saved

Last evening, in the second dogwatch, I got another proof that Captain West is not so oblivious of what goes

on aboard the Elsinore as he seems. I had gone for'ard along the bridge to the mizzenmast, in the shadow of

which I was leaning. From the main deck, in the alleyway between the 'midshiphouse and the rail, came

the voices of Bert Rhine, Nosey Murphy, and Mr. Mellaire. It was not ship's work. They were having a

friendly, even sociable chat, for their voices hummed genially, and now and again one or another laughed,

I remembered Wada's reports on this unseamanlike intimacy of the second mate with the gangsters, and tried

to make out the nature of the conversation. But the gangsters were lowvoiced, and all I could catch was the

Suddenly, from the poop, came Captain West's voice. It was the voice, not of the Samurai riding the storm,

but of the Samurai calm and cold. It was clear, soft, and mellow as the mellowest bell ever cast by eastern

artificers of old time to call worshippers to prayer. I know I slightly chilled to itit was so exquisitely sweet

and yet as passionless as the ring of steel on a frosty night. And I knew the effect on the men beneath me was

electrical. I could FEEL them stiffen and chill to it as I had stiffened and chilled. And yet all he said was:

I heard the second mate move along the deck beneath me and stop at the foot of the poopladder.

"Your place is aft on the poop, Mr. Mellaire," said the cold, passionless voice.

That was all. Not another word was spoken. Captain West resumed his stroll on the weather side of the poop,

and Mr. Mellaire, ascending the ladder, went to pacing up and down the lee side.

I continued along the bridge to the forecastle head and purposely remained there half an hour ere I returned to

the cabin by way of the main deck. Although I did not analyze my motive, I knew I did not desire any one to

I have made a discovery. Ninety per cent. of our crew is brunette. Aft, with the exception of Wada and the

steward, who are our servants, we are all blonds. What led me to this discovery was Woodruff's Effects of

Tropical Light on White Men, which I am just reading. Major Woodruff's thesis is that the whiteskinned,

blue eyed Aryan, born to government and command, ever leaving his primeval, overcast and foggy home,

ever commands and governs the rest of the world and ever perishes because of the toowhite light he

But to return. Every one of us who sits aft in the high place is a blond Aryan. For'ard, leavened with a ten per

cent, of degenerate blonds, the remaining ninety per cent, of the slaves that toil for us are brunettes. They will

not perish. According to Woodruff, they will inherit the earth, not because of their capacity for mastery and

government, but because of their skinpigmentation which enables their tissues to resist the ravages of the

And I look at the four of us at tableCaptain West, his daughter, Mr. Pike, and myselfall fairskinned,

blueeyed, and perishing, yet mastering and commanding, like our fathers before us, to the end of our type on

the earth. Ah, well, ours is a lordly history, and though we may be doomed to pass, in our time we shall have

trod on the faces of all peoples, disciplined them to obedience, taught them government, and dwelt in the

palaces we have compelled them by the weight of our own right arms to build for us.

The Elsinore depicts this in miniature. The best of the food and all spacious and beautiful accommodation is

As a king, Captain West sits above all. As a captain of soldiers, Mr. Pike enforces his king's will. Miss West

is a princess of the royal house. And I? Am I not an honourable, noblelineaged pensioner on the deeds and

achievements of my father, who, in his day, compelled thousands of the lesser types to the building of the

The northwest trade carried us almost into the southeast trade, and then left us for several days to roll and

During this time I have discovered that I have a genius for rifle shooting. Mr. Pike swore I must have had

long practice; and I confess I was myself startled by the ease of the thing. Of course, it's the knack; but one

By the end of half an hour, standing on the heaving deck and shooting at bottles floating on the rolling swell,

I found that I broke each bottle at the first shot. The supply of empty bottles giving out, Mr. Pike was so

interested that he had the carpenter saw me a lot of small square blocks of hard wood. These were more

satisfactory. A wellaimed shot threw them out of the water and spinning into the air, and I could use a single

block until it had drifted out of range. In an hour's time I could, shooting quickly and at short range, empty

my magazine at a block and hit it nine times, and, on occasion, ten times, out of eleven.

I might not have judged my aptitude as unusual, had I not induced Miss West and Wada to try their hands.

Neither had luck like mine. I finally persuaded Mr. Pike, and he went behind the wheelhouse so that none of

the crew might see how poor a shot he was. He was never able to hit the mark, and was guilty of the most

"I never could get the hang of rifleshooting," he announced disgustedly, "but when it comes to close range

with a gat I'm right there. I guess I might as well overhaul mine and limber it up."

He went below and came back with a huge '44 automatic pistol and a handful of loaded clips.

"Anywhere from right against the body up to ten or twelve feet away, holding for the stomach, it's

astonishing, Mr. Pathurst, what you can do with a weapon like this. Now you can't use a rifle in a mixup.

I've been down and under, with a bunch giving me the boot, when I turned loose with this. Talk about

damage! It ranged them the full length of their bodies. One of them'd just landed his brogans on my face

when I let'm have it. The bullet entered just above his knee, smashed the collarbone, where it came out, and

then clipped off an ear. I guess that bullet's still going. It took more than a full sized man to stop it. So I say,

"Ain't you afraid you'll use all your ammunition up?" he asked anxiously half an hour later, as I continued to

He was quite reassured when I told him Wada had brought along fifty thousand rounds for me.

In the midst of the shooting, two sharks came swimming around. They were quite large, Mr. Pike said, and he

estimated their length at fifteen feet. It was Sunday morning, so that the crew, except for working the ship,

had its time to itself, and soon the carpenter, with a rope for a fishline and a great iron hook baited with a

chunk of salt pork the size of my head, captured first one, and then the other, of the monsters. They were

hoisted in on the main deck. And then I saw a spectacle of the cruelty of the sea.

The full crew gathered about with sheath knives, hatchets, clubs, and big butcher knives borrowed from the

galley. I shall not give the details, save that they gloated and lusted, and roared and bellowed their delight in

the atrocities they committed. Finally, the first of the two fish was thrown back into the ocean with a pointed

stake thrust into its upper and lower jaws so that it could not close its mouth. Inevitable and prolonged

"I'll show you something, boys," Andy Fay cried, as they prepared to handle the second shark.

The Maltese Cockney had been a most capable master of ceremonies with the first one. More than anything

else, I think, was I hardened against these brutes by what I saw them do. In the end, the maltreated fish

thrashed about the deck entirely eviscerated. Nothing remained but the mere fleshshell of the creature, yet it

would not die. It was amazing the life that lingered when all the vital organs were gone. But more amazing

Mulligan Jacobs, his arms a butcher's to the elbows, without as much as "by your leave," suddenly thrust a

hunk of meat into my hand. I sprang back, startled, and dropped it to the deck, while a gleeful howl went up

from the twoscore men. I was shamed, despite myself. These brutes held me in little respect; and, after all,

human nature is so strange a compound that even a philosopher dislikes being held in disesteem by the brutes

I looked at what I had dropped. It was the heart of the shark, and as I looked, there under my eyes, on the

scorching deck where the pitch oozed from the seams, the heart pulsed with life.

And I dared. I would not permit these animals to laugh at any fastidiousness of mine. I stooped and picked up

the heart, and while I concealed and conquered my qualms I held it in my hand and felt it beat in my hand.

At any rate, I had won a mild victory over Mulligan Jacobs; for he abandoned me for the more delectable

diversion of torturing the shark that would not die. For several minutes it had been lying quite motionless.

Mulligan Jacobs smote it a heavy blow on the nose with the flat of a hatchet, and as the thing galvanized into

life and flung its body about the deck the little venomous man screamed in ecstasy:

He squirmed and writhed with fiendish delight, and again he struck it on the nose and made it leap.

This was too much, and I beat a retreatfeigning boredom, or cessation of interest, of course; and absently

As I came upon the poop I saw Miss West, with her sewing basket, emerging from the port door of the

charthouse. The deckchairs were on that side, so I stole around on the starboard side of the chart house in

order to fling overboard unobserved the dreadful thing I carried. But, drying on the surface in the tropic heat

and still pulsing inside, it stuck to my hand, so that it was a bad cast. Instead of clearing the railing, it struck

on the pinrail and stuck there in the shade, and as I opened the door to go below and wash my hands, with a

When I came back it was still pulsing. I heard a splash overside from the waist of the ship, and knew the

carcass had been flung overboard. I did not go around the charthouse and join Miss West, but stood

Boisterous shouts from the sailors attracted my attention. They had all climbed to the top of the tall rail and

were watching something outboard. I followed their gaze and saw the amazing thing. That longeviscerated

shark was not dead. It moved, it swam, it thrashed about, and ever it strove to escape from the surface of the

ocean. Sometimes it swam down as deep as fifty or a hundred feet, and then, still struggling to escape the

surface, struggled involuntarily to the surface. Each failure thus to escape fetched wild laughter from the men.

But why did they laugh? The thing was sublime, horrible, but it was not humorous. I leave it to you. What is

there laughable in the sight of a paindistraught fish rolling helplessly on the surface of the sea and exposing

I was turning away, when renewed shouting drew my gaze. Half a dozen other sharks had appeared, smaller

ones, nine or ten feet long. They attacked their helpless comrade. They tore him to pieces they destroyed him,

devoured him. I saw the last shred of him disappear down their maws. He was gone, disintegrated, entombed

in the living bodies of his kind, and already entering into the processes of digestion. And yet, there, in the

The voyage is doomed to disaster and death. I know Mr. Pike, now, and if ever he discovers the identity of

Mr. Mellaire, murder will be done. Mr. Mellaire is not Mr. Mellaire. He is not from Georgia. He is from

Virginia. His name is WalthamSidney Waltham. He is one of the Walthams of Virginia, a black sheep,

true, but a Waltham. Of this I am convinced, just as utterly as I am convinced that Mr. Pike will kill him if he

Let me tell how I have discovered all this. It was last night, shortly before midnight, when I came up on the

poop to enjoy a whiff of the southeast trades in which we are now bowling along, close hauled in order to

weather Cape San Roque. Mr. Pike had the watch, and I paced up and down with him while he told me old

pages of his life. He has often done this, when not "seagrouched," and often he has mentioned with

prideyes, with reverencea master with whom he sailed five years. "Old Captain Somers," he called

Well, last night our talk turned on lugubrious subjects, and Mr. Pike, wicked old man that he is, descanted on

the wickedness of the world and on the wickedness of the man who had murdered Captain Somers.

"He was an old man, over seventy years old," Mr. Pike went on. "And they say he'd got a touch of palsyI

hadn't seen him for years. You see, I'd had to clear out from the coast because of trouble. And that devil of a

second mate caught him in bed late at night and beat him to death. It was terrible. They told me about it.

Right in San Francisco, on board the Jason Harrison, it happened, eleven years ago.

"And do you know what they did? First, they gave the murderer life, when he should have been hanged. His

plea was insanity, from having had his head chopped open a long time before by a crazy seacook. And when

he'd served seven years the governor pardoned him. He wasn't any good, but his people were a powerful old

Virginian family, the WalthamsI guess you've heard of themand they brought all kinds of pressure to

At this moment the warning bell, a single stroke fifteen minutes before the change of watch, rang out from

the wheel and was repeated by the lookout on the forecastle head. Mr. Pike, under his stress of feeling, had

stopped walking, and we stood at the break of the poop. As chance would have it, Mr. Mellaire was a quarter

of an hour ahead of time, and he climbed the poopladder and stood beside us while the mate concluded his

"I didn't mind it," Mr. Pike continued, "as long as he'd got life and was serving his time. But when they

pardoned him out after only seven years I swore I'd get him. And I will. I don't believe in God or devil, and

it's a rotten crazy world anyway; but I do believe in hunches. And I know I'm going to get him."

"Do?" Mr. Pike's voice was fraught with surprise that I should not know. "Do? Well, what did he do to old

Captain Somers? Yet he's disappeared these last three years now. I've heard neither hide nor hair of him. But

In the illumination of a match with which the second mate was lighting his pipe I saw Mr. Pike's gorilla arms

and huge clenched paws raised to heaven, and his face convulsed and working. Also, in that brief moment of

"And I ain't never seen even a photo of him," Mr. Pike added. "But I've got a general idea of his looks, and

he's got a mark unmistakable. I could know him by it in the dark. All I'd have to do is feel it. Some day I'll

"I thought I recognized him. I lay at anchor in a ship next to his in Table Bay that time ago."

"Oh, the wickedness of the world, the wickedness of the world," Mr. Pike muttered as he turned and strode

I said goodnight to the second mate and had started to go below, when he called to me in a low voice, "Mr.

Below, lying in my bunk, I found myself unable to read. My mind was bent on returning to what had just

occurred on deck, and, against my will, the most gruesome speculations kept suggesting themselves.

And then came Mr. Mellaire. He had slipped down the booby hatch into the big afterroom and thence

through the hallway to my room. He entered noiselessly, on clumsy tiptoes, and pressed his finger warningly

to his lips. Not until he was beside my bunk did he speak, and then it was in a whisper.

"I beg your pardon, sir, Mr. Pathurst . . . II beg your pardon; but, you see, sir, I was just passing, and

seeing you awake I . . . I thought it would not inconvenience you to . . . you see, I thought I might just as well

prefer a small favour . . . seeing that I would not inconvenience you, sir . . . I . . . I . . . "

I waited for him to proceed, and in the pause that ensued, while he licked his dry lips with his tongue, the

thing ambushed in his skull peered at me through his eyes and seemed almost on the verge of leaping out and

"Well, sir," he began again, this time more coherently, "it's just a little thingfoolish on my part, of

coursea whim, so to saybut you will remember, near the beginning of the voyage, I showed you a scar

on my head . . . a really small affair, sir, which I contracted in a misadventure. It amounts to a deformity,

which it is my fancy to conceal. Not for worlds, sir, would I care to have Miss West, for instance, know that I

carried such a deformity. A man is a man, sir you understandand you have not spoken of it to her?"

He could not conceal the relief he experienced. The perturbation went out of his face and manner, and the

"The favour, sir, Mr. Pathurst, that I would prefer is that you will not mention that little matter to anybody. I

suppose" (he smiled, and his voice was superlatively suave) "it is vanity on my partyou understand, I am

I nodded, and made a restless movement with my book as evidence that I desired to resume my reading.

"I can depend upon you for that, Mr. Pathurst?" His whole voice and manner had changed. It was practically

a command, and I could almost see fangs, bared and menacing, sprouting in the jaws of that thing I fancied

"Thank you, sirI thank you," he said, and, without more ado, tiptoed from the room.

Of course I did not read. How could I? Nor did I sleep. My mind ran on, and on, and not until the steward

One thing is very evident. Mr. Pike does not dream that the murderer of Captain Somers is on board the

Elsinore. He has never glimpsed that prodigious fissure that clefts Mr. Mellaire's, or, rather, Sidney

Waltham's, skull. And I, for one, shall never tell Mr. Pike. And I know, now, why from the very first I

disliked the second mate. And I understand that live thing, that other thing, that lurks within and peers out

through the eyes. I have recognized the same thing in the three gangsters for'ard. Like the second mate, they

are prison birds. The restraint, the secrecy, and iron control of prison life has developed in all of them terrible

Yes, and another thing is very evident. On board this ship, driving now through the South Atlantic for the

winter passage of Cape Horn, are all the elements of sea tragedy and horror. We are freighted with human

dynamite that is liable at any moment to blow our tiny floating world to fragments.

The days slip by. The southeast trade is brisk and small splashes of sea occasionally invade my open ports.

Mr. Pike's room was soaked yesterday. This is the most exciting thing that has happened for some time. The

gangsters rule in the forecastle. Larry and Shorty have had a harmless FIGHT. The hooks continue to burn in

Mulligan Jacobs's brain. Charles Davis resides alone in his little steel room, coming out only to get his food

from the galley. Miss West plays and sings, doctors Possum, launders, and is for ever otherwise busy with her

fancy work. Mr. Pike runs the phonograph every other evening in the second dogwatch. Mr. Mellaire hides

the cleft in his head. I keep his secret. And Captain West, more remote than ever, sits in the draught of wind

We are now thirtyseven days at sea, in which time, until today, we have not sighted a vessel. And today,

at one time, no less than six vessels were visible from the deck. Not until I saw these ships was I able

Mr. Pike tells me we are several hundred miles off the South American coast. And yet, only the other day, it

seems, we were scarcely more distant from Africa. A big velvety moth fluttered aboard this morning, and we

are filled with conjecture. How possibly could it have come from the South American coast these hundreds of

The Southern Cross has been visible, of course, for weeks; the North Star has disappeared behind the bulge of

the earth; and the Great Bear, at its highest, is very low. Soon it, too, will be gone and we shall be raising the

I remember the fight between Larry and Shorty. Wada reports that Mr. Pike watched it for some time, until,

becoming incensed at their awkwardness, he clouted both of them with his open hands and made them stop,

announcing that until they could make a better showing he intended doing all the fighting on the Elsinore

It is a feat beyond me to realize that he is sixtynine years old. And when I look at the tremendous build of

him and at his fearful, manhandling hands, I conjure up a vision of him avenging Captain Somers's murder.

Life is cruel. Amongst the Elsinore's five thousand tons of coal are thousands of rats. There is no way for

them to get out of their steelwalled prison, for all the ventilators are guarded with stout wiremesh. On her

previous voyage, loaded with barley, they increased and multiplied. Now they are imprisoned in the coal, and

cannibalism is what must occur among them. Mr. Pike says that when we reach Seattle there will be a dozen

or a score of survivors, huge fellows, the strongest and fiercest. Sometimes, passing the mouth of one

ventilator that is in the after wall of the charthouse, I can hear their plaintive squealing and crying from far

Other and luckier rats are in the 'tween decks for'ard, where all the spare suits of sails are stored. They come

out and run about the deck at night, steal food from the galley, and lap up the dew. Which reminds me that

Mr. Pike will no longer look at Possum. It seems, under his suggestion, that Wada trapped a rat in the

donkeyengine room. Wada swears that it was the father of all rats, and that, by actual measurement, it scaled

eighteen inches from nose to the tip of tail. Also, it seems that Mr. Pike and Wada, with the door shut in the

former's room, pitted the rat against Possum, and that Possum was licked. They were compelled to kill the rat

Now Mr. Pike abhors a coward, and his disgust with Possum is profound. He no longer plays with the puppy,

nor even speaks to him, and, whenever he passes him on the deck, glowers sourly at him.

I have been reading up the South Atlantic Sailing Directions, and I find that we are now entering the most

beautiful sunset region in the world. And this evening we were favoured with a sample. I was in my quarters,

overhauling my books, when Miss West called to me from the foot of the charthouse stairs:

Half the sky, from the zenith to the western sealine, was an astonishing sheet of pure, pale, even gold. And

through this sheen, on the horizon, burned the sun, a disc of richer gold. The gold of the sky grew more

golden, then tarnished before our eyes and began to glow faintly with red. As the red deepened, a mist spread

over the whole sheet of gold and the burning yellow sun. Turner was never guilty of so audacious an orgy in

Presently, along the horizon, entirely completing the circle of sea and sky, the tightpacked shapes of the

trade wind clouds began to show through the mist; and as they took form they spilled with rose colour at

their upper edges, while their bases were a pulsing, bluishwhite. I say it advisedly. All the colours of this

As the goldmist continued to clear away, the colours became garish, bold; the turquoises went into greens

and the roses turned to the red of blood. And the purple and indigo of the long swells of sea were bronzed

with the colourriot in the sky, while across the water, like gigantic serpents, crawled red and green

skyreflections. And then all the gorgeousness quickly dulled, and the warm, tropic darkness drew about us.

The Elsinore is truly the ship of souls, the world in miniature; and, because she is such a small world,

cleaving this vastitude of ocean as our larger world cleaves space, the strange juxtapositions that continually

For instance, this afternoon on the poop. Let me describe it. Here was Miss West, in a crisp duck sailor suit,

immaculately white, open at the throat, where, under the broad collar, was knotted a manof war black silk

neckerchief. Her smoothgroomed hair, a trifle rebellious in the breeze, was glorious. And here was I, in

white ducks, white shoes, and white silk shirt, as immaculate and well tended as she. The steward was just

bringing the pretty teaservice for Miss West, and in the background Wada hovered.

We had been discussing philosophyor, rather, I had been feeling her out; and from a sketch of Spinoza's

anticipations of the modern mind, through the speculative interpretations of the latest achievements in

physics of Sir Oliver Lodge and Sir William Ramsay, I had come, as usual, to De Casseres, whom I was

"'In this rise into the azure of pure perception, attainable only by a very few human beings, the spectacular

sense is born,'." I was quoting. "'Life is no longer good or evil. It is a perpetual play of forces without

beginning or end. The freed Intellect merges itself with the WorldWill and partakes of its essence, which is

And at this moment the watch swarmed on to the poop to haul on the portbraces of the mizzenskysail,

royal and topgallantsail. The sailors passed us, or toiled close to us, with lowered eyes. They did not look at

us, so far removed from them were we. It was this contrast that caught my fancy. Here were the high and low,

slaves and masters, beauty and ugliness, cleanness and filth. Their feet were bare and scaled with patches of

tar and pitch. Their unbathed bodies were garmented in the meanest of clothes, dingy, dirty, ragged, and

sparse. Each one had on but two garmentsdungaree trousers and a shoddy cotton shirt.

And we, in our comfortable deckchairs, our two servants at our backs, the quintessence of elegant leisure,

sipped delicate tea from beautiful, fragile cups, and looked on at these wretched ones whose labour made

possible the journey of our little world. We did not speak to them, nor recognize their existence, any more

And Miss West, with the appraising eye of a plantation mistress for the condition of her field slaves, looked

"You see how they have fleshed up," she said, as they coiled the last turns of the ropes over the pins and

faded away for'ard off the poop. "It is the regular hours, the good weather, the hard work, the open air, the

sufficient food, and the absence of whisky. And they will keep in this fettle until they get off the Horn. And

then you will see them go down from day to day. A winter passage of the Horn is always a severe strain on

"But then, once we are around and in the good weather of the Pacific, you will see them gain again from day

to day. And when we reach Seattle they will be in splendid shape. Only they will go ashore, drink up their

wages in several days, and ship away on other vessels in precisely the same sodden, miserable condition that

And just then Captain West came out the charthouse door, strolled by for a single turn up and down, and

with a smile and a word for us and an allobservant eye for the ship, the trim of her sails, the wind, and the

sky, and the weather promise, went back through the chart house doorthe blond Aryan master, the king,

And I finished sipping my tea of delicious and most expensive aroma, and our slanteyed, darkskinned

"'Instinct wills, creates, carries on the work of the species. The Intellect destroys, negatives, satirizes and ends

in pure nihilism, instinct creates life, endlessly, hurling forth profusely and blindly its clowns, tragedians and

comedians. Intellect remains the eternal spectator of the play. It participates at will, but never gives itself

wholly to the fine sport. The Intellect, freed from the trammels of the personal will, soars into the ether of

perception, where Instinct follows it in a thousand disguises, seeking to draw it down to earth.'"

We are now south of Rio and working south. We are out of the latitude of the trades, and the wind is

capricious. Rain squalls and wind squalls vex the Elsinore. One hour we may be rolling sickeningly in a dead

calm, and the next hour we may be dashing fourteen knots through the water and taking off sail as fast as the

men can clew up and lower away. A night of calm, when sleep is well nigh impossible in the sultry, muggy

air, may be followed by a day of blazing sun and an oily swell from the south'ard, connoting great gales in

that area of ocean we are sailing towardor all day long the Elsinore, under an overcast sky, royals and sky

sails furled, may plunge and buck under windpressure into a short and choppy headsea.

And all this means work for the men. Taking Mr. Pike's judgment, they are very inadequate, though by this

time they know the ropes. He growls and grumbles, and snorts and sneers whenever he watches them doing

anything. Today, at eleven in the morning, the wind was so violent, continuing in greater gusts after having

come in a great gust, that Mr. Pike ordered the mainsail taken off. The great crojack was already off. But the

watch could not clew up the mainsail, and, after much vain singsonging and pullhauling, the watch below

"My God!" Mr. Pike groaned to me. "Two watches for a rag like that when half a decent watch could do it!

Poor Nancy! He looked the saddest, sickest, bleakest creature I had ever seen. He was so wretched, so

miserable, so helpless. And Sundry Buyers was just as impotent. The expression on his face was of pain and

hopelessness, and as he pressed his abdomen he lumbered futilely about, ever seeking something he might do

and ever failing to find it. He pottered. He would stand and stare at one rope for a minute or so at a time,

following it aloft with his eyes through the maze of ropes and stabs and gears with all the intentness of a man

working out an intricate problem. Then, holding his hand against his stomach, he would lumber on a few

"Oh dear, oh dear," Mr. Pike lamented. "How can one drive with bosuns like that and a crew like that? Just

the same, if I was captain of this ship I'd drive 'em. I'd show 'em what drive was, if I had to lose a few of

them. And when they grow weak off the Horn what'll we do? It'll be both watches all the time, which will

Evidently this winter passage of the Horn is all that one has been led to expect from reading the narratives of

the navigators. Iron men like the two mates are very respectful of "Cape Stiff," as they call that uttermost tip

of the American continent. Speaking of the two mates, ironmade and ironmouthed that they are, it is

amusing that in really serious moments both of them curse with "Oh dear, oh dear."

In the spells of calm I take great delight in the little rifle. I have already fired away five thousand rounds, and

have come to consider myself an expert. Whatever the knack of shooting may be, I've got it. When I get back

Not only is Possum afraid of the sails and of rats, but he is afraid of riflefire, and at the first discharge goes

yelping and kiyiing below. The dislike Mr. Pike has developed for the poor little puppy is ludicrous. He

even told me that if it were his dog he'd throw it overboard for a target. Just the same, he is an affectionate,

heart warming little rascal, and has already crept so deep into my heart that I am glad Miss West did not

Andoh!he insists on sleeping with me on top the bedding; a proceeding which has scandalized the mate.

"I suppose he'll be using your toothbrush next," Mr. Pike growled at me. But the puppy loves my

companionship, and is never happier than when on the bed with me. Yet the bed is not entirely paradise, for

Possum is badly frightened when ours is the lee side and the seas pound and smash against the glass ports.

Then the little beggar, electric with fear to every hair tip, crouches and snarls menacingly and almost at the

"Father KNOWS the sea," Miss West said to me this afternoon. "He understands it, and he loves it."

"He does know it. And he loves it. That is why he has come back to it. All his people before him were sea

folk. His grandfather, Anthony West, made fortysix voyages between 1801 and 1847. And his father,

Robert, sailed master to the northwest coast before the gold days and was captain of some of the fastest

Cape Horn clippers after the gold discovery. Elijah West, father's greatgrandfather, was a privateersman in

the Revolution. He commanded the armed brig New Defence. And, even before that, Elijah's father, in turn,

and Elijah's father's father, were masters and owners on longvoyage merchant adventures.

"Anthony West, in 1813 and 1814, commanded the David Bruce, with letters of marque. He was halfowner,

with Gracie Sons as the other halfowners. She was a twohundredton schooner, built right up in Maine.

She carried a long eighteenpounder, two tenpounders, and ten sixpounders, and she sailed like a witch.

She ran the blockade off Newport and got away to the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. And, do you

know, though she only cost twelve thousand dollars all told, she took over three hundred thousand dollars of

"So, you see, the sea is in our blood. She is our mother. As far back as we can trace all our line was born to

the sea." She laughed and went on. "We've pirates and slavers in our family, and all sorts of disreputable

searovers. Old Ezra West, just how far back I don't remember, was executed for piracy and his body hung in

"The sea is father's blood. And he knows, well, a ship, as you would know a dog or a horse. Every ship he

sails has a distinct personality for him. I have watched him, in high moments, and SEEN him think. But oh!

the times I have seen him when he does not think when he FEELS and knows everything without thinking

at all. Really, with all that appertains to the sea and ships, he is an artist. There is no other word for it."

"He is the most wonderful man I have ever known," she replied. "Remember, you are not seeing him at his

best. He has never been the same since mother's death. If ever a man and woman were one, they were." She

broke off, then concluded abruptly. "You don't know him. You don't know him at all."

"I think we are going to have a fine sunset," Captain West remarked last evening.

Miss West and I abandoned our rubber of cribbage and hastened on deck. The sunset had not yet come, but

all was preparing. As we gazed we could see the sky gathering the materials, grouping the gray clouds in long

lines and towering masses, spreading its palette with slowgrowing, glowing tints and sudden blobs of

"It's the Golden Gate!" Miss West cried, indicating the west. "See! We're just inside the harbour. Look to the

south there. If that isn't the skyline of San Francisco! There's the Call Building, and there, far down, the

Ferry Tower, and surely that is the Fairmount." Her eyes roved back through the opening between the cloud

masses, and she clapped her hands. "It's a sunset within a sunset! See! The Farallones!"swimming in a

miniature orange and red sunset all their own. "Isn't it the Golden Gate, and San Francisco, and the

Farallones?" She appealed to Mr. Pike, who, leaning near, on the pooprail, was divided between gazing

sourly at Nancy pottering on the main deck and sourly at Possum, who, on the bridge, crouched with terror

"Oh, I don't know," he growled. "It may look like the Farallones to you, but to me it looks like a battleship

Then came the colour riot, the dominant tone of which was green. It was green, green, greenthe

bluegreen of the springing year, and sere and yellow green and tawnybrown green of autumn. There were

orange green, gold green, and a copper green. And all these greens were rich green beyond description; and

yet the richness and the greenness passed even as we gazed upon it, going out of the gray clouds and into the

sea, which assumed the exquisite golden pink of polished copper, while the hollows of the smooth and silken

The gray clouds became a long, low swathe of ruby red, or garnet red such as one sees in a glass of heavy

burgundy when held to the light. There was such depth to this red! And, below it, separated from the main

colourmass by a line of graywhite fog, or line of sea, was another and smaller streak of ruddycoloured

The eastern heavens were equally spectacular. That quarter of the sky was sheer and delicate shell of blue, the

upper portions of which faded, changed, through every harmony, into a pale, yet warm, rose, all trembling,

palpitating, with misty blue tinting into pink. The reflection of this coloured skyshell upon the water made

of the sea a glimmering watered silk, all changeable, blue, Nilegreen, and salmonpink. It was silky, silken,

And the pale moon looked like a wet pearl gleaming through the tinted mist of the skyshell.

In the southern quadrant of the sky we discovered an entirely different sunsetwhat would be accounted a

very excellent orange andred sunset anywhere, with grey clouds hanging low and lighted and tinted on all

"Huh!" Mr. Pike muttered gruffly, while we were exclaiming over our fresh discovery. "Look at the sunset I

And it wasn't. The northern quadrant was a great fen of colour and cloud, that spread ribs of feathery pink,

fleecefrilled, from the horizon to the zenith. It was all amazing. Four sunsets at the one time in the sky!

And as the colours dulled in the slow twilight, the moon, still misty, wept tears of brilliant, heavy silver into

the dim lilac sea. And then came the hush of darkness and the night, and we came to ourselves, out of reverie,

sated with beauty, leaning toward each other as we leaned upon the rail side by side.

I never grow tired of watching Captain West. In a way he bears a sort of resemblance to several of

Washington's portraits. He is six feet of aristocratic thinness, and has a very definite, leisurely and stately

grace of movement. His thinness is almost ascetic. In appearance and manner he is the perfect oldtype New

He has the same gray eyes as his daughter, although his are genial rather than warm; and his eyes have the

same trick of smiling. His skin is pinker than hers, and his brows and lashes are fairer. But he seems removed

beyond passion, or even simple enthusiasm. Miss West is firm, like her father; but there is warmth in her

firmness. He is clean, he is sweet and courteous; but he is coolly sweet, coolly courteous. With all his certain

graciousness, in cabin or on deck, so far as his social equals are concerned, his graciousness is cool, elevated,

He is the perfect master of the art of doing nothing. He never reads, except the Bible; yet he is never bored.

Often, I note him in a deckchair, studying his perfect fingernails, and, I'll swear, not seeing them at all.

Miss West says he loves the sea. And I ask myself a thousand times, "But how?" He shows no interest in any

phase of the sea. Although he called our attention to the glorious sunset I have just described, he did not

remain on deck to enjoy it. He sat below, in the big leather chair, not reading, not dozing, but merely gazing

The days pass, and the seasons pass. We left Baltimore at the tail end of winter, went into spring and on

through summer, and now we are in fall weather and urging our way south to the winter of Cape Horn. And

as we double the Cape and proceed north, we shall go through spring and summera long

summerpursuing the sun north through its declination and arriving at Seattle in summer. And all these

Our white ducks are gone, and, in south latitude thirtyfive, we are wearing the garments of a temperate

clime. I notice that Wada has given me heavier underclothes and heavier pyjamas, and that Possum, of nights,

is no longer content with the top of the bed but must crawl underneath the bedclothes.

We are now off the Plate, a region notorious for storms, and Mr. Pike is on the lookout for a pampero.

Captain West does not seem to be on the lookout for anything; yet I notice that he spends longer hours on

Yesterday we had a hint of Plate weather, and today an awesome fiasco of the same. The hint came last

evening between the twilight and the dark. There was practically no wind, and the Elsinore, just maintaining

steerage way by means of intermittent fans of air from the north, floundered exasperatingly in a huge glassy

Ahead of us, arising with the swiftness of magic, was a dense slate blackness. I suppose it was

cloudformation, but it bore no semblance to clouds. It was merely and sheerly a blackness that towered

higher and higher until it overhung us, while it spread to right and left, blotting out half the sea.

And still the light puffs from the north filled our sails; and still, as the Elsinore floundered on the huge,

smooth swells and the sails emptied and flapped a hollow thunder, we moved slowly towards that ominous

blackness. In the cast, in what was quite distinctly an active thunder cloud, the lightning fairly winked, while

The last puffs left us, and in the hushes, between the rumbles of the nearing thunder, the voices of the men

aloft on the yards came to one's ear as if they were right beside one instead of being hundreds of feet away

and up in the air. That they were duly impressed by what was impending was patent from the earnestness

with which they worked. Both watches toiled under both mates, and Captain West strolled the poop in his

usual casual way, and gave no orders at all, save in low conventional tones, when Mr. Pike came upon the

Miss West, having deserted the scene five minutes before, returned, a proper seawoman, clad in oilskins,

sou'wester, and long seaboots. She ordered me, quite peremptorily, to do the same. But I could not bring

myself to leave the deck for fear of missing something, so I compromised by having Wada bring my

And then the wind came, smack out of the blackness, with the abruptness of thunder and accompanied by the

most diabolical thunder. And with the rain and thunder came the blackness. It was tangible. It drove past us in

the bellowing wind like so much stuff that one could feel. Blackness as well as wind impacted on us. There is

no other way to describe it than by the old, ancient old, way of saying one could not see his hand before his

"Isn't it splendid!" Miss West shouted into my ear, close beside me, as we clung to the railing of the break of

And, I know not whyit must have been spontaneous with both of us in that shouting blackness of wind,

as we clung to the rail to avoid being blown away, our hands went out to each other and my hand and hers

"Daughter of Herodias," I commented grimly to myself; but my hand did not leave hers.

"We've lost way," came her answer. "I think we're caught aback! The wheel's up, but she could not steer!"

The Gabriel voice of the Samurai rang out. "Hard over?" was his mellow stormcall to the man at the wheel.

"Hard over, sir," came the helmsman's reply, vague, cracked with strain, and smothered.

Came the lightning, before us, behind us, on every side, bathing us in flaming minutes at a time. And all the

while we were deafened by the unceasing uproar of thunder. It was a weird sightfar aloft the black

skeleton of spars and masts from which the sails had been removed; lower down, the sailors clinging like

monstrous bugs as they passed the gaskets and furled; beneath them the few set sails, filled backward against

the masts, gleaming whitely, wickedly, evilly, in the fearful illumination; and, at the bottom, the deck and

bridge and houses of the Elsinore, and a tangled riffraff of flying ropes, and clumps and bunches of

It was a great moment, the master's momentcaught all aback with all our bulk and tonnage and infinitude

of gear, and our heavenaspiring masts two hundred feet above our heads. And our master was there, in

sheeting flame, slender, casual, imperturbable, with two menone of them a murdererunder him to pass

on and enforce his will, and with a horde of inefficients and weaklings to obey that will, and pull, and haul,

and by the sheer leverages of physics manipulate our floating world so that it would endure this fury of the

What happened next, what was done, I do not know, save that now and again I heard the Gabriel voice; for

the darkness came, and the rain in pouring, horizontal sheets. It filled my mouth and strangled my lungs as if

I had fallen overboard. It seemed to drive up as well as down, piercing its way under my sou'wester, through

my oilskins, down my tightbuttoned collar, and into my seaboots. I was dizzied, obfuscated, by all this

onslaught of thunder, lightning, wind, blackness, and water. And yet the master, near to me, there on the

poop, lived and moved serenely in all, voicing his wisdom and will to the wisps of creatures who obeyed and

by their brute, puny strength pulled braces, slacked sheets, dragged courses, swung yards and lowered them,

hauled on buntlines and clewlines, smoothed and gasketed the huge spreads of canvas.

How it happened I know not, but Miss West and I crouched together, clinging to the rail and to each other in

the shelter of the thrumming weathercloth. My arm was about her and fast to the railing; her shoulder

pressed close against me, and by one hand she held tightly to the lapel of my oilskin.

An hour later we made our way across the poop to the charthouse, helping each other to maintain footing as

the Elsinore plunged and bucked in the rising sea and was pressed over and down by the weight of wind on

her few remaining set sails. The wind, which had lulled after the rain, had risen in recurrent gusts to storm

violence. But all was well with the gallant ship. The crisis was past, and the ship lived, and we lived, and with

streaming faces and bright eyes we looked at each other and laughed in the bright light of the chart room.

"Who can blame one for loving the sea?" Miss West cried out exultantly, as she wrung the rain from her

ropes of hair which had gone adrift in the turmoil. "And the men of the sea!" she cried. "The masters of the

And the Elsinore lifted on a cresting sea and flung down on her side, so that we were thrown together and

I said goodnight to her at the foot of the stairs, and as I passed the open door to the cabin I glanced in. There

sat Captain West, whom I had thought still on deck. His stormtrappings were removed, his seaboots

replaced by slippers; and he leaned back in the big leather chair, eyes wide open, beholding visions in the

It was at eleven this morning that the Plate gave us a fiasco. Last night's was a real pamperothough a mild

one. Today's promised to be a far worse one, and then laughed at us as a proper cosmic joke. The wind,

during the night, had so eased that by nine in the morning we had all our topgallantsails set. By ten we were

rolling in a dead calm. By eleven the stuff began making up ominously in the south'ard.

The overcast sky closed down. Our lofty trucks seemed to scrape the cloudzenith. The horizon drew in on us

till it seemed scarcely half a mile away. The Elsinore was embayed in a tiny universe of mist and sea. The

lightning played. Sky and horizon drew so close that the Elsinore seemed on the verge of being absorbed,

Then from zenith to horizon the sky was cracked with forked lightning, and the wet atmosphere turned to a

horrid green. The rain, beginning gently, in dead calm, grew into a deluge of enormous streaming drops. It

grew darker and darker, a green darkness, and in the cabin, although it was midday, Wada and the steward

lighted lamps. The lightning came closer and closer, until the ship was enveloped in it. The green darkness

was continually atremble with flame, through which broke greater illuminations of forked lightning. These

became more violent as the rain lessened, and, so absolutely were we centred in this electrical maelstrom,

there was no connecting any chain or flash or fork of lightning with any particular thunder clap. The

atmosphere all about us paled and flamed. Such a crashing and smashing! We looked every moment for the

Elsinore to be struck. And never had I seen such colours in lightning. Although from moment to moment we

were dazzled by the greater bolts, there persisted always a tremulous, pulsing lesser play of light, sometimes

softly blue, at other times a thin purple that quivered on into a thousand shades of lavender.

And there was no wind. No wind came. Nothing happened. The Elsinore, nakedsparred, under only

lowertopsails, with spanker and crojack furled, was prepared for anything. Her lowertopsails hung in limp

emptiness from the yards, heavy with rain and flapping soggily when she rolled. The cloud mass thinned, the

day brightened, the green blackness passed into gray twilight, the lightning eased, the thunder moved along

away from us, and there was no wind. In half an hour the sun was shining, the thunder muttered intermittently

"You can't tell, sir," Mr. Pike growled to me. "Thirty years ago I was dismasted right here off the Plate in a

It was the changing of the watches, and Mr. Mellaire, who had come on the poop to relieve the mate, stood

"One of the nastiest pieces of water in the world," he concurred. "Eighteen years ago the Plate gave it to

melost half our sticks, twenty hours on our beamends, cargo shifted, and foundered. I was two days in the

boat before an English tramp picked us up. And none of the other boats ever was picked up."

"Oh, hell, that wasn't nothing," Mr. Pike grumbled. "Wait till you see a real pampero. It's a dirty stretch

hereabouts, and I, for one, 'll be glad when we get across It. I'd sooner have a dozen Cape Horn snorters than

"Same here, sir," he answered. "Those sou'westers are honest. You know what to expect. But here you never

The sunsets grow more bizarre and spectacular off this coast of the Argentine. Last evening we had high

clouds, broken white and golden, flung disorderly, generously, over the western half of the sky, while in the

east was painted a second sunseta reflection, perhaps, of the first. At any rate, the eastern sky was a bank

of pale clouds that shed soft, spread rays of blue and white upon a bluegrey sea.

And the evening before last we had a gorgeous Arizona riot in the west. Bastioned upon the ocean cloudtier

was piled upon cloudtier, spacious and lofty, until we gazed upon a Grand Canyon a myriad times vaster

and more celestial than that of the Colorado. The clouds took on the same stratified, serrated, roserock

formation, and all the hollows were filled with the opal blues and purple hazes of the Painted Lands.

The Sailing Directions say that these remarkable sunsets are due to the dust being driven high into the air by

And our sunset tonightI am writing this at midnight, as I sit propped in my blankets, wedged by pillows,

while the Elsinore wallows damnably in a dead calm and a huge swell rolling up from the Cape Horn region,

where, it does seem, gales perpetually blow. But our sunset. Turner might have perpetrated it. The west was

as if a painter had stood off and slapped brushfuls of gray at a green canvas. On this green background of sky

But such a background! Such an orgy of green! No shade of green was missing in the interstices, large and

small, between the milky, curdled cloudsNilegreen high up, and then, in order, each with a thousand

shades, bluegreen, browngreen, greygreen, and a wonderful olivegreen that tarnished into a rich

During the display the rest of the horizon glowed with broad bands of pink, and blue, and pale green, and

yellow. A little later, when the sun was quite down, in the background of the curdled clouds smouldered a

winered mass of colour, that faded to bronze and tinged all the fading greens with its sanguinary hue. The

clouds themselves flushed to rose of all shades, while a fan of gigantic streamers of pale rose radiated toward

the zenith. These deepened rapidly into flaunting roseflame and burned long in the slowclosing twilight.

And with all this wonder of the beauty of the world still glowing in my brain hours afterward, I hear the

snarling of Mr. Pike above my head, and the trample and drag of feet as the men move from rope to rope and

pull and haul. More weather is making, and from the way sail is being taken in it cannot be far off.

Yet at daylight this morning we were still wallowing in the same dead calm and sickly swell. Miss West says

the barometer is down, but that the warning has been too long, for the Plate, to amount to anything. Pamperos

happen quickly here, and though the Elsinore, under bare poles to her uppertopsails, is prepared for

Mr. Pike was so fooled that he actually had set the topgallantsails, and the gaskets were being taken off the

royals, when the Samurai came on deck, strolled back and forth a casual five minutes, then spoke in an

undertone to Mr. Pike. Mr. Pike did not like it. To me, a tyro, it was evident that he disagreed with his master.

Nevertheless, his voice went out in a snarl aloft to the men on the royalyards to make all fast again. Then it

was clewlines and buntlines and lowering of yards as the topgallantsails were stripped off. The crojack was

taken in, and some of the outer foreandaft handsails, whose order of names I can never remember.

A breeze set in from the southwest, blowing briskly under a clear sky. I could see that Mr. Pike was secretly

pleased. The Samurai had been mistaken. And each time Mr. Pike glanced aloft at the naked topgallant and

royalyards, I knew his thought was that they might well be carrying sail. I was quite convinced that the Plate

had fooled Captain West. So was Miss West convinced, and, being a favoured person like myself, she frankly

What superior weathersense Captain West possesses I know not, save that it is his by Samurai right. The

sky, as I have said, was clear. The air was brittlesparkling gloriously in the windy sun. And yet, behold, in

a brief quarter of an hour, the change that took place. I had just returned from a trip below, and Miss West

was venting her scorn on the River Plate and promising to go below to the sewing machine, when we heard

Mr. Pike groan. It was a whimsical groan of disgust, contrition, and acknowledgment of inferiority before the

Following his gaze to the southwest, we saw it coming. It was a cloudmass that blotted out the sunlight

and the day. It seemed to swell and belch and roll over and over on itself as it advanced with a rapidity that

told of enormous wind behind it and in it. Its speed was headlong, terrific; and, beneath it, covering the sea,

Captain West spoke to the mate, who bawled the order along, and the watch, reinforced by the watch below,

"Keep off! Put your wheel over! Hard over!" Captain West called gently to the helmsman.

And the big wheel spun around, and the Elsinore's bow fell off so that she might not be caught aback by the

Thunder rode in that rushing, rolling blackness of cloud; and it was rent by lightning as it fell upon us.

Then it was rain, wind, obscureness of gloom, and lightning. I caught a glimpse of the men on the

loweryards as they were blotted from view and as the Elsinore heeled over and down. There were fifteen

men of them to each yard, and the gaskets were well passed ere we were struck. How they regained the deck I

do not know, I never saw; for the Elsinore, under only upper and lowertopsails, lay down on her side, her

There was no maintaining an unsupported upright position on that acute slant of deck. Everybody held on.

Mr. Pike frankly gripped the pooprail with both hands, and Miss West and I made frantic clutches and

scrambled for footing. But I noticed that the Samurai, poised lightly, like a bird on the verge of flight, merely

rested one hand on the rail. He gave no orders. As I divined, there was nothing to be done. He waitedthat

was allin tranquillity and repose. The situation was simple. Either the masts would go, or the Elsinore

In the meantime she lay dead, her lee yardarms almost touching the sea, the sea creaming solidly to her

The minutes were as centuries, until the bow paid off and the Elsinore, turned tail before it, righted to an even

keel. Immediately this was accomplished Captain West had her brought back upon the wind. And

immediately, thereupon, the big foresail went adrift from its gaskets. The shock, or succession of shocks, to

the ship, from the tremendous buffeting that followed, was fearful. It seemed she was being racked to pieces.

Master and mate were side by side when this happened, and the expressions on their faces typified them. In

neither face was apprehension. Mr. Pike's face bore a sour sneer for the worthless sailors who had botched the

Still, nothing was to be done, could be done; and for five minutes the Elsinore was shaken as in the maw of

some gigantic monster, until the last shreds of the great piece of canvas had been torn away.

"And now we may as well go below and be comfortable," she said five minutes later. "The worst is over. It

All day it blew. And the big sea that arose made the Elsinore's conduct almost unlivable. My only comfort

was achieved by taking to my bunk and wedging myself with pillows buttressed against the bunk's sides by

empty soapboxes which Wada arranged. Mr. Pike, clinging to my doorcasing while his legs sprawled

adrift in a succession of terrific rolls, paused to tell me that it was a new one on him in the pampero line. It

He paused a little longer, and, in a casual way, that under the circumstances was ridiculously transparent,

First of all he was absurd enough to ask if Possum showed symptoms of seasickness. Next, he unburdened

his wrath for the inefficients who had lost the foresail, and sympathized with the sailmakers for the extra

work thrown upon them. Then he asked permission to borrow one of my books, and, clinging to my bunk,

selected Buchner's Force and Matter from my shelf, carefully wedging the empty space with the doubled

Still he was loth to depart, and, cudgelling his brains for a pretext, he set up a rambling discourse on River

Plate weather. And all the time I kept wondering what was behind it all. At last it came.

"By the way, Mr. Pathurst," he remarked, "do you happen to remember how many years ago Mr. Mellaire

Mr. Pike let this sink in and slowly digested it, while the Elsinore was guilty of three huge rolls down to port

"Now I wonder what ship was sunk off the Plate eight years ago?" he communed, as if with himself. "I guess

I'll have to ask Mr. Mellaire her name. You can search me for all any I can recollect."

He thanked me with unwonted elaborateness for Force and Matter, of which I knew he would never read a

line, and felt his way to the door. Here he hung on for a moment, as if struck by a new and most accidental

"Eight years ago," I said. "That's the way I remember it, though why I should remember it at all I don't know.

But that is what he said," I went on with increasing confidence. "Eight years ago. I am sure of it."

Mr. Pike looked at me ponderingly, and waited until the Elsinore had fairly righted for an instant ere he took

I think I have followed the working of his mind. I have long since learned that his memory of ships, officers,

cargoes, gales, and disasters is remarkable. He is a veritable encyclopaedia of the sea. Also, it is patent that he

has equipped himself with Sidney Waltham's history. As yet, he does not dream that Mr. Mellaire is Sidney

Waltham, and he is merely wondering if Mr. Mellaire was a shipmate of Sidney Waltham eighteen years

In the meantime, I shall never forgive Mr. Mellaire for this slip he has made. He should have been more

An abominable night! A wonderful night! Sleep? I suppose I did sleep, in catnaps, but I swear I heard every

bell struck until three thirty. Then came a change, an easement. No longer was it a stubborn, loggy fight

against pressures. The Elsinore moved. I could feel her slip, and slide, and send, and soar. Whereas before

she had been flung continually down to port, she now rolled as far to one side as to the other.

I knew what had taken place. Instead of remaining hoveto on the pampero, Captain West had turned tail and

was running before it. This, I understood, meant a really serious storm, for the northeast was the last

direction in which Captain West desired to go. But at any rate the movement, though wilder, was easier, and I

slept. I was awakened at five by the thunder of seas that fell aboard, rushed down the main deck, and crashed

against the cabin wall. Through my open door I could see water swashing up and down the hall, while half a

foot of water creamed and curdled from under my bunk across the floor each time the ship rolled to starboard.

The steward brought me my coffee, and, wedged by boxes and pillows, like an equilibrist, I sat up and drank

it. Luckily I managed to finish it in time, for a succession of terrific rolls emptied one of my bookshelves.

Possum, crawling upward from my feet under the covered way of my bed, yapped with terror as the seas

smashed and thundered and as the avalanche of books descended upon us. And I could not but grin when the

Paste Board Crown smote me on the head, while the puppy was knocked gasping with Chesterton's What's

"Well, what do you think?" I queried of the steward who was helping to set us and the books to rights.

He shrugged his shoulders, and his bright slant eyes were very bright as he replied:

"Many times I see like this. Me old man. Many times I see more bad. Too much wind, too much work. Rotten

I could guess that the scene on deck was a spectacle, and at six o'clock, as gray light showed through my

ports in the intervals when they were not submerged, I essayed the sideboard of my bunk like a gymnast,

captured my careering slippers, and shuddered as I thrust my bare feet into their chill sogginess. I did not wait

to dress. Merely in pyjamas I headed for the poop, Possum wailing dismally at my desertion.

It was a feat to travel the narrow halls. Time and again I paused and held on until my fingertips hurt. In the

moments of easement I made progress. Yet I miscalculated. The foot of the broad stairway to the charthouse

rested on a crosshall a dozen feet in length. Overconfidence and an unusually violent antic of the Elsinore

caused the disaster. She flung down to starboard with such suddenness and at such a pitch that the flooring

seemed to go out from under me and I hustled helplessly down the incline. I missed a frantic clutch at the

newelpost, flung up my arm in time to save my face, and, most fortunately, whirled half about, and, still

Youth will have its way. So will a ship in a sea. And so will a hundred and seventy pounds of a man. The

beautiful hardwood door panel splintered, the latch fetched away, and I broke the nails of the four fingers of

my right hand in a futile grab at the flying door, marring the polished surface with four parallel scratches. I

kept right on, erupting into Captain West's spacious room with the big brass bed.

Miss West, swathed in a woollen dressinggown, her eyes heavy still with sleep, her hair glorious and for the

once ungroomed, clinging in the doorway that gave entrance on the main cabin, met my startled gaze with an

It was no time for apologies. I kept right on my mad way, caught the foot stanchion, and was whipped around

A score of retorts, all deliciously inadvisable, tickled my tongue, so I said nothing, contenting myself with

holding on with my left hand while I nursed my stinging right hand under my armpit. Beyond her, across

the floor of the main cabin, I saw the steward in pursuit of Captain West's Bible and a sheaf of Miss West's

music. And as she gurgled and laughed at me, beholding her in this intimacy of storm, the thought flashed

Now did she sense this fleeting, unuttered flash of mine? I know not, save that her laughter left her, and long

"I just knew everything was adrift in father's room. He hasn't been in it all night. I could hear things rolling

"Stubbed my fingers, that's all," I answered, looking at my broken nails and standing gingerly upright.

"Yes; I'd started to go upstairs," I said, "and not to turn into your father's bed. I'm afraid I've ruined the door."

Came another series of great rolls. I sat down on the bed and held on. Miss West, secure in the doorway,

began gurgling again, while beyond, across the cabin carpet, the steward shot past, embracing a small

writingdesk that had evidently carried away from its fastenings when he seized hold of it for support. More

seas smashed and crashed against the for'ard wall of the cabin; and the steward, failing of lodgment, shot

Taking advantage of favouring spells, I managed to effect my exit and gain the newelpost ere the next series

of rolls came. And as I clung on and waited, I could not forget what I had just seen. Vividly under my eyelids

burned the picture of Miss West's sleep laden eyes, her hair, and all the softness of her. A WOMAN AND

But I forgot all this, when, nearly at the top, I was thrown up the hill of the stairs as if it had suddenly become

downhill. My feet flew from stair to stair to escape falling, and I flew, or fell, apparently upward, until, at the

top, I hung on for dear life while the stern of the Elsinore flung skyward on some mighty surge.

Such antics of so huge a ship! The old stereotyped "toy" describes her; for toy she was, the sheerest splinter

of a plaything in the grip of the elements. And yet, despite this overwhelming sensation of microscopic

helplessness, I was aware of a sense of surety. There was the Samurai. Informed with his will and wisdom,

the Elsinore was no cat'spaw. Everything was ordered, controlled. She was doing what he ordained her to

do, and, no matter what stormTitans bellowed about her and buffeted her, she would continue to do what he

I glanced into the chartroom. There he sat, leaned back in a screw chair, his seabooted legs, wedged

against the settee, holding him in place in the most violent rolls. His black oilskin coat glistened in the

lamplight with a myriad drops of ocean that advertised a recent return from deck. His sou'wester, black and

glistening, was like the helmet of some legendary hero. He was smoking a cigar, and he smiled and greeted

me. But he seemed very tired and very oldold with wisdom, however, not weakness. The flesh of his face,

the pink pigment quite washed and worn away, was more transparent than ever; and yet never was he more

serene, never more the master absolute of our tiny, fragile world. The age that showed in him was not a

matter of terrestrial years. It was ageless, passionless, beyond human. Never had he appeared so great to me,

And he cautioned and advised me, in silvermellow beneficent voice, as I essayed the venture of opening the

charthouse door to gain outside. He knew the moment, although I never could have guessed it for myself,

Water was everywhere. The Elsinore was rushing through a blurring whirr of water. Seas creamed and licked

the poopdeck edge, now to starboard, now to port. High in the air, overtowering and perilously

downtoppling, followingseas pursued our stern. The air was filled with spindrift like a fog or spray. No

officer of the watch was in sight. The poop was deserted, save for two helmsmen in streaming oilskins under

One was Tom Spink, the elderly but keen and dependable English sailor. The other was Bill Quigley, one of a

forecastle group of three that herded uniquely together, though the other two, Frank Fitzgibbon and Richard

Oiler, were in the second mate's watch. The three had proved handy with their fists, and clannish; they had

fought pitched forecastle battles with the gangster clique and won a sort of neutrality of independence for

themselves. They were not exactly sailorsMr. Mellaire sneeringly called them the "bricklayers"but they

To cross the deck from the charthouse to the break of the poop was no slight feat, but I managed it and hung

on to the railing while the wind stung my flesh with the flappings of my pyjamas. At this moment, and for the

moment, the Elsinore righted to an even keel, and dashed along and down the avalanching face of a wave.

And as she thus righted her deck was filled with water level from rail to rail. Above this flood, or kneedeep

in it, Mr. Pike and halfadozen sailors were bunched on the fiferail of the mizzenmast. The carpenter,

The next roll spilled half a thousand tons of water outboard sheer over the starboardrail, while all the

starboard ports opened automatically and gushed huge streams. Then came the opposite roll to port, with a

clanging shut of the iron doors; and a hundred tons of sea sloshed outboard across the portrail, while all the

iron doors on that side opened wide and gushed. And all this time, it must not be forgotten, the Elsinore was

The only sail she carried was three uppertopsails. Not the tiniest triangle of headsail was on her. I had never

seen her with so little windsurface, and the three narrow strips of canvas, bellied to the seemingness of

sheetiron with the pressure of the wind, drove her before the gale at astonishing speed.

As the water on the deck subsided the men on the fiferail left their refuge. One group, led by the redoubtable

Mr. Pike, strove to capture a mass of planks and twisted steel. For the moment I did not recognize what it

was. The carpenter, with two men, sprang upon Number Three hatch and worked hurriedly and fearfully. And

I knew why Captain West had turned tail to the storm. Number Three hatch was a wreck. Among other things

the great timber, called the "strongback," was broken. He had had to run, or founder. Before our decks were

swept again I could make out the carpenter's emergency repairs. With fresh timbers he was bolting, lashing,

When the Elsinore dipped her portrail under and scooped several hundred tons of South Atlantic, and then,

immediately rolling her starboardrail under, had another hundred tons of breaking sea fall in board upon her,

all the men forsook everything and scrambled for life upon the fiferail. In the bursting spray they were quite

hidden; and then I saw them and counted them all as they emerged into view. Again they waited for the water

The mass of wreckage pursued by Mr. Pike and his men ground a hundred feet along the deck for'ard, and, as

the Elsinore's stern sank down in some abyss, ground back again and smashed up against the cabin wall. I

identified this stuff as part of the bridge. That portion which spanned from the mizzenmast to the

'midshiphouse was missing, while the starboard boat on the 'midshiphouse was a splintered mess.

Watching the struggle to capture and subdue the section of bridge, I was reminded of Victor Hugo's splendid

description of the sailor's battle with a ship's gun gone adrift in a night of storm. But there was a difference, I

found that Hugo's narrative had stirred me more profoundly than was I stirred by this actual struggle before

I have repeatedly said that the sea makes one hard. I now realized how hard I had become as I stood there at

the break of the poop in my windshipped, spraysoaked pyjamas. I felt no solicitude for the forecastle

humans who struggled in peril of their lives beneath me. They did not count. AhI was even curious to see

what might happen, did they get caught by those crashing avalanches of sea ere they could gain the safety of

And I saw. Mr. Pike, in the lead, of course, up to his waist in rushing water, dashed in, caught the flying

wreckage with a turn of rope, and fetched it up short with a turn around one of the port mizzenshrouds. The

Elsinore flung down to port, and a solid wall of downtoppling green upreared a dozen feet above the rail.

The men fled to the fiferail. But Mr. Pike, holding his turn, held on, looked squarely into the wall of the

wave, and received the downfall. He emerged, still holding by the turn the captured bridge.

The feebleminded faun (the stonedeaf man) led the way to Mr. Pike's assistance, followed by Tony, the

suicidal Greek. Paddy was next, and in order came Shorty, Henry the trainingship boy, and Nancy, last, of

The deckwater was no more than kneedeep, though rushing with torrential force, when Mr. Pike and the

six men lifted the section of bridge and started for'ard with it. They swayed and staggered, but managed to

The carpenter saw the impending oceanmountain first. I saw him cry to his own men and then to Mr. Pike

ere he fled to the fiferail. But Mr. Pike's men had no chance. Abreast of the 'midshiphouse, on the

starboard side, fully fifteen feet above the rail and twenty above the deck, the sea fell on board. The top of the

'midshiphouse was swept clean of the splintered boat. The water, impacting against the side of the house,

spouted skyward as high as the crojackyard. And all this, in addition to the main bulk of the wave, swept

They disappeared. The bridge disappeared. The Elsinore rolled to port and dipped her deck full from rail to

rail. Next, she plunged down by the head, and all this mass of water surged forward. Through the creaming,

foaming surface now and then emerged an arm, or a head, or a back, while cruel edges of jagged plank and

twisted steel rods advertised that the bridge was turning over and over. I wondered what men were beneath it

And yet these men did not count. I was aware of anxiety only for Mr. Pike. He, in a way, socially, was of my

caste and class. He and I belonged aft in the high place; ate at the same table. I was acutely desirous that he

should not be hurt or killed. The rest did not matter. They were not of my world. I imagine the oldtime

skippers, on the middle passage, felt much the same toward their slavecargoes in the fetid 'tween decks.

The Elsinore's bow tilted skyward while her stern fell into a foaming valley. Not a man had gained his feet.

Bridge and men swept back toward me and fetched up against the mizzenshrouds. And then that prodigious,

incredible old man appeared out of the water, on his two legs, upright, dragging with him, a man in each

hand, the helpless forms of Nancy and the Faun. My heart leapt at beholding this mighty figure of a

mankiller and slavedriver, it is true, but who sprang first into the teeth of danger so that his slaves might

I knew augustness and pride as I gazedpride that my eyes were blue, like his; that my skin was blond, like

his; that my place was aft with him, and with the Samurai, in the high place of government and command. I

nearly wept with the chill of pride that was akin to awe and that tingled and bristled along my spinal column

and in my brain. As for the restthe weaklings and the rejected, and the dark pigmented things, the

halfcastes, the mongrelbloods, and the dregs of longconquered raceshow could they count? My heels

were iron as I gazed on them in their peril and weakness. Lord! Lord! For ten thousand generations and

centuries we had stamped upon their faces and enslaved them to the toil of our will.

Again the Elsinore rolled to starboard and to port, while the spume spouted to our loweryards and a

thousand tons of South Atlantic surged across from rail to rail. And again all were down and under, with

jagged plank and twisted steel overriding them. And again that amazing blondskinned giant emerged, on his

two legs upstanding, a broken waif like a rat in either hand. He forced his way through rushing, waisthigh

water, deposited his burdens with the carpenter on the fiferail, and returned to drag Larry reeling to his feet

and help him to the fiferail. Out of the wash, Tony, the Greek, crawled on hands and knees and sank down

helplessly at the fiferail. There was nothing suicidal now in his mood. Struggle as he would, he could not lift

himself until the mate, gripping his oilskin at the collar, with one hand flung him through the air into the

Next came Shorty, his face streaming blood, one arm hanging useless, his seaboots stripped from him. Mr.

Pike pitched him into the fife rail, and returned for the last man. It was Henry, the trainingship boy. Him I

had seen, unstruggling, motionless, show at the surface like a drowned man and sink again as the flood

surged aft and smashed him against the cabin. Mr. Pike, shoulderdeep, twice beaten to his knees and under

An hour later, in the cabin, I encountered Mr. Pike going into breakfast. He had changed his clothes, and he

had shaved! Now how could one treat a hero such as he save as I treated him when I remarked offhandedly

That was all. He had had no time to see me at the pooprail. It was merely the day's work, the ship's work,

the MAN'S workall capitals, if you please, in MAN. I was the only one aft who knew, and I knew because

I had chanced to see. Had I not been on the poop at that early hour no one aft ever would have known those

"Oh, some of the men got wet. But no bones broke. Henry'll be laid off for a day. He got turned over in a sea

and bashed his head. And Shorty's got a wrenched shoulder, I think.But, say, we got Davis into the top

bunk! The seas filled him full and he had to climb for it. He's all awash and wet now, and you oughta seen me

praying for more." He paused and sighed. "I'm getting old, I guess. I oughta wring his neck, but somehow I

"No," said Mr. Pike slowly. "But I'll tell you what I will do. I'll bet you a pound of tobacco even, or a month's

wages even, that I'll have the pleasure of putting a sack of coal to his feet that never will come off."

The more I see of Miss West the more she pleases me. Explain it in terms of propinquity, or isolation, or

whatever you will; I, at least, do not attempt explanation. I know only that she is a woman and desirable. And

I am rather proud, in a way, to find that I am just a man like any man. The midnight oil, and the relentless

pursuit I have endured in the past from the whole tribe of women, have not, I am glad to say, utterly spoiled

I am obsessed by that phrasea WOMAN AND DESIRABLE. It beats in my brain, in my thought. I go out

of my way to steal a glimpse of Miss West through a cabin door or vista of hall when she does not know I am

looking. A woman is a wonderful thing. A woman's hair is wonderful. A woman's softness is a magic.Oh, I

know them for what they are, and yet this very knowledge makes them only the more wonderful. I knowI

would stake my soulthat Miss West has considered me as a mate a thousand times to once that I have so

And I find myself continually reminded of Richard Le Gallienne's inimitable quatrain:

"Were I a woman, I would all day long Sing my own beauty in some holy song, Bend low before it, hushed

Let me advise all philosophers suffering from worldsickness to take a long sea voyage with a woman like

In this narrative I shall call her "Miss West" no more. She has ceased to be Miss West. She is Margaret. I do

not think of her as Miss West. I think of her as Margaret. It is a pretty word, a womanword. What poet must

have created it! Margaret! I never tire of it. My tongue is enamoured of it. Margaret West! What a name to

conjure with! A name provocative of dreams and mighty connotations. The history of our westwardfaring

race is written in it. There is pride in it, and dominion, and adventure, and conquest. When I murmur it I see

visions of lean, beaked ships, of winged helmets, and heels ironshod of restless men, royal lovers, royal

adventurers, royal fighters. Yes, and even now, in these latter days when the sun consumes us, still we sit in

Ohand by the wayshe is twentyfour years old. I asked Mr. Pike the date of the Dixie's collision with

the river steamer in San Francisco Bay. This occurred in 1901. Margaret was twelve years old at the time.

This is 1913. Blessings on the head of the man who invented arithmetic! She is twentyfour. Her name is

There are so many things to tell about. Where and how this mad voyage, with a mad crew, will end is beyond

all surmise. But the Elsinore drives on, and day by day her history is bloodily written. And while murder is

done, and while the whole floating drama moves toward the bleak southern ocean and the icy blasts of Cape

Horn, I sit in the high place with the masters, unafraid, I am proud to say, in an ecstasy, I am proud to say,

But to resume. It is the first day of June. Ten days have passed since the pampero. When the strong back on

Number Three hatch was repaired Captain West came back on the wind, hove to, and rode out the gale. Since

then, in calm, and fog, and damp, and storm, we have won south until today we are almost abreast of the

Falklands. The coast of the Argentine lies to the West, below the sealine, and some time this morning we

crossed the fiftieth parallel of south latitude. Here begins the passage of Cape Horn, for so it is reckoned by

And yet all is well with us in the matter of weather. The Elsinore slides along with favouring winds. Daily it

grows colder. The great cabin stove roars and is whitehot, and all the connecting doors are open, so that the

whole after region of the ship is warm and comfortable. But on the deck the air bites, and Margaret and I

wear mittens as we promenade the poop or go for'ard along the repaired bridge to see the chickens on the

'midshiphouse. The poor, wretched creatures of instinct and climate! Behold, as they approach the southern

midwinter of the Horn, when they have need of all their feathers, they proceed to moult, because, forsooth,

this is the summer time in the land they came from. Or is moulting determined by the time of year they

Yesterday ominous preparations were made for the passage of the Horn. All the braces were taken from the

main deck pinrails and geared and arranged so that they may be worked from the tops of the houses.

Thus, the forebraces run to the top of the forecastle, the main braces to the top of the 'midshiphouse, and

the mizzenbraces to the poop. It is evident that they expect our main deck frequently to be filled with water.

So evident is it that a laden ship when in big seas is like a log awash, that fore and aft, on both sides, along

the deck, shoulderhigh, lifelines have been rigged. Also, the two iron doors, on port and starboard, that

open from the cabin directly upon the main deck, have been barricaded and caulked. Not until we are in the

And while we prepare to battle around the stormiest headland in the world our situation on board grows

darker. This morning Petro Marinkovich, a sailor in Mr. Mellaire's watch, was found dead on Number One

hatch. The body bore several knifewounds and the throat was cut. It was palpably done by some one or

several of the forecastle hands; but not a word can be elicited. Those who are guilty of it are silent, of course;

Before midday the body was overside with the customary sack of coal. Already the man is a past episode. But

the humans for'ard are tense with expectancy of what is to come. I strolled for'ard this afternoon, and noted

for the first time a distinct hostility toward me. They recognize that I belong with the afterguard in the high

place. Oh, nothing was said; but it was patent by the way almost every man looked at me, or refused to look

"Good riddance," said Mulligan Jacobs. "The Guinea didn't have the spunk of a louse. And he's better off,

ain't he? He lived dirty, an' he died dirty, an' now he's over an' done with the whole dirty game. There's men

on board that oughta wish they was as lucky as him. Theirs is still acoming to 'em."

"Whatever you want to think I mean," the twisted wretch grinned malevolently into my face.

"A pretty tale for the court in Seattle," he exulted. "It'll only make my case that much stronger. And wait till

the reporters get hold of it! The hellship Elsinore! They'll have pretty pickin's!"

"You've seen my treatment, ain't you?" he retorted. "You've seen the hell I've got, ain't you?"

"The court will determine that, sir. All you'll have to do is to testify to facts."

"I'll testify that had I been in the mate's place I'd have hanged you for murder."

"I'll ask you to remember this conversation when you're under oath, sir," he cried eagerly.

I confess the man aroused in me a reluctant admiration. I looked about his mean, ironwalled room. During

the pampero the place had been awash. The white paint was peeling off in huge scabs, and iron rust was

everywhere. The floor was filthy. The place stank with the stench of his sickness. His pannikin and unwashed

eatinggear from the last meal were scattered on the floor: His blankets were wet, his clothing was wet. In a

corner was a heterogeneous mass of soggy, dirty garments. He lay in the very bunk in which he had brained

O'Sullivan. He had been months in this vile hole. In order to live he would have to remain months more in it.

And while his ratlike vitality won my admiration, I loathed and detested him in very nausea.

"Aren't you afraid?" I demanded. "What makes you think you will last the voyage? Don't you know bets are

So interested was he that he seemed to prick up his ears as he raised on his elbow.

"That means there's others that bet I won't," he rattled on hastily. "An' that means that there's men aboard the

At this moment the steward, bound aft from the galley, paused in the doorway and listened, grinning. As for

Charles Davis, the man had missed his vocation. He should have been a landlawyer, not a sea lawyer.

"Very well, sir," he went on. "I'll have you testify to that in Seattle, unless you're lying to a helpless sick man,

"Oh, I'll testify. Though I tell you candidly that I don't think I'll win my bet."

"You loose 'm bet sure," the steward broke in, nodding his head. "That fellow him die damn soon."

"Bet with'm, sir," David challenged me. "It's a straight tip from me, an' a regular cinch."

The whole situation was so gruesome and grotesque, and I had been swept into it so absurdly, that for the

"It's good money," Davis urged. "I ain't goin' to die. Look here, steward, how much you want to bet?"

"Five dollar, ten dollar, twenty dollar," the steward answered, with a shouldershrug that meant that the sum

"Very well then, steward. Mr. Pathurst covers your money, say for twenty. Is it a go, sir?"

"You live, me lose, me pay you," the steward explained. "You die, I win, you dead; no pay me."

"Just the same, sir, it'll be rich testimony," David chuckled. "An' can't you see the reporters eatin' it up?"

The Asiatic clique in the cook's room has its suspicions about the death of Marinkovich, but will not voice

them. Beyond shakings of heads and dark mutterings, I can get nothing out of Wada or the steward. When I

talked with the sailmaker, he complained that his injured hand was hurting him and that he would be glad

when he could get to the surgeons in Seattle. As for the murder, when pressed by me, he gave me to

understand that it was no affair of the Japanese or Chinese on board, and that he was a Japanese.

But Louis, the Chinese halfcaste with the Oxford accent, was more frank. I caught him aft from the galley

"We are of a different race, sir, from these men," he said; "and our safest policy is to leave them alone. We

have talked it over, and we have nothing to say, sir, nothing whatever to say. Consider my position. I work

for'ard in the galley; I am in constant contact with the sailors; I even sleep in their section of the ship; and I

am one man against many. The only other countryman I have on board is the steward, and he sleeps aft. Your

servant and the two sailmakers are Japanese. They are only remotely kin to us, though we've agreed to stand

"There is Shorty," I said, remembering Mr. Pike's diagnosis of his mixed nationality.

"But we do not recognize him, sir," Louis answered suavely. "He is Portuguese; he is Malay; he is Japanese,

true; but he is a mongrel, sir, a mongrel and a bastard. Also, he is a fool. And please, sir, remember that we

"We shall arrive in Seattle most probably, some of us. But I can tell you this, sir: I have lived a long life on

the sea, but I have never seen a crew like this. There are few sailors in it; there are bad men in it; and the rest

are fools and worse. You will notice I mention no names, sir; but there are men on board whom I do not care

to antagonize. I am just Louis, the cook. I do my work to the best of my ability, and that is all, sir."

"And will Charles Davis arrive in Seattle?" I asked, changing the topic in acknowledgment of his right to be

"No, I do not think so, sir," he answered, although his eyes thanked me for my courtesy. "The steward tells

me you have bet that he will. I think, sir, it is a poor bet. We are about to go around the Horn. I have been

around it many times. This is midwinter, and we are going from east to west. Davis' room will be awash for

weeks. It will never be dry. A strong healthy man confined in it could well die of the hardship. And Davis is

far from well. In short, sir, I know his condition, and he is in a shocking state. Surgeons might prolong his

life, but here in a windjammer it is shortened very rapidly. I have seen many men die at sea. I know, sir.

Things are worse than I fancied. Here are two episodes within the last seventytwo hours. Mr. Mellaire, for

instance, is going to pieces. He cannot stand the strain of being on the same vessel with the man who has

sworn to avenge Captain Somers's murder, especially when that man is the redoubtable Mr. Pike.

For several days Margaret and I have been remarking the second mate's bloodshot eyes and painlined face

and wondering if he were sick. And today the secret leaked out. Wada does not like Mr. Mellaire, and this

morning, when he brought me breakfast, I saw by the wicked, gleeful gleam in his almond eyes that he was

For several days, I learned, he and the steward have been solving a cabin mystery. A gallon can of wood

alcohol, standing on a shelf in the afterroom, had lost quite a portion of its contents. They compared notes

and then made of themselves a Sherlock Holmes and a Doctor Watson. First, they gauged the daily

diminution of alcohol. Next they gauged it several times daily, and learned that the diminution, whenever it

occurred, was first apparent immediately after mealtime. This focussed their attention on two suspectsthe

second mate and the carpenter, who alone sat in the afterroom. The rest was easy. Whenever Mr. Mellaire

arrived ahead of the carpenter more alcohol was missing. When they arrived and departed together, the

alcohol was undisturbed. The carpenter was never alone in the room. The syllogism was complete. And now

But wood alcohol is deadly poison. What a constitution this man of fifty must have! Small wonder his eyes

I have not whispered a word of this to Margaret; nor shall I whisper it. I should like to put Mr. Pike on his

guard; and yet I know that the revealing of Mr. Mellaire's identity would precipitate another killing. And still

we drive south, closehauled on the wind, toward the inhospitable tip of the continent. Today we are south

of a line drawn between the Straits of Magellan and the Falklands, and to morrow, if the breeze holds, we

shall pick up the coast of Tierra del Fuego close to the entrance of the Straits of Le Maire, through which

The other episode occurred last night. Mr. Pike says nothing, yet he knows the crew situation. I have been

watching some time now, ever since the death of Marinkovich; and I am certain that Mr. Pike never ventures

on the main deck after dark. Yet he holds his tongue, confides in no man, and plays out the bitter perilous

And now to the episode. Shortly after the close of the second dog watch last evening I went for'ard to the

chickens on the 'midship house on an errand for Margaret. I was to make sure that the steward had carried

out her orders. The canvas covering to the big chicken coop had to be down, the ventilation insured, and the

kerosene stove burning properly. When I had proved to my satisfaction the dependableness of the steward,

and just as I was on the verge of returning to the poop, I was drawn aside by the weird crying of penguins in

I had climbed around the end of the port boat, and was standing there, quite hidden in the darkness, when I

heard the unmistakable agelag step of the mate proceed along the bridge from the poop. It was a dim starry

night, and the Elsinore, in the calm ocean under the lee of Tierra del Fuego, was slipping gently and prettily

Mr. Pike paused at the for'ard end of the housetop and stood in a listening attitude. From the main deck

below, near Number Two hatch, across the mumbling of various voices, I could recognize Kid Twist, Nosey

Murphy, and Bert Rhinethe three gangsters. But Steve Roberts, the cowboy, was also there, as was Mr.

Mellaire, both of whom belonged in the other watch and should have been turned in; for, at midnight, it

would be their watch on deck. Especially wrong was Mr. Mellaire's presence, holding social converse with

I have always been cursed with curiosity. Always have I wanted to know; and, on the Elsinore, I have already

witnessed many a little scene that was a cleancut dramatic gem. So I did not discover myself, but lurked

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. The men still talked. I was tantalized by the crying of the penguins,

and by the whale, evidently playful, which came so close that it spouted and splashed a biscuittoss away. I

saw Mr. Pike's head turn at the sound; he glanced squarely in my direction, but did not see me. Then he

Now whether Mulligan Jacobs just happened along, or whether he was deliberately scouting, I do not know. I

tell what occurred. Upand down the side of the 'midshiphouse is a ladder. And up this ladder Mulligan

Jacobs climbed so noiselessly that I was not aware of his presence until I heard Mr. Pike snarl

"What's it to you?" Mulligan Jacobs snarled back. The voices below hushed. I knew every man stood there

tense and listening. No; the philosophers have not yet explained Mulligan Jacobs. There is something more to

him than the last word has said in any book. He stood there in the darkness, a fragile creature with curvature

Mr. Pike cursed him with fearful, unrepeatable words, and again demanded what he was doing there.

"I left me plug of tobacco here when I was coiling down last," said the little twisted manno; he did not say

Mulligan Jacobs lurched closer to Mr. Pike, and in the gloom and with the roll of the ship swayed in the

Mr. Pike tried to say something, still holding the cripple suspended, but he could do no more than strangle in

"You're an old stiff, an old stiff, an old stiff," Mulligan Jacobs chanted, equally incoherent and unimaginative

"You're an old stiff," gasped Mulligan Jacobs. He was flung. He soared through the air with the might of the

He fell among the men on Number Two hatch, and there were confusion and movement below, and groans.

Mr. Pike paced up and down the narrow house and gritted his teeth. Then he paused. He leaned his arms on

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." That was all. Then he went aft, slowly, dragging his feet along the

The days grow gray. The sun has lost its warmth, and each noon, at meridian, it is lower in the northern sky.

All the old stars have long since gone, and it would seem the sun is following them. The worldthe only

world I knowhas been left behind far there to the north, and the hill of the earth is between it and us. This

sad and solitary ocean, gray and cold, is the end of all things, the falling off place where all things cease.

Only it grows colder, and grayer, and penguins cry in the night, and huge amphibians moan and slubber, and

"Land ho!" was the cry yesterday morning. I shivered as I gazed at this, the first land since Baltimore a few

centuries ago. There was no sun, and the morning was damp and cold with a brisk wind that penetrated any

garment. The deck thermometer marked 30two degrees below freezingpoint; and now and then easy

All of the land that was to be seen was snow. Long, low chains of peaks, snowcovered, arose out of the

ocean. As we drew closer, there were no signs of life. It was a sheer, savage, bleak, forsaken land. By eleven,

off the entrance of Le Maire Straits, the squalls ceased, the wind steadied, and the tide began to make through

Captain West did not hesitate. His orders to Mr. Pike were quick and tranquil. The man at the wheel altered

the course, while both watches sprang aloft to shake out royals and skysails. And yet Captain West knew

When we entered the narrow strait, under full sail and gripped by a tremendous tide, the rugged headlands of

Tierra del Fuego dashed by with dizzying swiftness. Close we were to them, and close we were to the jagged

coast of Staten Island on the opposite shore. It was here, in a wild bight, between two black and precipitous

walls of rock where even the snow could find no lodgment, that Captain West paused in a casual sweep of his

glasses and gazed steadily at one place. I picked the spot up with my own glasses and was aware of an instant

chill as I saw the four masts of a great ship sticking out of the water. Whatever craft it was, it was as large as

"One of the German nitrate ships," said Mr. Pike. Captain West nodded, still studying the wreck, then said:

"She looks quite deserted. Just the same, Mr. Pike, send several of your bestsighted sailors aloft, and keep a

But we sailed on, and no signals were seen. Mr. Pike was delighted with our good fortune. He was guilty of

walking up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself. Not since 1888, he told me, had he been

through the Straits of Le Maire. Also, he said that he knew of shipmasters who had made forty voyages

around the Horn and had never once had the luck to win through the straits. The regular passage is far to the

east around Staten Island, which means a loss of westing, and here, at the tip of the world, where the great

west wind, unobstructed by any land, sweeps round and around the narrow girth of earth, westing is the thing

that has to be fought for mile by mile and inch by inch. The Sailing Directions advise masters on the Horn

When we emerged from the straits in the early afternoon the same steady breeze continued, and in the calm

water under the lee of Tierra del Fuego, which extends southwesterly to the Horn, we slipped along at an

Mr. Pike was beside himself. He could scarcely tear himself from the deck when it was his watch below. He

chuckled, rubbed his hands, and incessantly hummed snatches from the Twelfth Mass. Also, he was voluble.

"Tomorrow morning we'll be up with the Horn. We'll shave it by a dozen or fifteen miles. Think of it! We'll

just steal around! I never had such luck, and never expected to. Old girl Elsinore, you're rotten for'ard, but the

Once, under the weather cloth, I came upon him talking to himself. It was more a prayer.

"It never happens," he told me. "No ship ever went around like this. You watch her come. She always comes

"The odds are mighty big against it, sir," he answered. "I'll give you a line on them. I'll wager even, sir, just a

nominal bet of a pound of tobacco, that inside twentyfour hours we'll he hove to under uppertopsails. I'll

wager ten pounds to five that we're not west of the Horn a week from now; and, fifty to fifty being the

passage, twenty pounds to five that two weeks from now we're not up with fifty in the Pacific."

As for Captain West, the perils of Le Maire behind, he sat below, his slippered feet stretched before him,

smoking a cigar. He had nothing to say whatever, although Margaret and I were jubilant and dared duets

And this morning, in a smooth sea and gentle breeze, the Horn bore almost due north of us not more than six

"Going up," he came back. "Wish I had a thousand bets like the one with you, sir."

I glanced about at sea and sky and gauged the speed of our way by the foam, but failed to see anything that

warranted his remark. It was surely fine weather, and the steward, in token of the same, was trying to catch

For'ard, on the poop, I encountered Mr. Pike. It WAS an encounter, for his salutation was a grunt.

He made no reply, but turned and stared into the gray southwest with an expression sourer than any I had

ever seen on his face. He mumbled something I failed to catch, and, on my asking him to repeat it, he said:

I looked aloft. The skysails were already furled; men were furling the royals; and the topgallantyards were

running down while clewlines and buntlines bagged the canvas. Yet, if anything, our northerly breeze fanned

"Then go and take a look at the barometer," he grunted, as he turned on his heel and swung away from me.

In the chartroom was Captain West, pulling on his long seaboots. That would have told me had there been

no barometer, though the barometer was eloquent enough of itself. The night before it had stood at 30.10. It

"The usual Cape Horn programme," Captain West smiled to me, as he stood up in all his lean and slender

He shook his head, and forebore in the act of speaking to lift his hand for me to listen. The Elsinore rolled

uneasily, and from without came the soft and hollow thunder of sails emptying themselves against the masts

We had chatted a bare five minutes, when again he lifted his head. This time the Elsinore heeled over slightly

and remained heeled over, while the sighing whistle of a rising breeze awoke in the rigging.

And then I heard Mr. Pike snarling out orders, and in my heart discovered a growing respect for Cape

An hour later we were hove to on the port tack under uppertopsails and foresail. The wind had come out of

the southwest, and our leeway was setting us down upon the land. Captain West gave orders to the mate to

stand by to wear ship. Both watches had been taking in sail, so that both watches were on deck for the

It was astounding, the big sea that had arisen in so short a time. The wind was blowing a gale that ever, in

recurring gusts, increased upon itself. Nothing was visible a hundred yards away. The day had become

blackgray. In the cabin lamps were burning. The view from the poop, along the length of the great labouring

ship, was magnificent. Seas burst and surged across her weatherrail and kept her deck half filled, despite the

On each of the two houses and on the poop the ship's complement, all in oilskins, was in groups. For'ard, Mr.

Mellaire had charge. Mr. Pike took charge of the 'midshiphouse and the poop. Captain West strolled up and

When Mr. Pike ordered the wheel hard up, he slacked off all the mizzenyards, and followed it with a partial

slacking of the main yards, so that the afterpressures were eased. The foresail and forelower

anduppertopsails remained flat in order to pay the head off before the wind. All this took time. The men

were slow, not strong, and without snap. They reminded me of dull oxen by the way they moved and pulled.

And the gale, ever snorting harder, now snorted diabolically. Only at intervals could I glimpse the group on

top the for'ardhouse. Again and again, leaning to it and holding their heads down, the men on the

'midshiphouse were obliterated by the drive of crested seas that burst against the rail, spouted to the

loweryards, and swept in horizontal volumes across to leeward. And Mr. Pike, like an enormous spider in a

windtossed web, went back and forth along the slender bridge that was itself a shaken thread in the blast of

So tremendous were the gusts that for the time the Elsinore refused to answer. She lay down to it; she was

swept and racked by it; but her head did not pay off before it, and all the while we drove down upon that

bitter, iron coast. And the world was blackgray, and violent, and very cold, with the flying spray freezing to

We waited. The groups of men, head down to it, waited. Mr. Pike, restless, angry, his blue eyes as bitter as

the cold, his mouth as much asnarl as the snarl of the elements with which he fought, waited. The Samurai

waited, tranquil, casual, remote. And Cape Horn waited, there on our lee, for the bones of our ship and us.

And then the Elsinore's bow paid off. The angle of the beat of the gale changed, and soon, with dreadful

speed, we were dashing straight before it and straight toward the rocks we could not see. But all doubt was

over. The success of the manoeuvre was assured. Mr. Mellaire, informed by messenger along the bridge from

Mr. Pike, slacked off the headyards. Mr. Pike, his eye on the helmsman, his hand signalling the order, had

the wheel put over to port to check the Elsinore's rush into the wind as she came up on the starboard tack. All

was activity. Main and mizzenyards were braced up, and the Elsinore, snugged down and hove to, had a

And all this had been accomplished in the stamping ground of storm, at the end of the world, by a handful of

wretched weaklings, under the drive of two strong mates, with behind them the placid will of the Samurai.

It had taken thirty minutes to wear ship, and I had learned how the best of shipmasters can lose their ships

without reproach. Suppose the Elsinore had persisted in her refusal to payoff? Suppose anything had carried

away? And right here enters Mr. Pike. It is his task ever to see that every rope and block and all the myriad

other things in the vast and complicated gear of the Elsinore are in strength not to carry away. Always have

the masters of our race required henchmen like Mr. Pike, and it seems the race has well supplied those

Ere I went below I heard Captain West tell Mr. Pike that while both watches were on deck it would be just as

well to put a reef in the foresail before they furled it. The mainsail and the crojack being off, I could see the

men black on the foreyard. For halfanhour I lingered, watching them. They seemed to make no progress

with the reef. Mr. Mellaire was with them, having direct supervision of the job, while Mr. Pike, on the poop,

"Two watches on a single yardarm and unable to put a reef in a handkerchief like that!" he snorted. "What'll it

"A month isn't anything for Cape Stiff," he said grimly. "I've been off here seven weeks and then turned tail

"It was the only way to get to 'Frisco," he answered. "The Horn's the Horn, and there's no summer seas that

My fingers were numb and I was chilled through when I took a last look at the wretched men on the

A little later, as I went in to table, through a cabin port I stole a look for'ard between seas and saw the men

The four of us were at table, and it was very comfortable, in spite of the Elsinore's violent antics. The room

was warm. The storm racks on the table kept each dish in its place. The steward served and moved about

with ease and apparent unconcern, although I noticed an occasional anxious gleam in his eyes when he poised

And now and again I thought of the poor devils on the yard. Well, they belonged there by right, just as we

belonged here by right in this oasis of the cabin. I looked at Mr. Pike and wagered to myself that

halfadozen like him could master that stubborn foresail. As for the Samurai, I was convinced that alone,

not moving from his seat, by a tranquil exertion of will, he could accomplish the same thing.

The lighted sealamps swung and leaped in their gimbals, ever battling with the dancing shadows in the

murky gray. The woodwork creaked and groaned. The jiggermast, a huge cylinder of hollow steel that

perforated the apartment through deck above and floor beneath, was hideously vocal with the storm. Far

above, taut ropes beat against it so that it clanged like a boilershop. There was a perpetual thunder of seas

falling on our deck and crash of water against our for'ard wall; while the ten thousand ropes and gears aloft

And yet all this was from without. Here, at this wellappointed table, was no draught nor breath of wind, no

drive of spray nor wash of sea. We were in the heart of peace in the midmost centre of the storm. Margaret

was in high spirits, and her laughter vied with the clang of the jiggermast. Mr. Pike was gloomy, but I knew

him well enough to attribute his gloom, not to the elements, but to the inefficients futilely freezing on the

yard. As for me, I looked about at the four of usblueeyed, grayeyed, all fairskinned and royal

blondand somehow it seemed that I had long since lived this, and that with me and in me were all my

ancestors, and that their lives and memories were mine, and that all this vexation of the sea and air and

"How are you for a climb?" Margaret asked me, shortly after we had left the table.

"I've never seen you with a foot above the deck since we sailed," she went on. "Have you a good head?"

I marked my book, rolled out of my bunk in which I had been wedged, and clapped my hands for Wada.

"If you let me lead," I answered airily, "and if you will promise to hold on tight. Whither away?"

"Into the top of the jigger. It's the easiest. As for holding on, please remember that I have often done it. It is

"I have seen many a landsman funk it," she teased. "There are no lubberholes in our tops."

"And most likely I shall," I agreed. "I've never been aloft in my life, and since there is no hole for a lubber."

She looked at me, half believing my confession of weakness, while I extended my arms for the oilskin which

On the poop it was magnificent, and terrible, and sombre. The universe was very immediately about us. It

blanketed us in storming wind and flying spray and grayness. Our main deck was impassable, and the relief

of the wheel came aft along the bridge. It was two o'clock, and for over two hours the frozen wretches had

laid out upon the foreyard. They were still there, weak, feeble, hopeless. Captain West, stepping out in the

"We'll have to give up that reef," he said to Mr. Pike. "Just make the sail fast. Better put on double gaskets."

And with lagging feet, from time to time pausing and holding on as spray and the tops of waves swept over

him, the mate went for'ard along the bridge to vent his scorn on the two watches of a four masted ship that

It is true. They could not do it, despite their willingness, for this I have learned: THE MEN DO THEIR

WEAK BEST WHENEVER THE ORDER IS GIVEN TO SHORTEN SAIL. It must be that they are afraid.

They lack the iron of Mr. Pike, the wisdom and the iron of Captain West. Always, have I noticed, with all the

alacrity of which they are capable, do they respond to any order to shorten down. That is why they are for'ard,

in that pigsty of a forecastle, because they lack the iron. Well, I can say only this: If nothing else could have

prevented the funk hinted at by Margaret, the sorry spectacle of these ironless, spineless creatures was

sufficient safeguard. How could I funk in the face of their weaknessI, who lived aft in the high place?

Margaret did not disdain the aid of my hand as she climbed upon the pinrail at the foot of the weather

jiggerrigging. But it was merely the recognition of a courtesy on her part, for the next moment she released

her mittened hand from mine, swung boldly outboard into the face of the gale, and around against the ratlines.

Then she began to climb. I followed, almost unaware of the ticklishness of the exploit to a tyro, so buoyed up

was I by her example and by my scorn of the weaklings for'ard. Where men could go, I could go. What men

Yet it was slow work. In the windward rolls against the stormgusts one was pinned helplessly, like a

butterfly, against the rigging. At such times, so great was the pressure one could not lift hand nor foot. Also,

there was no need for holding on. As I have said, one was pinned against the rigging by the wind.

Through the snow beginning to drive the deck grew small beneath me, until a fall meant a broken back or

death, unless one landed in the sea, in which case the result would be frigid drowning. And still Margaret

climbed. Without pause she went out under the overhanging platform of the top, shifted her holds to the

rigging that went aloft from it, and swung around this rigging, easily, carelessly, timing the action to the roll,

I followed. I breathed no prayers, knew no qualms, as I presented my back to the deck and climbed out under

the overhang, feeling with my hands for holds I could not see. I was in an ecstasy. I could dare anything. Had

she sprung into the air, stretched out her arms, and soared away on the breast of the gale, I should have

As my head outpassed the edge of the top so that she came into view, I could see she was looking at me with

stormbright eyes. And as I swung around the rigging lightly and joined her, I saw approval in her eyes that

"Oh, you've done this sort of thing before," she reproached, calling loudly, so that I might hear, her lips close

I shook a denial with my head that brightened her eyes again. She nodded and smiled, and sat down, dangling

her seaboots into snow swirled space from the edge of the top. I sat beside her, looking down into the snow

We were all alone there, a pair of storm petrels perched in mid air on a steel stick that arose out of snow and

that vanished above into snow. We had come to the tip of the world, and even that tip had ceased to be. But

no. Out of the snow, down wind, with motionless wings, driving fully eighty or ninety miles an hour,

appeared a huge albatross. He must have been fifteen feet from wingtip to wingtip. He had seen his danger

ere we saw him, and, tilting his body on the blast, he carelessly veered clear of collision. His head and neck

were rimed with age or frostwe could not tell whichand his bright beadeye noted us as he passed and

"It alone was worth the climb!" she cried. And then the Elsinore flung down, and Margaret's hand clutched

tighter for holding, while from the hidden depths arose the crash and thunder of the great west wind drift

Quickly as the snowsquall had come, it passed with the same sharp quickness, and as in a flash we could see

the lean length of the ship beneath usthe main deck full with boiling flood, the forecastle head buried in a

bursting sea, the lookout, stationed for very life back on top the for'ardhouse, hanging on, head down, to the

wind drive of ocean, and, directly under us, the streaming poop and Mr. Mellaire, with a handful of men,

rigging relieving tackles on the tiller. And we saw the Samurai emerge in the lee of the charthouse, swaying

with casual surety on the mad deck, as he spoke what must have been instructions to Mr. Pike.

The gray circle of the world had removed itself from us for several hundred yards, and we could see the

mighty sweep of sea. Shaggy graybeards, sixty feet from trough to crest, leapt out of the windward murky

gray, and in unending procession rushed upon the Elsinore, one moment overtoppling her slender frailness,

the next moment splashing a hundred tons of water on her deck and flinging her skyward as they passed

beneath and foamed and crested from sight in the murky gray to leeward. And the great albatrosses veered

and circled about us, beating up into the bitter violence of the gale and sweeping grandly away before it far

Margaret forbore from looking to challenge me with eloquent, questioning eyes. With numb fingers inside

"It is nothing new. I have been here before. In the lives of all my fathers have I been here. The frost is on my

cheek, the salt bites my nostrils, the wind chants in my ears, and it is an old happening. I know, now, that my

forbears were Vikings. I was seed of them in their own day. With them I have raided English coasts, dared

the Pillars of Hercules, forayed the Mediterranean, and sat in the high place of government over the soft

sunwarm peoples. I am Hengist and Horsa; I am of the ancient heroes, even legendary to them. I have

bearded and bitten the frozen seas, and, aforetime of that, ere ever the iceages came to be, I have dripped my

shoulders in reindeer gore, slain the mastodon and the sabretooth, scratched the record of my prowess on the

walls of deepburied cavesay, and suckled she wolves side by side with my brothercubs, the scars of

She laughed deliciously, and a snowsquall drove upon us and cut our cheeks, and the Elsinore flung over

and down as if she would never rise again, while we held on and swept through the air in a dizzying arc.

"I don't know anything about it," she cried. "It sounds like poetry. But I believe it. It has to be, for it has been.

I have heard it aforetime, when skinclad men sang in firecircles that pressed back the frost and night."

"They can go hang, along with all the brainsick, worldsick fools that wrote them," I replied.

Again she laughed deliciously, though the wind tore the sound away as she swung out into space, muscled

herself by her arms while she caught footholds beneath her which she could not see, and passed out of my

"What price tobacco?" was Mr. Mellaire's greeting, when I came on deck this morning, bruised and weary,

The wind had fallen to a dead calm toward morning, and the Elsinore, her several spread sails booming and

slatting, rolled more miserably than ever. Mr. Mellaire pointed for'ard of our starboard beam. I could make

And I knew that we were in the position of a vessel just rounding Staten Island preliminary to bucking the

Horn. And, yet, four days ago, we had run through the Straits of Le Maire and stolen along toward the Horn.

Three days ago we had been well abreast of the Horn and even a few miles past. And here we were now,

The condition of the men is truly wretched. During the gale the forecastle was washed out twice. This means

that everything in it was afloat and that every article of clothing, including mattresses and blankets, is wet and

will remain wet in this bitter weather until we are around the Horn and well up in the goodweather latitudes.

The same is true of the 'midshiphouse. Every room in it, with the exception of the cook's and the

sailmakers' (which open for'ard on Number Two hatch), is soaking. And they have no fires in their rooms

I peeped into Charles Davis's room. It was terrible. He grinned to me and nodded his head.

"It's just as well O'Sullivan wasn't here, sir," he said. "He'd a drowned in the lower bunk. And I want to tell

you I was doing some swimmin' before I could get into the top one. And salt water's bad for my sores. I

oughtn't to be in a hole like this in Cape Horn weather. Look at the ice, there, on the floor. It's below freezin'

right now in this room, and my blankets are wet, and I'm a sick man, as any man can tell that's got a nose."

"If you'd been decent to the mate you might have got decent treatment in return," I said.

"Huh!" he sneered. "You needn't think you can lose me, sir. I can grow fat on this sort of stuff. Why, sir,

when I think of the court doin's in Seattle I just couldn't die. An' if you'll listen to me, sir, you'll cover the

steward's money. You can't lose. I'm advisin' you, sir, because you're a sort of decent sort. Anybody that bets

"Condition?" he queried with a fine assumption of innocence. "Why, that is why I did ship. I was in tiptop

shape when I sailed. All this come out on me afterward. You remember seem' me aloft, an' up to my neck in

water. And I trimmed coal below, too. A sick man couldn't do it. And remember, sir, you'll have to testify to

Already the sailors show marks of the hardship they are enduring. It is surprising, in so short a time, how lean

their faces have grown, how lined and seamed. They must dry their underclothing with their body heat. Their

outer garments, under their oilskins, are soggy. And yet, paradoxically, despite their lean, drawn faces, they

have grown very stout. Their walk is a waddle, and they bulge with seaming corpulency. This is due to the

amount of clothing they have on. I noticed Larry, today, had on two vests, two coats, and an overcoat, with

his oilskin outside of that. They are elephantine in their gait for, in addition to everything else, they have

It IS cold, although the deck thermometer stood at thirtythree to day at noon. I had Wada weigh the

clothing I wear on deck. Omitting oilskins and boots, it came to eighteen pounds. And yet I am not any too

warm in all this gear when the wind is blowing. How sailors, after having once experienced the Horn, can

ever sign on again for a voyage around is beyond me. It but serves to show how stupid they must be.

I feel sorry for Henry, the trainingship boy. He is more my own kind, and some day he will make a

henchman of the afterguard and a mate like Mr. Pike. In the meantime, along with Buckwheat, the other boy

who berths in the 'midshiphouse with him, he suffers the same hardship as the men. He is very fairskinned,

and I noticed this afternoon, when he was pulling on a brace, that the sleeves of his oilskins, assisted by the

salt water, have chafed his wrists till they are raw and bleeding and breaking out in seaboils. Mr. Mellaire

tells me that in another week there will be a plague of these boils with all hands for'ard.

"When do you think we'll be up with the Horn again?" I innocently queried of Mr. Pike.

He turned upon me in a rage, as if I had insulted him, and positively snarled in my face ere he swung away

without the courtesy of an answer. It is evident that he takes the sea seriously. That is why, I fancy, he is so

The days passif the interval of sombre gray that comes between the darknesses can be called day. For a

week, now, we have not seen the sun. Our ship's position in this waste of storm and sea is conjectural. Once,

by dead reckoning, we gained up with the Horn and a hundred miles south of it. And then came another

sou'west gale that tore our f oretopsail and brand new spencer out of the belt ropes and swept us away to a

Oh, I know now this Great West Wind that blows for ever around the world south of 55. And I know why the

chartmakers have capitalized it, as, for instance, when I read "The Great West Wind Drift." And I know

why the Sailing Directions advise: "WHATEVER YOU DO, MAKE WESTING! MAKE WESTING!"

And the West Wind and the drift of the West Wind will not permit the Elsinore to make westing. Gale

follows gale, always from the west, and we make easting. And it is bitter cold, and each gale snorts up with a

In the cabin the lamps burn all day long. No more does Mr. Pike run the phonograph, nor does Margaret ever

touch the piano. She complains of being bruised and sore. I have a wrenched shoulder from being hurled

against the wall. And both Wada and the steward are limping. Really, the only comfort I can find is in my

bunk, so wedged with boxes and pillows that the wildest rolls cannot throw me out. There, save for my meals

and for an occasional run on deck for exercise and fresh air, I lie and read eighteen and nineteen hours out of

How it must be with the poor devils for'ard is beyond conceiving. The forecastle has been washed out several

times, and everything is soaking wet. Besides, they have grown weaker, and two watches are required to do

what one ordinary watch could do. Thus, they must spend as many hours on the seaswept deck and aloft on

the freezing yards as I do in my warm, dry bunk. Wada tells me that they never undress, but turn into their

To look at them crawling about on deck or in the rigging is enough. They are truly weak. They are

gauntcheeked and haggardgray of skin, with great dark circles under their eyes. The predicted plague of

seaboils and seacuts has come, and their hands and wrists and arms are frightfully afflicted. Now one, and

now another, and sometimes several, either from being knocked down by seas or from general miserableness,

take to the bunk for a day or so off. This means more work for the others, so that the men on their feet are not

tolerant of the sick ones, and a man must be very sick to escape being dragged out to work by his mates.

I cannot but marvel at Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs. Old and fragile as they are, it seems impossible that

they can endure what they do. For that matter, I cannot understand why they work at all. I cannot understand

why any of them toil on and obey an order in this freezing hell of the Horn. Is it because of fear of death that

they do not cease work and bring death to all of us? Or is it because they are slavebeasts, with a

slavepsychology, so used all their lives to being driven by their masters that it is beyond their mental power

And yet most of them, in a week after we reach Seattle, will be on board other ships outward bound for the

Horn. Margaret says the reason for this is that sailors forget. Mr. Pike agrees. He says give them a week in the

southeast trades as we run up the Pacific and they will have forgotten that they have ever been around the

Horn. I wonder. Can they be as stupid as this? Does pain leave no record with them? Do they fear only the

immediate thing? Have they no horizons wider than a day? Then indeed do they belong where they are.

They ARE cowardly. This was shown conclusively this morning at two o'clock. Never have I witnessed such

panic fear, and it was fear of the immediate thingfear, stupid and beastlike. It was Mr. Mellaire's watch.

As luck would have it, I was reading Boas's Mind of Primitive Man when I heard the rush of feet over my

head. The Elsinore was hove to on the port tack at the time, under very short canvas. I was wondering what

emergency had brought the watch upon the poop, when I heard another rush of feet that meant the second

watch. I heard no pulling and hauling, and the thought of mutiny flashed across my mind.

Still nothing happened, and, growing curious, I got into my sea boots, sheepskin coat, and oilskin, put on

my sou'wester and mittens, and went on deck. Mr. Pike had already dressed and was ahead of me. Captain

West, who in this bad weather sleeps in the chartroom, stood in the lee doorway of the house, through which

Those of the 'midshiphouse were not present, but every man Jack of the forecastle, with the exception of

Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs, as I afterwards learned, had joined in the flight aft. Andy Fay, who belonged

in the watch below, had calmly remained in his bunk, while Mulligan Jacobs had taken advantage of the

But his snicker was palpably an assumption of unconcern he did not possess. The more I think over it the

more I am surprised that such keen men as the gangsters should have been frightened by what had occurred.

But frightened they were, the three of them, out of their bunks and out of the precious surcease of their brief

So fearstruck was Larry that he chattered and grimaced like an ape, and shouldered and struggled to get

away from the dark and into the safety of the shaft of light that shone out of the charthouse. Tony, the

Greek, was just as bad, mumbling to himself and continually crossing himself. He was joined in this, as a sort

of chorus, by the two Italians, Guido Bombini and Mike Cipriani. Arthur Deacon was almost in collapse, and

he and Chantz, the Jew, shamelessly clung to each other for support. Bob, the fat and overgrown youth, was

sobbing, while the other youth, Bony the Splinter, was shivering and chattering his teeth. Yes, and the two

best sailors for'ard, Tom Spink and the Maltese Cockney, stood in the background, their backs to the dark,

More than all other contemptible things in this world there are two that I loathe and despise: hysteria in a

woman; fear and cowardice in a man. The first turns me to ice. I cannot sympathize with hysteria. The second

turns my stomach. Cowardice in a man is to me positively nauseous. And this fearsmitten mass of human

animals on our reeling poop raised my gorge. Truly, had I been a god at that moment, I should have

annihilated the whole mass of them. No; I should have been merciful to one. He was the Faun. His bright,

painliquid, and flashingeager eyes strained from face to face with desire to understand. He did not know

what had occurred, and, being stonedeaf, had thought the rush aft a response to a call for all hands.

I noticed Mr. Mellaire. He may be afraid of Mr. Pike, and he is a murderer; but at any rate he has no fear of

the supernatural. With two men above him in authority, although it was his watch, there was no call for him

to do anything. He swayed back and forth in balance to the violent motions of the Elsinore and looked on

Oh, it was murder, sheer murder, that leapt into the gangster's eyes for the instant, in acknowledgment of the

"He's as big as a elephant, sir," volunteered Bill Quigley. "I seen'm face to face, sir. He almost got me when I

"Oh, Lord, sir!" Larry moaned. "The way he hit the house, sir. It was the call to Judgment."

"Your theology is mixed, my man," Captain West smiled quietly, though I could not help seeing how tired

"Mr. Pike, will you please go for'ard and interview this devil? Fasten him up and tie him down and I'll take a

And as I went for'ard through the wall of darkness after Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire along the freezing,

slender, seaswept bridgenot a sailor dared to accompany usother lines of "The Galley Slave" drifted

"Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped in gold We ran a mighty merchandise of

"By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel, By the welts the whips have left me, by the

And I caught my great, radiant vision of Mr. Pike, galley slave of the race, and a driver of men under men

greater than he; the faithful henchman, the able sailorman, battered and grizzled, branded and galled, the

servant of the sweephead that made mastery of the sea. I know him now. He can never again offend me. I

forgive him everythingthe whiskey raw on his breath the day I came aboard at Baltimore, his moroseness

when sea and wind do not favour, his savagery to the men, his snarl and his sneer.

On top the 'midshiphouse we got a ducking that makes me shiver to recall. I had dressed too hastily properly

to fasten my oilskin about my neck, so that I was wet to the skin. We crossed the next span of bridge through

driving spray, and were well upon the top of the for'ardhouse when something adrift on the deck hit the

"Whatever it is, it's playing the devil," Mr. Pike yelled in my ear, as he endeavoured to locate the thing by the

The pencil of light travelled over dark water, white with foam, that churned upon the deck.

"There it goes!" Mr. Pike cried, as the Elsinore dipped by the head and hurtled the water for'ard.

The light went out as the three of us caught holds and crouched to a deluge of water from overside. As we

emerged, from under the forecastlehead we heard a tremendous thumping and battering. Then, as the bow

lifted, for an instant in the pencil of light that immediately lost it, I glimpsed a vague black object that

bounded down the inclined deck where no water was. What became of it we could not see.

Mr. Pike descended to the deck, followed by Mr. Mellaire. Again, as the Elsinore dipped by the head and

fetched a surge of seawater from aft along the runway, I saw the dark object bound for'ard directly at the

mates. They sprang to safety from its charge, the light went out, while another icy sea broke aboard.

For a time I could see nothing of the two men. Next, in the light flashed from the stick, I guessed that Mr.

Pike was in pursuit of the thing. He evidently must have captured it at the rail against the starboard rigging

and caught a turn around it with a loose end of rope. As the vessel rolled to windward some sort of a struggle

seemed to be going on. The second mate sprang to the mate's assistance, and, together, with more loose ends,

I descended to see. By the lightstick we made it out to be a large, barnaclecrusted cask.

"She's been afloat for forty years," was Mr. Pike's judgment. "Look at the size of the barnacles, and look at

I rashly lent a hand when they started to work the cask for'ard, between seas and taking advantage of the rolls

and pitches, to the shelter under the forecastlehead. As a result, even through my mittens, I was cut by the

"It's liquor of some sort," said the mate, "but we won't risk broaching it till morning."

"Over the side's the only place it could have come from." Mr. Pike played the light over it. "Look at it! It's

Leaving them to lash the cask securely, I stole along the deck to the forecastle and peered in. The men, in

their headlong flight, had neglected to close the doors, and the place was afloat. In the flickering light from a

small and very smoky sealamp it was a dismal picture. No selfrespecting caveman, I am sure, would have

Even as I looked a bursting sea filled the runway between the house and rail, and through the doorway in

which I stood the freezing water rushed waistdeep. I had to hold on to escape being swept inside the room.

From a top bunk, lying on his side, Andy Fay regarded me steadily with his bitter blue eyes. Seated on the

rough table of heavy planks, his seabooted feet swinging in the water, Mulligan Jacobs pulled at his pipe.

"Me library's gone to hell," he mourned as he indicated the flotsam. "There's me Byron. An' there goes Zola

an' Browning with a piece of Shakespeare runnin' neck an' neck, an' what's left of AntiChrist makin' a bad

last. An' there's Carlyle and Zola that cheek by jowl you can't tell 'em apart."

Here the Elsinore lay down to starboard, and the water in the forecastle poured out against my legs and hips.

My wet mittens slipped on the iron work, and I swept down the runway into the scuppers, where I was turned

I know I was rather confused, and that I had swallowed quite a deal of salt water, ere I got my hands on the

rungs of the ladder and climbed to the top of the house. On my way aft along the bridge I encountered the

crew coming for'ard. Mr. Mellaire and Mr. Pike were talking in the lee of the charthouse, and inside, as I

After a good rub down, in dry pyjamas, I was scarcely back in my bunk with the Mind of Primitive Man

before me, when the stampede over my head was repeated. I waited for the second rush. It came, and I

The scene on the poop duplicated the previous one, save that the men were more excited, more frightened.

"Shut up!" Mr. Pike was snarling when I came upon them. "One at a time, and answer the captain's question."

"It ain't no barrel this time, sir," Tom Spink said. "It's alive. An' if it ain't the devil it's the ghost of a

"They was three of 'em, sir," said Nosey Murphy. "O'Sullivan, sir, was the other one. They ain't devils, sir.

They're drownded men. They come aboard right over the bows, an' they moved slow like drownded men.

Sorensen seen the first one first. He caught my arm an' pointed, an' then I seen 'm. He was on top the

for'ardhouse. And Olansen seen 'm, an' Deacon, sir, an' Hackey. We all seen 'm, sir . . . an' the second one;

an' when the rest run away I stayed long enough to see the third one. Mebbe there's more. I didn't wait to

"Yes, sir," Mr. Pike responded, then turned on the man. "Come on, all of you! There's three devils to tie down

"For two cents . . . " I heard Mr. Pike growl to himself, then choke off utterance.

He flung about on his heel and started for the bridge. In the same order as on the previous trip, Mr. Mellaire

second, and I bringing up the rear, we followed. It was a similar journey, save that we caught a ducking

We halted on top the for'ardhouse. In vain Mr. Pike flashed his lightstick. Nothing was to be seen nor

heard save the whiteflecked dark water on our deck, the roar of the gale in our rigging, and the crash and

thunder of seas falling aboard. We advanced halfway across the last span of bridge to the f orecastle head,

Between the drives of spray Mr. Pike flashed his stick. I heard him exclaim something. Then he went on to

the forecastlehead, followed by Mr. Mellaire, while I waited by the foremast, clinging tight, and endured

another ducking. Through the emergencies I could see the pencil of light, appearing and disappearing, darting

"Half our headgear's carried away," Mr. Pike told me. "We must have run into something."

"I felt a jar, right after you' went below, sir, last time," said Mr. Mellaire. "Only I thought it was a thump of

"So did I feel it," the mate agreed. "I was just taking off my boots. I thought it was a sea. But where are the

We made the forecastlehead, descended the iron ladder, and went for'ard, inside, underneath, out of the

wind and sea. There lay the cask, securely lashed. The size of the barnacles on it was astonishing. They were

as large as apples and inches deep. A down fling of bow brought a foot of water about our boots; and as the

bow lifted and the water drained away, it drew out from the shellcrusted cask streamers of seaweed a foot or

Led by Mr. Pike and watching our chance between seas, we searched the deck and rails between the

forecastlehead and the for'ardhouse and found no devils. The mate stepped into the forecastle doorway,

and his lightstick cut like a dagger through the dim illumination of the murky sealamp. And we saw the

Let me give the picture: A drenched and freezing room of rusty, paintscabbed iron, lowroofed,

doubletiered with bunks, reeking with the filth of thirty men, despite the washing of the sea. In a top bunk,

on his side, in seaboots and oilskins, staring steadily with blue, bitter eyes, Andy Fay; on the table, pulling

at a pipe, with hanging legs dragged this way and that by the churn of water, Mulligan Jacobs, solemnly

regarding three men, seabooted and bloody, who stand side by side, of a height and not duly tall, swaying in

But such men! I know my East Side and my East End, and I am accustomed to the faces of all the ruck of

races, yet with these three men I was at fault. The Mediterranean had surely never bred such a breed; nor had

Scandinavia. They were not blonds. They were not brunettes. Nor were they of the Brown, or Black, or

Yellow. Their skin was white under a bronze of weather. Wet as was their hair, it was plainly a colourless,

sandy hair. Yet their eyes were darkand yet not dark. They were neither blue, nor gray, nor green, nor

hazel. Nor were they black. They were topaz, pale topaz; and they gleamed and dreamed like the eyes of

great cats. They regarded us like walkers in a dream, these palehaired stormwaifs with pale, topaz eyes.

They did not bow, they did not smile, in no way did they recognize our presence save that they looked at us

"Now where did they blow in from a night like this?" Mulligan Jacobs complained.

"You've got a tongue in your mouth," Mr. Pike snarled. "Why ain't you asked 'em?"

"As though you didn't know I could use the tongue in me mouth, you old stiff," Jacobs snarled back.

But it was no time for their private feud. Mr. Pike turned on the dreaming newcomers and addressed them in

the mangled and aborted phrases of a dozen languages such as the worldwandering AngloSaxon has had

every opportunity to learn but is too stubbornbrained and wilfulmouthed to wrap his tongue about.

The visitors made no reply. They did not even shake their heads. Their faces remained peculiarly relaxed and

placid, incurious and pleasant, while in their eyes floated profounder dreams. Yet they were human. The

"Dutchmen," snorted Mr. Pike, with all due contempt for other breeds, as he waved them to make themselves

Mr. Pike's ethnology is narrow. Outside his own race he is aware of only three races: niggers, Dutchmen, and

Again our visitors proved themselves human. They understood the mate's invitation, and, glancing first at one

another, they climbed into three topbunks and closed their eyes. I could swear the first of them was asleep in

"We'll have to clean up for'ard, or we'll be having the sticks about our ears," the mate said, already starting to

And no westing! We have been swept back three degrees of casting since the night our visitors came on

board. They are the great mystery, these three men of the sea. "Horn Gypsies," Margaret calls them; and Mr.

Pike dubs them "Dutchmen." One thing is certain, they have a language of their own which they talk with one

another. But of our hotchpotch of nationalities fore and aft there is no person who catches an inkling of their

Mr. Mellaire raised the theory that they were Finns of some sort, but this was indignantly denied by our

bigfooted youth of a carpenter, who swears he is a Finn himself. Louis, the cook, avers that somewhere over

the world, on some forgotten voyage, he has encountered men of their type; but he can neither remember the

voyage nor their race. He and the rest of the Asiatics accept their presence as a matter of course; but the crew,

with the exception of Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs, is very superstitious about the new comers, and will

"No good will come of them, sir," Tom Spink, at the wheel, told us, shaking his head forebodingly.

Margaret's mittened hand rested on my arm as we balanced to the easy roll of the ship. We had paused from

our promenade, which we now take each day, religiously, as a constitutional, between eleven and twelve.

"Why, what is the matter with them?" she queried, nudging me privily in warning of what was coming.

"Because they ain't men, Miss, as we can rightly call men. They ain't regular men."

"That's just it, Miss," Tom Spink exclaimed, brightening perceptibly at the hint of understanding. "Where'd

they come from? They won't tell. Of course they won't tell. They ain't men. They're spirits ghosts of sailors

that drowned as long ago as when that cask went adrift from a sinkin' ship, an' that's years an' years, Miss, as

"We all think so, Miss. We ain't spent our lives on the sea for nothin'. There's no end of landsmen don't

believe in the Flyin' Dutchman. But what do they know? They're just landsmen, ain't they? They ain't never

had their leg grabbed by a ghost, such as I had, on the Kathleen, thirtyfive years ago, down in the hole

'tween the watercasks. An' didn't that ghost rip the shoe right off of me? An' didn't I fall through the hatch

"Now, Miss, I seen 'em makin' signs to Mr. Pike that we'd run into their ship hove to on the other tack. Don't

"There's lots of things can't be explained, sir," was Tom Spink's answer. "Who can explain the way the Finns

plays tomfool tricks with the weather? Yet everybody knows it. Why are we havin' a hard passage around

"Because of the carpenter, sir. We've found out he's a Finn. Why did he keep it quiet all the way down from

"He didn't tell it, Missleastways, not until after them three others boarded us. I got my suspicions he knows

more about 'm than he's lettin' on. An' look at the weather an' the delay we're gettin'. An' don't everybody

"No, Miss. They're drownded sailors a long time drownded. All you have to do is look at 'm. An' the

Nevertheless, our mysterious visitors are a welcome addition to our weakened crew. I watch them at work.

They are strong and willing. Mr. Pike says they are real sailormen, even if he doesn't understand their lingo.

His theory is that they are from some small oldcountry or outlander ship, which, hove to on the opposite

I have forgotten to say that we found the barnacled cask nearly filled with a most delicious wine which none

of us can name. As soon as the gale moderated Mr. Pike had the cask brought aft and broached, and now the

steward and Wada have it all in bottles and spare demijohns. It is beautifully aged, and Mr. Pike is certain

that it is some sort of a mild and unheardof brandy. Mr. Mellaire merely smacks his lips over it, while

The condition of the men grows deplorable. They were always poor at pulling on ropes, but now it takes two

or three to pull as much as one used to pull. One thing in their favour is that they are well, though grossly,

fed. They have all they want to eat, such as it is, but it is the cold and wet, the terrible condition of the

forecastle, the lack of sleep, and the almost continuous toil of both watches on deck. Either watch is so weak

and worthless that any severe task requires the assistance of the other watch. As an instance, we finally

managed a reef in the foresail in the thick of a gale. It took both watches two hours, yet Mr. Pike tells me

that under similar circumstances, with an average crew of the old days, he has seen a single watch reef the

I have learned one of the prime virtues of a steel sailingship. Such a craft, heavily laden, does not strain her

seams open in bad weather and big seas. Except for a tiny leak down in the forepeak, with which we sailed

from Baltimore and which is bailed out with a pail once in several weeks, the Elsinore is bonedry. Mr. Pike

tells me that had a wooden ship of her size and cargo gone through the buffeting we have endured, she would

And Mr. Mellaire, out of his own experience, has added to my respect for the Horn. When he was a young

man he was once eight weeks in making around from 50 in the Atlantic to 50 in the Pacific. Another time his

vessel was compelled to put back twice to the Falklands for repairs. And still another time, in a wooden ship

running back in distress to the Falklands, his vessel was lost in a shift of gale in the very entrance to Port

"And after we'd been there a month, sir, who should come in but the old Lucy Powers. She was a sight!her

foremast clean gone out of her and half her spars, the old man killed from one of the spars falling on him, the

mate with two broken arms, the second mate sick, and what was left of the crew at the pumps. We'd lost our

ship, so my skipper took charge, refitted her, doubled up both crews, and we headed the other way around,

The poor wretched chickens! Because of their illjudged moulting they are quite featherless. It is a marvel

that one of them survives, yet so far we have lost only six. Margaret keeps the kerosene stove going, and,

though they have ceased laying, she confidently asserts that they are all layers and that we shall have plenty

There is little use to describe these monotonous and perpetual westerly gales. One is very like another, and

they follow so fast on one another's heels that the sea never has a chance to grow calm. So long have we

rolled and tossed about that the thought, say, of a solid, unmoving billiardtable is inconceivable. In previous

incarnations I have encountered things that did not move, but . . . they were in previous incarnations.

We have been up to the Diego Ramirez Rocks twice in the past ten days. At the present moment, by vague

dead reckoning, we are two hundred miles east of them. We have been hove down to our hatches three times

in the last week. We have had six stout sails, of the heaviest canvas, furled and doublegasketed, torn loose

and stripped from the yards. Sometimes, so weak are our men, not more than half of them can respond to the

Lars Jacobson, who had his leg broken early in the voyage, was knocked down by a sea several days back

and had the leg rebroken. Ditman Olansen, the crankeyed Norwegian, went Berserker last night in the

second dogwatch and pretty well cleaned out his half of the forecastle. Wada reports that it required the

bricklayers, Fitzgibbon and Gilder, the Maltese Cockney, and Steve Roberts, the cowboy, finally to subdue

the madman. These are all men of Mr. Mellaire's watch. In Mr. Pike's watch John Hackey, the San Francisco

hoodlum, who has stood out against the gangsters, has at last succumbed and joined them. And only this

morning Mr. Pike dragged Charles Davis by the scruff of the neck out of the forecastle, where he had caught

him expounding sealaw to the miserable creatures. Mr. Mellaire, I notice on occasion, remains unduly

And Charles Davis does not die. He seems actually to be gaining in weight. He never misses a meal. From the

break of the poop, in the shelter of the weather cloth, our decks a thunder and rush of freezing water, I often

watch him slip out of his room between seas, mug and plate in hand, and hobble for'ard to the galley for his

food. He is a keen judge of the ship's motions, for never yet have I seen him get a serious ducking.

Sometimes, of course, he may get splattered with spray or wet to the knees, but he manages to be out of the

A wonderful event today! For five minutes, at noon, the sun was actually visible. But such a sun!a pale

and cold and sickly orb that at meridian was only 90 degrees 18 minutes above the horizon. And within the

hour we were taking in sail and lying down to the snowgusts of a fresh southwest gale.

WHATEVER YOU DO, MAKE WESTING! MAKE WESTING!this sailing rule of the navigators for the

Horn has been bitten out of iron. I can understand why shipmasters, with a favouring slant of wind, have left

sailors, fallen overboard, to drown without heavingto to lower a boat. Cape Horn is iron, and it takes

And we make easting! This west wind is eternal. I listen incredulously when Mr. Pike or Mr. Mellaire tells of

times when easterly winds have blown in these latitudes. It is impossible. Always does the west wind blow,

gale upon gale and gales everlasting, else why the "Great West Wind Drift" printed on the charts! We of the

afterguard are weary of this eternal buffeting. Our men have become pulpy, washedout, sorecorroded

shadows of men. I should not be surprised, in the end, to see Captain West turn tail and run eastward around

the world to Seattle. But Margaret smiles with surety, and nods her head, and affirms that her father will win

How Charles Davis survives in that wet, freezing, paintscabbed room of iron in the 'midshiphouse is

beyond mejust as it is beyond me that the wretched sailors in the wretched forecastle do not lie down in

Another week has passed, and we are today, by observation, sixty miles due south of the Straits of Le

Maire, and we are hoveto, in a driving gale, on the port tack. The glass is down to 28.58, and even Mr. Pike

acknowledges that it is one of the worst Cape Horn snorters he has ever experienced.

In the old days the navigators used to strive as far south as 64 degrees or 65 degrees, into the Antarctic drift

ice, hoping, in a favouring spell, to make westing at a prodigious rate across the extremenarrowing wedges

of longitude. But of late years all shipmasters have accepted the hugging of the land all the way around. Out

of ten times ten thousand passages of Cape Stiff from east to west, this, they have concluded, is the best

strategy. So Captain West hugs the land. He heavesto on the port tack until the leeward drift brings the land

into perilous proximity, then wears ship and heavesto on the port tack and makes leeway off shore.

I may be weary of all this bitter movement of a labouring ship on a frigid sea, but at the same time I do not

mind it. In my brain burns the flame of a great discovery and a great achievement. I have found what makes

all the books go glimmering; I have achieved what my very philosophy tells me is the greatest achievement a

man can make. I have found the love of woman. I do not know whether she cares for me. Nor is that the

point. The point is that in myself I have risen to the greatest height to which the human male animal can rise.

I know a woman and her name is Margaret. She is Margaret, a woman and desirable. My blood is red. I am

not the pallid scholar I so proudly deemed myself to be. I am a man, and a lover, despite the books. As for De

Casseresif ever I get back to New York, equipped as I now am, I shall confute him with the same ease that

he has confuted all the schools. Love is the final word. To the rational man it alone gives the superrational

sanction for living. Like Bergson in his overhanging heaven of intuition, or like one who has bathed in

Pentecostal fire and seen the New Jerusalem, so I have trod the materialistic dictums of science underfoot,

scaled the last peak of philosophy, and leaped into my heaven, which, after all, is within myself. The stuff

that composes me, that is I, is so made that it finds its supreme realization in the love of woman. It is the

vindication of being. Yes, and it is the wages of being, the payment in full for all the brittleness and frailty of

And she is only a woman, like any woman, and the Lord knows I know what women are. And I know

Margaret for what she ismere woman; and yet I know, in the lover's soul of me, that she is somehow

different. Her ways are not as the ways of other women, and all her ways are delightful to me. In the end, I

suppose, I shall become a nest builder, for of a surety nestbuilding is one of her pretty ways. And who

shall say which is the worthierthe writing of a whole library or the building of a nest?

The monotonous days, bleak and gray and soggy cold, drag by. It is now a month since we began the passage

of the Horn, and here we are, not so well forward as a month ago, because we are something like a hundred

miles south of the Straits of Le Maire. Even this position is conjectural, being arrived at by dead reckoning,

based on the leeway of a ship hoveto, now on the one tack, now on the other, with always the Great West

Wind Drift making against us. It is four days since our last instrumentsight of the sun.

This stormvexed ocean has become populous. No ships are getting round, and each day adds to our number.

Never a brief day passes without our sighting from two or three to a dozen hoveto on port tack or starboard

tack. Captain West estimates there must be at least two hundred sail of us. A ship hoveto with preventer

tackles on the rudderhead is unmanageable. Each night we take our chance of unavoidable and disastrous

collision. And at times, glimpsed through the snowsqualls, we see and curse the ships, eastbound, that

drive past us with the West Wind and the West Wind Drift at their backs. And so wild is the mind of man that

Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire still aver that on occasion they have known gales to blow ships from east to west

around the Horn. It surely has been a year since we of the Elsinore emerged from under the lee of Tierra Del

Fuego into the snorting southwest gales. A century, at least, has elapsed since we sailed from Baltimore.

And I don't give a snap of my fingers for all the wrath and fury of this dimgray sea at the tip of the earth. I

have told Margaret that I love her. The tale was told in the shelter of the weather cloth, where we clung

together in the second dogwatch last evening. And it was told again, and by both of us, in the brightlighted

chartroom after the watches had been changed at eight bells. Yes, and her face was stormbright, and all of

her was very proud, save that her eyes were warm and soft and fluttered with lids that just would flutter

A poor devil of a man is most lucky when, loving, he is loved. Grievous indeed must be the fate of the lover

who is unloved. And I, for one, and for still other reasons, congratulate myself upon the vastitude of my good

fortune. For see, were Margaret any other sort of a woman, were she . . . well, just the lovely and lovable and

adorably snuggly sort who seem made just precisely for love and loving and nestling into the strong arms of a

manwhy, there wouldn't be anything remarkable or wonderful about her loving me. But Margaret is

Margaret, strong, selfpossessed, serene, controlled, a very mistress of herself. And there's the miraclethat

such a woman should have been awakened to love by me. It is almost unbelievable. I go out of my way to get

another peep into those long, cool, gray eyes of hers and see them grow melting soft as she looks at me. She

is no Juliet, thank the Lord; and thank the Lord I am no Romeo. And yet I go up alone on the freezing poop,

and under my breath chant defiantly at the snorting gale, and at the graybeards thundering down on us, that I

am a lover. And I send messages to the lonely albatrosses veering through the murk that I am a lover. And I

look at the wretched sailors crawling along the sprayswept bridge and know that never in ten thousand

wretched lives could they experience the love I experience, and I wonder why God ever made them.

"And the one thing I had firmly resolved from the start," Margaret confessed to me this morning in the cabin,

when I released her from my arms, "was that I would not permit you to make love to me."

"True daughter of Herodias," I gaily gibed, "so such was the drift of your thoughts even as early as the very

"What possibly could have led you to expect that I would make love to you?" I insisted.

And at that instant I knew the first ridiculous pang of jealousy; but I laughed it away and retorted:

"It was an ancient Chinese philosopher who is first recorded as having said, what doubtlessly the cave men

before him gibbered, namely, that a woman pursues a man by fluttering away in advance of him."

"From the first you observed nothing that a female could afford to miss observing," I charged. "I'll wager you

"Yes, I know, the first time I saw you and learned that you were coming on the voyage," I said. "But now I

Oh, her eyes were beautiful, and the repose and certitude of her were tremendous, as she rested her hand on

"Yes, I . . . I think I know. It was the morning of that pampero off the Plate, when you were thrown through

the door into my father's stateroom. I saw it in your eyes. I knew it. I think it was the first time, the very

I could only nod my head and draw her close to me. And she looked up at me and added:

"You were very ridiculous. There you sat, on the bed, holding on with one hand and nursing the other hand

under your arm, staring at me, irritated, startled, utterly foolish, and then . . . how, I don't know . . . I knew

"And that was why," she admitted shamelessly, then leaned away from me, her hands resting on my

shoulders, while she gurgled and her lips parted from over her beautiful white teeth.

One thing I, John Pathurst, know: that gurgling laughter of hers is the most adorable laughter that was ever

I wonder. I wonder. Did the Samurai make a mistake? Or was it the darkness of oncoming death that chilled

and clouded that starcool brain of his, and made a mock of all his wisdom? Or was it the blunder that

brought death upon him beforehand? I do not know, I shall never know; for it is a matter no one of us dreams

I shall begin at the beginningyesterday afternoon. For it was yesterday afternoon, five weeks to a day since

we emerged from the Straits of Le Maire into this gray stormocean, that once again we found ourselves

hove to directly off the Horn. At the changing of the watches at four o'clock, Captain West gave the

command to Mr. Pike to wear ship. We were on the starboard tack at the time, making leeway off shore. This

manoeuvre placed us on the port tack, and the consequent leeway, to me, seemed on shore, though at an acute

In the chartroom, glancing curiously at the chart, I measured the distance with my eye and decided that we

"With our drift we'll be close up under the land by morning, won't we?" I ventured tentatively.

"Yes," Captain West nodded; "and if it weren't for the West Wind Drift, and if the land did not trend to the

northeast, we'd be ashore by morning. As it is, we'll be well under it at daylight, ready to steal around if

It did not enter my head to question his judgment. What he said had to be. Was he not the Samurai?

And yet, a few minutes later, when he had gone below, I noticed Mr. Pike enter the charthouse. After

several paces up and down, and a brief pause to watch Nancy and several men shift the weather cloth from

lee to weather, I strolled aft to the charthouse. Prompted by I know not what, I peeped through one of the

There stood Mr. Pike, his sou'wester doffed, his oilskins streaming rivulets to the floor, while he, dividers and

parallel rulers in hand, bent over the chart. It was the expression of his face that startled me. The habitual

sourness had vanished. All that I could see was anxiety and apprehension . . . yes, and age. I had never seen

him look so old; for there, at that moment, I beheld the wastage and weariness of all his sixtynine years of

I slipped away from the port and went along the deck to the break of the poop, where I held on and stood

staring through the gray and spray in the conjectural direction of our drift. Somewhere, there, in the

northeast and north, I knew was a broken, iron coast of rocks upon which the graybeards thundered. And

there, in the chartroom, a redoubtable sailorman bent anxiously over a chart as he measured and calculated,

And I knew it could not be. It was not the Samurai but the henchman who was weak and wrong. Age was

beginning to tell upon him at last, which could not be otherwise than expected when one considered that no

I laughed at my moment's qualm of foolishness and went below, well content to meet my loved one and to

rest secure in her father's wisdom. Of course he was right. He had proved himself right too often already on

At dinner Mr. Pike was quite distrait. He took no part whatever in the conversation, and seemed always to be

listening to something from withoutto the vexing clang of taut ropes that came down the hollow

jiggermast, to the muffled roar of the gale in the rigging, to the smash and crash of the seas along our decks

Again I found myself sharing his apprehension, although I was too discreet to question him then, or

afterwards alone, about his trouble. At eight he went on deck again to take the watch till midnight, and as I

went to bed I dismissed all forebodings and speculated as to how many more voyages he could last after this

I fell asleep quickly, and awoke at midnight, my lamp still burning, Conrad's Mirror of the Sea on my breast

where it had dropped from my hands. I heard the watches change, and was wide awake and reading when Mr.

Pike came below by the boobyhatch and passed down my hail by my open door, on his way to his room.

In the pause I had long since learned so well I knew he was rolling a cigarette. Then I heard him cough, as he

always did, when the cigarette was lighted and the first inhalation of smoke flushed his lungs.

At twelvefifteen, in the midst of Conrad's delightful chapter, "The Weight of the Burden," I heard Mr. Pike

Stealing a glance over the top of my book, I saw him go by, sea booted, oilskinned, sou'westered. It was his

watch below, and his sleep was meagre in this perpetual bad weather, yet he was going on deck.

I read and waited for an hour, but he did not return; and I knew that somewhere up above he was staring into

the driving dark. I dressed fully, in all my heavy stormgear, from seaboots and sou'wester to sheepskin

under my oilskin coat. At the foot of the stairs I noted along the hall that Margaret's light was burning. I

Nor in the heart of me do I believe she had any apprehension. She does not know even now, I am confident,

the Samurai's blunderif blunder it was. As she said, she was merely not sleepy, although there is no telling

in what occult ways she may have received though not recognized Mr. Pike's anxiety.

At the head of the stairs, passing along the tiny hall to go out the lee door of the charthouse, I glanced into

the chartroom. On the couch, lying on his back, his head uncomfortably high, I thought, slept Captain West.

The room was warm from the ascending heat of the cabin, so that he lay unblanketed, fully dressed save for

oilskins and boots. He breathed easily and steadily, and the lean, ascetic lines of his face seemed softened by

the light of the lowturned lamp. And that one glance restored to me all my surety and faith in his wisdom, so

that I laughed at myself for having left my warm bed for a freezing trip on deck.

Under the weather cloth at the break of the poop I found Mr. Mellaire. He was wide awake, but under no

strain. Evidently it had not entered his mind to consider, much less question, the manoeuvre of wearing ship

"The gale is breaking," he told me, waving his mittened hand at a starry segment of sky momentarily exposed

But where was Mr. Pike? Did the second mate know he was on deck? I proceeded to feel Mr. Mellaire out as

we worked our way aft, along the mad poop toward the wheel. I talked about the difficulty of sleeping in

stormy weather, stated the restlessness and semiinsomnia that the violent motion of the ship caused in me,

"I noticed Captain West, in the chartroom, as I came up, sleeping like a baby," I concluded.

"Trust us to sleep just the same way, Mr. Pathurst," the second mate laughed. "The harder the weather the

harder the demand on us, and the harder we sleep. I'm dead the moment my head touches the pillow. It takes

Mr. Pike longer, because he always finishes his cigarette after he turns in. But he smokes while he's

undressing, so that he doesn't require more than a minute to go deado. I'll wager he hasn't moved, right now,

So the second mate did not dream the first was even on deck. I went below to make sure. A small sealamp

was burning in Mr. Pike's room, and I saw his bunk unoccupied. I went in by the big stove in the

diningroom and warmed up, then again came on deck. I did not go near the weather cloth, where I was

certain Mr. Mellaire was; but, keeping along the lee of the poop, I gained the bridge and started for'ard.

I was in no hurry, so I paused often in that cold, wet journey. The gale was breaking, for again and again the

stars glimmered through the thinning stormclouds. On the 'midshiphouse was no Mr. Pike. I crossed it,

stung by the freezing, flying spray, and carefully reconnoitred the top of the for'ardhouse, where, in such

bad weather, I knew the lookout was stationed. I was within twenty feet of them, when a wider clearance of

starry sky showed me the figures of the lookout, whoever he was, and of Mr. Pike, side by side. Long I

watched them, not making my presence known, and I knew that the old mate's eyes were boring like gimlets

into the windy darkness that separated the Elsinore from the thundersurfed iron coast he sought to find.

"I'm too restless," I explained. "I've read until my eyes are tired, and now I'm trying to get chilled so that I can

"I envy you, sir," he answered. "Think of it! So much of all night in that you cannot sleep. Some day, if ever I

make a lucky strike, I shall make a voyage like this as a passenger, and have all watches below. Think of it!

All blessed watches below! And I shall, like you, sir, bring a Jap servant along, and I'll make him call me at

every changing of the watches, so that, wide awake, I can appreciate my good fortune in the several minutes

We laughed good night to each other. Another peep into the chart room showed me Captain West sleeping

as before. He had not moved in general, though all his body moved with every roll and fling of the ship.

Below, Margaret's light still burned, but a peep showed her asleep, her book fallen from her hands just as was

And I wondered. Half the souls of us on the Elsinore slept. The Samurai slept. Yet the old first mate, who

should have slept, kept a bitter watch on the for'ardhouse. Was his anxiety right? Could it be right? Or was it

the crankiness of ultimate age? Were we drifting and leewaying to destruction? Or was it merely an old man

Too wide awake to think of sleeping, I ensconced myself with The Mirror of the Sea at the diningtable. Nor

did I remove aught of my stormgear save the soggy mittens, which I wrung out and hung to dry by the

stove. Four bells struck, and six bells, and Mr. Pike had not returned below. At eight bells, with the changing

of the watches, it came upon me what a night of hardship the old mate was enduring. Eight to twelve had

been his own watch on deck. He had now completed the four hours of the second mate's watch and was

beginning his own watch, which would last till eight in the morningtwelve consecutive hours in a Cape

Nextfor I had dozedI heard loud cries above my head that were repeated along the poop. I did not know

till afterwards that it was Mr. Pike's command to hardup the helm, passed along from for'ard by the men he

All that I knew at this shock of waking was that something was happening above. As I pulled on my steaming

mittens and hurried my best up the reeling stairs, I could hear the stamp of men's feet that for once were not

lagging. In the charthouse hall I heard Mr. Pike, who had already covered the length of the bridge from the

"Mizzenbraces! Slack, damn you! Slack on the run! But hold a turn! Aft, here, all of you! Jump! Lively, if

you don't want to swim! Come in, portbraces! Don't let 'm get away! Leebraces!if you lose that turn I'll

split your skull! Lively! Lively!Is that helm hard over! Why in hell don't you answer?"

All this I heard as I dashed for the lee door and as I wondered why I did not hear the Samurai's voice.

He was sitting on the couch, whitefaced, one seaboot in his hands, and I could have sworn his hands were

At first, just emerged from the light, I could see nothing, although I could hear men at the pinrails and the

mate snarling and shouting commands. But I knew the manoeuvre. With a weak crew, in the big, tailend sea

of a broken gale, breakers and destruction under her lee, the Elsinore was being worn around. We had been

under lower topsails and a reefed foresail all night. Mr. Pike's first action, after putting the wheel up, had

been to square the mizzenyards. With the windpressure thus eased aft, the stern could more easily swing

But it takes time to wear a ship, under short canvas, in a big sea. Slowly, very slowly, I could feel the

direction of the wind altering against my cheek. The moon, dim at first, showed brighter and brighter as the

last shreds of a flying cloud drove away from before it. In vain I looked for any land.

"Mainbraces!all of you!jump!" Mr. Pike shouted, himself leading the rush along the poop. And the

men really rushed. Not in all the months I had observed them had I seen such swiftness of energy.

I made my way to the wheel, where Tom Spink stood. He did not notice me. With one hand holding the idle

wheel, he was leaning out to one side, his eyes fixed in a fascinated stare. I followed its direction, on between

the charthouse and the portjigger shrouds, and on across a mountain sea that was very vague in the

moonlight. And then I saw it! The Elsinore's stern was flung skyward, and across that cold ocean I saw

landblack rocks and snowcovered slopes and crags. And toward this land the Elsinore, now almost before

From the 'midshiphouse came the snarls of the mate and the cries of the sailors. They were pulling and

hauling for very life. Then came Mr. Pike, across the poop, leaping with incredible swiftness, sending his

"Ease that wheel there! What the hell you gawkin' at? Steady her as I tell you. That's all you got to do!"

From for'ard came a cry, and I knew Mr. Mellaire was on top of the for'ardhouse and managing the

He bounded away along the poop again, shouting for men for the mizzenbraces. And the men appeared,

some of his watch, others of the second mate's watch, routed from sleepmen coatless, and hatless, and

bootless; men ghastlyfaced with fear but eager for once to spring to the orders of the man who knew and

could save their miserable lives from miserable death. Yesand I noted the delicate handed cook, and

Yatsuda, the sailmaker, pulling with his one unparalysed hand. It was all hands to save ship, and all hands

knew it. Even Sundry Buyers, who had drifted aft in his stupidity instead of being for'ard with his own

officer, forebore to stare about and to press his abdomen. For the nonce he pulled like a youngling of twenty.

The moon covered again, and it was in darkness that the Elsinore rounded up on the wind on the starboard

tack. This, in her case, under lowertopsails only, meant that she lay eight points from the wind, or, in land

Mr. Pike was splendid, marvellous. Even as the Elsinore was rounding to on the wind, while the headyards

were still being braced, and even as he was watching the ship's behaviour and the wheel, in between his

commands to Tom Spink of "A spoke! A spoke or two! Another! Steady! Hold her! Ease her!" he was

ordering the men aloft to loose sail. I had thought, the manoeuvre of wearing achieved, that we were saved,

The moon remained hidden, and to leeward nothing could be seen. As each sail was set, the Elsinore was

pressed farther and farther over, and I realized that there was plenty of wind left, despite the fact that the gale

had broken or was breaking. Also, under this additional canvas, I could feel the Elsinore moving through the

water. Pike now sent the Maltese Cockney to help Tom Spink at the wheel. As for himself, he took his stand

beside the boobyhatch, where he could gauge the Elsinore, gaze to leeward, and keep his eye on the

"Full and by," was his reiterated command. "Keep her a good fulla rapfull; but don't let her fall away.

He took no notice whatever of me, although I, on my way to the lee of the charthouse, stood at his shoulder

a full minute, offering him a chance to speak. He knew I was there, for his big shoulder brushed my arm as he

swayed and turned to warn the helmsmen in the one breath to hold her up to it but to keep her full. He had

Sheltering by the charthouse, I saw the moon appear. It grew brighter and brighter, and I saw the land, dead

to leeward of us, not three hundred yards away. It was a cruel sightblack rock and bitter snow, with cliffs

so perpendicular that the Elsinore could have laid alongside of them in deep water, with great gashes and

fissures, and with great surges thundering and spouting along all the length of it.

Our predicament was now clear to me. We had to weather the bight of land and islands into which we had

drifted, and sea and wind worked directly on shore. The only way out was to drive through the water, to drive

fast and hard, and this was borne in upon me by Mr. Pike bounding past to the break of the poop, where I

The difference was appreciable at once when that huge spread of canvas opposed the wind. The Elsinore

fairly leaped and quivered as she sprang to it, and I could feel her eat to windward as she at the same time

drove faster ahead. Also, in the rolls and gusts, she was forced down till her leerail buried and the sea

foamed level across to her hatches. Mr. Pike watched her like a hawk, and like certain death he watched the

"Land on the lee bow!" came a cry from for'ard, that was carried on from mouth to mouth along the bridge to

I saw Mr. Pike nod his head grimly and sarcastically. He had already seen it from the leepoop, and what he

had not seen he had guessed. A score of times I saw him test the weight of the gusts on his cheek and with all

the brain of him study the Elsinore's behaviour. And I knew what was in his mind. Could she carry what she

Small wonder, in this tense passage of time, that I had forgotten the Samurai. Nor did I remember him until

the charthouse door swung open and I caught him by the arm. He steadied and swayed beside me, while he

"A good full!" Mr. Pike snarled. "Or I'll eat your heart out. God damn you for the farmer's hound you are,

Tom Spink!. Ease her! Ease her! Ease her into the big ones, damn you! Don't let her head fall off! Steady!

"It would be good to set the mizzentopgallant," I heard Captain West mutter in a weak, quavery voice. "Mr.

Captain West's head drooped until his chin rested on his breast, and so low did he mutter that I leaned to hear.

"A very good officer," he said. "An excellent officer. Mr. Pathurst, if you will kindly favour me, I should like

The muscular feat was to open the heavy iron door and hold it open in the rolls and plunges. This I

accomplished; but when I had helped Captain West across the high threshold he thanked me and waived

Never was a Blackwood ship driven as was the Elsinore during the next halfhour. The fulljib was also set,

and, as it departed in shreds, the foretopmast staysail was being hoisted. For'ard of the 'midshiphouse it

was made unlivable by the bursting seas. Mr. Mellaire, with half the crew, clung on somehow on top the

'midship house, while the rest of the crew was with us in the comparative safety of the poop. Even Charles

Davis, drenched and shivering, hung on beside me to the brass ringhandle of the charthouse door.

Such sailing! It was a madness of speed and motion, for the Elsinore drove over and through and under those

huge graybeards that thundered shoreward. There were times, when rolls and gusts worked against her at the

same moment, when I could have sworn the ends of her loweryardarms swept the sea.

It was one chance in ten that we could claw off. All knew it, and all knew there was nothing more to do but

await the issue. And we waited in silence. The only voice was that of the mate, intermittently cursing,

threatening, and ordering Tom Spink and the Maltese Cockney at the wheel. Between whiles, and all the

while, he gauged the gusts, and ever his eyes lifted to the maintopgallant yard. He wanted to set that one

more sail. A dozen times I saw him halfopen his mouth to give the order he dared not give. And as I

watched him, so all watched him. Hardbitten, bitternatured, sour featured and snarlingmouthed, he was

the one man, the henchman of the race, the master of the moment. "And where," was my thought, "O where

One chance in ten? It was one in a hundred as we fought to weather the last bold tooth of rock that gashed

into sea and tempest between us and open ocean. So close were we that I looked to see our far reeling

skysailyards strike the face of the rock. So close were we, no more than a biscuit toss from its iron buttress,

that as we sank down into the last great trough between two seas I can swear every one of us held breath and

Instead we drove free. And as if in very rage at our escape, the storm took that moment to deal us the

mightiest buffet of all. The mate felt that monster sea coming, for he sprang to the wheel ere the blow fell. I

looked for'ard, and I saw all for'ard blotted out by the mountain of water that fell aboard. The Elsinore righted

from the shock and reappeared to the eye, full of water from rail to rail. Then a gust caught her sails and

I glanced at the mate, who had just released the wheel to the helmsmen. He shook his head, as if irritated by

so trivial a happening, walked to the corner of the halfwheelhouse, and stared at the coast he had escaped,

"All hands, Mr. Mellaire," the mate said, "and get the mainsail off of her. After that, the mizzentopgallant."

That was all. Boney the Splinter was gone, and all hands were answering the command of Mr. Mellaire to

take in the mainsail. But they never took it in; for at that moment it started to blow away out of the

boltropes, and in but few moments all that was left of it was a few short, slatting ribbons.

"Mizzentopgallantsail!" Mr. Pike ordered. Then, and for the first time, he recognized my existence.

"Well rid of it," he growled. "It never did set properly. I was always aching to get my hands on the

On my way below a glance into the chartroom gave me the cue to the Samurai's blunderif blunder it can

be called, for no one will ever know. He lay on the floor in a loose heap, rolling willynilly with every roll of

There is so much to write about all at once. In the first place, Captain West. Not entirely unexpected was his

death. Margaret tells me that she was apprehensive from the start of the voyageand even before. It was

because of her apprehension that she so abruptly changed her plans and accompanied her father.

What really happened we do not know, but the agreed surmise is that it was some stroke of the heart. And

yet, after the stroke, did he not come out on deck? Or could the first stroke have been followed by another

and fatal one after I had helped him inside through the door? And even so, I have never heard of a

heartstroke being preceded hours before by a weakening of the mind. Captain West's mind seemed quite

clear, and must have been quite clear, that last afternoon when he wore the Elsinore and started the leeshore

drift. In which case it was a blunder. The Samurai blundered, and his heart destroyed him when he became

At any rate the thought of blunder never enters Margaret's head. She accepts, as a matter of course, that it was

all a part of the oncoming termination of his sickness. And no one will ever undeceive her. Neither Mr. Pike,

Mr. Mellaire, nor I, among ourselves, mention a whisper of what so narrowly missed causing disaster. In fact,

Mr. Pike does not talk about the matter at all.And then, again, might it not have been something different

from heart disease? Or heart disease complicated with something else that obscured his mind that afternoon

before his death? Well, no one knows, and I, for one, shall not sit, even in secret judgment, on the event.

At midday of the day we clawed off Tierra Del Fuego the Elsinore was rolling in a dead calm, and all

afternoon she rolled, not a score of miles off the land. Captain West was buried at four o'clock, and at eight

bells that evening Mr. Pike assumed command and made a few remarks to both watches. They were

straightfromtheshoulder remarks, or, as he called them, they were "brass tacks."

Among other things he told the sailors that they had another boss, and that they would toe the mark as they

never had before. Up to this time they had been loafing in an hotel, but from this time on they were going to

"On this hooker, from now on," he perorated, "it's going to be like old times, when a man jumped the last day

of the voyage as well as the first. And God help the man that don't jump. That's all. Relieve the wheel and

And yet the men are in terribly wretched condition. I don't see how they can jump. Another week of westerly

gales, alternating with brief periods of calm, has elapsed, making a total of six weeks off the Horn. So weak

are the men that they have no spirit left in them not even the gangsters. And so afraid are they of the mate

that they really do their best to jump when he drives them, and he drives them all the time. Mr. Mellaire

"Wait till they get around and up into better weather," he astonished me by telling me the other afternoon.

"Wait till they get dried out, and rested up, with more sleep, and their sores healed, and more flesh on their

bones, and more spunk in their bloodthen they won't stand for this driving. Mr. Pike can't realize that times

have changed, sir, and laws have changed, and men have changed. He's an old man, and I know what I am

"You mean you've been listening to the talk of the men?" I challenged rashly, all my gorge rising at the

The shot went home, for, in a flash, that suave and gentle film of light vanished from the surface of the eyes,

and the watching, fearful thing that lurked behind inside the skull seemed almost to leap out at me, while the

cruel gash of mouth drew thinner and crueller. And at the same time, on my inner sight, was grotesquely

limned a picture of a brain pulsing savagely against the veneer of skin that covered that cleft of skull beneath

the dripping sou' wester. Then he controlled himself, the mouthgash relaxed, and the suave and gentle film

"I mean, sir," he said softly, "that I am speaking out of a long sea experience. Times have changed. The old

driving days are gone. And I trust, Mr. Pathurst, that you will not misunderstand me in the matter, nor

Although the conversation drifted on to other and calmer topics, I could not ignore the fact that he had not

denied listening to the talk of the men. And yet, even as Mr. Pike grudgingly admits, he is a good sailorman

and second mate save for his unholy intimacy with the men for'ardan intimacy which even the Chinese

Even though men like the gangsters are so worn down by hardship that they have no heart of rebellion, there

remain three of the frailest for'ard who will not die, and who are as spunky as ever. They are Andy Fay,

Mulligan Jacobs, and Charles Davis. What strange, abysmal vitality informs them is beyond all speculation.

Of course, Charles Davis should have been overside with a sack of coal at his feet long ago. And Andy Fay

and Mulligan Jacobs are only, and have always been, wrecked and emaciated wisps of men. Yet far stronger

men than they have gone over the side, and far stronger men than they are laid up right now in absolute

physical helplessness in the soggy forecastle bunks. And these two bitter flames of shreds of things stand all

Yes; and the chickens have something of this same spunk of life in them. Featherless, semifrozen despite

the oilstove, sprayed dripping on occasion by the frigid seas that pound by sheer weight through canvas

tarpaulins, nevertheless not a chicken has died. Is it a matter of selection? Are these the ironvigoured ones

that survived the hardships from Baltimore to the Horn, and are fitted to survive anything? Then for a De

Vries to take them, save them, and out of them found the hardiest breed of chickens on the planet! And after

this I shall always query that phrase, most ancient in our language"chickenhearted." Measured by the

Nor are our three Horn Gypsies, the stormvisitors with the dreaming, topaz eyes, spunkless. Held in

superstitious abhorrence by the rest of the crew, aliens by lack of any word of common speech, nevertheless

they are good sailors and are always first to spring into any enterprise of work or peril. They have gone into

Mr. Mellaire's watch, and they are quite apart from the rest of the sailors. And when there is a delay, or wait,

with nothing to do for long minutes, they shoulder together, and stand and sway to the heave of deck, and

dream far dreams in those pale, topaz eyes, of a country, I am sure, where mothers, with pale, topaz eyes and

sandy hair, birth sons and daughters that breed true in terms of topaz eyes and sandy hair.

But the rest of the crew! Take the Maltese Cockney. He is too keenly intelligent, too sharply sensitive,

successfully to endure. He is a shadow of his former self. His cheeks have fallen in. Dark circles of suffering

are under his eyes, while his eyes, Latin and English intermingled, are cavernously sunken and as

Tom Spink, hardfibred AngloSaxon, good seaman that he is, long tried and always proved, is quite

wrecked in spirit. He is whining and fearful. So broken is he, though he still does his work, that he is

"I'll never ship around the Horn again, sir," he began on me the other day when I greeted him good morning

at the wheel. "I've sworn it before, but this time I mean it. Never again, sir. Never again."

"It was on the Nahoma, sir, four years ago. Two hundred and thirty days from Liverpool to 'Frisco. Think of

it, sir. Two hundred and thirty days! And we was loaded with cement and creosote, and the creosote got

loose. We buried the captain right here off the Horn. The grub gave out. Most of us nearly died of scurvy.

Every man Jack of us was carted to hospital in 'Frisco. It was plain hell, sir, that's what it was, an' two

I did not catch his drift for the moment; then I remembered. The carpenter was the Finn, the Jonah, the

Yes, and I make free to confess that I have grown well weary of this eternal buffeting by the Great West

Wind. Nor are we alone in our travail on this desolate ocean. Never a day does the gray thin, or the

snowsqualls cease that we do not sight ships, westbound like ourselves, hoveto and trying to hold on to

the meagre westing they possess. And occasionally, when the gray clears and lifts, we see a lucky ship, bound

east, running before it and reeling off the miles. I saw Mr. Pike, yesterday, shaking his fist in a fury of hatred

And the men are jumping. Mr. Pike is driving with those blocksquare fists of his, as many a man's face

attests. So weak are they, and so terrible is he, that I swear he could whip either watch single handed. I

cannot help but note that Mr. Mellaire refuses to take part in this driving. Yet I know that he is a trained

driver, and that he was not averse to driving at the outset of the voyage. But now he seems bent on keeping

on good terms with the crew. I should like to know what Mr. Pike thinks of it, for he cannot possibly be blind

to what is going on; but I am too well aware of what would happen if I raised the question. He would insult

me, snap my head off, and indulge in a threedays' seagrouch. Things are sad and monotonous enough for

Margaret and me in the cabin and at table, without invoking the blight of the mate's displeasure.

Another brutal seasuperstition vindicated. From now on and for always these imbeciles of ours will believe

that Finns are Jonahs. We are west of the Diego de Ramirez Rocks, and we are running west at a twelveknot

clip with an easterly gale at our backs. And the carpenter is gone. His passing, and the coming of the easterly

It was yesterday morning, as he helped me to dress, that I was struck by the solemnity of Wada's face. He

shook his head lugubriously as he broke the news. The carpenter was missing. The ship had been searched for

"The sailors, they kill 'm carpenter sure," was the answer. "Very bad ship this. Very bad hearts. Just the same

pig, just the same dog. All the time kill. All the time kill. Bimeby everybody kill. You see."

The old steward, at work in his pantry, grinned at me when I mentioned the matter.

"They make fool with me, I fix 'em," he said vindictively. "Mebbe they kill me, all right; but I kill some, too."

He threw back his coat, and I saw, strapped to the left side of his body, in a canvas sheath, so that the handle

was ready to hand, a meat knife of the heavy sort that butchers hack with. He drew it forth it was fully two

feet longand, to demonstrate its razor edge, sliced a sheet of newspaper into many ribbons.

"Huh!" he laughed sardonically. "I am Chink, monkey, damn fool, eh? no good, eh? all rotten damn to

And yet there is not the slightest evidence of foul play. Nobody knows what happened to the carpenter. There

are no clues, no traces. The night was calm and snowy. No seas broke on board. Without doubt the clumsy,

bigfooted, overgrown giant of a boy is overside and dead. The question is: did he go over of his own

At eight o'clock Mr. Pike proceeded to interrogate the watches. He stood at the break of the poop, in the high

place, leaning on the rail and gazing down at the crew assembled on the main deck beneath him.

Man after man he questioned, and from each man came the one story. They knew no more about it than did

"I suppose you'll be chargin' next that I hove that big lummux overboard with me own hands," Mulligan

Jacobs snarled, when he was questioned. "An' mebbe I did, bein' that husky an' rampagin' bull like."

The mate's face grew more forbidding and sour, but without comment he passed on to John Hackey, the San

It was an unforgettable scenethe mate in the high place, the men, sullen and irresponsive, grouped beneath.

A gentle snow drifted straight down through the windless air, while the Elsinore, with hollow thunder from

her sails, rolled down on the quiet swells so that the ocean lapped the mouths of her scuppers with

longdrawn, shuddering sucks and sobs. And all the men swayed in unison to the rolls, their hands in mittens,

their feet in sackwrapped seaboots, their faces worn and sick. And the three dreamers with the topaz eyes

And then it camethe hint of easterly air. The mate noted it first. I saw him start and turn his cheek to the

almost imperceptible draught. Then I felt it. A minute longer he waited, until assured, when, the dead

carpenter forgotten, he burst out with orders to the wheel and the crew. And the men jumped, though in their

weakness the climb aloft was slow and toilsome; and when the gaskets were off the topgallantsails and the

men on deck were hoisting yards and sheeting home, those aloft were loosing the royals.

While this work went on, and while the yards were being braced around, the Elsinore, her bow pointing to the

west, began moving through the water before the first fair wind in a month and a half.

Slowly that light air fanned to a gentle breeze while all the time the snow fell steadily. The barometer, down

to 28.80, continued to fall, and the breeze continued to grow upon itself. Tom Spink, passing by me on the

poop to lend a hand at the final finicky trimming of the mizzenyards, gave me a triumphant look.

Superstition was vindicated. Events had proved him right. Fair wind had come with the going of the

carpenter, which said warlock had incontestably taken with him overside his bag of windtricks.

Mr. Pike strode up and down the poop, rubbing his hands, which he was too disdainfully happy to mitten,

chuckling and grinning to himself, glancing at the draw of every sail, stealing adoring looks astern into the

gray of snow out of which blew the favouring wind. He even paused beside me to gossip for a moment about

the French restaurants of San Francisco and how, therein, the delectable California fashion of cooking wild

"Throw 'em through the fire," he chanted. "That's the waythrow 'em through the firea hot oven, sixteen

By midday the snow had ceased and we were bowling along before a stiff breeze. At three in the afternoon

we were running before a growing gale. It was across a mad ocean we tore, for the mounting sea that made

from eastward bucked into the West End Drift and battled and battered down the huge southwesterly swell.

And the big grinning dolt of a Finnish carpenter, already food for fish and bird, was astern there somewhere

Make westing! We ripped it off across these narrowing degrees of longitude at the southern tip of the planet

where one mile counts for two. And Mr. Pike, staring at his bending topgallantyards, swore that they could

carry away for all he cared ere he eased an inch of canvas. More he did. He set the huge crojack, biggest of

He simply could not go below. In such auspicious occasions all watches were his, and he strode the poop

perpetually with all agelag banished from his legs. Margaret and I were with him in the chart room when

he hurrahed the barometer, down to 28.55 and falling. And we were near him, on the poop, when he drove by

an eastbound lime juicer, hoveto under uppertopsails. We were a biscuittoss away, and he sprang upon

the rail at the jiggershrouds and danced a war dance and waved his free arm, and yelled his scorn and joy

at their discomfiture to the several oilskinned figures on the stranger vessel's poop.

Through the pitchblack night we continued to drive. The crew was sadly frightened, and I sought in vain, in

the two dogwatches, for Tom Spink, to ask him if he thought the carpenter, astern, had opened wide the

bagmouth and loosed all his tricks. For the first time I saw the steward apprehensive.

"Too much," he told me, with ominous rolling head. "Too much sail, rotten bad damn all to hell. Bimeby,

"They talk about running the easting down," Mr. Pike chortled to me, as we clung to the pooprail to keep

from fetching away and breaking ribs and necks. "Well, this is running your westing down if anybody should

It was a wretched, glorious night. Sleep was impossiblefor me, at any rate. Nor was there even the comfort

of warmth. Something had gone wrong with the big cabin stove, due to our wild running, I fancy, and the

steward was compelled to let the fire go out. So we are getting a taste of the hardship of the forecastle, though

in our case everything is dry instead of soggy or afloat. The kerosene stoves burned in our state room, but so

To sail on one's nerve in an overcanvassed harbour catboat is all the excitement any glutton can desire. But

to sail, in the same fashion, in a big ship off the Horn, is incredible and terrible. The Great West Wind Drift,

setting squarely into the teeth of the easterly gale, kicked up a tideway sea that was monstrous. Two men

toiled at the wheel, relieving in pairs every halfhour, and in the face of the cold they streamed with sweat

Mr. Pike is of the elder race of men. His endurance is prodigious. Watch and watch, and all watches, he held

"I never dreamed of it," he told me, at midnight, as the great gusts tore by and as we listened for our lighter

spars to smash aloft and crash upon the deck. "I thought my last whirling sailing was past. And here we are!

"Lord! Lord! I sailed third mate in the little Vampire before you were born. Fiftysix men before the mast,

and the last Jack of 'em an able seaman. And there were eight boys, an' bosuns that was bosuns, an'

sailmakers an' carpenters an' stewards an' passengers to jam the decks. An' three driving mates of us, an'

Captain Brown, the Little Wonder. He didn't weigh a hundredweight, an' he drove ushe drove US, three

"It was knock down and drag out from the start. The first hour of puttin' the men to fair perished our

knuckles. I've got the smashed joints yet to show. Every seachest broke open, every seabag turned out, and

whiskey bottles, knuckledusters, slingshots, bowieknives, an' guns chucked overside by the armful. An'

when we chose the watches, each man of fiftysix of 'em laid his knife on the main hatch an' the carpenter

broke the point square off.Yes, an' the little Vampire only eight hundred tons. The Elsinore could carry her

Margaret, save for inability to sleep, did not mind the driving, although Mr. Mellaire, on the other hand,

"He's got my goat," he confided to me. "It isn't right to drive a cargocarrier this way. This isn't a ballasted

yacht. It's a coal hulk. I know what driving was, but it was in ships made to drive. Our ironwork aloft won't

stand it. Mr. Pathurst, I tell you frankly that it is criminal, it is sheer murder, to run the Elsinore with that

crojack on her. You can see yourself, sir. It's an aftersail. All its tendency is to throw her stern off and her

bow up to it. And if it ever happens, sir, if she ever gets away from the wheel for two seconds and broaches to

"Then what?" I asked, or, rather, shouted; for all conversation had to be shouted close to ear in that blast of

He shrugged his shoulders, and all of him was eloquent with the unuttered, unmistakable wordfinish."

At eight this morning Margaret and I struggled up to the poop. And there was that indomitable, iron old man.

He had never left the deck all night. His eyes were bright, and he appeared in the pink of wellbeing. He

"In '51, on this same stretch, Miss West, the Flying Cloud, in twentyfour hours, logged three hundred and

seventyfour miles under her topgallantsails. That was sailing. She broke the record, that day, for sail an'

"And what are we averaging, Mr. Pike?" Margaret queried, while her eyes were fixed on the main deck,

where continually one rail and then the other dipped under the ocean and filled across from rail to rail, only to

"Thirteen for a fair average since five o'clock yesterday afternoon," he exulted. "In the squalls she makes all

"So would I, so would I, Miss West," he replied; "if we hadn't been six weeks already off the Horn."

She ran her eyes aloft, spar by spar, past the spars of hollow steel to the wooden royals, which bent in the

"Well may you say it, Miss West," he agreed. "I'd never abelieved they'd astood it myself. But just look at

There was no breakfast for the men. Three times the galley had been washed out, and the men, in the

forecastle awash, contented themselves with hard tack and cold salt horse. Aft, with us, the steward scalded

At noon we picked up a ship ahead, a limejuicer, travelling in the same direction, under lowertopsails and

The way that skipper's carryin' on is shocking," Mr. Pike sneered. "He should be more cautious, and

Such was our speed that in almost no time we were up with the stranger vessel and passing her. Mr. Pike was

like a boy just loosed from school. He altered our course so that we passed her a hundred yards away. She

was a gallant sight, but, such was our speed, she appeared standing still. Mr. Pike jumped upon the rail and

insulted those on her poop by extending a rope's end in invitation to take a tow.

Margaret shook her head privily to me as she gazed at our bending royalyards, but was caught in the act by

An hour later I caught Tom Spink, just relieved from his shift at the wheel and weak from exhaustion.

By five in the afternoon we had logged 314 miles since five the previous day, which was two over an average

"Now take Captain Brown of the little Vampire," Mr. Pike grinned to me, for our sailing made him

goodnatured. "He never would take in until the kites an' stu'n'sails was about his ears. An' when she was

blown' her worst an' we was halffairly shortened down, he'd turn in for a snooze, an' say to us, 'Call me if

she moderates.' Yes, and I'll never forget the night when I called him an' told him that everything on top the

houses had gone adrift, an' that two of the boats had been swept aft and was kindlingwood against the break

of the cabin. 'Very well, Mr. Pike,' he says, battin' his eyes and turnin' over to go to sleep again. 'Very well,

Mr. Pike,' says he. 'Watch her. An' Mr. Pike . . .' 'Yes, sir,' says I. 'Give me a call, Mr. Pike, when the

windlass shows signs of comin' aft.' That's what he said, his very words, an' the next moment, damme, he was

It is now midnight, and, cunningly wedged into my bunk, unable to sleep, I am writing these lines with flying

dabs of pencil at my pad. And no more shall I write, I swear, until this gale is blown out, or we are blown to

The days have passed and I have broken my resolve; for here I am again writing while the Elsinore surges

along across a magnificent, smoky, dusty sea. But I have two reasons for breaking my word. First, and minor,

we had a real dawn this morning. The gray of the sea showed a streaky blue, and the cloudmasses were

Second, and major, WE ARE AROUND THE HORN! We are north of 50 in the Pacific, in Longitude 80.49,

with Cape Pillar and the Straits of Magellan already south of east from us, and we are heading north

northwest. WE ARE AROUND THE HORN! The profound significance of this can be appreciated only by

one who has windjammed around from east to west. Blow high, blow low, nothing can happen to thwart us.

No ship north of 50 was ever blown back. From now on it is plain sailing, and Seattle suddenly seems quite

All the ship's company, with the exception of Margaret, is better spirited. She is quiet, and a little down,

though she is anything but prone to the wastage of grief. In her robust, vital philosophy God's always in

heaven. I may describe her as being merely subdued, and gentle, and tender. And she is very wistful to

receive gentle consideration and tenderness from me. She is, after all, the genuine woman. She wants the

strength that man has to give, and I flatter myself that I am ten times a stronger man than I was when the

voyage began, because I am a thousand times a more human man since I told the books to go hang and began

Returning to the ship's company. The rounding of the Horn, the better weather that is continually growing

better, the easement of hardship and toil and danger, with the promise of the tropics and of the balmy

southeast trades before themall these factors contribute to pick up our men again. The temperature has

already so moderated that the men are beginning to shed their surplusage of clothing, and they no longer wrap

sacking about their seaboots. Last evening, in the second dogwatch, I heard a man actually singing.

The steward has discarded the huge, hacking knife and relaxed to the extent of engaging in an occasional

sober romp with Possum. Wada's face is no longer solemnly long, and Louis' Oxford accent is more

mellifluous than ever. Mulligan Jacobs and Andy Fay are the same venomous scorpions they have always

been. The three gangsters, with the clique they lead, have again asserted their tyrrany and thrashed all the

weaklings and feeblings in the forecastle. Charles Davis resolutely refuses to die, though how he survived

that wet and freezing room of iron through all the weeks off the Horn has elicited wonder even from Mr.

Pike, who has a most accurate knowledge of what men can stand and what they cannot stand.

How Nietzsche, with his eternal slogan of "Be hard! Be hard!" would have delighted in Mr. Pike!

Andoh!Larry has had a tooth removed. For some days distressed with a jumping toothache, he came aft

to the mate for relief. Mr. Pike refused to "monkey" with the "fangled" forceps in the medicine chest. He

used a tenpenny nail and a hammer in the good old way to which he was brought up. I vouch for this. I saw it

done. One blow of the hammer and the tooth was out, while Larry was jumping around holding his jaw. It is a

wonder it wasn't fractured. But Mr. Pike avers he has removed hundreds of teeth by this method and never

known a fractured jaw. Also, he avers he once sailed with a skipper who shaved every Sunday morning and

never touched a razor, nor any cuttingedge, to his face. What he used, according to Mr. Pike, was a lighted

candle and a damp towel. Another candidate for Nietzsche's immortals who are hard!

As for Mr. Pike himself, he is the highestspirited, bestconditioned man on board. The driving to which he

subjected the Elsinore was meat and drink. He still rubs his hands and chuckles over the memory of it.

"Huh!" he said to me, in reference to the crew; "I gave 'em a taste of real oldfashioned sailing. They'll never

forget this hookerat least them that don't take a sack of coal overside before we reach port."

He turned squarely upon me, and squarely looked me in the eyes for the matter of five long seconds.

"Huh!" he replied, as he turned on his heel. "Hell ain't begun to pop on this hooker."

He still stands his mate's watch, alternating with Mr. Mellaire, for he is firm in his conviction that there is no

man for'ard fit to stand a second mate's watch. Also, he has kept his old quarters. Perhaps it is out of delicacy

for Margaret; for I have learned that it is the invariable custom for the mate to occupy the captain's quarters

when the latter dies. So Mr. Mellaire still eats by himself in the big afterroom, as he has done since the loss

Mr. Mellaire was right. The men would not accept the driving when the Elsinore won to easier latitudes. Mr.

Pike was right. Hell had not begun to pop. But it has popped now, and men are overboard without even the

kindliness of a sack of coal at their feet. And yet the men, though ripe for it, did not precipitate the trouble. It

was Mr. Mellaire. Or, rather, it was Ditman Olansen, the crankeyed Norwegian. Perhaps it was Possum. At

any rate, it was an accident, in which the severalnamed, including Possum, played their respective parts.

To begin at the beginning. Two weeks have elapsed since we crossed 50, and we are now in 37the same

latitude as San Francisco, or, to be correct, we are as far south of the equator as San Francisco is north of it.

The trouble was precipitated yesterday morning shortly after nine o'clock, and Possum started the chain of

events that culminated in downright mutiny. It was Mr. Mellaire's watch, and he was standing on the bridge,

directly under the mizzentop, giving orders to Sundry Buyers, who, with Arthur Deacon and the Maltese

Get the picture and the situation in all its ridiculousness. Mr. Pike, thermometer in hand, was coming back

along the bridge from taking the temperature of the coal in the for'ard hold. Ditman Olansen was just

swinging into the mizzentop as he went up with several turns of rope over one shoulder. Also, in some way,

to the end of this rope was fastened a sizable block that might have weighed ten pounds. Possum, running

free, was fooling around the chicken coop on top the 'midshiphouse. And the chickens, featherless but

indomitable, were enjoying the milder weather as they pecked at the grain and grits which the steward had

just placed in their feeding trough. The tarpaulin that covered their pen had been off for several days.

Now observe. I am at the break of the poop, leaning on the rail and watching Ditman Olansen swing into the

top with his cumbersome burden. Mr. Pike, proceeding aft, has just passed Mr. Mellaire. Possum, who, on

account of the Horn weather and the tarpaulin, has not seen the chickens for many weeks, is getting

reacquainted, and is investigating them with that keen nose of his. And a hen's beak, equally though

differently keen, impacts on Possum's nose, which is as sensitive as it is keen.

I may well say, now that I think it over, that it was this particular hen that started the mutiny. The men,

welldriven by Mr. Pike, were ripe for an explosion, and Possum and the hen laid the train.

Possum fell away backwards from the coop and loosed a wild cry of pain and indignation. This attracted

Ditman Olansen's attention. He paused and craned his neck out in order to see, and, in this moment of

carelessness, the block he was carrying fetched away from him along with the several turns of rope around

his shoulder. Both the mates sprang away to get out from under. The rope, fast to the block and following it,

lashed about like a blacksnake, and, though the block fell clear of Mr. Mellaire, the bight of the rope snatched

Mr. Pike had already started an oath aloft when his eyes caught sight of the terrible cleft in Mr. Mellaire's

head. There it was, for all the world to read, and Mr. Pike's and mine were the only eyes that could read it.

The sparse hair upon the second mate's crown served not at all to hide the cleft. It began out of sight in the

thicker hair above the ears, and was exposed nakedly across the whole dome of head.

The stream of abuse for Ditman Olansen was choked in Mr. Pike's throat. All he was capable of for the

moment was to stare, petrified, at that enormous fissure flanked at either end with a thatch of grizzled hair.

He was in a dream, a trance, his great hands knotting and clenching unconsciously as he stared at the mark

unmistakable by which he had said that he would some day identify the murderer of Captain Somers. And in

that moment I remembered having heard him declare that some day he would stick his fingers in that mark.

Still as in a dream, moving slowly, right hand outstretched like a talon, with the fingers drawn downward, he

advanced on the second mate with the evident intention of thrusting his fingers into that cleft and of clawing

The second mate backed away along the bridge, and Mr. Pike seemed partially to come to himself. His

"I know you," he said, in a strange, shaky voice, blended of age and passion. "Eighteen years ago you were

dismasted off the Plate in the Cyrus Thompson. She foundered, after you were on your beam ends and lost

your sticks. You were in the only boat that was saved. Eleven years ago, on the Jason Harrison, in San

Francisco, Captain Somers was beaten to death by his second mate. This second mate was a survivor of the

Cyrus Thompson. This second mate'd had his skull split by a crazy seacook. Your skull is split. This second

At this point Mr. Mellaire, or, rather, Sidney Waltham, despite his fifty years, did what only a sailor could do.

He went over the bridgerail sidewise, caught the running gear upanddown the mizzenmast, and landed

lightly on his feet on top of Number Three hatch. Nor did he stop there. He ran across the hatch and dived

Such must have been Mr. Pike's profundity of passion, that he paused like a somnambulist, actually rubbed

But the second mate had not run to his room for refuge. The next moment he emerged, a thirtytwo Smith

Mr. Pike was wholly himself again, and I saw him perceptibly pause and decide between the two impulses

that tore at him. One was to leap over the bridgerail and down at the man who shot at him; the other was to

retreat. He retreated. And as he bounded aft along the narrow bridge the mutiny began. Arthur Deacon, from

the mizzentop, leaned out and hurled a steel marlinspike at the fleeing mate. The thing flashed in the

sunlight as it hurtled down. It missed Mr. Pike by twenty feet and nearly impaled Possum, who, afraid of

firearms, was wildly rushing and kiyiing aft. It so happened that the sharp point of the marlinspike struck

the wooden floor of the bridge, and it penetrated the planking with such force that after it had fetched to a

I confess that I failed to observe a tithe of what occurred during the next several minutes. Piece together as I

will, after the event, I know that I missed much of what took place. I know that the men aloft in the mizzen

descended to the deck, but I never saw them descend. I know that the second mate emptied the chambers of

his revolver, but I did not hear all the shots. I know that Lars Johnson left the wheel, and on his broken leg,

rebroken and not yet really mended, limped and scuttled across the poop, down the ladder, and gained for'ard.

I know he must have limped and scuttled on that bad leg of his; I know that I must have seen him; and yet I

I do know that I heard the rush of feet of men from for'ard along the main deck. And I do know that I saw Mr.

Pike take shelter behind the steel jiggermast. Also, as the second mate manoeuvred to port on top of Number

Three hatch for his last shot, I know that I saw Mr. Pike duck around the corner of the charthouse to

starboard and get away aft and below by way of the boobyhatch. And I did hear that last futile shot, and the

As for myself, I did not move. I was too interested in seeing. It may have been due to lack of presence of

mind, or to lack of habituation to an active part in scenes of quick action; but at any rate I merely retained my

position at the break of the poop and looked on. I was the only person on the poop when the mutineers, led by

the second mate and the gangsters, rushed it. I saw them swarm up the ladder, and it never entered my head to

attempt to oppose them. Which was just as well, for I would have been killed for my pains, and I could never

I was alone on the poop, and the men were quite perplexed to find no enemy in sight. As Bert Rhine went

past, he half fetched up in his stride, as if to knife me with the sheath knife, sharppointed, which he carried

in his right hand; then, and I know I correctly measured the drift of his judgment, he unflatteringly dismissed

Right here I was impressed by the lack of clearthinking on any of their parts. So spontaneously had the

ship's company exploded into mutiny that it was dazed and confused even while it acted. For instance, in the

months since we left Baltimore there had never been a moment, day or night, even when preventer tackles

were rigged, that a man had not stood at the wheel. So habituated were they to this, that they were shocked

into consternation at sight of the deserted wheel. They paused for an instant to stare at it. Then Bert Rhine,

with a quick word and gesture, sent the Italian, Guido Bombini, around the rear of the halfwheelhouse. The

Again, in the swift rush of events, I must confess that I saw but little. I was aware that more of the men were

climbing up the ladder and gaining the poop, but I had no eyes for them. I was watching that sanguinary

group aft near the wheel and noting the most important thing, namely, that it was Bert Rhine, the gangster,

He motioned to the Jew, Isaac Chantz, who had been wounded earlier in the voyage by O'Sullivan, and

Chantz led the way to the starboard charthouse door. While this was going on, all in flashing fractions of

seconds, Bert Rhine was cautiously inspecting the lazarette through the open boobyhatch.

Isaac Chantz jerked open the charthouse door, which swung outward. Things did happen so swiftly! As he

jerked the iron door open a two foot hacking butcher knife, at the end of a withered, yellow hand, flashed

out and down on him. It missed head and neck, but caught him on top of the left shoulder.

All hands recoiled before this, and the Jew reeled across to the rail, his right hand clutching at his wound, and

between the fingers I could see the blood welling darkly. Bert Rhine abandoned his inspection of the

boobyhatch, and, with the second mate, the latter still carrying his empty Smith Wesson, sprang into the

O wise, clever, cautious, old Chinese steward! He made no emergence. The door swung emptily back and

forth to the rolling of the Elsinore, and no man knew but what, just inside, with that heavy, hacking knife

upraised, lurked the steward. And while they hesitated and stared at the aperture that alternately closed and

opened with the swinging of the door, the boobyhatch, situated between charthouse and wheel, erupted. It

There were shots fired, other than by him. I know I heard them, like "redheads" at an oldtime Fourth of

July; but I do not know who discharged them. All was mess and confusion. Many shots were being fired, and

through the uproar I heard the reiterant, monotonous explosions from the Colt's .44

I saw the Italian, Mike Cipriani, clutch savagely at his abdomen and sink slowly to the deck. Shorty, the

Japanese halfcaste, clown that he was, dancing and grinning on the outskirts of the struggle, with a final

grimace and hysterical giggle led the retreat across the poop and down the poopladder. Never had I seen a

finer exemplification of mob psychology. Shorty, the most unstableminded of the individuals who

composed this mob, by his own instability precipitated the retreat in which the mob joined. When he broke

before the steady discharge of the automatic in the hand of the mate, on the instant the rest broke with him.

Chantz, bleeding prodigiously, was one of the first on Shorty's heels. I saw Nosey Murphy pause long enough

to throw his knife at the mate. The missile went wide, with a metallic clang struck the brass tip of one of the

spokes of the Elsinore's wheel, and clattered on the deck. The second mate, with his empty revolver, and Bert

Mr. Pike emerged from the boobyhatch and with an unaimed shot brought down Bill Quigley, one of the

"bricklayers," who fell at my feet. The last man off the poop was the Maltese Cockney, and at the top of the

ladder he paused to look back at Mr. Pike, who, holding the automatic in both hands, was taking careful aim.

The Maltese Cockney, disdaining the ladder, leaped through the air to the main deck. But the Colt merely

Events still crowded so closely that I missed much. I saw the steward, belligerent and cautious, his long knife

poised for a slash, emerge from the charthouse. Margaret followed him, and behind her came Wada, who

carried my .22 Winchester automatic rifle. As he told me afterwards, he had brought it up under instructions

Mr. Pike was glancing with cool haste at his Colt to see whether it was jammed or empty, when Margaret

"By the wind," he shouted to her, as he bounded for'ard. "Put your helm hard up or we'll be all aback."

Ah!yeoman and henchman of the race, he could not fail in his fidelity to the ship under his command. The

iron of all his years of iron training was there manifest. While mutiny spread red, and death was on the wing,

he could not forget his charge, the ship, the Elsinore, the insensate fabric compounded of steel and hemp and

Margaret waved Wada in my direction as she ran to the wheel. As Mr. Pike passed the corner of the

charthouse, simultaneously there was a report from amidships and the ping of a bullet against the steel wall.

As for the mate, he ducked in behind the sheltering jiggermast, and even as he ducked his left hand dipped

into his side coatpocket, so that when he had gained shelter it was coming out with a fresh clip of cartridges.

The empty clip fell to the deck, the loader clip slipped up the hollow butt, and he was good for eight more

Wada turned the little automatic rifle over to me, where I still stood under the weather cloth at the break of

"Get Roberts," Mr. Pike called to me. "He's the best shot for'ard. If you can't get 'm, jolt the fear of God into

It was the first time I had a human target, and let me say, here and now, that I am convinced I am immune to

buck fever. There he was before me, less than a hundred feet distant, in the gangway between the door to

I must have missed Steve Roberts that first time, but I came so near him that he jumped. The next instant he

had located me and turned his revolver on me. But he had no chance. My little automatic was discharging as

fast as I could tickle the trigger with my fore finger. The cowboy's first shot went wild of me, because my

bullet arrived ere he got his swift aim. He swayed and stumbled backward, but the bulletsten of

thempoured from the muzzle of my Winchester like water from a garden hose. It was a stream of lead I

played upon him. I shall never know how many times I hit him, but I am confident that after he had begun his

long staggering fall at least three additional bullets entered him ere he impacted on the deck. And even as he

was falling, aimlessly and mechanically, stricken then with death, he managed twice again to discharge his

As I held up my gun and gazed at the abruptlydeserted maindeck I was aware of Wada's touch on my arm.

I looked. In his hand were a dozen little .22 long, softnosed, smokeless cartridges. He wanted me to reload. I

threw on the safety, opened the magazine, and tilted the rifle so that he could let the fresh cartridges of

Scarcely had he departed on the errand when Bill Quigley, who lay at my feet, created a diversion. I

jumpedyes, and I freely confess that I yelledwith startle and surprise, when I felt his paws clutch my

It was Mr. Pike to the rescue. I understand now the Western hyperbole of "hitting the high places." The mate

did not seem in contact with the deck. My impression was that he soared through the air to me, landing beside

me, and, in the instant of landing, kicking out with one of those big feet of his. Bill Quigley was kicked clear

away from me, and the next moment he was flying overboard. It was a clean throw. He never touched the

Whether Mike Cipriani, who, till then, had lain in a welter, began crawling aft in quest of safety, or whether

he intended harm to Margaret at the wheel, we shall never know; for there was no opportunity given him to

show his purpose. As swiftly as Mr. Pike could cross the deck with those giant bounds, just that swiftly was

The mate missed nothing with those eagle eyes of his as he returned along the poop. Nobody was to be seen

on the main deck. Even the lookout had deserted the forecastlehead, and the Elsinore, steered by Margaret,

slipped a lazy two knots through the quiet sea. Mr. Pike was apprehensive of a shot from ambush, and it was

not until after a scrutiny of several minutes that he put his pistol into his side coatpocket and snarled for'ard:

Guido Bombini, gesticulating peaceable intentions and evidently thrust out by Bert Rhine, was the first to

appear. When it was observed that Mr. Pike did not fire, the rest began to dribble into view. This continued

till all were there save the cook, the two sailmakers, and the second mate. The last to come out were Tom

Spink, the boy Buckwheat, and Herman Lunkenheimer, the goodnatured but simpleminded German; and

these three came out only after repeated threats from Bert Rhine, who, with Nosey Murphy and Kid Twist,

was patently in charge. Also, like a faithful dog, Guido Bombini fawned close to him.

"That will dostop where you are," Mr. Pike commanded, when the crew was scattered abreast, to starboard

It was a striking scene. MUTINY ON THE HIGH SEAS! That phrase, learned in boyhood from my Marryatt

and Cooper, recrudesced in my brain. This was itmutiny on the high seas in the year nineteen

thirteenand I was part of it, a perishing blond whose lot was cast with the perishing but lordly blonds, and I

Mr. Pike, in the high place, aged and indomitable; leaned his arm on the rail at the break of the poop and

gazed down at the mutineers, the like of which I'll wager had never been assembled in mutiny before. There

were the three gangsters and exjailbirds, anything but seamen, yet in control of this affair that was

peculiarly an affair of the sea. With them was the Italian hound, Bombini, and beside them were such

strangely assorted men as Anton Sorensen, Lars Jacobsen, Frank Fitzgibbon, and Richard Gilleralso

Arthur Deacon the white slaver, John Hackey the San Francisco hoodlum, the Maltese Cockney, and Tony

I noticed the three strange ones, shouldering together and standing apart from the others as they swayed to the

lazy roll and dreamed with their pale, topaz eyes. And there was the Faun, stone deaf but observant, straining

to understand what was taking place. Yes, and Mulligan Jacobs and Andy Fay were bitterly and eagerly side

by side, and Ditman Olansen, crankeyed, as if drawn by some affinity of bitterness, stood behind them, his

head appearing between their heads. Farthest advanced of all was Charles Davis, the man who by all rights

should long since be dead, his face with its waxlike pallor startlingly in contrast to the weathered faces of

I glanced back at Margaret, who was coolly steering, and she smiled to me, and love was in her eyesshe,

too, of the perishing and lordly race of blonds, her place the high place, her heritage government and

command and mastery over the stupid lowly of her kind and over the ruck and spawn of the darkpigmented

"Where's Sidney Waltham?" the mate snarled. "I want him. Bring him out. After that, the rest of you filth get

"Sidney Waltham, I want youcome out!" Mr. Pike called, addressing himself beyond them to the murderer

The prodigious old hero! It never entered his head that he was not the master of the rabble there below him.

He had but one idea, an idea of passion, and that was his desire for vengeance on the murderer of his old

"Shut up, Mulligan!" was Bert Rhine's command, in receipt of which he received a venomous stare from the

"Oh, ho, my hearty," Mr. Pike sneered at the gangster. "I'll take care of your case, never fear. In the

Whereupon he ignored the leader of the mutineers and began calling, "Waltham, you dog, come out! Come

ANOTHER LUNATIC, was the thought that flashed through my mind; another lunatic, the slave of a single

idea. He forgets the mutiny, his fidelity to the ship, in his personal thirst for vengeance.

But did he? Even as he forgot and called his heart's desire, which was the life of the second mate, even then,

without intention, mechanically, his sailor's considerative eye lifted to note the draw of the sails and roved

"Well?" he snarled at Bert Rhine. "Go on and get for'ard before I spit on you, you scum and slum. I'll give

And the leader, with his two fellowgangsters, laughed their weird, silent laughter.

"I guess you'll listen to our talk, first, old horse," Bert Rhine retorted. "Davis, get up now and show what

kind of a spieler you are. Don't get cold feet. Spit it out to Foxy Grandpa an' tell 'm what's doin'."

Bert Rhine shrugged his shoulders, and half turned on his heel as if to depart, as he said quietly:

"Go on!" he snarled. "Spit the dirt out of your system, Davis; but remember one thing: you'll pay for this, and

"I'm a sick man, an' I oughta be in my bunk right now. I ain't fit to be on my feet. But they've asked me to

"The law is that when the officers is inefficient, the crew can take charge peaceably an' bring the ship into

port. It's all law an' in the records. There was the Abyssinia, in eighteen ninetytwo, when the master'd died

of fever and the mates took to drinkin'"Go on!" Mr. Pike shut him off. "I don't want your citations. What

"Welland I'm talkin' as an outsider, as a sick man off duty that's been asked to talkwell, the point is our

skipper was a good one, but he's gone. Our mate is violent, seekin' the life of the second mate. We don't care

about that. What we want is to get into port with our lives. An' our lives is in danger. We ain't hurt nobody.

You've done all the bloodshed. You've shot an' killed an' thrown two men overboard, as witnesses'll testify to

in court. An' there's Roberts, there, dead, too, an' headin' for the sharksan' what for? For defendin' himself

from murderous an' deadly attack, as every man can testify an' tell the truth, the whole truth, an' nothin' but

"You want my job, eh?" Mr. Pike grinned. "An' what are you goin' to do with me?"

"You'll be taken care of until we get in an' turn you over to the lawful authorities," Davis answered promptly.

At this moment I felt a stir at my shoulder. It was Margaret, armed with the long knife of the steward, whom

"You've got another guess comin', Davis," Mr. Pike said. "I've got no more talk with you. I'm goin' to talk to

the bunch. I'll give you fellows just two minutes to choose, and I'll tell you your choices. You've only got two

choices. You'll turn the second mate over to me an' go back to duty and take what's comin' to you, or you'll go

to jail with the stripes on you for long sentences. You've got two minutes. The fellows that want jail can stand

right where they are. The fellows that don't want jail and are willin' to work faithful, can walk right back to

me here on the poop. Two minutes, an' you can keep your jaws stopped while you think over what it's goin' to

He turned his head to me and said in an undertone, "Be ready with that popgun for trouble. An' don't

hesitate. Slap it into 'emthe swine that think they can put as raw a deal as this over on us."

It was Buckwheat who made the first move; but so tentative was it that it got no farther than a tensing of the

legs and a sway forward of the shoulders. Nevertheless it was sufficient to start Herman Lunkenheimer, who

thrust out his foot and began confidently to walk aft. Kid Twist gained him in a single spring, and Kid Twist,

his wrist under the German's throat from behind; his knee pressed into the German's back, bent the man

backward and held him. Even as the rifle came to my shoulder, the hound Bombini drew his knife directly

It was at this instant that I heard Mr. Pike's "Plug him!" and pulled the trigger; and of all ungodly things the

bullet missed and caught the Faun, who staggered back, sat down on the hatch, and began to cough. And even

No other man moved. Herman Lunkenheimer, released by Kid Twist, sank down on the deck. Nor did I shoot

again. Kid Twist stood again by the side of Bert Rhine and Guido Bombini fawned near.

In a flash the big automatic was out of the mate's pocket and he was shooting as fast as he could pull trigger,

while all hands fled to shelter. But, as he had long since told me, he was no shot and could effectively use the

As we stared at the main deck, deserted save for the dead cowboy on his back and for the Faun who still sat

on the hatch and coughed, an eruption of men occurred over the for'ard edge of the 'midshiphouse.

The rifle was at my shoulder when I desisted. Louis, the cook, led the rush aft to us across the top of the

house and along the bridge. Behind him, in single file and not wasting any time, came the Japanese

sailmakers, Henry the trainingship boy, and the other boy Buckwheat. Tom Spink brought up the rear. As

he came up the ladder of the 'midshiphouse somebody from beneath must have caught him by a leg in an

effort to drag him back. We saw half of him in sight and knew that he was struggling and kicking. He fetched

clear abruptly, gained the top of the house in a surge, and raced aft along the bridge until he overtook and

We who are aft, besieged in the high place, are stronger in numbers than I dreamed until now, when I have

just finished taking the ship's census. Of course Margaret, Mr. Pike, and myself are apart. We alone represent

the ruling class. With us are servants and serfs, faithful to their salt, who look to us for guidance and life.

I use my words advisedly. Tom Spink and Buckwheat are serfs and nothing else. Henry, the trainingship

boy, occupies an anomalous classification. He is of our kind, but he can scarcely be called even a cadet of our

kind. He will some day win to us and become a mate or a captain, but in the meantime, of course, his past is

against him. He is a candidate, rising from the serf class to our class. Also, he is only a youth, the iron of his

Wada, Louis, and the steward are servants of Asiatic breed. So are the two Japanese sailmakersscarcely

So, all told, there are eleven of us aft in the citadel. But our followers are too servantlike and serflike to be

offensive fighters. They will help us defend the high place against all attack; but they are incapable of joining

with us in an attack on the other end of the ship. They will fight like cornered rats to preserve their lives; but

they will not advance like tigers upon the enemy. Tom Spink is faithful but spiritbroken. Buckwheat is

hopelessly of the stupid lowly. Henry has not yet won his spurs. On our side remain Margaret, Mr. Pike, and

myself. The rest will hold the wall of the poop and fight thereon to the death, but they are not to be depended

At the other end of the shipand I may as well give the roster, are: the second mate, either to be called

Mellaire or Waltham, a strong man of our own breed but a renegade; the three gangsters, killers and jackals,

Bert Rhine, Nosey Murphy, and Kid Twist; the Maltese Cockney and Tony the crazy Greek; Frank

Fitzgibbon and Richard Giller, the survivors of the trio of "bricklayers"; Anton Sorensen and Lars Jacobsen,

stupid Scandinavian sailormen; Ditman Olansen, the crank eyed Berserk; John Hackey and Arthur

Deacon, respectively hoodlum and white slaver; Shorty, the mixedbreed clown; Guido Bombini, the Italian

hound; Andy Pay and Mulligan Jacobs, the bitter ones; the three topazeyed dreamers, who are

unclassifiable; Isaac Chantz, the wounded Jew; Bob, the overgrown dolt; the feebleminded Faun, lung

wounded; Nancy and Sundry Buyers, the two hopeless, helpless bosuns; and, finally, the sealawyer, Charles

This makes twentyseven of them against the eleven of us. But there are men, strong in viciousness, among

them. They, too, have their serfs and bravos. Guido Bombini and Isaac Chantz are certainly bravos. And

weaklings like Sorensen, and Jacobsen, and Bob, cannot be anything else than slaves to the men who

I failed to tell what happened yesterday, after Mr. Pike emptied his automatic and cleared the deck. The poop

was indubitably ours, and there was no possibility of the mutineers making a charge on us in broad daylight.

Margaret had gone below, accompanied by Wada, to see to the security of the port and starboard doors that

open from the cabin directly on the main deck. These are still caulked and tight and fastened on the inside, as

Mr. Pike put one of the sailmakers at the wheel, and the steward, relieved and starting below, was attracted

to the port quarter, where the patent log that towed astern was made fast. Margaret had returned his knife to

him, and he was carrying it in his hand when his attention was attracted astern to our wake. Mike Cipriani

and Bill Quigley had managed to catch the lazily moving logline and were clinging to it. The Elsinore was

moving just fast enough to keep them on the surface instead of dragging them under. Above them and about

them circled curious and hungry albatrosses, Cape hens, and mollyhawks. Even as I glimpsed the situation

one of the big birds, a tenfooter at least, with a teninch beak to the fore, dropped down on the Italian.

Releasing his hold with one hand, he struck with his knife at the bird. Feathers flew, and the albatross,

Quite methodically, just as part of the day's work, the steward chopped down with his knife, catching the

logline between the steel edge and the rail. At once, no longer buoyed up by the Elsinore's twoknot drag

ahead, the wounded men began to swim and flounder. The circling hosts of huge seabirds descended upon

them, with carnivorous beaks striking at their heads and shoulders and arms. A great screeching and

squawking arose from the winged things of prey as they strove for the living meat. And yet, somehow, I was

not very profoundly shocked. These were the men whom I had seen eviscerate the shark and toss it

overboard, and shout with joy as they watched it devoured alive by its brethren. They had played a violent,

cruel game with the things of life, and the things of life now played upon them the same violent, cruel game.

As they that rise by the sword perish by the sword, just so did these two men who had lived cruelly die

"Oh, well," was Mr. Pike's comment, "we've saved two sacks of mighty good coal."

Certainly our situation might be worse. We are cooking on the coal stove and on the oilburners. We have

servants to cook and serve for us. And, most important of all, we are in possession of all the food on the

Mr. Pike makes no mistake. Realizing that with our crowd we cannot rush the crowd at the other end of the

ship, he accepts the siege, which, as he says, consists of the besieged holding all food supplies while the

"Starve the dogs," he growls. "Starve 'm until they crawl aft and lick our shoes. Maybe you think the custom

of carrying the stores aft just happened. Only it didn't. Before you and I were born it was longestablished

and it was established on brass tacks. They knew what they were about, the old cusses, when they put the

Louis says there is not more than three days' regular whack in the galley; that the barrel of hardtack in the

forecastle will quickly go; and that our chickens, which they stole last night from the top of the

'midshiphouse, are equivalent to no more than an additional day's supply. In short, at the outside limit, we

We are no longer sailing. In last night's darkness we helplessly listened to the men loosing headsailhalyards

and letting yards go down on the run. Under orders of Mr. Pike I shot blindly and many times into the dark,

but without result, save that we heard the bullets of answering shots strike against the charthouse. So today

we have not even a man at the wheel. The Elsinore drifts idly on an idle sea, and we stand regular watches in

the shelter of charthouse and jiggermast. Mr. Pike says it is the laziest time he has had on the whole voyage.

I alternate watches with him, although when on duty there is little to be done, save, in the daytime, to stand

rifle in hand behind the jiggermast, and, in the night, to lurk along the break of the poop. Behind the

charthouse, ready to repel assault, are my watch of four men: Tom Spink, Wada, Buckwheat, and Louis.

Henry, the two Japanese sailmakers, and the old steward compose Mr. Pike's watch.

It is his orders that no one for'ard is to be allowed to show himself, so, today, when the second mate

appeared at the corner of the 'midshiphouse, I made him take a quick leap back with the thud of my bullet

against the iron wall a foot from his head. Charles David tried the same game and was similarly stimulated.

Also, this evening, after dark, Mr. Pike put blockandtackle on the first section of the bridge, heaved it out

of place, and lowered it upon the poop. Likewise he hoisted in the ladder at the break of the poop that leads

down to the main deck. The men will have to do some climbing if they ever elect to rush us.

I am writing this in my watch below. I came off duty at eight o'clock, and at midnight I go on deck to stay till

four tomorrow morning. Wada shakes his head and says that the Blackwood Company should rebate us on

the firstclass passage paid in advance. We are working our passage, he contends.

Margaret takes the adventure joyously. It is the first time she has experienced mutiny, but she is such a

thorough seawoman that she appears like an old hand at the game. She leaves the deck to the mate and me;

but, still acknowledging his leadership, she has taken charge below and entirely manages the commissary, the

cooking, and the sleeping arrangements. We still keep our old quarters, and she has bedded the newcomers

In a way, from the standpoint of her personal welfare, the mutiny is the best thing that could have happened

to her. It has taken her mind off her father and filled her waking hours with work to do. This afternoon,

standing above the open boobyhatch, I heard her laugh ring out as in the old days coming down the Atlantic.

Yes, and she hums snatches of songs under her breath as she works. In the second dogwatch this evening,

after Mr. Pike had finished dinner and joined us on the poop, she told him that if he did not soon rerig his

phonograph she was going to start in on the piano. The reason she advanced was the psychological effect

The days pass, and nothing of moment happens. We get nowhere. The Elsinore, without the steadying of her

canvas, rolls emptily and drifts a lunatic course. Sometimes she is bow on to the wind, and at other times she

is directly before it; but at all times she is circling vaguely and hesitantly to get somewhere else than where

she is. As an illustration, at daylight this morning she came up into the wind as if endeavouring to go about.

In the course of half an hour she worked off till the wind was directly abeam. In another half hour she was

back into the wind. Not until evening did she manage to get the wind on her port bow; but when she did, she

immediately paid off, accomplished the complete circle in an hour, and recommenced her morning tactics of

And there is nothing for us to do save hold the poop against the attack that is never made. Mr. Pike, more

from force of habit than anything else, takes his regular observations and works up the Elsinore's position.

This noon she was eight miles east of yesterday's position, yet today's position, in longitude, was within a

mile of where she was four days ago. On the other hand she invariably makes nothing at the rate of seven or

Aloft, the Elsinore is a sad spectacle. All is confusion and disorder. The sails, unfurled, are a slovenly mess

along the yards, and many loose ends sway dismally to every roll. The only yard that is loose is the

mainyard. It is fortunate that wind and wave are mild, else would the ironwork carry away and the

There is one thing we cannot understand. A week has passed, and the men show no signs of being starved

into submission. Repeatedly and in vain has Mr. Pike interrogated the hands aft with us. One and all, from the

cook to Buckwheat, they swear they have no knowledge of any food for'ard, save the small supply in the

galley and the barrel of hardtack in the forecastle. Yet it is very evident that those for'ard are not starving. We

see the smoke from the galleystove and can only conclude that they have food to cook.

Twice has Bert Rhine attempted a truce, but both times his white flag, as soon as it showed above the edge of

the 'midshiphouse, was fired upon by Mr. Pike. The last occurrence was two days ago. It is Mr. Pike's

intention thoroughly to starve them into submission, but now he is beginning to worry about their mysterious

Mr. Pike is not quite himself. He is obsessed, I know beyond any doubt, with the idea of vengeance on the

second mate. On divers occasions, now, I have come unexpectedly upon him and found him muttering to

himself with grim set face, or clenching and unclenching his big square fists and grinding his teeth. His

conversation continually runs upon the feasibility of our making a night attack for'ard, and he is perpetually

questioning Tom Spink and Louis on their ideas of where the various men may be sleepingthe point of

No later than yesterday afternoon did he give me most positive proof of his obsession. It was four o'clock, the

beginning of the first dogwatch, and he had just relieved me. So careless have we grown, that we now stand

in broad daylight at the exposed break of the poop. Nobody shoots at us, and, occasionally, over the top of the

for'ard house, Shorty sticks up his head and grins or makes clownish faces at us. At such times Mr. Pike

studies Shorty's features through the telescope in an effort to find signs of starvation. Yet he admits dolefully

But to return. Mr. Pike had just relieved me yesterday afternoon, when the second mate climbed the

forecastlehead and sauntered to the very eyes of the Elsinore, where he stood gazing overside.

It was a long shot, and I was taking slow and careful aim, when he touched my arm.

Life is never what we expect it to be. All our voyage from Baltimore south to the Horn and around the Horn

has been marked by violence and death. And now that it has culminated in open mutiny there is no more

violence, much less death. We keep to ourselves aft, and the mutineers keep to themselves for'ard. There is no

more harshness, no more snarling and bellowing of commands; and in this fine weather a general festival

Aft, Mr. Pike and Margaret alternate with phonograph and piano; and for'ard, although we cannot see them, a

fullfledged "foofoo" band makes most of the day and night hideous. A squealing accordion that Tom

Spink says was the property of Mike Cipriani is played by Guido Bombini, who sets the pace and seems the

leader of the foofoo. There are two brokenreeded harmonicas. Someone plays a jew'sharp. Then there are

homemade fifes and whistles and drums, combs covered with paper, extemporized triangles, and bones

The whole crew seems to compose the band, and, like a lot of monkey folk rejoicing in rude rhythm,

emphasizes the beat by hammering kerosene cans, fryingpans, and all sorts of things metallic or reverberant.

Some genius has rigged a line to the clapper of the ship's bell on the forecastlehead and clangs it horribly in

the big foofoo crises, though Bombini can be heard censuring him severely on occasion. And to cap it all,

the foghorn machine pumps in at the oddest moments in imitation of a big bass viol.

And this is mutiny on the high seas! Almost every hour of my deck watches I listen to this infernal din, and

am maddened into desire to join with Mr. Pike in a night attack and put these rebellious and inharmonious

Yet they are not entirely inharmonious. Guido Bombini has a respectable though untrained tenor voice, and

has surprised me by a variety of selections, not only from Verdi, but from Wagner and Massenet. Bert Rhine

and his crowd are full of ragtime junk, and one phrase that has caught the fancy of all hands, and which they

roar out at all times, is: "IT'S A BEAR! IT'S A BEAR! IT'S A BEAR!" This morning Nancy, evidently very

strongly urged, gave a doleful rendering of Flying Cloud. Yes, and in the second dogwatch last evening our

And this is mutiny! As I write I can scarcely believe it. Yet I know Mr. Pike keeps the watch over my head. I

hear the shrill laughter of the steward and Louis over some ancient Chinese joke. Wada and the sailmakers,

in the pantry, are, I know, talking Japanese politics. And from across the cabin, along the narrow halls, I can

But all doubts vanish at the stroke of eight bells, when I go on deck to relieve Mr. Pike, who lingers a

"Say," he said confidentially, "you and I can clean out the whole gang. All we got to do is sneak for'ard and

turn loose. As soon as we begin to shoot up, half of 'em'll bolt aftlobsters like Nancy, an' Sundry Buyers,

an' Jacobsen, an' Bob, an' Shorty, an' them three castaways, for instance. An' while they're doin' that, an' our

bunch on the poop is takin' 'em in, you an' me can make a pretty big hole in them that's left. What d'ye say?"

"Why, say," he urged, "once I jumped into that fo'c's'le, at close range, I'd start right in, blimblamblim, fast

as you could wink, nailing them gangsters, an' Bombini, an' the Sheeny, an' Deacon, an' the Cockney, an'

Mr. Pike considered a moment, and revised his list. "All right," he agreed, "I guess I'll have to let Jacobs go.

Still I hesitated, but before I could speak he anticipated me and returned to his fidelity.

"No, you can't do it, Mr. Pathurst. If by any luck they got the both of us . . . No; we'll just stay aft and sit tight

until they're starved to it . . . But where they get their tucker gets me. For'ard she's as bare as a bone, as any

decent ship ought to be, and yet look at 'em, rolling hog fat. And by rights they ought to aquit eatin' a week

Yes, it is certainly mutiny. Collecting water from the leaders of the charthouse in a shower of rain this

morning, Buckwheat exposed himself, and a long, lucky revolvershot from for'ard caught him in the

shoulder. The bullet was smallcalibre and spent ere it reached him, so that he received no more than a

fleshwound, though he carried on as if he were dying until Mr. Pike hushed his noise by cuffing his ears.

I should not like to have Mr. Pike for my surgeon. He probed for the bullet with his little finger, which was

far too big for the aperture; and with his little finger, while with his other hand he threatened another

earclout, he gouged out the leaden pellet. Then he sent the boy below, where Margaret took him in charge

I see her so rarely that a halfhour alone with her these days is an adventure. She is busy morning to night in

keeping her house in order. As I write this, through my open door I can hear her laying the law down to the

men in the afterroom. She has issued underclothes all around from the slopchest, and is ordering them to

take a bath in the rainwater just caught. And to make sure of their thoroughness in the matter, she has told

off Louis and the steward to supervise the operation. Also, she has forbidden them smoking their pipes in the

afterroom. And, to cap everything, they are to scrub walls, ceiling, everything, and then start tomorrow

morning at painting. All of which serves to convince me almost that mutiny does not obtain and that I have

But no. I hear Buckwheat blubbering and demanding how he can take a bath in his wounded condition. I wait

and listen for Margaret's judgment. Nor am I disappointed. Tom Spink and Henry are told off to the task, and

The mutineers are not starving. Today they have been fishing for albatrosses. A few minutes after they

caught the first one its carcase was flung overboard. Mr. Pike studied it through his sea glasses, and I heard

him grit his teeth when he made certain that it was not the mere feathers and skin but the entire carcass. They

had taken only its wingbones to make into pipestems. The inference was obvious: STARVING MEN

But where do they get their food? It is a seamystery in itself, although I might not so deem it were it not for

"I think, and think, till my brain is all frazzled out," he tells me; "and yet I can't get a line on it. I know every

inch of space on the Elsinore, and know there isn't an ounce of grub anywhere for'ard, and yet they eat! I've

overhauled the lazarette. As near as I can make it out, nothing is missing. Then where do they get it? That's

I know that this morning he spent hours in the lazarette with the steward and the cook, overhauling and

checking off from the lists of the Baltimore agents. And I know that they came up out of the lazarette, the

three of them, dripping with perspiration and baffled. The steward has raised the hypothesis that, first of all,

there were extra stores left over from the previous voyage, or from previous voyages, and, next, that the

stealing of these stores must have taken place during the nightwatches when it was Mr. Pike's turn below.

At any rate, the mate takes the food mystery almost as much to heart as he takes the persistent and

I am coming to realize the meaning of watchandwatch. To begin with, I spend on deck twelve hours, and a

fraction more, of each twentyfour. A fair portion of the remaining twelve is spent in eating, in dressing, and

in undressing, and with Margaret. As a result, I feel the need for more sleep than I am getting. I scarcely read

at all, now. The moment my head touches the pillow I am asleep. Oh, I sleep like a baby, eat like a navvy,

and in years have not enjoyed such physical wellbeing. I tried to read George Moore last night, and was

dreadfully bored. He may be a realist, but I solemnly aver he does not know reality on that tight, little,

shelteredlife archipelago of his. If he could windjam around the Horn just one voyage he would be twice

And Mr. Pike, for practically all of his sixtynine years, has stood his watchandwatch, with many a

spillover of watches into watches. And yet he is iron. In a struggle with him I am confident that he would

break me like so much straw. He is truly a prodigy of a man, and, so far as today is concerned, an

The Faun is not dead, despite my unlucky bullet. Henry insisted that he caught a glimpse of him yesterday.

Today I saw him myself. He came to the corner of the 'midshiphouse and gazed wistfully aft at the poop,

straining and eager to understand. In the same way I have often seen Possum gaze at me.

It has just struck me that of our eight followers five are Asiatic and only three are our own breed. Somehow it

And the fine weather continues, and we wonder how long a time must elapse ere our mutineers eat up their

We are almost due west of Valparaiso and quite a bit less than a thousand miles off the west coast of South

America. The light northerly breezes, varying from northeast to west, would, according to Mr. Pike, work us

in nicely for Valparaiso if only we had sail on the Elsinore. As it is, sailless, she drifts around and about and

Mr. Pike is beside himself. In the past two days he has displayed increasing possession of himself by the one

idea of vengeance on the second mate. It is not the mutiny, irksome as it is and helpless as it makes him; it is

the presence of the murderer of his oldtime and admired skipper, Captain Somers.

The mate grins at the mutiny, calls it a snap, speaks gleefully of how his wages are running up, and regrets

that he is not ashore, where he would be able to take a hand in gambling on the reinsurance. But the sight of

Sidney Waltham, calmly gazing at sea and sky from the forecastlehead, or astride the far end of the bowsprit

and fishing for sharks, saddens him. Yesterday, coming to relieve me, he borrowed my rifle and turned loose

the stream of tiny pellets on the second mate, who coolly made his line secure ere he scrambled in board. Of

course, it was only one chance in a hundred that Mr. Pike might have hit him, but Sidney Waltham did not

And yet it is not like mutinynot like the conventional mutiny I absorbed as a boy, and which has become

classic in the literature of the sea. There is no handtohand fighting, no crash of cannon and flash of cutlass,

no sailors drinking grog, no lighted matches held over open powdermagazines. Heavens!there isn't a

single cutlass nor a powdermagazine on board. And as for grog, not a man has had a drink since Baltimore.

Well, it is mutiny after all. I shall never doubt it again. It may be nineteenthirteen mutiny on a coalcarrier,

with feeblings and imbeciles and criminals for mutineers; but at any rate mutiny it is, and at least in the

number of deaths it is reminiscent of the old days. For things have happened since last I had opportunity to

write up this log. For that matter, I am now the keeper of the Elsinore's official log as well, in which work

And I might have known it would happen. At four yesterday morning I relieved Mr. Pike. When in the

darkness I came up to him at the break of the poop, I had to speak to him twice to make him aware of my

The next moment he brightened up, and was himself save that he was too bright. He was making an effort. I

"I'll be back in a minute," he said, as he put his leg over the rail and lightly and swiftly lowered himself down

There was nothing I could do. To cry out or to attempt to reason with him would only have drawn the

mutineers' attention. I heard his feet strike the deck beneath as he let go. Immediately he started for'ard. Little

enough precaution he took. I swear that clear to the 'midshiphouse I heard the dragging agelag of his feet.

I repeat. That was all. Never a sound came from for'ard. I held my watch till daylight. I held it till Margaret

came on deck with her cheery "What ho of the night, brave mariner?" I held the next watch (which should

have been the mate's) till midday, eating both breakfast and lunch behind the sheltering jiggermast. And I

held all afternoon, and through both dogwatches, my dinner served likewise on the deck.

And that was all. Nothing happened. The galleystove smoked three times, advertising the cooking of three

meals. Shorty made faces at me as usual across the rim of the for'ardhouse. The Maltese Cockney caught an

albatross. There was some excitement when Tony the Greek hooked a shark off the jibboom, so big that half

a dozen tailed on to the line and failed to land it. But I caught no glimpse of Mr. Pike nor of the renegade

In short, it was a lazy, quiet day of sunshine and gentle breeze. There was no inkling to what had happened to

the mate. Was he a prisoner? Was he already overside? Why were there no shots? He had his big automatic.

It is inconceivable that he did not use it at least once. Margaret and I discussed the affair till we were well a

She is a true daughter of the race. At the end of the second dog watch, armed with her father's revolver, she

insisted on standing the first watch of the night. I compromised with the inevitable by having Wada make up

my bed on the deck in the shelter of the cabin skylight just for'ard of the jiggermast. Henry, the two

sailmakers and the steward, variously equipped with knives and clubs, were stationed along the break of the

And right here I wish to pass my first criticism on modern mutiny. On ships like the Elsinore there are not

enough weapons to go around. The only firearms now aft are Captain West's .38 Colt revolver, and my .22

automatic Winchester. The old steward, with a penchant for hacking and chopping, has his long knife and a

butcher's cleaver. Henry, in addition to his sheathknife, has a short bar of iron. Louis, despite a most

sanguinary array of butcherknives and a big poker, pins his cook's faith on hot water and sees to it that two

kettles are always piping on top the cabin stove. Buckwheat, who on account of his wound is getting all night

The rest of our retainers have knives and clubs, although Yatsuda, the first sailmaker, carries a handaxe,

and Uchino, the second sailmaker, sleeping or waking, never parts from a clawhammer. Tom Spink has a

harpoon. Wada, however, is the genius. By means of the cabin stove he has made a sharp pikepoint of iron

It is rather shuddery, however, to speculate on the terrible assortment of cutting, gouging, jabbing and

slashing weapons with which the mutineers are able to equip themselves from the carpenter's shop. If it ever

comes to an assault on the poop there will be a weird mess of wounds for the survivors to dress. For that

matter, master as I am of my little rifle, no man could gain the poop in the daytime. Of course, if rush they

will, they will rush us in the night, when my rifle will be worthless. Then it will be blow for blow,

But no. I have just bethought me. We shall be ready for any night rush. I'll take a leaf out of modern

warfare, and show them not only that we are topdog (a favourite phrase of the mate), but WHY we are

topdog. It is simplenight illumination. As I write I work opt the ideagasoline, balls of oakum, caps and

gunpowder from a few cartridges, Roman candles, and flares blue, red, and green, shallow metal receptacles

to carry the explosive and inflammable stuff; and a triggerlike arrangement by which, pulling on a string,

the caps are exploded in the gunpowder and fire set to the gasolinesoaked oakum and to the flares and

I have worked like a Trojan all day, and the idea is realized. Margaret helped me out with suggestions, and

Tom Spink did the sailorizing. Over our head, from the jiggermast, the steel stays that carry the three

jiggertrysails descend high above the break of the poop and across the main deck to the mizzenmast. A light

line has been thrown over each stay, and been thrown repeatedly around so as to form an unslipping knot.

Tom Spink waited till dark, when he went aloft and attached loose rings of stiff wire around the stays below

the knots. Also he bent on hoistinggear and connected permanent fastenings with the sliding rings. And

This is the idea: after dark each night we shall hoist our three metal washbasins, loaded with inflammables,

up to the stays. The arrangement is such that at the first alarm of a rush, by pulling a cord the trigger is pulled

that ignites the powder, and the very same pull operates a tripdevice that lets the rings slide down the steel

stays. Of course, suspended from the rings, are the illuminators, and when they have run down the stays fifty

feet the lines will automatically bring them to rest. Then all the main deck between the poop and the

mizzenmast will be flooded with light, while we shall be in comparative darkness.

Of course each morning before daylight we shall lower all this apparatus to the deck, so that the men for'ard

will not guess what we have up our sleeve, or, rather, what we have up on the trysailstays. Even today the

little of our gear that has to be left standing aroused their curiosity. Head after head showed over the edge of

the for'ardhouse as they peeped and peered and tried to make out what we were up to. Why, I find myself

And what has happened to Mr. Pike remains a mystery. For that matter, what has happened to the second

mate? In the past three days we have by our eyes taken the census of the mutineers. Every man has been seen

by us with the sole exception of Mr. Mellaire, or Sidney Waltham, as I assume I must correctly name him. He

In the past three days various interesting things have taken place. Margaret stands watch and watch with me,

day and night, the clock around; for there is no one of our retainers to whom we can entrust the responsibility

of a watch. Though mutiny obtains and we are besieged in the high place, the weather is so mild and there is

so little call on our men that they have grown careless and sleep aft of the charthouse when it is their watch

on deck. Nothing ever happens, and, like true sailors, they wax fat and lazy. Even have I found Louis, the

steward, and Wada guilty of catnapping. In fact, the trainingship boy, Henry, is the only one who has

Oh, yes, and I gave Tom Spink a thrashing yesterday. Since the disappearance of the mate he had had little

faith in me, and had been showing vague signs of insolence and insubordination. Both Margaret and I had

"He is a good sailor, but weak," she said. "If we let him go on, he will infect the rest."

Those who sit in the high places must be hard, yet have I discovered that it is hard to be hard. For instance,

easy enough was it to drop Steve Roberts as he was in the act of shooting at me. Yet it is most difficult to be

hard with a chuckleheaded retainer like Tom Spink especially when he continually fails by a shade to

give sufficient provocation. For twentyfour hours after my talk with Margaret I was on pins and needles to

have it out with him, yet rather than have had it out with him I should have preferred to see the poop rushed

Not in a day can the tyro learn to employ the snarling immediacy of mastery of Mr. Pike, nor the reposeful,

voiceless mastery of a Captain West. Truly, the situation was embarrassing. I was not trained in the handling

of men, and Tom Spink knew it in his chuckle headed way. Also, in his chuckleheaded way, he was

dispirited by the loss of the mate. Fearing the mate, nevertheless he had depended on the mate to fetch him

through with a whole skin, or at least alive. On me he has no dependence. What chance had the gentleman

passenger and the captain's daughter against the gang for'ard? So he must have reasoned, and, so reasoning,

After Margaret had told me to be hard I watched Tom Spink with an eagle eye, and he must have sensed my

attitude, for he carefully forebore from overstepping, while all the time he palpitated just on the edge of

overstepping. Yes, and it was clear that Buckwheat was watching to learn the outcome of this veiled

refractoriness. For that matter, the situation was not being missed by our keeneyed Asiatics, and I know that

I caught Louis several times verging on the offence of offering me advice. But he knew his place and

At last, yesterday, while I held the watch, Tom Spink was guilty of spitting tobacco juice on the deck.

Now it must be understood that such an act is as grave an offence of the sea as blasphemy is of the Church.

It was Margaret who came to where I was stationed by the jiggermast and told me what had occurred; and it

There was the offensive spot, and there was Tom Spink, his cheek bulging with a quid.

Tom Spink merely rolled his quid with his tongue and regarded me with sneering thoughtfulness. I am sure

he was no more surprised than was I by the immediateness of what followed. My fist went out like an arrow

from a released bow, and Tom Spink staggered back, tripped against the corner of the tarpaulincovered

soundingmachine, and sprawled on the deck. He tried to make a fight of it, but I followed him up, giving

him no chance to set himself or recover from the surprise of my first onslaught.

Now it so happens that not since I was a boy have I struck a person with my naked fist, and I candidly admit

that I enjoyed the trouncing I administered to poor Tom Spink. Yes, and in the rapid play about the deck I

caught a glimpse of Margaret. She had stepped out of the shelter of the mast and was looking on from the

corner of the chart house. Yes, and more; she was looking on with a cool, measuring eye.

Oh, it was all very grotesque, to be sure. But then, mutiny on the high seas in the year nineteenthirteen is

also grotesque. No lists here between mailed knights for a lady's favour, but merely the trouncing of a

chucklehead for spitting on the deck of a coal carrier. Nevertheless, the fact that my lady looked on added

zest to my enterprise, and, doubtlessly, speed and weight to my blows, and at least half a dozen additional

Yes, man is strangely and wonderfully made. Now that I coolly consider the matter, I realize that it was

essentially the same spirit with which I enjoyed beating up Tom Spink, that I have in the past enjoyed

contests of the mind in which I have outepigrammed clever opponents. In the one case, one proves himself

topdog of the mind; in the other, topdog of the muscle. Whistler and Wilde were just as much intellectual

bullies as I was a physical bully yesterday morning when I punched Tom Spink into lying down and staying

And my knuckles are sore and swollen. I cease writing for a moment to look at them and to hope that they

At any rate, Tom Spink took his disciplining and promised to come in and be good.

"Sir," he mumbled with bleeding lips. "Yes, sir, I'll mop it up, sir. Yes, sir."

I could scarcely keep from laughing in his face, the whole thing was so ludicrous; but I managed to look my

haughtiest, and sternest, and fiercest, while I superintended the deckcleansing. The funniest thing about the

affair was that I must have knocked Tom Spink's quid down his throat, for he was gagging and hiccoughing

The atmosphere aft has been wonderfully clear ever since. Tom Spink obeys all orders on the jump, and

Buckwheat jumps with equal celerity. As for the five Asiatics, I feel that they are stouter behind me now that

I have shown masterfulness. By punching a man's face I verily believe I have doubled our united strength.

And there is no need to punch any of the rest. The Asiatics are keen and willing. Henry is a true cadet of the

breed, Buckwheat will follow Tom Spink's lead, and Tom Spink, a proper AngloSaxon peasant, will lead

Two days have passed, and two noteworthy things have happened. The men seem to be nearing the end of

I have noted, through the glasses, that no more carcasses of the mollyhawks they are now catching are thrown

overboard. This means that they have begun to eat the tough and unsavoury creatures, although it does not

It was Margaret, her sailor's eye on the falling barometer and on the "making" stuff adrift in the sky, who

"As soon as the sea rises," she said, "we'll have that loose main yard and all the rest of the tophamper

So it was that I raised the white flag for a parley. Bert Rhine and Charles Davis came abaft the

'midshiphouse, and, while we talked, many faces peered over the for'ard edge of the house and many forms

"Well, getting tired?" was Bert Rhine's insolent greeting. "Anything we can do for you?"

"Yes, there is," I answered sharply. "You can save your heads so that when you return to work there will be

"If you are making threats" Charles Davis began, but was silenced by a glare from the gangster.

"It's for your own good," was my reply. "It is coming on to blow, and all that unfurled canvas aloft will bring

the yards down on your heads. We're safe here, aft. You are the ones who will run risks, and it is up to you to

"Why, you'll take your chances, that is all," I answered carelessly. "I just want to call your attention to the

fact that one of those steel yards, endon, will go through the roof of your forecastle as if it were so much

"And I'll give you ten minutes," I returned. "If at the end of ten minutes you've not started taking in, it will be

"An' what have you done with Mr. Mellaire!" he retorted. "You tell us, an' we'll tell you."

I am confident of the genuineness of his surprise. Evidently the mutineers have been believing us guilty of the

disappearance of the second mate, just as we have been believing them guilty of the disappearance of the first

mate. The more I dwell upon it the more it seems the proposition of the Kilkenny cats, a case of mutual

Bert Rhine laughed one of his silent laughs; Charles Davis assumed an expression of mysteriousness and

superiority; and Shorty, leaping into view from the corner of the house, danced a jig of triumph.

They turned and went for'ard, and, before the ten minutes were up, all hands were aloft and stowing canvas.

All this time the wind, out of the northwest, was breezing up. The old familiar harpchords of a rising gale

were strumming along the rigging, and the men, I verily believe from lack of practice, were particularly slow

"It would be better if the upperandlower topsails are set so that we can heave to," Margaret suggested.

"Better set the upper and lower topsails so that we can handle the ship," I called to the gangster, who was

He considered the idea, and then gave the proper orders, although it was the Maltese Cockney, with Nancy

I ordered Tom Spink to the longidle wheel, and gave him the course, which was due east by the steering

compass. This put the wind on our port quarter, so that the Elsinore began to move through the water before a

fair breeze. And due east, less than a thousand miles away, lay the coast of South America and the port of

Strange to say, none of our mutineers objected to this, and after dark, as we tore along before a fullsized

gale, I sent my own men up on top the charthouse to take the gaskets off the spanker. This was the only sail

we could set and trim and in every way control. It is true the mizzenbraces were still rigged aft to the poop,

according to Horn practice. But, while we could thus trim the mizzenyards, the sails themselves, in setting

Margaret, beside me in the darkness at the break of the poop, put her hand in mine with a warm pressure, as

both our tiny watches swayed up the spanker and as both of us held our breaths in an effort to feel the added

"I never wanted to marry a sailor," she said. "And I thought I was safe in the hands of a landsman like you.

And yet here you are, with all the stuff of the sea in you, running down your easting for port. Next thing, I

suppose, I'll see you out with a sextant, shooting the sun or making starobservations."

Four more days have passed; the gale has blown itself out; we are not more than three hundred and fifty miles

off Valparaiso; and the Elsinore, this time due to me and my own stubbornness, is rolling in the wind and

In the height of the gusts, in the three days and nights of the gale, we logged as much as eight, and even nine,

knots. What bothered me was the acquiescence of the mutineers in my programme. They were sensible

enough in the simple matter of geography to know what I was doing. They had control of the sails, and yet

More than that, as the gale eased on the morning of the third day, they actually went aloft, set

topgallantsails, royals, and skysails, and trimmed the yards to the quartering breeze. This was too much for

the Saxon streak in me, whereupon I wore the Elsinore about before the wind, fetched her up upon it, and

lashed the wheel. Margaret and I are agreed in the hypothesis that their plan is to get inshore until land is

"But we don't want them to desert," she proclaims with flashing eyes. "We are bound for Seattle. They must

"You, a master of books, by all the seablood in your body should be able to pick up the theoretics of

navigation while I snap my fingers. Furthermore, remember that I can supply the seamanship. Why, any

squarehead peasant, in a six months' cramming course at any seaport navigation school, can pass the

examiners for his navigator's papers. That means six hours for you. And less. If you can't, after an hour's

reading and an hour's practice with the sextant, take a latitude observation and work it out, I'll do it for you."

"I mean, from the little I know, that I know I can learn to know a meridian sight and the working out of it. I

Strange to say, the gale, after easing to a mild breeze, recrudesced in a sort of afterclap. With sails

untrimmed and flapping, the consequent smashing, crashing, and rending of our gear can be imagined. It

"Trim the yards!" I yelled at Bert Rhine, who, backed for counsel by Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney,

actually came directly beneath me on the main deck in order to hear above the commotion aloft.

"Want to make land, eh?" I girded down at him. "Getting hungry, eh? Well, you won't make land or anything

"Run off shore," I replied, "and get your gang out in deep sea where it will be starved back to duty."

I shook my head and held up my rifle. "You'll have to go aloft to do it, and the first man that gets into the

"Then she can go to hell for all we care," he said, with emphatic conclusiveness.

And just then the foretopgallantyard carried awayluckily as the bow was downpitched into a trough of

seaand when the slow, confused, and tangled descent was accomplished the big stick lay across the wreck of

both bulwarks and of that portion of the bridge between the foremast and the forecastle head.

Bert Rhine heard, but could not see, the damage wrought. He looked up at me challengingly, and sneered:

It could not have happened more apropos. The portbrace, and immediately afterwards the starboardbrace,

of the crojackyard carried away. This was the big, lowest spar on the mizzen, and as the huge thing of steel

swung wildly back and forth the gangster and his followers turned and crouched as they looked up to see.

Next, the gooseneck of the truss, on which it pivoted, smashed away. Immediately the lifts and lowertopsail

sheets parted, and with a foreandaft pitch of the ship the spar upended and crashed to the deck upon

All this was new to the gangsteras it was to mebut Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney thoroughly

"Stand out from under!" I yelled sardonically; and the three of them cowered and shrank away as their eyes

The lowertopsail, its sheets parted by the fall of the crojackyard, was tearing out of the boltropes and

ribboning away to leeward and making such an uproar that they might well expect its yard to carry away.

Since this wreckage of our beautiful gear was all new to me, I was quite prepared to see the thing happen.

The gangsterleader, no sailor, but, after months at sea, intelligent enough and nervously strong enough to

appreciate the danger, turned his head and looked up at me. And I will do him the credit to say that he took

"While you're about it, get in the skysails and royals!" I shouted down. "And make a decent job of the

Both Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney advertised their relief in their faces as they heard my words,

and, at a nod from the gangster, they started for'ard on the run to put the orders into effect.

Never, in the whole voyage, did our crew spring to it in more lively fashion. And lively fashion was needed

to save our gear. As it was, they cut away the remnants of the mizzenlowertopsail with their

The first infraction of our agreement was on the mainlowertopsail. This they attempted to furl. The

carrying away of the crojack and the blowing away of the mizzenlowertopsail gave me freedom to see and

aim, and when the tiny messengers from my rifle began to spat through the canvas and to spat against the

steel of the yard, the men strung along it desisted from passing the gaskets. I waved my will to Bert Rhine,

"What is the use of running offshore?" I said to Margaret, when the kites were snugged down and all yards

trimmed on the wind. "Three hundred and fifty miles off the land is as good as thirtyfive hundred so far as

So, instead of making speed through the water toward deep sea, I hove the Elsinore to on the starboard tack

But our gallant mutineers had their will of us that very night. In the darkness we could hear the work aloft

going on as yards were run down, sheets let go, and sails dewed up and gasketed. I did try a few random

shots, and all my reward was to hear the whine and creak of ropes through sheaves and to receive an equally

It is a most curious situation. We of the high place are masters of the steering of the Elsinore, while those

for'ard are masters of the motor power. The only sail that is wholly ours is the spanker. They control

absolutelysheets, halyards, clewlines, buntlines, braces, and downhaulsevery sail on the fore and main.

We control the braces on the mizzen, although they control the canvas on the mizzen. For that matter,

Margaret and I fail to comprehend why they do not go aloft any dark night and sever the mizzenbraces at

the yardends. All that prevents this, we are decided, is laziness. For if they did sever the braces that lead aft

into our hands, they would be compelled to rig new braces for'ard in some fashion, else, in the rolling, would

And still the mutiny we are enduring is ridiculous and grotesque. There was never a mutiny like it. It violates

all standards and precedents. In the old classic mutinies, long ere this, attacking like tigers, the seamen should

Wherefore I sneer at our gallant mutineers, and recommend trained nurses for them, quite in the manner of

Mr. Pike. But Margaret shakes her head and insists that human nature is human nature, and that under similar

circumstances human nature will express itself similarly. In short, she points to the number of deaths that

have already occurred, and declares that on some dark night, sooner or later, whenever the pinch of hunger

And in the meantime, except for the tenseness of it, and for the incessant watchfulness which Margaret and I

alone maintain, it is more like a mild adventure, more like a page out of some book of romance which ends

It is surely romance, watch and watch for a man and a woman who love, to relieve each other's watches. Each

such relief is a love passage and unforgettable. Never was there wooing like itthe muttered surmises of

wind and weather, the whispered councils, the kissed commands in palms of hands, the dared contacts of the

Oh, truly, I have often, since this voyage began, told the books to go hang. And yet the books are at the back

of the racelife of me. I am what I am out of ten thousand generations of my kind. Of that there is no

discussion. And yet my midnight philosophy stands the test of my breed. I must have selected my books out

of the ten thousand generations that compose me. I have killed a manSteve Roberts. As a perishing blond

without an alphabet I should have done this unwaveringly. As a perishing blond with an alphabet, plus the

contents in my brain of the philosophizing of all philosophers, I have killed this same man with the same

unwaveringness. Culture has not emasculated me. I am quite unaffected. It was in the day's work, and my

kind have always been dayworkers, doing the day's work, whatever it might be, in high adventure or dull

Never would I ask to set back the dial of time or event. I would kill Steve Roberts again, under the same

circumstances, as a matter of course. When I say I am unaffected by this happening I do not quite mean it. I

am affected. I am aware that the spirit of me is informed with a sober elation of efficiency. I have done

something that had to be done, as any man will do what has to be done in the course of the day's work.

Yes, I am a perishing blond, and a man, and I sit in the high place and bend the stupid ones to my will; and I

am a lover, loving a royal woman of my own perishing breed, and together we occupy, and shall occupy, the

Margaret was right. The mutiny is not violating standards and precedents. We have had our hands full for

days and nights. Ditman Olansen, the crankeyed Berserker, has been killed by Wada, and the trainingship

boy, the one lone cadet of our breed, has gone overside with the regulation sack of coal at his feet. The poop

has been rushed. My illuminating invention has proved a success. The men are getting hungry, and we still sit

First of all the attack on the poop, two nights ago, in Margaret's watch. No; first, I have made another

invention. Assisted by the old steward, who knows, as a Chinese ought, a deal about fireworks, and getting

my materials from our signal rockets and Roman candles, I manufactured half a dozen bombs. I don't really

think they are very deadly, and I know our extemporized fuses are slower than our voyage is at the present

And now to the attempt to rush the poop. It was in Margaret's watch, from midnight till four in the morning,

when the attack was made. Sleeping on the deck by the cabin skylight, I was very close to her when her

My first spring was to the trippinglines on my illuminators. The igniting and releasing devices worked

cleverly. I pulled two of the trippinglines, and two of the contraptions exploded into light and noise and at

the same time ran automatically down the jiggertrysail stays, and automatically fetched up at the ends of

their lines. The illumination was instantaneous and gorgeous. Henry, the two sail makers, and the

stewardat least three of them awakened from sound sleep, I am sureran to join us along the break of the

poop. All the advantage lay with us, for we were in the dark, while our foes were outlined against the light

But such light! The powder crackled, fizzed, and spluttered and spilled out the excess of gasolene from the

flaming oakum balls so that streams of fire dripped down on the main deck beneath. And the stuff of the

There was not much of a fight, for the mutineers were shocked by our fireworks. Margaret fired her revolver

haphazardly, while I held my rifle for any that gained the poop. But the attack faded away as quickly as it had

come. I did see Margaret overshoot some man, scaling the poop from the portrail, and the next moment I

saw Wada, charging like a buffalo, jab him in the chest with the spear he had made and thrust the boarder

That was all. The rest retreated for'ard on the dead run, while the three trysails, furled at the foot of the stays

next to the mizzen and set on fire by the dripping gasolene, went up in flame and burned entirely away and

out without setting the rest of the ship on fire. That is one of the virtues of a ship steelmasted and

And on the deck beneath us, crumpled, twisted, face hidden so that we could not identify him, lay the man

And now I come to a phase of adventure that is new to me. I have never found it in the books. In short, it is

carelessness coupled with laziness, or vice versa. I had used two of my illuminators. Only one remained. An

hour later, convinced of the movement aft of men along the deck, I let go the third and last and with its

brightness sent them scurrying for'ard. Whether they were attacking the poop tentatively to learn whether or

not I had exhausted my illuminators, or whether or not they were trying to rescue Ditman Olansen, we shall

never know. The point is: they did come aft; they were compelled to retreat by my illuminator; and it was my

last illuminator. And yet I did not start in, there and then, to manufacture fresh ones. This was carelessness. It

was laziness. And I hazarded our lives, perhaps, if you please, on a psychological guess that I had convinced

The rest of Margaret's watch, which I shared with her, was undisturbed. At four I insisted that she go below

At break of day I was able to make out the body, still lying as last I had seen it. At seven o'clock, before

breakfast, and while Margaret still slept, I sent the two boys, Henry and Buckwheat, down to the body. I

stood above them, at the rail, rifle in hand and ready. But from for'ard came no signs of life; and the lads,

between them, rolled the crankeyed Norwegian over so that we could recognize him, carried him to the rail,

and shoved him stiffly across and into the sea. Wada's spearthrust had gone clear through him.

But before twentyfour hours were up the mutineers evened the score handsomely. They more than evened it,

for we are so few that we cannot so well afford the loss of one as they can. To begin with and a thing I had

anticipated and for which I had prepared my bombs while Margaret and I ate a deckbreakfast in the

shelter of the jiggermast a number of the men sneaked aft and got under the overhang of the poop. Buckwheat

saw them coming and yelled the alarm, but it was too late. There was no direct way to get them out. The

moment I put my head over the rail to fire at them, I knew they would fire up at me with all the advantage in

Two steel doors, tightfastened and caulked against the Cape Horn seas, opened under the overhang of the

poop from the cabin on to the main deck. These doors the men proceeded to attack with sledge hammers,

while the rest of the gang, sheltered by the 'midshiphouse, showed that it stood ready for the rush when the

Inside, the steward guarded one door with his hacking knife, while with his spear Wada guarded the other

door. Nor, while I had dispatched them to this duty, was I idle. Behind the jiggermast I lighted the fuse of one

of my extemporized bombs. When it was sputtering nicely I ran across the poop to the break and dropped the

bomb to the main deck beneath, at the same time making an effort to toss it in under the overhang where the

men battered at the port door. But this effort was distracted and made futile by a popping of several revolver

shots from the gangways amidships. One IS jumpy when softnosed bullets puttputt around him. As a

Nevertheless, the illuminators had earned the respect of the mutineers for my fireworks. The sputtering and

fizzling of the fuse were too much for them, and from under the poop they ran for'ard like so many scuttling

rabbits. I know I could have got a couple with my rifle had I not been occupied with lighting the fuse of a

second bomb. Margaret managed three wild shots with her revolver, and the poop was immediately peppered

Being provident (and lazy, for I have learned that it takes time and labour to manufacture homemade

bombs), I pinched off the live end of the fuse in my hand. But the fuse of the first bomb, rolling about on the

main deck, merely fizzled on; and as I waited I resolved to shorten my remaining fuses. Any of the men who

fled, had he had the courage, could have pinched off the fuse, or tossed the bomb overboard, or, better yet, he

It took fully five minutes for that blessed fuse to burn its slow length, and when the bomb did go off it was a

sad disappointment. I swear it could have been sat upon with nothing more than a jar to one's nerves. And

yet, in so far as the intimidation goes, it did its work. The men have not since ventured under the overhang of

That the mutineers were getting short of food was patent. The Elsinore, sailless, drifted about that morning,

the sport of wind and wave; and the gang put many lines overboard for the catching of mollyhawks and

albatrosses. Oh, I worried the hungry fishers with my rifle. No man could show himself for'ard without

having a bullet whop against the ironwork perilously near him. And still they caught birdsnot, however,

without danger to themselves, and not without numerous losses of birds due to my rifle.

Their procedure was to toss their hooks and bait over the rail from shelter and slowly to pay the lines out as

the slight windage of the Elsinore's hull, spars, and rigging drifted her through the water. When a bird was

hooked they hauled in the line, still from shelter, till it was alongside. This was the ticklish moment. The

hook, merely a hollow and acuteangled triangle of sheetcopper floating on a piece of board at the end of

the line, held the bird by pinching its curved beak into the acute angle. The moment the line slacked the bird

was released. So, when alongside, this was the problem: to lift the bird out of the water, straight up the side of

the ship, without once jamming and easing and slacking. When they tried to do this from shelter invariably

They worked out a method. When the bird was alongside the several men with revolvers turned loose on me,

while one man, overhauling and keeping the line taut, leaped to the rail and quickly hove the bird up and over

and inboard. I know this longdistance revolver fire seriously bothered me. One cannot help jumping when

death, in the form of a piece of flying lead, hits the rail beside him, or the mast over his head, or whines away

in a ricochet from the steel shrouds. Nevertheless, I managed with my rifle to bother the exposed men on the

rail to the extent that they lost one hooked bird out of two. And twentysix men require a quantity of

albatrosses and mollyhawks every twentyfour hours, while they can fish only in the daylight.

As the day wore along I improved on my obstructive tactics. When the Elsinore was up in the eye of the

wind, and making sternway, I found that by putting the wheel sharply over, one way or the other, I could

swing her bow off. Then, when she had paid off till the wind was abeam, by reversing the wheel hard across

to the opposite hardover I could take advantage of her momentum away from the wind and work her off

squarely before it. This made all the woodfloated triangles of birdsnares tow aft along her sides.

The first time I was ready for them. With hooks and sinkers on our own lines aft, we tossed out, grappled,

captured, and broke off nine of their lines. But the next time, so slow is the movement of so large a ship, the

mutineers hauled all their lines safely inboard ere they towed aft within striking distance of my grapnels.

Still I improved. As long as I kept the Elsinore before the wind they could not fish. I experimented. Once

before it, by means of a wingedout spanker coupled with patient and careful steering, I could keep her

before it. This I did, hour by hour one of my men relieving another at the wheel. As a result all fishing

Margaret was holding the first dogwatch, four to six. Henry was at the wheel steering. Wada and Louis were

below cooking the evening meal over the big coalstove and the oilburners. I had just come up from below

and was standing beside the soundingmachine, not half a dozen feet from Henry at the wheel. Some obscure

sound from the ventilator must have attracted me, for I was gazing at it when the thing happened.

But first, the ventilator. This is a steel shaft that leads up from the coalcarrying bowels of the ship beneath

the lazarette and that wins to the outsideworld via the afterwall of the charthouse. In fact, it occupies the

hollow inside of the double walls of the afterwall of the charthouse. Its opening, at the height of a man's

head, is screened with iron bars so closely set that no maturebodied rat can squeeze between. Also, this

opening commands the wheel, which is a scant fifteen feet away and directly across the booby hatch. Some

mutineer, crawling along the space between the coal and the deck of the lower hold, had climbed the

Practically simultaneously, I saw the outrush of smoke and heard the report. I heard a grunt from Henry,

and, turning my head, saw him cling to the spokes and turn the wheel half a revolution as he sank to the deck.

It must have been a lucky shot. The boy was perforated through the heart or very near to the heartwe have

Tom Spink and the second sailmaker, Uchino, sprang to Henry's side. The revolver continued to go off

through the ventilator slits, and the bullets thudded into the front of the half wheelhouse all about them.

Fortunately they were not hit, and they immediately scrambled out of range. The boy quivered for the space

of a few seconds, and ceased to move; and one more cadet of the perishing breed perished as he did his day's

work at the wheel of the Elsinore off the west coast of South America, bound from Baltimore to Seattle with

The situation is hopelessly grotesque. We in the high place command the food of the Elsinore, but the

mutineers have captured her steeringgear. That is to say, they have captured it without coming into

possession of it. They cannot steer, neither can we. The poop, which is the high place, is ours. The wheel is

on the poop, yet we cannot touch the wheel. From that slitted opening in the ventilator shaft they are able to

shoot down any man who approaches the wheel. And with that steel wall of the charthouse as a shield they

I have a plan, but it is not worth while putting into execution unless its need becomes imperative. In the

darkness of night it would be an easy trick to disconnect the steeringgear from the short tiller on the

rudderhead, and then, by rerigging the preventer tackles, steer from both sides of the poop well enough

In the meantime, in this fine weather, the Elsinore drifts as she lists, or as the windage of her lists and the

seamovement of waves lists. And she can well drift. Let the mutineers starve. They can best be brought to

And what are wits for, if not for use? I am breaking the men's hungry hearts. It is great fun in its way. The

mollyhawks and albatrosses, after their fashion, have followed the Elsinore up out of their own latitudes. This

means that there are only so many of them and that their numbers are not recruited. Syllogism: major

premise, a definite and limited amount of birdmeat; minor premise, the only food the mutineers now have is

birdmeat; conclusion, destroy the available food and the mutineers will be compelled to come back to duty.

I have acted on this bit of logic. I began experimentally by tossing small chunks of fat pork and crusts of stale

bread overside. When the birds descended for the feast I shot them. Every carcass thus left floating on the

But I bettered the method. Yesterday I overhauled the medicine chest, and I dosed my chunks of fat pork

and bread with the contents of every bottle that bore a label of skull and crossbones. I even added

roughonrats to the deadliness of the mixturethis on the suggestion of the steward.

And today, behold, there is no bird left in the sky. True, while I played my game yesterday, the mutineers

hooked a few of the birds; but now the rest are gone, and that is bound to be the last food for the men for'ard

Yes; it is grotesque. It is a boy's game. It reads like Midshipman Easy, like Frank Mildmay, like Frank Reade,

Jr.; and yet, i' faith, life and death's in the issue. I have just gone over the toll of our dead since the voyage

First, was Christian Jespersen, killed by O'Sullivan when that maniac aspired to throw overboard Andy Fay's

seaboots; then O'Sullivan, because he interfered with Charles Davis' sleep, brained by that worthy with a

steel marlinspike; next Petro Marinkovich, just ere we began the passage of the Horn, murdered

undoubtedly by the gangster clique, his life cut out of him with knives, his carcass left lying on deck to be

found by us and be buried by us; and the Samurai, Captain West, a sudden though not a violent death, albeit

occurring in the midst of all elemental violence as Mr. Pike clawed the Elsinore off the leeshore of the

Horn; and Boney the Splinter, following, washed overboard to drown as we cleared the seagashing

rocktooth where the southern tip of the continent bit into the stormwrath of the Antarctic; and the

bigfooted, clumsy youth of a Finnish carpenter, hove overside as a Jonah by his fellows who believed that

Finns control the winds; and Mike Cipriani and Bill Quigley, Rome and Ireland, shot down on the poop and

flung overboard alive by Mr. Pike, still alive and clinging to the logline, cut adrift by the steward to be eaten

alive by greatbeaked albatrosses, mollyhawks, and sootyplumaged Cape hens; Steve Roberts, onetime

cowboy, shot by me as he tried to shoot me; Herman Lunkenheimer, his throat cut before all of us by the

hound Bombini as Kid Twist stretched the throat taut from behind; the two mates, Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire,

mutually destroying each other in what must have been an unwitnessed epic combat; Ditman Olansen,

speared by Wada as he charged Berserk at the head of the mutineers in the attempt to rush the poop; and last,

Henry, the cadet of the perishing house, shot at the wheel, from the ventilatorshaft, in the course of his day's

No; as I contemplate this rollcall of the dead which I have just made I see that we are not playing a boy's

game. Why, we have lost a third of us, and the bloodiest battles of history have rarely achieved such a

percentage of mortality. Fourteen of us have gone overside, and who can tell the end?

Nevertheless, here we are, masters of matter, adventurers in the microorganic, planetweighers,

sunanalysers, starrovers, god dreamers, equipped with the human wisdom of all the ages, and yet, quoting

Mr. Pike, to come down to brass tacks, we are a lot of primitive beasts, fighting bestially, slaying bestially,

pursuing bestially food and water, air for our lungs, a dry space above the deep, and carcasses skincovered

and intact. And over this menagerie of beasts Margaret and I, with our Asiatics under us, rule topdog. We

are all dogsthere is no getting away from it. And we, the fair pigmented ones, by the seed of our ancestry

rulers in the high place, shall remain topdog over the rest of the dogs. Oh, there is material in plenty for the

cogitation of any philosopher on a windjammer in mutiny in this Year of our Lord 1913.

Henry was the fourteenth of us to go overside into the dark and salty disintegration of the sea. And in one day

he has been well avenged; for two of the mutineers have followed him. The steward called my attention to

what was taking place. He touched my arm half beyond his servant's self, as he gloated for'ard at the men

heaving two corpses overside. Weighted with coal, they sank immediately, so that we could not identify

"They have been fighting," I said. "It is good that they should fight among themselves."

"No fight. They eat'm mollyhawk and albatross; mollyhawk and albatross eat'm fat pork; two men he die,

And I think he was right. While I was busy baiting the seabirds the mutineers were catching them, and of a

The two poisoned ones went over the side yesterday. Since then we have taken the census. Two men only

have not appeared, and they are Bob, the fat and overgrown feebling youth, and, of all creatures, the Faun. It

seems my fate that I had to destroy the Faunthe poor, tortured Faun, always willing and eager, ever

desirous to please. There is a madness of ill luck in all this. Why couldn't the two dead men have been

Charles Davis and Tony the Greek? Or Bert Rhine and Kid Twist? or Bombini and Andy Fay? Yes, and in

my heart I know I should have felt better had it been Isaac Chantz and Arthur Deacon, or Nancy and Sundry

He nodded affirmation. We use a great deal of coal in our cooking, and when the present supply gives out we

The situation grows tense. There are no more seabirds, and the mutineers are starving. Yesterday I talked

with Bert Rhine. Today I talked with him again, and he will never forget, I am certain, the little talk we had

To begin with, last evening, at five o'clock, I heard his voice issuing from between the slits of the ventilator

in the afterwall of the charthouse. Standing at the corner of the house, quite out of range, I answered him.

"Getting hungry?" I jeered. "Let me tell you what we are going to have for dinner. I have just been down and

seen the preparations. Now, listen: first, caviare on toast; then, clam bouillon; and creamed lobster; and

tinned lamb chops with French peasyou know, the peas that melt in one's mouth; and California asparagus

with mayonnaise; andoh, I forgot to mention fried potatoes and cold pork and beans; and peach pie; and

coffee, real coffee. Doesn't it make you hungry for your East Side? And, say, think of the free lunch going to

I had told him the truth. The dinner I described (principally coming out of tins and bottles, to be sure) was the

"Right down to brass tacks," I gibed. "Very well, when are you and the rest of your rats going to turn to?"

"Cut that," he reiterated. "I've got you where 1 want you now. Take it from me, I'm givin' it straight. I'm not

tellin' you how, but I've got you under my thumb. When I come down on you, you'll crack."

"Hell is full of cocksure rats like you," I retorted; although I never dreamed how soon he would be writhing

"Forget it," he sneered back. "I've got you where I want you. I'm just tellin' you, that's all."

"Pardon me," I replied, "when I tell you that I'm from Missouri. You'll have to show ME."

And as I thus talked the thought went through my mind of how I naturally sought out the phrases of his own

vocabulary in order to make myself intelligible to him. The situation was bestial, with sixteen of our

complement already gone into the dark; and the terms I employed, perforce, were terms of bestiality. And I

thought, also, of I who was thus compelled to dismiss the dreams of the utopians, the visions of the poets, the

kingthoughts of the kingthinkers, in a discussion with this ripened product of the New York City inferno.

To him I must talk in the elemental terms of life and death, of food and water, of brutality and cruelty.

"I give you your choice," he went on. "Give in now, an' you won't be hurt, none of you."

"You'll be sorry you was ever born. You ain't a mushhead, you've got a girl there that's stuck on you. It's

Ay, I did get it; and somehow, across my brain flashed a vision of all I had ever read and heard of the siege of

the Legations at Peking, and of the plans of the white men for their womenkind in the event of the yellow

hordes breaking through the last lines of defence. Ay, and the old steward got it; for I saw his black eyes glint

murderously in their narrow, tilted slits. He knew the drift of the gangster's meaning.

And I knew anger. Not ordinary anger, but cold anger. And I caught a vision of the high place in which we

had sat and ruled down the ages in all lands, on all seas. I saw my kind, our women with us, in forlorn hopes

and lost endeavours, pent in hill fortresses, rotted in jungle fastnesses, cut down to the last one on the decks

of rocking ships. And always, our women with us, had we ruled the beasts. We might die, our women with

us; but, living, we had ruled. It was a royal vision I glimpsed. Ay, and in the purple of it I grasped the ethic,

which was the stuff of the fabric of which it was builded. It was the sacred trust of the seed, the bequest of

And I flamed more coldly. It was not redbrute anger. It was intellectual. It was based on concept and

history; it was the philosophy of action of the strong and the pride of the strong in their own strength. Now at

last I knew Nietzsche. I knew the rightness of the books, the relation of high thinking to high conduct, the

transmutation of midnight thought into action in the high place on the poop of a coalcarrier in the year

nineteen thirteen, my woman beside me, my ancestors behind me, my slanteyed servitors under me, the

beasts beneath me and beneath the heel of me. God! I felt kingly. I knew at last the meaning of kingship.

My anger was white and cold. This subterranean rat of a miserable human, crawling through the bowels of

the ship to threaten me and mine! A rat in the shelter of a knothole making a noise as beast like as any rat

"When you crawl on your belly, along the open deck, in the broad light of day, like a yellow cur that has been

licked to obedience, and when you show by your every action that you like it and are glad to do it, then, and

Thereafter, for the next ten minutes, he shouted all the Billingsgate of his kind at me through the slits in the

ventilator. But I made no reply. I listened, and I listened coldly, and as I listened I knew why the English had

And when, this morning, I saw the steward struggling with a five gallon carboy of sulphuric acid, I never

In the meantime I was devising another way to overcome that deadly ventilator shaft. The scheme was so

simple that I was shamed in that it had not occurred to me at the very beginning. The slitted opening was

small. Two sacks of flour, in a wooden frame, suspended by ropes from the edge of the charthouse roof

directly above, would effectually cover the opening and block all revolver fire.

No sooner thought than done. Tom Spink and Louis were on top the charthouse with me and preparing to

And just then, around the corner of the house, stepped the steward. In his hand he carried a large galvanized

pail, and my casual thought was that he had come to get rainwater from the barrels. Even as I thought it, he

made a sweeping halfcircle with the pail and sloshed its contents into the ventilatoropening. And even as

the liquid flew through the air I knew it for what it wasundiluted sulphuric acid, two gallons of it from the

The gangster must have received the liquid fire in the face and eyes. And, in the shock of pain, he must have

released all holds and fallen upon the coal at the bottom of the shaft. His cries and shrieks of anguish were

terrible, and I was reminded of the starving rats which had squealed up that same shaft during the first months

of the voyage. The thing was sickening. I prefer that men be killed cleanly and easily.

The agony of the wretch I did not fully realize until the steward, his bare forearms sprayed by the splash

from the ventilator slats, suddenly felt the bite of the acid through his tight, whole skin and made a mad rush

for the waterbarrel at the corner of the house. And Bert Rhine, the silent man of soundless laughter,

screaming below there on the coal, was enduring the bite of the acid in his eyes!

We covered the ventilator opening with our flourdevice; the screams from below ceased as the victim was

evidently dragged for'ard across the coal by his mates; and yet I confess to a miserable forenoon. As Carlyle

has said: "Death is easy; all men must die"; but to receive two gallons of fullstrength sulphuric acid full in

the face is a vastly different and vastly more horrible thing than merely to die. Fortunately, Margaret was

below at the time, and, after a few minutes, in which I recovered my balance, I bullied and swore all our

Oh, well, and we have got ours in retaliation. Off and on, through all of yesterday, after the ventilator tragedy,

there were noises beneath the cabin floor or deck. We heard them under the dining table, under the steward's

This deck is overlaid with wood, but under the wood is iron, or steel rather, such as of which the whole

Margaret and I, followed by Louis, Wada, and the steward, walked about from place to place, wherever the

sounds arose of tappings and of coldchisels against iron. The tappings seemed to come from everywhere;

but we concluded that the concentration necessary on any spot to make an opening large enough for a man's

"If they do manage to cut through, they must come up headfirst, and, in such emergence, what chance would

So I relieved Buckwheat from deck duty, placed him on watch over the cabin floor, to be relieved by the

In the late afternoon, after prodigious hammerings and clangings in a score of places, all noises ceased.

Neither in the first and second dogwatches, nor in the first watch of the night, were the noises resumed.

When I took charge of the poop at midnight Buckwheat relieved the steward in the vigil over the cabin floor;

and as I leaned on the rail at the break of the poop, while my four hours dragged slowly by, least of all did I

apprehend danger from the cabinespecially when I considered the twogallon pail of raw sulphuric acid

ready to hand for the first head that might arise through an opening in the floor not yet made. Our rascals

for'ard might scale the poop; or cross aloft from mizzenmast to jigger and descend upon our heads; but how

But they did invade. A modern ship is a complex affair. How was I to guess the manner of the invasion?

It was two in the morning, and for an hour I had been puzzling my head with watching the smoke arise from

the afterdivision of the for'ardhouse and with wondering why the mutineers should have up steam in the

donkeyengine at such an ungodly hour. Not on the whole voyage had the donkeyengine been used. Four

bells had just struck, and I was leaning on the rail at the break of the poop when I heard a prodigious

I shoved him my rifle and left him on guard while I raced around the charthouse. A lighted match, in the

hands of Tom Spink, directed me. Between the boobyhatch and the wheel, sitting up and rocking back and

forth with wringings of hands and wavings of arms, tears of agony bursting from his eyes, was Buckwheat.

My first thought was that in some stupid way he had got the acid into his own eyes. But the terrible fashion in

which he coughed and strangled would quickly have undeceived me, had not Louis, bending over the

I joined him, and one whiff of the air that came up from below made me catch my breath and gasp. I had

inhaled sulphur. On the instant I forgot the Elsinore, the mutineers for'ard, everything save one thing.

The next I know, I was down the boobyladder and reeling dizzily about the big afterroom as the sulphur

fumes bit my lungs and strangled me. By the dim light of a sealantern I saw the old steward, on hands and

knees, coughing and gasping, the while he shook awake Yatsuda, the first sailmaker. Uchino, the second

It struck me that the air might be better nearer the floor, and I proved it when I dropped on my hands and

knees. I rolled Uchino out of his blankets with a quick jerk, wrapped the blankets about my head, face, and

mouth, arose to my feet, and dashed for'ard into the hall. After a couple of collisions with the woodwork I

again dropped to the floor and rearranged the blankets so that, while my mouth remained covered, I could

The pain of the fumes was bad enough, but the real hardship was the dizziness I suffered. I blundered into the

steward's pantry, and out of it, missed the crosshall, stumbled through the next starboard opening in the long

hall, and found myself bent double by violent collision with the diningroom table.

But I had my bearings. Feeling my way around the table and bumping most of the poisoned breath out of me

against the rotundbellied stove, I emerged in the crosshall and made my way to starboard. Here, at the base

of the chartroom stairway, I gained the hall that led aft. By this time my own situation seemed so serious

Margaret's door was open. I plunged into her room. The moment I drew the blanketthickness from my eyes I

knew blindness and a modicum of what Bert Rhine must have suffered. Oh, the intolerable bite of the sulphur

in my lungs, nostrils, eyes, and brain! No light burned in the room. I could only strangle and stumble for'ard

She was not there. I felt about, and I felt only the warm hollow her body had left in the undersheet. Even in

my agony and helplessness the intimacy of that warmth her body had left was very dear to me. Between the

lack of oxygen in my lungs (due to the blankets), the pain of the sulphur, and the mortal dizziness in my

Perhaps I should have ceased, had I not heard a terrible coughing from along the hall. It was new life to me. I

fell from bed to floor and managed to get upright until I gained the hall, where again I fell. Thereafter I

crawled on hands and knees to the foot of the stairway. By means of the newelpost I drew myself upright

and listened. Near me something moved and strangled. I fell upon it and found in my arms all the softness of

How describe that battle up the stairway? It was a crucifixion of struggle, an agelong nightmare of agony.

Time after time, as my consciousness blurred, the temptation was upon me to cease all effort and let myself

blur down into the ultimate dark. I fought my way step by step. Margaret was now quite unconscious, and I

lifted her body step by step, or dragged it several steps at a time, and fell with it, and back with it, and lost

much that had been so hardly gained. And yet out of it all this I remember: that warm soft body of hers was

the dearest thing in the worldvastly more dear than the pleasant land I remotely remembered, than all the

books and all the humans I had ever known, than the deck above, with its sweet pure air softly blowing under

As I look back upon it I am aware of one thing: the thought of leaving her there and saving myself never

Truly, this which I write seems absurd and purple; yet it was not absurd during those long minutes on the

chartroom stairway. One must taste death for a few centuries of such agony ere he can receive sanction for

And as I fought my screaming flesh, my reeling brain, and climbed that upward way, I prayed one prayer:

that the charthouse doors out upon the poop might not be shut. Life and death lay right there in that one

point of the issue. Was there any creature of my creatures aft with common sense and anticipation sufficient

to make him think to open those doors? How I yearned for one man, for one proved henchman, such as Mr.

Pike, to be on the poop! As it was, with the sole exception of Tom Spink and Buckwheat, my men were

I gained the top of the stairway, but was too far gone to rise to my feet. Nor could I rise upright on my knees.

I crawled like any fourlegged animalnay, I wormed my way like a snake, prone to the deck. It was a

matter of several feet to the doorway. I died a score of times in those several feet; but ever I endured the

agony of resurrection and dragged Margaret with me. Sometimes the full strength I could exert did not move

her, and I lay with her and coughed and strangled my way through to another resurrection.

And the door was open. The doors to starboard and to port were both open; and as the Elsinore rolled a

draught through the charthouse hall my lungs filled with pure, cool air. As I drew myself across the high

threshold and pulled Margaret after me, from very far away I heard the cries of men and the reports of rifle

and revolver. And, ere I fainted into the blackness, on my side, staring, my pain gone so beyond endurance

that it had achieved its own anaesthesia, I glimpsed, dreamlike and distant, the sharply silhouetted

pooprail, dark forms that cut and thrust and smote, and, beyond, the mizzen mast brightly lighted by our

Well, the mutineers failed to take the poop. My five Asiatics and two white men had held the citadel while

The whole affair was very simple. Modern maritime quarantine demands that ships shall not carry vermin

that are themselves plague carriers. In the donkeyengine section of the for'ard house is a complete

fumigating apparatus. The mutineers had merely to lay and fasten the pipes aft across the coal, to chisel a

hole through the doubledeck of steel and wood under the cabin, and to connect up and begin to pump.

Buckwheat had fallen asleep and been awakened by the strangling sulphur fumes. We in the high place had

It was Wada who had opened one of the doors. The old steward had opened the other. Together they had

attempted the descent of the stairway and been driven back by the fumes. Then they had engaged in the

Margaret and I are agreed that sulphur, excessively inhaled, leaves the lungs sore. Only now, after a lapse of a

dozen hours, can we draw breath in anything that resembles comfort. But still my lungs were not so sore as to

prevent my telling her what I had learned she meant to me. And yet she is only a womanI tell her so; I tell

her that there are at least seven hundred and fifty millions of two legged, longhaired, gentlevoiced,

softbodied, female humans like her on the planet, and that she is really swamped by the immensity of

numbers of her sex and kind. But I tell her something more. I tell her that of all of them she is the only one.

And, better yet, to myself and for myself, I believe it. I know it. The last least part of me and all of me

Love IS wonderful. It is the everlasting and miraculous amazement. Oh, trust me, I know the old, hard

scientific method of weighing and calculating and classifying love. It is a profound foolishness, a cosmic

trick and quip, to the contemplative eye of the philosopher yes, and of the futurist. But when one forsakes

such intellectual fleshpots and becomes mere human and male human, in short, a lover, then all he may do,

and which is what he cannot help doing, is to yield to the compulsions of being and throw both his arms

around love and hold it closer to him than is his own heart close to him. This is the summit of his life, and of

man's life. Higher than this no man may rise. The philosophers toil and struggle on molehill peaks far

below. He who has not loved has not tasted the ultimate sweet of living. I know. I love Margaret, a woman.

In the past twentyfour hours many things have happened. To begin with, we nearly lost the steward in the

second dogwatch last evening. Through the slits in the ventilator some man thrust a knife into the sacks of

flour and cut them wide open from top to bottom. In the dark the flour poured to the deck unobserved.

Of course, the man behind could not see through the screen of empty sacks, but he took a blind potshot at

pointblank range when the steward went by, slipsloppily dragging the heels of his slippers. Fortunately it

was a miss, but so close a miss was it that his cheek and neck were burned with powder grains.

At six bells in the first watch came another surprise. Tom Spink came to me where I stood guard at the for'ard

"Them," he chattered. "The ones that come aboard off the Horn, sir, the three drownded sailors. They're there,

"But there are lines aloft there on which they could cross over from mizzen to jigger," I added. "Send Wada

When the latter relieved me I went aft. And there in a row were our three palehaired stormwaifs with the

topaz eyes. In the light of a bull'seye, held on them by Louis, their eyes never seemed more like the eyes of

great cats. And, heavens, they purred! At least, the inarticulate noises they made sounded more like purring

than anything else. That these sounds meant friendliness was very evident. Also, they held out their hands,

palms upward, in unmistakable sign of peace. Each in turn doffed his cap and placed my hand for a moment

on his head. Without doubt this meant their offer of fealty, their acceptance of me as master.

I nodded my head. There was nothing to be said to men who purred like cats, while signlanguage in the light

of the bull'seye was rather difficult. Tom Spink groaned protest when I told Louis to take them below and

I made the sleepsign to them, and they nodded gratefully, hesitated, then pointed to their mouths and rubbed

"Drowned men do not eat," I laughed to Tom Spink. "Go down and watch them. Feed them up, Louis, all

But he was unconvinced. The very quantity they had eaten was a suspicious thing, and, further, he had heard

of a kind of ghost that devoured dead bodies in graveyards. Therefore, he concluded, mere noneating was no

The third event of moment occurred this morning at seven o'clock. The mutineers called for a truce; and

when Nosey Murphy, the Maltese Cockney, and the inevitable Charles Davis stood beneath me on the main

deck, their faces showed lean and drawn. Famine had been my great ally. And in truth, with Margaret beside

me in that high place of the break of the poop, as I looked down on the hungry wretches I felt very strong.

Never had the inequality of numbers fore and aft been less than now. The three deserters, added to our own

nine, made twelve of us, while the mutineers, after subtracting Ditman Olansen, Bob and the Faun, totalled

only an even score. And of these Bert Rhine must certainly be in a bad way, while there were many

"Well, what do you want?" I demanded. "I haven't much time to waste. Breakfast is ready and waiting."

"I'll have nothing out of you, Davis. At least not now. Later on, when I'm in that court of law you've bothered

me with for half the voyage, you'll get your turn at talking. And when that time comes don't forget that I shall

"Aw, shut your trap, Davis," the gangster snarled, "or I'll shut it for you." He glanced up to me. "We want to

"Oh, my God, sir, don't let 'm come aft." Tom Spink muttered hurriedly in my ear. "That'd be the end of all of

us. And even if they didn't get you an' the rest, they'd heave me over some dark night. They ain't never goin'

"There's nothing like going to work when you want to as badly as you seem to. Suppose all hands get sail on

"I'd like to see you setting sail, first," was my reply. "And you may as well get it from me straight that what I

Nosey Murphy hesitated and looked to the Maltese Cockney for counsel. The latter debated, as if gauging the

measure of his weakness while he stared aloft at the work involved. Finally he nodded.

"All right, sir," the gangster spoke up. "We'll do it . . . but can't something be cookin' in the galley while we're

"I didn't have that in mind, and I don't care to change my mind now. When every sail is stretched and every

yard braced, and all that mess of gear cleared up, food for a good meal will be served out. You needn't bother

about the spanker nor the mizzenbraces. We'll make your work lighter by that much."

In truth, as they climbed aloft they showed how miserably weak they were. There were some too feeble to go

aloft. Poor Sundry Buyers continually pressed his abdomen as he toiled around the deck capstans; and never

was Nancy's face quite so forlorn as when he obeyed the Maltese Cockney's command and went up to loose

In passing, I must note one delicious miracle that was worked before our eyes. They were hoisting the

mizzenuppertopsailyard by means of one of the patent deckcapstans. Although they had reversed the

gear so as to double the purchase, they were having a hard time of it. Lars Jacobsen was limping on his

twicebroken leg, and with him were Sundry Buyers, Tony the Greek, Bombini, and Mulligan Jacobs. Nosey

When they stopped from sheer exhaustion Murphy's glance chanced to fall on Charles Davis, the one man

After nodding Sundry Buyers over to him to take the turn Murphy straightened his back and walked close to

That was all. For a space neither spoke. Davis seemed to be giving the matter judicial consideration. The men

at the capstan panted, rested, and looked onall save Bombini, who slunk across the deck until he stood at

Under such circumstances the decision Charles Davis gave was eminently the right one, although even then

The sealawyer made no mistake. He knew in all absoluteness that he was choosing between life and death,

and he limped over to the capstan and found his place. And as the work started, and as he toiled around and

around the narrow circle, Margaret and I shamelessly and loudly laughed our approval. And our own men

stole for'ard along the poop to peer down at the spectacle of Charles Davis at work.

All of which must have pleased Nosey Murphy, for, as he continued to hold the turn and coil down, he kept a

This was too much for our fellows, who, Asiatics and all, applauded with laughter and handclapping. And

what could I do? It was a gala day, and our faithful ones deserved some little recompense of amusement. So I

ignored the breach of discipline and of poop etiquette by strolling away aft with Margaret.

At the wheel was one of our stormwaifs. I set the course due east for Valparaiso, and sent the steward below

"When do we get our next grub, sir?" Nosey Murphy asked, as the steward served the supplies down to him

"At midday," I answered. "And as long as you and your gang are good, you'll get your grub three times each

day. You can choose your own watches any way you please. But the ship's work must be done, and done

"One thing more, sir," he said quickly. "Bert Rhine is awful bad. He can't see, sir. It looks like he's going to

It was a busy day. I made a selection of things from the medicine chest for the acidburned gangster; and,

finding that Murphy knew how to manipulate a hypodermic syringe, entrusted him with one.

Then, too, I practised with the sextant and think I fairly caught the sun at noon and correctly worked up the

observation. But this is latitude, and is comparatively easy. Longitude is more difficult. But I am reading up

All afternoon a gentle northerly fan of air snored the Elsinore through the water at a fiveknot clip, and our

course lay east for land, for the habitations of men, for the law and order that men institute whenever they

organize into groups. Once in Valparaiso, with police flag flying, our mutineers will be taken care of by the

Another thing I did was to rearrange our watches aft so as to split up the three stormvisitors. Margaret took

one in her watch, along with the two sailmakers, Tom Spink, and Louis. Louis is half white, and all

trustworthy, so that, at all times, on deck or below, he is told off to the task of never letting the topazeyed

In my watch are the steward, Buckwheat, Wada, and the other two topazeyed ones. And to one of them

Wada is told off; and to the other is assigned the steward. We are not taking any chances. Always, night and

day, on duty or off, these stormstrangers will have one of our proved men watching them.

Yes; and I tried the stranger men out last evening. It was after a council with Margaret. She was sure, and I

agreed with her, that the men for'ard are not blindly yielding to our bringing them in to be prisoners in

Valparaiso. As we tried to forecast it, their plan is to desert the Elsinore in the boats as soon as we fetch up

with the land. Also, considering some of the bitter lunatic spirits for'ard, there would be a large chance of

their drilling the Elsinore's steel sides and scuttling her ere they took to the boats. For scuttling a ship is

So it was, at one in the morning, that I tried out our strangers. Two of them I took for'ard with me in the raid

on the small boats. One I left beside Margaret, who kept charge of the poop. On the other side of him stood

the steward with his big hacking knife. By signs I had made it clear to him, and to his two comrades who

were to accompany me for'ard, that at the first sign of treachery he would be killed. And not only did the old

steward, with signs emphatic and unmistakable, pledge himself to perform the execution, but we were all

With Margaret I also left Buckwheat and Tom Spink. Wada, the two sailmakers, Louis, and the two

topazeyed ones accompanied me. In addition to fighting weapons we were armed with axes. We crossed the

main deck unobserved, gained the bridge by way of the 'midshiphouse, and by way of the bridge gained the

top of the for'ardhouse. Here were the first boats we began work on; but, first of all, I called in the lookout

He was Mulligan Jacobs; and he picked his way back across the wreck of the bridge where the

foretopgallantyard still lay, and came up to me unafraid, as implacable and bitter as ever.

"Jacobs," I whispered, "you are to stay here beside me until we finish the job of smashing the boats. Do you

"As though it could fright me," he growled all too loudly. "Go ahead for all I care. I know your game. And I

know the game of the hell's maggots under our feet this minute. 'Tis they that'd desert in the boats. 'Tis you

"What of it?" he went on as loudly as ever. "They're sleepin' with full bellies. The only night watch we keep

is the lookout. Even Rhine's asleep. A few jolts of the needle has put a clapper to his eternal moanin'. Go on

with your work. Smash the boats. 'Tis nothin' I care. 'Tis well I know my own crooked back is worth more to

"Because I like you no better than them an' not half so well. They are what you an' your fathers have made

'em. An' who in hell are you an' your fathers? Robbers of the toil of men. I like them little. I like you and your

fathers not at all. Only I like myself and me crooked back that's a livin' proof there ain't no God and makes

"Join us now," I urged, meeting him in his mood. "It will be easier for your back."

"To hell with you," was his answer. "Go ahead an' smash the boats. You can hang some of them. But you

can't touch me with the law. 'Tis me that's a crippled creature of circumstance, too weak to raise a hand

against any mana feather blown about by the windy contention of men strong in their back an' brainless in

"As I can't help pleasin'," he retorted, "bein' what I am an' so made for the little flash between the darknesses

which men call life. Now why couldn't I aben a butterfly, or a fat pig in a full trough, or a mere mortal man

with a straight back an' women to love me? Go on an' smash the boats. Play hell to the top of your bent. Like

"'Tis on an empty belly that the juice of my dislike turns to acid. Go on an' smash the boats."

"I'm not tellin' you the man, but I envied him until it showed failure. An' whose idea was itto douse the

sulphuric into Rhine's face? He'll lose that same face, from the way it's shedding."

"Nor will I tell you," I said. "Though I will tell you that I am glad the idea was not mine."

"Oh, well," he muttered cryptically, "different customs on different ships, as the cook said when he went

Not until the job was done and I was back on the poop did I have time to work out the drift of that last figure

in its terms of the sea. Mulligan Jacobs might have been an artist, a philosophic poet, had he not been born

And we smashed the boats. With axes and sledges it was an easier task than I had imagined. On top of both

houses we left the boats masses of splintered wreckage, the topazeyed ones working most energetically; and

we regained the poop without a shot being fired. The forecastle turned out, of course, at our noise, but made

And right here I register another complaint against the sea novelists. A score of men for'ard, desperate all,

with desperate deeds behind them, and jail and the gallows facing them not many days away, should have

only begun to fight. And yet this score of men did nothing while we destroyed their last chance for escape.

This question he has asked me every day since the first day Mr. Pike began cudgelling his brains over it. I

wonder, had I asked Mulligan Jacobs the question, if he would have told me? At any rate, in court at

Valparaiso that question will be answered. In the meantime I suppose I shall submit to having the steward ask

"It is murder and mutiny on the high seas," I told them this morning, when they came aft in a body to

And as I looked down upon the poor wretches from the break of the poop, standing there in the high place,

the vision of my kind down all its mad, violent, and masterful past was strong upon me. Already, since our

departure from Baltimore, three other men, masters, had occupied this high place and gone their waythe

Samurai, Mr. Pike, and Mr. Mellaire. I stood here, fourth, no seaman, merely a master by the blood of my

Bert Rhine, his head and face swathed in bandages, stood there beneath me, and I felt for him a tingle of

respect. He, too, in a subterranean, ghetto way was master over his rats. Nosey Murphy and Kid Twist stood

shoulder to shoulder with their stricken gangster leader. It was his will, because of his terrible injury, to get in

to land and doctors as quickly as possible. He preferred taking his chance in court against the chance of

The crew was divided against itself; and Isaac Chantz, the Jew, his wounded shoulder with a hunch to it,

seemed to lead the revolt against the gangsters. His wound was enough to convict him in any court, and well

he knew it. Beside him, and at his shoulders, clustered the Maltese Cockney, Andy Fay, Arthur Deacon,

In another group, still allegiant to the gangsters, were men such as Shorty, Sorensen, Lars Jacobsen, and

Larry. Charles Davis was prominently in the gangster group. A fourth group was composed of Sundry

Buyers, Nancy, and Tony the Greek. This group was distinctly neutral. And, finally, unaffiliated, quite by

himself, stood Mulligan Jacobslistening, I fancy, to far echoes of ancient wrongs, and feeling, I doubt not,

"What are you going to do with us, sir?" Isaac Chantz demanded of me, in defiance to the gangsters, who

Bert Rhine lurched angrily toward the sound of the Jew's voice. Chantz's partisans drew closer to him.

"Jail you," I answered from above. "And it shall go as hard with all of you as I can make it hard."

I am afraid that I am not so successfully the man of action that I have been priding myself on being; for, so

curious and interested was I in observing the moving drama beneath me that for the moment I failed to

His voice was imperative. It was the order of a master to the dog at heel. Bombini responded. He drew his

knife and started to advance upon the Jew. But a deep rumbling, animallike in its SOUND and menace,

Bombini hesitated and glanced back across his shoulder at the leader, whose face he could not see for

Kid Twist drew a revolver, shoved the muzzle of it first into Bombini's side, then covered the men about the

Really, I felt a momentary twinge of pity for the Italian. He was caught between the millstones, "Bombini,

The Italian advanced a step, and, shoulder to shoulder, on either side, Kid Twist and Nosey Murphy advanced

And so speaking, with one single, virile movement he tore away the bandages. The toll of pain he must have

paid is beyond measurement. I saw the horror of his face, but the description of it is beyond the limits of any

English I possess. I was aware that Margaret, at my shoulder, gasped and shuddered.

"Bombini!stick him," the gangster repeated. "And stick any man that raises a yap. Murphy! See that

Murphy's knife was out and at the bravo's back. Kid Twist covered the Jew's group with his revolver. And the

It was at this moment that I suddenly recollected myself and passed from dream to action.

"Stand where you are," I ordered, "till I do some talking.Chantz! Make no mistake. Rhine is boss for'ard.

You take his orders . . . until we get into Valparaiso; then you'll take your chances along with him in jail. In

the meantime, what Rhine says goes. Get that, and get it straight. I am behind Rhine until the police come on

board.Bombini! do whatever Rhine tells you. I'll shoot the man who tries to stop you.Deacon! Stand

All hands knew the stream of lead my automatic rifle could throw, and Arthur Deacon knew it. He hesitated

"Fitzgibbon!Giller!Hackey!" I called in turn, and was obeyed. "Fay!" I called twice, ere the response

"Chantz!" I said; "don't you think it would be healthier to go over to the fiferail and be good?"

The tang of power! I was minded to let literature get the better of me and read the rascals a lecture; but thank

"As long as Chantz takes your orders, leave him alone. We'll need every hand to work the ship in. As for

yourself, send Murphy aft in half an hour and I'll give him the best the medicinechest affords. That is all. Go

Sad it is to end love with lies. Sadder still is it to begin love with lies. I had tried to hide this one happening

from Margaret, and I had failed. It could no longer be hidden save by lying; and so I told her the truth, told

her how and why the gangster had had his face dashed with sulphuric acid by the old steward who knew

There is little more to write. The mutiny of the Elsinore is over. The divided crew is ruled by the gangsters,

who are as intent on getting their leader into port as I am intent on getting all of them into jail. The first lap of

the voyage of the Elsinore draws to a close. Two days, at most, with our present sailing, will bring us into

Valparaiso. And then, as beginning a new voyage, the Elsinore will depart for Seattle.

One thing more remains for me to write, and then this strange log of a strange cruise will be complete. It

happened only last night. I am yet fresh from it, and athrill with it and with the promise of it.

Margaret and I spent the last hour of the second dogwatch together at the break of the poop. It was good

again to feel the Elsinore yielding to the windpressure on her canvas, to feel her again slipping and sliding

Hidden by the darkness, clasped in each other's arms, we talked love and love plans. Nor am I shamed to

confess that I was all for immediacy. Once in Valparaiso, I contended, we would fit out the Elsinore with

fresh crew and officers and send her on her way. As for us, steamers and rapid travelling would fetch us

quickly home. Furthermore, Valparaiso being a place where such things as licences and ministers obtained,

But Margaret was obdurate. The Wests had always stood by their ships, she urged; had always brought their

ships in to the ports intended or had gone down with their ships in the effort. The Elsinore had cleared from

Baltimore for Seattle with the Wests in the high place. The Elsinore would reequip with officers and men in

Valparaiso, and the Elsinore would arrive in Seattle with a West still on board.

"But think, dear heart," I objected. "The voyage will require months. Remember what Henley has said: 'Every

"Oh, the weary, weary months," I complained. "You dear silly," she gurgled. "Don't you understand?"

"I understand only that it is many a thousand miles from Valparaiso to Seattle," I answered.

"I am a fool," I admitted. "I am aware of only one thing: I want you. I want you."

"You are a dear, but you are very, very stupid," she said, and as she spoke she caught my hand and pressed

"I am blushing for what your stupidity compels me to say," she explained. "You have already said that such

things as licences and ministers obtain in Valparaiso . . . and . . . and, well . . . "

"The honeymoon shall be on the Elsinore from Valparaiso all the way to Seattle?" I rattled on.

"The many thousands of miles, the weary, weary months," she teased in my own intonations, until I stifled