VI The Sanctified Man
When Mr. Leonard Holbrook bought the fine yawl Dartmoor, he did so with the clear understanding that his wife would accompany him on a voyage through the inland waters of the eastern coast of the States to Florida. The vessel was something over sixty feet on the water-line and fitted up with as much magnificence as a small craft of that size could well be. She had many trophies in solid silver, won in many hard-fought races, which adorned her cabin, and when Mrs. Holbrook beheld her interior she capitulated.
Mrs. Holbrook belonged to what was termed an “exclusive set.” She went to church more than once a week, and the pastor of the million-dollar edifice in New York had much to thank her for.
“A poor person might be pious, but—ugh,” he explained with a shrug to the sexton one evening, and he made it his duty to keep alive the fires of reverence which had been installed at an early age within Mrs. Holbrook’s gentle breast.
It was with many misgivings that she finally became willing to trust herself upon the Dartmoor, for although she had faith in abundance, it was of the usual feminine variety which is best nurtured under pleasantly artificial conditions. The dangers of the sea, however, were shown to be very small indeed upon a fine craft, especially within the confines of the sounds, and she had sailed as far down the coast as Beaufort. Here it was decided to remain for a few days and enjoy the rural life of the tar-heel, and while Holbrook fished and hunted every minute of the too short days, Mrs. Holbrook passed the time aboard in pious and profound repose. It was delightful to be able to read the texts under the bright blue sky while sitting alone upon the quarter-deck without being interrupted by talk of guns and fishing lines. Then the small but cleanly kirk upon the shell-road could be visited daily, and the good old man who attended to the religious affairs of the fishing village was more than willing to be honoured by so distinguished a visitor. Yachts were like manna, only they did not drop from the sky, but were not the less appreciated for that fact.
The fourth morning the Dartmoor broke out her blue pennant on the starboard spreader, showing that Holbrook had gone away for a day’s sport. John Bunyan came down to the dock and stepped aboard. Jubiter John he was called among the pilots of the Core Bank, for he had lived at the inlet just above the beginning of the Florida Reef. He sidled aft and met the quartermaster, who stopped him, but as he was known as a good pilot and had brought the vessel in behind the “bulkhead” safely, he was allowed certain privileges. The master came forth to meet him.
“Mornin’, Cap’n,” said John, slouching up and pulling forth a rank mullet roe from his pocket and nibbling the end.
The master acknowledged the salutation with a grunt.
“Youse don’t take no passengers on a yacht, hey?” he ventured.
“No,” said the skipper, decisively, with the vision of the possible passenger before him.
“Youse ain’t allowed to, hey?”
“Exactly,” said the Captain.
“It’s too bad!” exclaimed John.
“Yes, it is,” answered the Captain, heartily, his face expressing nothing of the sorrow he might have felt at the limitations of his license.
There was a moment’s silence during which the Captain looked aft at the reclining form of Mrs. Holbrook. She sat reading in the shade of the after awning with a rug over her feet to keep off the chill of the autumn air.
“Did youse ever hear of the sanctified people?” asked Jubiter John, presently.
The Captain had not.
“Well, they live down near the Jubiter Inlet where I used to run. There’s one o’ the fellers ashore here now an’ he wants to go back home. It would be a mighty big accommodation if youse could take him with youse—don’t youse think it could be done, hey? He’d pay a little.”
“How much?” asked the Captain, slightly interested.
“Well, I can’t say in money, but then his services air wuth somethin’. He’s an all round able man, an’ he’ll say the prayers fer yer.”
“I see,” said the Captain, with a grunt.
“There’s nothin’ doin’?”
“Nix,” said the Captain, shortly.
“Well, naow, that’s too bad. But think it over, Cap’n, think it over.”
The skipper edged to the rail and sniffed suspiciously.
“If it’s just the same to you, Jubiter, I’ll thank ye to get to lor’ard with that mullet roe. Whew!” said the Captain.
Jubiter John looked pained. He put the rest of the fish roe into his pocket and turned to go. At that instant the Captain started and looked up the dock. A huge figure of a man hove in sight and came slowly down the shell fill towards the yawl.
The figure was dressed in black cloth of clerical cut, the broad shoulders squared across and the hands folded behind. The stranger’s head was not visible owing to the fact that he bowed it over until nothing but the top of a shiny tall hat showed in front of him, and he looked almost like a huge turtle with his head drawn inside the shell. The black tails of his coat flapped about his legs in the sea breeze as he strode slowly down to where the Dartmoor lay.
Mrs. Holbrook noticed the man about the time the Captain started up the gangplank to intercept him coming aboard. Visitors were not always welcome to the skipper of the yacht, and it was his duty to see what they wanted. The Captain had hardly started well up the narrow way, when the stranger, who had reached the inshore end of it and was about to proceed down its length, suddenly raised his head. The motion was not unlike that of a turtle poking forth his nose, for it increased the man’s stature a full foot, and he stopped, looking at the Captain out of eyes that seemed to hold both a challenge and a half-hidden fear. His shaved chin had a stubble of black hair, but it failed to cover the great square jaw except in spots. A line of white teeth showed between the partly opened lips, and the Captain hesitated to take in the man’s appearance more fully before ordering him off the boat. The vessel gave a tug at her moorings and the gangplank took a sudden slue to one side. The next instant the Captain gave a spring for the string piece of the wharf. He missed it by a fraction of an inch and fell heavily against the timber and overboard, landing in the water with a rousing splash.
The accident caused a cry of alarm from Mrs. Holbrook which brought from the depths of the cabin her son Richard. He came bounding up the companionway as rapidly as a boy of twelve could. Jubiter John stood spellbound, looking over the side while the boy, the cook and a sailor rushed to the rail to lend a hand and get the skipper back aboard.
The tall stranger, however, had anticipated their arrival by a few seconds and, jumping on deck, leaned over the side and reached a long thin arm down to the Captain, who came spluttering to the surface. He seized the collar of the coat as it came clear of the water and without apparent effort raised the Captain to the deck. The motion was one of such ease, the Captain being a short, heavy fellow, that a close observer would have marvelled at the man’s strength, but in the excitement little notice was taken of it. The stranger had saved the Captain from the sea, and Mrs. Holbrook, who had now advanced to the rail, thanked him warmly for his services.
The look of challenge died away from the man’s eyes and one of fear came in place. He shuffled uneasily under the woman’s gaze, but finally controlled himself. Then without a word he lifted his face heavenward and clasped his hands before him.
“The ways o’ Providence air unbeknownst,” said he, slowly, closing his upturned eyes and standing like some huge statue carved in wood. His voice was so soft and gentle that it brought a smile to the face of the boy who stared at him insolently. But the rest were impressed by the man’s manner and stood silently watching him until he brought his head back to its normal position with a jerk. Then the Captain muttered something about inquisitive strangers and went below to change, for the air was cool.
“I am sure I should like to repay you for your bravery, Mr.—Mr.——” began Mrs. Holbrook, “but I hardly know how to thank you, sir.”
“Mr. Jones is his name, ma’am,” said Jubiter John, “an’ youse kin repay him at once.”
Mr. Jones looked somewhat abashed at this, and the stranger’s look of defiance came into his eyes again.
“He’s the sanctified man I ware tellin’ the Cap’n of jest before he fell overboard,” went on Jubiter, “an’ all he wants is a passage down the coast a ways. The settlement is down near where I used to run.”
“Ah, a clergyman,—a country clergyman, I see,” said Mrs. Holbrook.
“I reckon that’s about it,” said Jubiter John.
“Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Holbrook, “I should be very glad, indeed, to aid you down the coast. You know the yacht is small and you might have to sleep in the Captain’s stateroom. If you would not object to that arrangement, you are more than welcome to the voyage.”
“Ah, madam,” said the tall man, solemnly, in a small voice hardly above a whisper, “I should be glad to have the opportunities you speak of, and if the bed be rough an’ hard an’ the grub poor, I know it will be the hand o’ Providence what makes it so, an’ I kin stand it. The ways o’ Providence air unbeknownst.”
“Very well, then, we leave to-morrow morning at daylight. My husband will be back before sundown and you may come aboard to-night,” said Mrs. Holbrook. “Won’t you come aft? I am sure the walk must have tired you. It is a long way to the village.”
The tall Mr. Jones glanced at Jubiter John and then followed the lady to the quarter-deck, where he folded up like a huge jack-knife in a deck chair, to listen to the somewhat vague but religious conversation of his new patron. He sat there for a full hour, seldom even answering questions which were put to him and not offering a single sentence of his own volition. When he arose to go, he looked askance at Mrs. Holbrook, then he raised his face heavenward and said, solemnly: “The ways o’ Providence air unbeknownst.”
He turned in a moment and went rapidly to the rail near the dock, leaving Mrs. Holbrook staring at him.
“Ain’t he a long one, say,” said young Richard, “an’ them legs—Gee whizz!”
But at that instant the tall man sprang to the wharf and hurried off, hearing nothing, and Richard received a severe rebuke.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Holbrook to her husband that evening, “I have taken the liberty of inviting a country clergyman to accompany us down the coast. He will be here this evening and I hope you will be civil to him.”
“Huh,” said Mr. Holbrook, and went on deck to smoke his cigar.
“Is he really comin’ to go with us?” asked Richard.
“Yes, my dear, of course he is,” answered his mother.
“But ain’t he long, say?” and he bounded up the companionway to join his father.
Before eight bells that evening the tall Mr. Jones made his appearance and introduced himself to the Captain. As the latter had been instructed to entertain the new arrival to the extent of giving up his room, he received the tall man with scant ceremony.
“What’s the matter wid payin’ yer passage on a steamboat?” growled the mariner, as he jerked his belongings out of the berth.
“My friend,” observed the sanctified man, “it is not my wish to cause trouble, an’ I can’t help it. If your bed be hard I make no complaint; I’ll try to sleep on it. If my grub is no good, I’ll try to forget it. The way o’ Providence air unbeknownst.”
The short, stout skipper stood looking at him a moment, but the sanctified man beamed down upon him until he turned with an exclamation of a somewhat unconventional sort and left the room. Then the tall man closed the door.
In the early morning the Dartmoor was cast loose from the dock and her mainsail hoisted. Jubiter John stood near the wheel and piloted her safely over the bar and out into the green waters of the Atlantic. Then he left her and took to his dory to row back.
The air was crisp with the tingle of a nor’wester and the sun rose with a ruddy glow. The sea was smooth under the land, but the little lumpy clouds which were running away from the northward, told of wind behind. Before the sun was well above the horizon, Mr. Jones appeared on deck. He was dressed in his black trousers with suspenders tied about his waist in place of a belt. His once white shirt was open at the neck displaying a deep and brawny chest. Two long white feet poked themselves from beneath his trouser legs in most unpoetical fashion, but showed he was ready for the washing down of the vessel’s decks. He tailed on to the gaff-topsail halliards and sweated up that piece of canvas until the block nearly parted from the masthead with the strain. Even the Captain, who had spent the night sleeping upon the galley floor, felt that he had, indeed, an able seaman in the sanctified man who hurled buckets of water along the snow-white planks or hustled the squeegee along the deck until the wood and seams fairly oozed water like a sponge. The three foremast hands hurried along in his wake.
The Dartmoor was fast making an offing. With all sail she was running before the breeze which now began to get a heart in it, and the long heave of the heavy sea coming around Cape Lookout told of something behind it. There was a live kick and quick run to this swell that made the skipper look anxiously to his lighter canvas, but it was his object to get as far down the beach as possible while the wind lasted. A few miserable hours of heavy weather and all might be well, but thrashing down a nor’wester would cost him his job if he judged Mrs. Holbrook correctly.
The motion brought young Richard on deck, where he stood looking at the tall man in amazement.
“I thought you was a minister, say?” he ventured, as the sanctified man came near with the squeegee, “an’ ministers don’t work.”
“Well, some kinds do, sonny. I ain’t just what you might call a priest.”
“Naw, you look like you might be some good,” said the boy. “But ain’t you a long one, say? When you get through I’ll come forward and talk to you. Ma won’t care; she says she hates to have to sit around an’ try to talk to people she don’t know nothin’ about.”
“Did she say that?”
“Sure, she don’t know nothin’ about you.”
The look of fear came into the tall man’s eyes and he squeegeed the deck vigorously. Then he went slowly forward and put the tool away.
One of the sailors struck off six bells and the cook announced that breakfast was ready for the Captain and the guest. As the saloon was for the owner and his party, the meal was served in the galley, the Captain and sanctified man sitting at the small table used to manipulate the several ingredients which went to make a yacht’s meal.
“Do you think we’ll have good weather, Captain?” asked the tall man, starting in at a plate of prepared oats.
“Naw,” snapped the skipper, who still held vision of his night’s rest upon the galley floor.
“D’ye mind me sayin’ a thank ye fer the vittles, hey?”
“Do yer prayin’ to yerself,” snapped the Captain.
The long man raised his eyes and muttered something in his soft voice.
“No matter if the vittles is bad—an’ poor, I’m thankful. The ways o’ Providence air unbeknownst,” he said as he finished.
“What’s the matter with the whack?” snarled the Captain. “Ain’t it good enough fer yer? I’ll lay it’s a sight better’n you been used to gettin’, an’ that’s a fact.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t good,” said the tall man, hastily, in a gentle tone. “I only said I was thankful even if it wasn’t any good.”
“Huh,” snarled the Captain, “tryin’ to sneak out of it, hey?”
“A sanctified man never fights,” said the big fellow in a small voice, “for if he did I would break you up in little pieces.”
“Well, a sailor fights an’ don’t you fergit it,” snarled the Captain. “You want to try the breakin’ game a bit aboard here, you long-legged sky-pilot. What the thunder d’ye call a sanctified man anyways, hey?”
“Don’t ye know?” asked the tall man, mildly, his eyes taking again that peculiar look of fear they often held.
“Naw,” answered the skipper.
“Well, he’s one what’s been tried. A man that’s been off the path an’ come back again. He’s taken the oath to do no more harm—nothin’ but good. He’s sanctified.”
“No more harm! What harm hev ye done, hey?” asked the Captain, sharply.
“Well, I served my time out—all but three years,” said the tall man, fearfully.
“What?” gasped the skipper.
“I served my time out, nearly out. It was only fifteen years I got. I’m all right and have papers to prove it. One of the men they thought I killed got well again. The money was divided among my pals. I didn’t get a cent of it; no, not a cent. But the past is past. Let it die!”
“An’ you calls yourself a sanctified man, you bloomin’ convict, hey? Steward, set these things somewhere else. I may not be particular as to friends aboard ship, but I draw the line at eatin’ with jailbirds.”
“I never was in jail—only for a month. It was the penitentiary,” corrected the tall man, his small voice almost dying away. There was something very sad in his tone; something so touching that even the steward hesitated at obeying the skipper’s orders.
“An’ to think,” said the Captain, “that Jubiter John should play it so badly on us.”
He ate his meal in silence on the other side of the little room, while the vessel plunged and ran down the slopes of following seas, creaking and straining so that he soon left for the deck.
The sanctified man sat eating slowly, in spite of the motion and cries from above, as the men shortened sail to ease the racing craft in the sea. He was lost in thought. The memories of his sufferings were upon him, and as the sad years rolled back, he seemed to stand again upon a ship’s deck giving orders to a crew who obeyed as only deep-water men know how. His had been a long, hard road, indeed. The surly Captain was forgotten and his insults were as though they had never been uttered.
While he sat there eating slowly and thinking over the past, he became aware that the door leading to the main saloon was open. Through it he caught a glimpse of shining silver as the Dartmoor rolled heavily to starboard, letting in a flood of sunlight through her side ports. A huge urn or cup weighing many pounds, and of solid silver, was firmly planted upon a shelf near the end of the saloon. Upon it was an engraving of a yacht under full sail with the legend “Dartmoor” with “1898” beneath. Evidently the trophy of that season and probably the greatest she had ever won. It was a superb piece of ware, and the man looked at it for a long time, while his face gradually took on a hard expression and the strange look of defiance and challenge came again into his eyes. He had suffered much, but there was something within him that was stirred by the glint of that silver. Twelve long years among a certain class of men had implanted new weaknesses and developed those he had already possessed. He was forgetting himself under the flashing of that reflected sunlight.
Suddenly he was aware of a small hand stealing within his own and he turned with a cry of alarm. A look of despair came across his face and his wide jaws set firm.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Richard, glancing backward at the steward who was busy with the morning meal. “You don’t look like you scare easily. I heard what old square-head said to you. Don’t you mind him. He’ll eat with you—an’ afterwards you can tell me what you done.”
“Good God,” murmured the man, and seized the boy in his arms.
“Don’t hug me; I ain’t no girl” cried Richard, and the tall man sat him on his knee and smilingly patted his head.
“I reckon we’ll go on deck,” said the sanctified man, in a few minutes. “They’ll want some help reefin’ the mainsail—pretty big sea to run her under all lower canvas.” And he took the lad’s hand and went forward through the forecastle to the scuttle and so on up to the sunlight above.
The morning was now well advanced. Eight bells struck off, and the head of Mr. Holbrook appeared emerging from the cabin companionway. The sea was sparkling in the sunshine and the quick combers running before the freshening breeze were covering the surface with patches of white. The topsail had been taken in and all hands were lowering down the mainsail to close reef it.
The sanctified man tailed on to the main sheet and soon had the boom nearly amidships. Then the sail was lowered slowly, the men handing in the canvas to ease it on the lazyjacks and toppinglift while the Dartmoor ran along under jigger and jib before a sea that was rapidly shifting to the eastward. Mr. Holbrook came on deck and watched his flying fabric, taking a hand and passing reef-points under the jackstay along the boom, which were all carefully pulled out again and passed under the foot-roping of the mainsail by the careful skipper.
Mrs. Holbrook decided that as the motion was very great she would remain where it affected her the least. It would be time enough to go on deck after dinner, when the beauties of an afternoon at sea might be appreciated.
Mr. Holbrook soon went below to breakfast and took his son with him. When they appeared again the mainsail was set close-reefed, and the jigger rolled up, letting the yawl run easily with more head-sail. She now rose on the following seas like a swan, and as she would reach the crest she would rush wildly along the slanting side, her nose pointing downward and the full weight of the gale in her canvas, until the sea would run from under her, letting her sink slowly into the trough where her canvas would flap in the almost calm spot between the seas. It was a little thick to the westward, but although the land could not now be seen there was a good stretch of water plainly visible.
The sanctified man stood near the wheel, looking occasionally into the binnacle where the compass card swung a good three points each side of the lubber’s mark, as the vessel broached or paid off in the sea.
“D’ye ever adjust that compass?” he asked, mildly, of Mr. Holbrook.
“Ever what?” asked the owner, contemptuously.
“Do you ever see that the card swings true?” asked the sanctified man.
Mr. Holbrook looked at the tall man with undisguised pity. What should a clerical man know about navigation, he thought. The poor country clergyman was evidently a bit ignorant concerning compasses, although every schoolboy knew that the magnet swung north and south. He attempted to explain the matter in a wearied tone, but when he had finished the tall man only smiled and his expressive eyes showed traces of amusement. He said nothing. Finally he ventured:
“If I were you, I would let her head a little more to the eastward.”
Mr. Holbrook walked away giving a little grunt of disgust as though he had been holding intercourse with a lunatic. As he never spoke to his Captain except to tell him where he wanted to go, he had a rather lonely time on deck and took to playing with his son by sitting at one end of the cabin-house and throwing a line to him at the other and then pulling upon it.
The sea became rougher during the day, but in spite of it, dinner was served in the saloon. Mrs. Holbrook appeared at last and bravely tried to play the part of hostess to her guest. Holbrook had always shown an aversion to piously inclined people, and a clergyman’s presence gave him extreme annoyance, as it prevented his picturesque flow of words. As adjectives were a weakness of his, the conversation would have lapsed into monosyllables, had not Mrs. Holbrook determined to do her duty.
“I suppose,” said that lady, “you have many sailor men in your congregation, Mr. Jones.”
The tall man looked at her sharply. He thought of his “congregation” and wondered. Did the lady know what he was? He had not meant to deceive any one. Jubiter John had simply asked for a passage for a sanctified man and had not thought it necessary to go into the man’s history. His eyes held the strange look of alarm they had when he first came aboard, and he answered in his thin voice.
“Yes, ma’am, there’s plenty of sailors get in, though they are no worse’n landsmen. It don’t make much difference what callin’ a man takes, there’s bad ones in all.”
Mrs. Holbrook glanced at her husband, who smiled his approval.
“Do you know Mr. Brown, the pastor in Beaufort?” asked the lady.
“He must be a very excellent man—I never heard of him,” said her husband, with a touch of irony.
“I asked Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Holbrook, sweetly.
“No, ma’am, I never did,” said the tall man, shooting his head upward and looking at his host. “He never did time.”
“Never what?” asked the lady.
A sharp kick upon the shin bone from young Richard caused the sanctified man to raise a full foot higher in his seat.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly.
“Aw, tumble,” said the irreverent Richard.
Mrs. Holbrook looked at her son sharply.
“What did you do? Do you want to be sent from the table?” she said.
The young man dropped his gaze into his plate and looked abashed. His father smiled. The meal proceeded in silence until they had finished, when Mr. Holbrook led the way on deck with a handful of cigars.
“That wasn’t a bad one on the country parson,” ventured the yachtsman. “You fellows so seldom joke, a man never knows just when you will break out. Ha, ha, ha—’never did time’—Well, that wasn’t half bad.” And he quite warmed to the tall man as he offered him a perfecto.
“But you see——”
“Yes, I see well enough. I don’t blame you for kicking about such men. Now you can tail on to a sheet or pass a reef point like a man. Will you have a good nip of grog before Mrs. Holbrook comes on deck?”
The sanctified man thought he would. They repaired to the forehatch, where the steward passed up the spirits unseen.
The warmth of the liquor put new life in the tall man’s great frame. He had eaten very little for days and the effects of good food and strong drink were very strengthening. The look of challenge took the place of alarm in his large expressive eyes and his great square jaw seemed to set firmer. Half of his cigar disappeared between his teeth, which closed upon it with the set of a vise.
They went aft again in time to meet Mrs. Holbrook coming on deck assisted by the Captain, who placed rugs for her in a steamer chair in the cockpit. It was getting thicker and the wind was now well to the eastward of north, but there was no harbour nearer than Cape Fear, and the Captain had many reasons for not wishing to stop there. He would run along close to the land and after passing would be in Long Bay, where he would have a fair wind to Charleston, one hundred and fifty miles ahead, making a run of more than two hundred miles from Beaufort. This would get the yacht well down the coast to where they might expect good weather.
“I think,” said the tall Mr. Jones, during a break in the conversation, “I would head the vessel offshore a couple of points. You know the Frying Pan runs well off here. It will be breaking in three fathoms with this breeze. The ways o’ Providence air un——
“Never mind about Providence, Mr. Jones,” said Holbrook, with a wave of his hand. “The Captain will look out for the yacht. You needn’t be scared. Tell us about the sailors you get in your flock. How you learned all about boats from them.”
Mr. Jones drew himself up a good foot. His head went up in the air and the look of defiance came into his eyes.
“The only fellows that got sent up with me were Jack Elwell and Bill Haskins,” said he.
“How do you mean sent up with you?” asked Mrs. Holbrook.
“Well, they were caught straight enough,” said the tall man, sadly.
“You mean they had to be caught and sent to you for spiritual teaching?” asked Mrs. Holbrook with a smile.
“Well, er—not exactly,” said the tall man, in a voice which died away to a whisper.
“Ha, ha, ha, a good one on you, Mr. Jones,” said Holbrook.
“Well, you see,” went on the tall man, slowly, “you don’t seem to understand just what I am.” He looked at the Captain, who stood near at the wheel, but whose face was like a mahogany mask.
“Why, you are a clergyman, are you not?” asked Mrs. Holbrook.
“A convict,” said Mr. Jones, slowly. “I am Stormalong Journegan, sailor, navigator, and was sent up for fifteen years. Bahama Bill an’ me got out.”
There was a long silence. Holbrook rose and went to the farther side of the yacht. Mrs. Holbrook sat a few moments and looked out to sea. Then she motioned to the steward, who was at the companionway, to take her wraps below, and she disappeared down the steps without a word.
Holbrook saw something forward and made his way toward the bow followed by his son, who turned to look back at the tall man.
“Serves her bloomin’ well right fer turnin’ me out,” growled the Captain into the ear of the helmsman. “Next time she’ll be a bit more careful about takin’ passengers.”
Mr. Jones, or Journegan, sat looking out over the sea. The veil of mist that hung over the land held many images for him. He saw how it was aboard. His year of reformation had taught him many things, and the lesson he was learning was not entirely new. He gazed sadly at Holbrook. He had felt drawn toward the man, but after all, in spite of his assumed contempt for holy men, he was more of a hypocrite than the veriest village parson he had ever met.
He arose slowly, unkinking his long frame like the opening of a jack-knife. Then he tossed his cigar over the side and went to his room. He was an outcast aboard that yacht and he knew it. The privacy of his room was much better than the inhospitality of the deck.
All the long afternoon he sat there thinking. He was not a strong man save for his great muscular frame. He had fallen before and he was now trying to do what he could to atone for it. The thought of the silver in the after-cabin came to him and his vacillating spirit could not quite get the glistening vision out of his brain, for after all, these people were his enemies. They could never be anything else as long as human vanity and conceit endured. Even the miserable little prig of an owner who ridiculed clergymen need not be spared. It might do his small soul good to have to part with some of his treasures. He pondered, while the light failed and the look of challenge came into his eyes. He had a powerful frame and had nothing to fear. And all the time the Dartmoor ran to leeward with the lift of the northeast sea behind her.
It was just before eight bells, when a man who had gone forward on lookout hailed the Captain.
“Something white dead ahead, sir,” he cried.
The sanctified man heard and thought of the untrue compass. The next instant there was a dull reverberating snore alongside as a giant breaker burst into a white smother and rolled away in the darkness. It was breaking in three fathoms, and the yacht was racing to her end.
There was a rush of feet on deck. Wild cries came from aft, where the Captain had rolled the wheel hard down and was struggling with the sailor to get the jigger on her and force her offshore. She had not touched yet, but as the yawl came to in the gale, she brought up broadside in a sea that burst upon her with the weight of an avalanche, heaving her on her lee beam and washing everything off her, fore and aft. The water poured down the companionway and flooded the cabin.
The sanctified man reached the deck by dint of a fierce struggle up through the forward companion. The men who were below followed as best they could; swashing, floundering through the flood and loosened fittings, and they managed to get aft in time to get a line to the sailor who had been at the wheel and who was now close alongside. The Captain was gone.
All the time the Dartmoor was drifting to leeward and into the breakers. She had swung off again under the pressure of her jib, and just as the tall man seized the jigger halliards to get the after sail upon her, she struck on the Frying Pan Shoals. The next sea rolled over her and was the beginning of the end.
Mr. Holbrook had been below all this time, and he now appeared at the companion with his wife and boy. The sea that fell over the wrecked craft nearly drowned them and washed Richard back into the cabin. Mr. Jones roared out for the men to get the only small boat left alongside, and his voice rose to a deep sonorous yell. He led the way himself to the falls, where the small boat trailed to leeward, the davits having been torn out bodily with the weight of the breaking seas. The hauling part was still on deck and he handed in the line quickly, the three sailors and steward taking heart at his example and helping all they could. Mrs. Holbrook was placed in the small boat and her husband waited not for an invitation to follow, but floundered in after her. The three sailors sprang aboard. At that instant a giant sea rose to windward. It showed for a second in the ghastly phosphorescent glare of the surrounding foam. Then it thundered over the doomed yacht.
When the sanctified man came up from the blackness below, he was just aware of the vessel’s outline some fifty feet away to windward, and he struck out strongly for her. In a few minutes he was alongside. A great sea broke over her again, but he held well under the rise of her bow and managed to cling to the trailing débris. Then he climbed on deck. There was nothing living left there. He looked for the boat, but it had disappeared. Then he was suddenly aware of a bright light and as he looked he remembered the Bald Head tower which marks the dreaded shoals of Cape Fear.
He knew he was a mile or more from the beach and all the way was the rolling surf. It was a desperate swim at any time, but in a northeast gale, with the sea rolling high, it was useless to think of anything human attempting it without artificial aid. He clung to the stump of the mainmast and tried to live through the torrents that swept over him by getting directly in its lee. This was the only way he could stay even a few moments aboard the vessel. She was lifting still with each succeeding sea and driving higher and higher upon the bank, but she had not broken up badly yet. Yachts like the Dartmoor could stand a tremendous pounding before going to pieces, but he knew that nothing could stand the smashing long. Before daylight there would be not a stick to show that a fine ship had gone ashore in the night.
The cabin scuttle was open and he wondered if the cabin was full of water yet. The silver was still there and belonged to the man who could save it. There was a chance for him and he was already looking about in the blackness for a proper spar or piece of wood to float him for the struggle in. It might be just as well to try to take in a little extra weight along with him, for he would not start until he could get his float.
In a smooth between two seas he made a dash for the companion, springing along the coamings of the skylight to get a footing, for the deck was at a high angle. He reached it and clung under its lee for shelter. Then he peered down into the darkness below. The cabin was not quite full of water and he climbed down, feeling for the magnificent cup he had seen there the day before. His hand touched it, although he was now almost shoulder deep in the water. A mattress floated against him and he seized it. The cork within would float him and his prize. He tried to find something else that would float, but just then a torrent of sea water rushed below and he saw that if he would get away at all he must soon start. He lugged his prize to the steps and started to drag it clear. He reached down in the water to get a better grip of it and his great fingers closed upon a human hand. Then he made out the form of the boy with his head still above water, clinging to the topmost step of the ladder. He peered into the child’s face and saw the frightened eyes open and look at him. Then he stopped and stood motionless upon the ladder.
In all his work he had only been a few minutes, but those few minutes had been minutes of his old life, the life of a sailor. The late past had been forgotten and he was now a shipwrecked mariner, getting ashore as best he could, saving what he might from a wreck. But the touch of the boy’s hand brought him back again to the realization of his condition. The hand of an enemy’s son, but the hand of one who had treated him kindly. The mattress would not hold all three. It would be between the boy and the cup. He swore savagely at the piece of silver, held it for an instant, then started to hurl it from him. In the precious seconds he was making a desperate fight. He gripped it again with both hands and held it before him. A sea roared over the wreck and half smothered him, pouring down the open companion.
He dropped the heavy cup, seized the half-fainting Richard and quickly passed a lashing about him. Then he seized the cork mattress and boy and plunged to leeward.
In the dim gray of the early morning, the keeper of the Bald Head Lighthouse saw the tall form of a man staggering up the beach carrying something in his arms. He ran down the steps of the tower and met the tall stranger and relieved him of his burden of a still living but half-drowned boy.
“His mother and father are crazy with grief,” said the keeper. “The woman is crying all the time that it was the will o’ God, because she had a convict aboard her yacht. If you are the Captain, you had better bring the lad to her yourself. I reckon she’ll be careful what kind o’ passengers she takes aboard again, and take your word for things aboard her boats.”
“Does she think it was because a convict was aboard, the vessel went ashore?” asked the tall man, drawing his half-naked figure up to its full height.
“Sure, she says the Captain didn’t want him. A mighty fine religious woman she is, too,” said the keeper.
“I reckon I won’t bother her just now,” said the tall man, in a voice hardly above a whisper. “You take the little fellow to her—I’ll go and get some clothes on.”
The light-keeper strode away with the boy in his arms. The tall man stood still for several minutes, looking after him. When the keeper reached the dwelling he turned and saw the tall man still standing there in his soaking trousers, his giant torso looking like the statue of a sea-god. “The ways o’ Providence air mighty strange,” muttered the sanctified man, slowly to himself——“But somehow I feel that I won.”