The Captain of the Kansas

CHAPTER XIX. WHEREIN THE KANSAS RESUMES HER VOYAGE CHAPTER XIX. WHEREIN THE KANSAS RESUMES HER VOYAGE The events of the next hour were shadowy as the dawn to Elsie. She knew that her lover placed men in each of the canoes, that the life-boat itself was crowded, and that it began the seaward journey after the others had started. She followed his explanation that if one of the lighter craft got into difficulties at the Indian barrier, the big, heavy boat would be able to extricate it. But she feared neither Indians nor sea. Had Courtenay proposed to sail away into the Pacific she would have listened with placid approval. She was by his side; that sufficed. For the rest, they lived in the midst of adventures. What did it matter if they were called on to run the gauntlet of one more ambuscade—or a dozen, if it came to that? But they sped out of the twilight into the morning glory of the open bay, and never a savage hoot disturbed the echoes. Some of the Alaculofs had dragged a couple of canoes from beneath the trees and raced off toward the village; others had followed a coast path known only to them, while, if there were watchers by the side of that mysterious river which flowed both ways with the tide, they kept a silent vigil, awed by the force arrayed against them. As the life-boat emerged into the estuary under the vigorous sweep of six ash blades, Elsie’s wondering glance rested on the brown plumpness of a three-quarters naked girl who was gazing at Suarez with wistful, glistening eyes, much as Joey was regarding his master. In the intense, penetrating light of sunrise, the bedaubed and skin-clothed Argentine was the most unlovely object that ever captivated woman. Yet he satisfied the soul of this Fuegian maid, so what more was there to be said? Courtenay caught the happy little sigh, half laugh, half sob, with which Elsie announced her discovery of the idyl in the canoe. “We owe a lot to that young person,” he said. “None of us could make out a word she uttered when first we saw her. She loses what small amount of Spanish she can speak when she becomes excited, and it was sheer good fortune that some of the crew were with her when she swung herself down the side of the cliff to warn us of our danger; otherwise she might have been shot. I suppose Suarez told you what to expect?” “You might as well be talking Alaculof yourself for all I can follow what you are saying,” murmured Elsie happily. “Then how did you know where to tie up? We went too far. We lost the boat that way, and my gun as well. We had to jump for it, and it was only the boat’s stout timbers which enabled her to live through that boiling pot in the volcano. The native girl said that no Indian-built craft ever came back.” “Excellent!” said Elsie. “When we reach the ship I shall write down everything you tell me. After a time I shall begin to understand.” Whereupon, Courtenay took thought, and explained that the channel which flowed through that amazing cut in the cliff led to the crater of an extinct volcano, into which the sea poured twenty feet of water each tide. An almost everlasting maelstrom raged within, as the water entered by a side-long channel, and sent a whirlpool spinning with the hands of the clock until the enormous cistern was full, and against them until it was empty. The sailors had taken refuge on a wide, sulphur-coated ledge high above the vortex, and the presence of several skeletons showed that many an unfortunate had sought a last shelter there against pursuit. Every Alaculof knew of this retreat, but few dared approach it, as the roar of the water far below appalled them. There was only one path; when the hunters closed that their prey was safe. The alternative to capture was death by starvation. The Chileans, and he himself during the past fourteen hours, had subsisted on a bag of dried berries stolen by the girl when she first led the sailors thither. “Didn’t you see how eager we all were to search the lockers?” he asked. “But the rascals had cleared every scrap when the boat fell into their hands again with the falling tide.” She nestled close to him. “I saw nothing,” she whispered. “My mind held but one thought—that you were alive, though, indeed, I was mourning you as dead. But now I am restored to my senses. I think I can grasp what happened. Did Joey find you?” “Yes. You can guess my bewilderment when he sprang on top of me. I was lying down; I heard our sentries shouting, but paid no heed. As a matter of fact, Elsie, I, too, had abandoned hope. I could see no chance of escape. Great Heaven! To think of your coming to my rescue! What made you do it?” “Please go on. Tell me all. You shall hear my story afterwards.” “Well, I jumped up, and Joey nearly fell into the crater with delight. I was just in time to save Suarez from being shot. Luckily he was a long way behind the dog, and I recognized his make-up. The guard, who belonged to the original lot, naturally thought he was an Indian. And you ought to have seen that blessed girl skipping around when she set eyes on him. We must give her money enough to fix her up as his wife if the Kansas gets off.” “If—” There was a world of belief in that one word. Could any one doubt the ultimate hap of that thrice fortunate ship? Had not Mr. Boyle said her captain was a lucky man? Elsie laughed aloud in her joy, for the queer notion occurred to her that her grumpy friend would surely have some remarkable story of the one-legged skipper of the Flower of the Ocean brig, wherewith to point the moral and adorn the tale of the Kansas and her commander. Though Courtenay did not allow ten seconds to pass without a glance at the charming face by his side, he, nevertheless, had a sharp eye for events elsewhere. He saw smoke rising from the funnel of the ship; a line of flags dancing from the foremast told him that Boyle had discovered them as soon as they were clear of the deep shadow of Guanaco Hill. But there were anxious moments yet in store. A fleet of canoes put off from Otter Creek. There was every prospect of a fight before they reached their fortress. They had a long two miles to travel, and the Indians could attack them ere they covered half the distance. Gray and Tollemache were sitting together in the fore part of the boat. When they had met in the cañon they had merely exchanged a hearty grip, and Gray’s inquiry if his friend was O.K. had elicited the information that his general state was “Fair.” But the sight of the sparkling bay had unlocked even the Englishman’s lips, for he was telling his friend some of the adventures of the previous afternoon, when he viewed the black dots darting forth from behind Point Kansas . “Here they come again,” he growled. “I never have seen such persistent rotters. And this time we’re in a fix.” A long blare from the ship’s siren thrilled their hearts, but the excitement became frantic when three short, sharp blasts followed, and every sailor knew that the chief officer had signalled: “My engines are going full speed astern.” That was a pardonable exaggeration, but the Kansas was certainly moving. They could see the white foam churned up by her propeller. With one accord they cheered madly, and the oars, double-handed now, tore the life-boat onward at a pace which outstripped even the shallow canoes. Then the Indians did a wise thing. They spared many of their own lives, and, perchance others of greater value to the world, by ceasing to paddle. The unlooked-for interference of the great vessel was too much for them. They merely stared and cackled in amaze, while the small flotilla dashed towards the towering black hull, and Boyle lowered the gangway in readiness to receive the captain, his bride elect, and a good half of the passengers and crew. Courtenay lost not an instant of favoring tide and fine weather. When Boyle told him that Walker could work the engines under easy steam, he dashed up to the bridge three steps at a time. With his hand on the telegraph, he superintended the hoisting on board of the life-boat and two of the canoes, which he meant to carry away as trophies—be sure that Elsie’s own special craft was one of them. Meanwhile, Boyle saw to the safe stowing in the remaining canoes of the wounded Indians in the fore cabin, and a few furnace bars attached to a rope anchored them in mid channel, whence their friends could bring them to shore later. At last, the captain of the Kansas had the supreme satisfaction of hearing the clang of the electric bell in the engine-room as he put the telegraph lever successively to “Stand By,” and “Slow Ahead.” Gradually the ship crept north, gaining way as the engines increased their stroke and the full body of the ebb tide made its volume felt. Round swung the Kansas to the west, just as the sun cleared the highest peak of the unknown mountains. Courtenay had not forgotten his bearings. Although he had men using the lead constantly, he did not need their help. Once clear of the reefs which he had seen when the vessel first ran into the inlet, he made straight for the pillar rock, and rather raised the hair of the man at the wheel, not to mention most of the people on deck, by the nearness of his approach to that solitary buoy set in the midst of a broken sea. How good it was to feel the steady thrust of the pistons, the long roll of the ship over the swell! And then, when Elsie brought him his breakfast, and stood by his side as he watched the set of the tide with unwavering eyes, what a joy that was, to listen to her story of the night’s wanderings, and to know that, with God’s help, their Odyssey was nearing its end! For every sailor is a fatalist, and in the unwritten code of the sea the law runs that once a ship has undergone her supreme trial she has the freedom of the great highway for that voyage, though she girdle the earth ere the dock gates open. But best of all was it to hear Elsie tell how Dr. Christobal had handed her a bulky packet, in which she found Courtenay’s words of farewell, together with those wonderful letters which fate had held back from her twice already. They were only glowing epistles from the hundreds of passengers on the Florida , but six of them were proposals from enthusiastic ladies, all well dowered, and eager to give their charms and their cash to the safe keeping of the man who had saved their lives. It was with reference to some joking comment by Courtenay on these missives that his sister wrote to congratulate him on having escaped matrimony under such conditions. Elsie, brimful of high spirits, amused herself by teasing him with nice phrases culled from each of the six. Long before noon the Kansas cleared White Horse Island. There was a ticklish hour while Courtenay and Boyle looked for the shoal. When its long, low sandspit was revealed by the falling tide, the ship took thought of her agony there, and traversed those treacherous waters with due reverence. Thenceforth, the run was due south until eight bells, when, for the second time within a fortnight, the captain set the course “South-40-East.” A stiff breeze blowing from the south-west, and heavy clouds rolling up over the horizon, showed that the land of storms was repenting the phenomenal frivolity which had let it bask in sunshine for an unbroken spell of ten days. But the gale which whistled into Good Hope Inlet that night carried with it no disabled and blood-stained ship. Mr. Malcolm, who got his diminished squad of stewards in hand as though the vessel had quitted port that day, served dinner promptly at two bells in the second dog watch—by which no allusion is intended to an animal already gorged to repletion—and wore a proper professional air of annoyance because everybody was late, owing to the interesting fact that the half-minute fixed dashing light on Evangelistas Island had just been sighted. Elsie noted that Count Edouard de Poincilit came with the rest, and sat beside Isobel. Courtenay put in an appearance later to partake of a hasty meal. He gave monsieur a black look, but, of course, catching Elsie’s eye instantly, he meekly sat down and said nothing—nothing, that is, of an unpleasant nature. All good ladies will recognize such behavior as one of the points of a man likely to become a model husband. Dr. Christobal and Gray were in great form, while Tollemache actually told a story. When the captain sent Boyle down from the bridge, Elsie made Tollemache repeat it—a simple yarn, detailing an all-night search for a Devonshire village, which he could not find because some rotter had deemed it funny to turn a sign-post the wrong way round. “Huh, that’s odd,” said Boyle. “Reminds me of a thing that happened to a friend of mine, skipper of the Flower of the Ocean brig. Brown his name was, an’ he had a wooden leg. The day his son an’ heir was born, he dropped into a gin-mill to celebrate, an’ his stump stuck in a rope mat. He swore a bit, but he chanced to see on one of the half doors the name ‘Nosmo,’ an’, on the other, ‘King.’ ‘Dash me,’ says he, ‘them’s two fine names for the kid—Nosmo King Brown’—a bit of all right, eh? So he goes home an’ tells the missus. After the christenin’, he took a pal or two round to the same bar to stand treat. That time the two halves of the door were closed, an’ any ass could see that the letters stood for ‘No Smoking.’ Well, the other fellows told me his language was so sultry that his prop caught fire.” So all was well with the Kansas . Crawling quietly into the Straits of Magellan at daybreak, the ship put forth her best efforts in the run through the narrows. Passing Cape San Isidro, she signalled her name, and it was easy to see the commotion created by her appearance. The real furore began when she approached Sandy Point. A steam launch puffed off hastily from the side of a Chilean warship, and the commander brought the news that he had been sent specially from Coronel to search the western coast line thoroughly for the Kansas . He was about to return that day, to report his failure to discover any trace of the missing vessel, and he listened in amaze while Christobal gave him a succinct history of the ship’s doings. At the end, Courtenay presented him with a photograph of Elsie’s chart, to which many additions had been made by her under her lover’s directions. The position of the shoal, and of Pillar Rock, together with the set of the tidal current, were clearly shown, and it is probable that Good Hope Inlet, notwithstanding its dangerous approach, will be thoroughly surveyed one of these days. Then, perhaps, more may be heard of those lumps of silver and copper ore which the savages hurled at the Kansas . The cruiser hurried away, under forced draft, to report from Coronel, the nearest cable-station. Thence she would go to Valparaiso, so she carried a sheaf of letters, and one passenger, Frascuelo. Finding that he could not execute the needed repairs at Sandy Point, Courtenay decided to make for Montevideo, where he would be in telegraphic communication with Mr. Baring. He was fortunate in finding a shipwrecked crew on shore, awaiting transport to England. He secured a full complement of officers and engineers, and the Kansas reached the chief port of Uruguay without any difficulty. A sack-load of telegrams awaited the ship. The Chilean man-of-war put into Valparaiso, after calling at Coronel, nearly three days before the Kansas dropped anchor on the east coast. Hence, there was time for things to happen, and they seized the opportunity. The copper market had turned itself inside out; the firm of Baring, Thompson, Miguel & Co. had rebounded from comparative ruin to a stronger financial state than ever, and Señor Pedro Ventana, after shooting a man named José Anacleto, had considerately shot himself. Evidently, Frascuelo lost no time when he went ashore; Mr. Baring, too, reported that the dynamite wrapper had been traced to Ventana’s possession. When Isobel Baring heard this final item she fainted so badly that Dr. Christobal thought it advisable she should be taken to a hotel while the ship remained in port. But she vetoed this proposal determinedly when she recovered her senses, and straightway confessed to Elsie that Ventana was her husband. She had foolishly agreed to marry him privately, and Anacleto had witnessed the ceremony. Within a month, she regretted her choice; there were quarrels, and threats; ultimately, an agreement was made that they should separate. Her father knew and approved of the arrangement. He could not afford to break openly with Ventana, and it must have been a dreadful shock to him when he learned that the scoundrel had plotted not only to destroy the ship but to murder his wife at the same time. “So you see,” she added with a wan smile, “I did not give serious thought to your troubles, Elsie. Ventana could never have married you while I was alive.” Elsie’s cheeks reddened. “I never told you he asked me to marry him,” she said. “It would have been just the same had he done so. As it was, I feared the man. Now you know why I ran away from Chile. If I permitted another impression to prevail, I acted for the best. But the unhappy man is dead; let us endeavor to forget him.” “His memory haunts me with an enduring curse,” cried Isobel, bitterly. “Among my papers I had some letters of his, the marriage certificate, and his written promise not to molest me. On that awful night when the ship was disabled, I went to my cabin and secured them, or thought I did. At any rate, I could not find them when we landed on White Horse Island, and, from hints dropped by that wretched little adventurer, de Poincilit, I feel sure they have fallen into his hands. Believe me, Elsie, I was half mad when I helped him to steal the boat.” “Steal the boat! What boat?” “Has not Captain Courtenay told you?” “Not a word.” “Ah, he is a true gentleman. But you forget. You heard what he said to de Poincilit before he went to the Guanaco cañon?” “Yes; I did not understand. Oh, my poor Isobel, how you must have suffered, while I have been so happy.” “If only I could recover my papers—” “May I ask Arthur to help?” “He knows the worst of me already. One more shameful disclosure cannot add to my degradation.” “Isobel, how little you know him!” Thus spoke Elsie, after fourteen days. Truly there is much enlightenment in a hug! Monsieur le Comte Edouard de Poincilit, to his intense chagrin, found that a ship’s captain has far-reaching powers when he chooses to exert them. Rather than enter a Montevidean jail, where people have died suddenly of nasty fevers, he not only restored the missing documents but submitted to a close scrutiny of his own belongings, which resulted in the pleasing discovery that he was not a French count, but a denizen of Martinique—most probably a defaulting valet or clerk. No one troubled to inquire further about him. His passage money was refunded and he was bundled ashore. Courtenay’s view was that he had heard, by some means, of Isobel’s intended departure from Valparaiso, and deemed it a good chance of winning her approval of his countship, seeing that such titles are not subjected to serious investigation in South America. Suarez took his Fuegian bride up country, where Mr. Baring and Dr. Christobal established them on a small ranch. Isobel renewed her voyage somewhat chastened in spirit. But her volatile nature soon survived the shocks it had received. By the time the Kansas put her ashore at Tilbury, to be clasped in the arms of a timid and tearful aunt, she was ready as ever for the campaign of glory she had mapped out in London and Paris. And she was a success, too. Her father’s victory over the copper ring, her own adventures, which lost nothing in the telling, and her vivacious self-confidence, carried her into society with a whirl. Recently, her engagement to an impecunious peer was announced. * * * * * * Captain Courtenay, R.N., and his wife are not such distinguished personages, but their romance had a sequel worthy of its unusual beginning. They were married quietly a week after the Kansas reached London. There was some war scare in full blast at the moment, and a Lord of the Admiralty who deigned to read the newspapers thought it was a pity that a smart sailor should not risk his life for his country rather than in behalf of base commerce. So he looked up Courtenay’s record, and found that it was excellent, the young lieutenant’s reason for resigning his commission being the necessity of supporting his mother when her estate was swept away by a bank failure. The Sea Lords made him a first-rate offer of reinstatement in the service, at a higher rank, without any loss of seniority, and they went about the business with such dignified leisure that Dr. Christobal had time to find out, through men whom he could trust, that Elsie’s small estate in Chile contained one of the richest mines in the country. He secured a bid of many thousands of pounds for it, and advised Mrs. Courtenay to accept half in cash and half in shares of the exploiting company. Hence, there was no need for Courtenay to decline a new career in the magnificent service which Mr. Boyle once sniffed at, and Elsie became a prominent figure in that very select circle which clusters around the ports mostly favored by his Majesty’s ships. It was not unreasonable that Gray should go back to Chile to take charge of Elsie’s mine, nor that Mr. Boyle should become captain and Walker chief engineer, of the Kansas , but there was one wholly unexpected development which fairly took Elsie’s breath away when she heard of it. She was with her husband in London. While passing the National Gallery one day, she remembered the picture by Claude which deals with the embarkation of Saint Ursula and her Eleven Thousand Virgins. A painter herself, Elsie had an artist’s appreciation of the vanity which led Turner to bequeath his finest canvasses to the nation with the proviso that they should be placed cheek by jowl with those of his great rival, the Lorrainer. So a fat fox-terrier was given in charge of a catalogue seller, and they passed up the steps. It was a students’ day, and the galleries were crowded with embryonic geniuses. Courtenay waxed sarcastic anent the rig of Claude’s ships; he was laughing at the careless grace with which several of the Baozan maidens were standing in a boat just putting off from a wharf, when a lady cried sharply: “George, how careless of you! You are sitting on my mahl-stick.” “Sorry, my dear,” said a tall thin man, rising from a camp-stool. “Good gracious, it’s Mr. Tollemache,” whispered Elsie. “Gad, so it is. Let’s hail him.” Tollemache’s solemn face brightened when he heard the hail. He introduced his wife, an eminently artistic being who answered to the name of Jennie. She at once enlisted Elsie in an argument as to atmospheres, but Tollemache drew Courtenay aside. “Got married when I reached home that trip,” he explained. “The wife comes here every Thursday, an’ I have to carry the kit. Rather rot, isn’t it?” “It is certainly a change from stoking the donkey-boiler, and bowling over Alaculofs like nine-pins.” “That’s what I tell her, but she says the Indians were Boeotian, and the landscape, as I describe it, had the crude coloring of the Newlyn school, which she abominates. She thinks Turner might approve of Suarez in his black and white stripes, but the Guanaco crater reminds her of Gustave Doré, who always exaggerated his tone values. I learn that sort of gabble by heart. Jennie’s a good sort, yet sometimes she talks rot—” “George,” said Mrs. Tollemache, “pack up my portfolio. We are going to lunch with your friends. Mrs. Courtenay and I have so much to talk about. We find we think alike on many points. I am delighted to have met your wife, Captain Courtenay. My husband raves about her.” “So do I, ma’am,” cried Courtenay, gallantly, yet with a subtle glance at Elsie which told her he meant what he said. 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