tº º ſº a º
- a sº º
STEVERson
- AND
SBOURNE

4.
.
.
º
t
#!!!!!
:
i.
\
--t-|º-
:
S
:
A
- * * *
* Cº.
JAERispeninsuumn
*A
. . . .
Rºzº Cº. -
**as. ---
ºutſilſillſill||||Illllllllllllllllllllllſ;
º rºle +++ -it----------
|||||Iſº
sº
t
ſ
h
;:
à
º
#
º
- . º º
---> * ~. xº º
A 195Nº. ºf ºf
2 * > S& ſ º 5.
: ... • Yºrvº. *S
. . ] tº: - l
$º º * ſ:
4
-*
!!!!!||||||||||}
+4
:
i
|
} {
-č






















THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION
OF THE WORKS OF
R O B E R T L O U IS ST E V E N S ON
T H E W R E C K E R
| 4 || 0 o'

THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION
OF STEVENSON'S WORKS
Novels AND ROMANCES
TREASURE ISLAND"
PRINCE O T TO ~
KIDN APPED "
T H E BLACK A R ROW ©
T H E M ASTER OF BALLANT RAE
T H E W R O N G B OX
THE W R ECKER "
ID A VI D BALFO U R"
THE EBB-TIDE
W EIR OF HERMIST ON
3.T. IV ES
SHORTER STORIES
NEW A R A BIAN NIGHTS
THE DYNAMITER
THE MERRY MEN, containing DR.
JEKYLL AND M R. HYDE
ISLAND NIGHTS? ENTERTAINMENTS
ESS Ars, TRAVELS, AND SKETCHES
AN IN LAND VOYAGE
TRAVELS WITH A D ON KEY
VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE
FAMILIAR STU DIES
THE SILVER ADO SQUATTERS, contain-
ing THE AMAT EUR EMI GRANT
MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS
IN T H E SO U TH SEAS
ACROSS THE PLAINS
POE MS
COMPLETE POEMS
Twenty-four volumes. Sold singly or in sets
Per vol., Cloth, $1.00; Limp Leather, $1.25 met.
CHARLEs Scribn ER’s SoNs, New York
B I O G R A P H M C A L E D I T' I O W


THE WRECKER
BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
A N D
LLOYD OSBO U R NE
WITH A PREFACE Br MRS. STEVENSON
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
I 9 O 5
Copyright, 1891
BY ROBERT Louis STEv ENson
AND LLOYD OSBOURNE
Copyright, 1905
BY CHARLEs Scrl BNER's SONS
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
P. R. E. F. A. C. E.
TO
THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION

N Christmas day, 1888, we left Tahiti in
O the yacht Casco, and after a wild voyage
of thirty days’ duration arrived at Hon-
olulu, with the intention of returning to England
by way of America after a brief period of rest.
“We will start next week,” we said ; “we will
start next month,” — delaying our departure on
any pretext, for we knew that once back in England
our South Sea rovings would be over forever. Our
hearts followed every trading ship that left Hon-
olulu. When the missionary vessel, the Morning
Star, began to get ready for sea we could bear it
no longer, and applied for passage to the Kings-
mills. Knowing the life would be rougher than
anything we had yet experienced, and it being evi-
dent that my mother-in-law, wearying for home,
was disappointed by the change in our plans, it was
decided she should go back to Scotland to wait
there for our final return.
Copyright, 1905, by Charles Scribner's Sons
4-H & C tº º
--4”
vi P. R. E. F. A. C. E.
While my husband was trying to arrange matters
with the Morning Star, – many difficulties were
made, – he heard of a trading schooner, the
Equator, bound for the Kingsmills. The more
we learned of the Equator, the more eager we
were to sail in her. We found the owner, Mr.
Wightman of San Francisco, most obliging and
liberal, and SOOn concluded a bargain with him by
which we chartered the Equator, securing unusual
privileges.
My husband’s intention was to visit the Kings-
mills, then Ponape, thence to Manila and to China,
where we would take passage for England. The
regular trading round of the Equator would carry
us to Butaritari in the Kingsmills, and possibly to
Ponape. We thought we might be dropped at
either of these ports to take our chance of picking
up a vessel en route for China or Manila. By the
y
“charter party' of the Equator we agreed to pay
a fixed sum down for the trip from Honolulu to
Butaritari and through the Kingsmill group, with
the proviso that whenever the ship's anchor went
down, if for no more than five minutes, my hus-
band should have the right to hold the ship there
for three days without extra charge. At the same
time we always tried to consider the owner's
interests, not allowing ours to clash with his.
While we were submerged in preparations for
P R E F A C E vii
the voyage, Honolulu was thrilled by the landing
of a number of castaways picked up on Midway
Island by a passing vessel. This, in itself, was not
SO extraordinary, but the circumstances were un-
usual and mysterious. The story, which was far
from convincing, as told by the captain of the
wrecked ship, a barque called the Wandering
Minstrel, was that he had fitted out his vessel
in Hong Kong for the purpose of catching sharks.
He meant, he said, to make spurious cod-liver
oil from the livers of the sharks, and sell the dried
fins to the Chinese. There were many discrep-
ancies and evasions in his tale that I have for-
gotten; but it was plain that fishing for sharks
was not the sole object of the Wandering Minstrel.
The wages of the sailors, for one thing, were to
be far beyond the usual rate of payment.
Almost nothing was saved from the stores of the
Wandering Minstrel; the castaways were soon in
desperate circumstances, and in no condition to
make terms with a ship that answered their signals
of distress. The captain of the rescuing vessel
first ascertained exactly what amount of money
had been saved from the wreck; it was just this
Sum, Several thousand dollars — comprising all
the sailors' wages as well as the entire means of the
captain — that the stranger demanded as his price
for carrying the miserable creatures to the nearest
viii P. R. E. F. A. C. E.
civilized port, where they were dumped, penniless,
on the wharf. My husband tried in vain to solve
the mystery of the Wandering Minstrel; and it was
more or less in his mind when we started on our
new cruise.
The Equator was a tiny boat to brave the seas
upon, being a Schooner of only sixty-four tons
register; but it was soundly built, and the captain,
Denny Reid, was a skilful mariner. I have just
been reading a surprising article, published in the
Westminster Budget of Feb. 22, 1895, by Lieut.
Frank L. G. Harden, “supercargo of the Equator,”
entitled “The Dynasty of the Shark: a Personal
Reminiscence of Robert Louis Stevenson.” I never
before heard of Lieut. Frank L. G. Harden, and
he was certainly not supercargo of the Equator
when we sailed in her. The captain was expected
to attend to all business himself, and sold his goods
in person from behind his counter in the trade
TOO1]].
We took with us from Honolulu a Chinaman,
named Ah Fu, whom we had picked up in the Mar-
quesas. It seemed a good chance for Ah Fu to
get back to his native land, as he wished to do,
our intention then being to end our cruise in
China. We also thought he might be useful to us,
as indeed he was, – actually saving the ship one
night in a storm, and, incidentally, every life on
P. R. E. F. A C E. ix
board. The Equator's cook was a runaway col-
lege lad, named McDonald, who knew Greek, but
was an indifferent hand with the pots and pans.
After one week of McDonald he was deposed in
favor of Ah Fu. But a week of Ah Fu, whose really
good French cooking did not please the captain,
brought the reinstatement of McDonald. For the
rest of the voyage, which lasted about three months,
Ah Fu and McDonald were consigned to the galley
alternate weeks. An artistic rivalry springing up
between the two, we were treated to some wild
inventions in the way of new dishes.
On our outward run we had true Pacific weather
— perfect days and glorious nights — that swept
us straight on our course. The little schooner,
lying so low in the water, brought us close to the
sea with a sort of intimacy that those on large
ships, especially steamers, can never know. We
began to feel that the sea belonged to us and we
to the sea; and in our happiness remembered, with
Some qualms, the two importunate Belgians and
the anaemic young Englishman who had begged
permission to accompany us in any capacity. Years
later I found the Englishman in London, manag-
ing a prosperous candy store on Regent Street.
We learned afterwards that the Belgians were no
better than pirates. They would take passage on
a Schooner from one island to another, poison all
X P. R. E. F. A C E
on board just before making port, where they
would sell the Schooner and repeat the ‘process.
Unfortunately for their schemes, they allowed the
cook of a French vessel to survive long enough to
lodge information against them. After having
been tried and sentenced to death in Manila, they
Somehow escaped execution, but are now safe be-
hind the walls of a French prison. -
After ten heavenly days my husband determined
to make his home forever in the islands, and to
that end projected the purchase of a schooner,
to be commanded by Captain Reid, which was to
be half yacht, half trader, and wholly Self support-
ing. It was not our intention to live on board the
vessel indefinitely, but to pick it up at intervals,
making it a sort of floating home to which we could
constantly return. Elaborate plans were drawn,
with the enthusiastic co-operation of Captain Reid,
for a top-sail schooner of ninety tons to be called
the Northern Light. All details were arranged,
even to the rifle racks, the patent davits, the steam
launch, the library, and the price — fifteen thou-
Sand dollars.
My husband and my son had been continually
recurring, in their talk, to the mystery of the Wan-
dering Minstrel; it now struck them that they
might collaborate on a novel, founded on the
episode of the wreck, which should bring in the
P. R. E. F. A. C. E. - xi
necessary sum. One fine moonlight night, the
fresh trade wind blowing in their faces, the two
men sat late on deck, inventing the plot Of The
Wrecker. My husband, his mind filled with this
new and exciting enterprise, changed his plans,
determining to give up all the proposed Equator
cruise, except through the Kingsmills, and charter
the schooner thence to Samoa. Samoa was chosen
because it possessed a good service of mail steamers,
making serial publication of The Wrecker possible.
We were to stop in Samoa until the fifteen thou-
Sand dollars were earned and the schooner bought.
Our first port in the Kingsmills was Butaritari.
We stayed there some six weeks, while the Equator
roamed about the group, buying coprah. Captain
Reid had instructions from Mr. Wightman to make
the voyage as pleasant for us as possible; but his
Own kind, generous, and delightful nature needed
no official promptings from his employer. He was
a small, fiery Scotch-Irishman, full of amusing
eccentricities, and always a most gay and charming
companion. Every evening Muggeree Bowyer,
Our little native cabin boy, was called aft, made to
sing “Shoo, fly, don’t bother me,” given a dose of
a patent medicine called Kennedy's White Dis-
covery, and after a spanking delivered in solemn
pretence Over the captain's knee, sent to bed. It
often happened that all hands would be lined up
xii P. R. E. F. A. C. E.
for their doses of Kennedy's Discovery or Mother
Siegel’s Syrup, and each man made to answer a
question from the captain to prove that he had
really disposed of the drug in a natural manner,
and was not holding it in his mouth with the pur-
pose of ejecting it when he got on deck.
Once the captain, fired, doubtless, by the pervad-
ing literary atmosphere, announced the fact that
he was about to write a novel himself. Evening
after evening he had his chapter ready to read
aloud. If it pleased us he was delighted. If we
laughed at it, as sometimes happened in spite of
ourselves, he laughed with us. I never knew any
one, except, perhaps, “ Tommy Hadden,” who was
so disarming. While entirely devoted to us, we
noted that his employer's interests always came
first in any conflict of plans. As my husband meant
he should be captain of the Northern Light, we
watched him rather closely; and from the em-
ployer’s point of view he stood the test trium-
phantly. As to his seamanship, there was no
question of that; he had, as we knew, carried the
little Equator safely through the great hurricane
of March 16, 1889, arriving in Apia with his
flag flying, without the loss of spar or sail — the
only ship afloat except H. M. S. Calliope, within a
radius of two hundred miles.
It is hard for me to believe that I could last have
P. R. E. F. A C E xiii
heard of Denny Reid as lying in prison in Levuka,
convicted of the fraudulent sale of a vessel. Out
Of the ship's Company that sailed with us from
Honolulu, the captain, as I have said, is a convict
in Fiji. The mate, Anderson, a silent man with
a cleft palate, known as the Sou’wegian, in contra-
distinction to Norwegian — he being a Swede —
and several of the crew, including little Muggeree
Bowyer, died of influenza on the return voyage
to San Francisco; and about the same time La,
a handsome young native sailor, was swept over-
board and lost in a squall. I only know of one
of the crew who escaped disaster, Sir Charles
Self, a colonial lad who was studying navigation
under Captain Reid. Sir Charles was not the
proud bearer of an hereditary title, but was actu-
ally christened by that absurd name.
Just after our arrival in Butaritari, the king, a
besotted, dull, obese man, lifted the taboo from
strong drink, and the entire population went On a
prolonged debauch. Those of the natives who had
money thronged the bars of the two saloons,
the “Sans Souci ’’ and “The Land We Live in ’’;
while the rest contented themselves with the fiery
spirit made from the sap of the cocoanut blossom.
This beverage, called sour toddy by the traders,
causes the person intoxicated on it to “see ‘red.’”
Scenes of atrocious barbarity were common, and
xiv P R E FA C E
our own safety seemed doubtful. We had rented
a little wooden house from an Hawaiian mission-
ary, Maka, and kept Ah Fu On shore with us to
cook, thinking Butaritari a nice, quiet place for
literary work. As Maka's cottage was next door
to the “Sans Souci,” our hopes in this direction
were hardly realized. Mr. Rick, Mr. Crawford's
agent in Butaritari, finally closed the doors of the
“Sans Souci’’; but that only made matters worse,
so far as noise was concerned, as a crowd gathered
round the place, fighting and clamouring for drink.
Little work was done during our six weeks' stay
in Butaritari; but my husband took the occasion
to thoroughly study the methods of the South Sea
traders, of whom there were several on the island.
It slowly became evident to him that if he wished
to make a success of the Northern Light, and earn
any kind of interest on his investment, he must
necessarily do many things contrary to the dictates
of his conscience. South Sea trading could not
bear close examination. Without being actually
dishonest, it came a little too close to the line to
please us. Our fine scheme began to fade away,
and by the time we had made the tour of the group
it was practically abandoned; though my husband,
now interested in The Wrecker, still meant to
write the novel. We had talked and thought so
much of Samoa, however, that it came to seem the
P R E F A C E . XV
natural termination of our cruise. My husband
concluded to stop at one more island, and then
charter the Equator for Samoa. So little had been
accomplished in the way of work in Butaritari, that
he proposed that we should be left in Apemama
while the Equator made her final trip through the
grOup.
Captain Reid expected to be gone about three
weeks; but squalls and adverse winds drove him
out of his course, so that more than six weeks had
passed before his return, bringing us well into the
hurricane season. Meanwhile, Tembinoka, abso-
lute monarch of the three islands, Apemama, Kurai,
and Araukai, had four houses moved from another
part of the island to be set up for our use near some
brackish water that filtered through the coral of
the beach into a turbid pool rising and falling with
the tides. Every evening an old man we called
Uncle Barker, because his speech was like the bark-
ing of a dog, brought us green cocoanuts fresh
from the trees for our drinking, so we need use the
pool only for washing and bathing. Besides Uncle
Barker, several slaves were given us, including three
buxom young damsels who spent the most of their
time frolicking in the pool. Our premises were
enclosed within a taboo line which it was death for
any native commoner, not connected with our
family, to cross. *
xvi. P. R. E. F. A. C. E.
Here we lived in peace of mind for more than
three weeks. At last a real beginning of The
Wrecker was made, and several poems and many
letters were written besides. Our houses were
charming little basket-work affairs, something like
bird cages, standing on stilts about four feet above
the ground, with hanging lids for doors and win-
dows; they were clean, airy, and quite large
enough for Our needs. Ah Fu, whom we had with
us, as usual, baked bread and cakes and pies, and
roasted the wild chickens he shot with the king's
gun, all in one Dutch oven. A Dutch oven is
riothing more than a shallow iron pot with a flat
cover on which live coals may be piled. The king
proved one of the most interesting men we had
ever met, and exerted himself as he had probably
never done in his life before to entertain his unex-
pected guests.
Week after week slipped by with no sign of the
return of the Equator. To add to our anxiety our
provisions began to run short, and a continued diet
of wild chickens grew to be more distasteful than
one would imagine. At the end of the fifth week
the king's fishers caught several large turtles of the
hawk-bill species, the kind whose shells are used
commercially. Never was anything more welcome
than the fresh turtle steaks that were sent up to us
from the palace. Luckily, just as we had finished
P. R. E. F. A. C. E. xvii
the turtles, the H. L. Tiernan, Captain Sachs, came
in, and we were able to buy a couple of kegs of
mess beef and some other Small Stores.
By this time we had about given up the Equator
as lost, and my husband very nearly took passage
on the Tiernan for Samoa. But the price asked
seemed exorbitant; besides, the Equator might still
be afloat, and we could not consider with equanim-
ity Captain Reid's disappointment should he return
and find us gone. Shortly after her departure from
Apemama the Tiernan, lying becalmed with all
hands asleep, was struck by a sudden Squall and
“turned turtle,” losing sixteen lives. The mate,
Edwin Lauterbach, swam to an overturned boat,
righted it, and together with seventeen survivors,
made shift, with a mat held up by hand for a sail
and thwarts for oars, to reach land after Several
days of extreme hardship.
Our anxiety concerning the fate of the Equator
was now becoming intense. We spent days scan-
ning the seas through our glasses, while the king,
with his “dogstars ” (doctors) made a form of
divination that we were not allowed to see. When
six weeks had gone by, and we had lost hope, a sail
appeared on the horizon; the ship drew nearer and
cast anchor — the Equator at last! That night we
sent off fireworks in honour of the captain's safe
arrival, rather to Tembinoka's alarm, as he had
xviii P R E F A C E.
many kegs of powder stored in some little wooden
houses within the palace compound where we made
our festivities.
We said farewell to the king with tears. “I
think,” said he, with pathetic dignity, “ you never
saw a king cry before.” Tembinoka, in his realm
of cocoanut and coral, had gradually pieced to-
gether for himself some conception of the universe.
He called white men his “books ''; was anxious
in inquiring into the mainsprings of human action;
was a philosopher, a cynic, and a poet. From his
little corner he had learned to know the world,
both its good side and its bad, and his strong,
shrewd mind was insatiable for facts and prone to
the right deductions. “I once kept a missionary
here a year,” he said, in his strange, hesitating,
uncouth English that I make no attempt to render.
“I had him teach me all he knew, and then sent
him off with a handsome present. Every white
man has something to teach me; but when I have
learned it — here 's your present, my friend, and
good by l’” I am glad to say we were not included
in this category of speeded guests. The king's
regard for us was genuine, and his affection and
kindness unbounded.
A succession of storms followed us to Samoa,
where we arrived in the early part of December,
having lost Our fore-topmast and stay-sail in a
P. R. E. F. A. C. E. xix
Squall that nearly sent us to the bottom. Had the
Equator not carried a cargo of some fifty tons
of coprah, which served to steady her, nothing
could have saved us. Further chapters of The
Wrecker were written in Apia in the house of
Mr. Harry Moors, the trader, mostly on his ve-
randah within a few steps of the sea. It was then
carried to Sydney, where my husband made the
acquaintance of “Tommy Hadden '' (Jack Buck-
land). Poor Jack, several years ago, was robbed
by an executor of the estate of the little fortune
left him by his grandfather, and in his despair com-
mitted suicide. I often think of Jack's last visit
to Vailima, where he arrived accompanied by
innumerable “kautops '' (retainers; I give Jack's
pronunciation of the native word) and laden
with the strangest presents for the family. For
my husband he brought a very expensive white
felt hat, “the latest novelty, just out from Lon-
don’’; to my daughter he gave the skull of an
immense shark, with a photograph of himself
which he proposed to have framed in blue velvet
and set between the jaws. There was an anvil for
my son, and for me four little silver saucepans, an
enormous, seamless steel frying-pan, and a brick of
mushroom spawn.
Jack, whose vanity was charmingly innocent,
was in the habit of continually presenting his photo-
XX P. R. E. F. A. C. E.
graphs to every one he knew. When Lauterbach,
mate of the H. L. Tiernan, took Stock of the articles
he had succeeded in Saving after the ship sank,
he had one case of wine, the ship's pet pig, an old
mat, and Jack Buckland's photograph.
From Sydney the much-travelled manuscript
returned to Samoa, where my husband had bought
the lands of Vailina, and built his “big, beautiful,
windy house.” Here The Wrecker, after its many
adventures, was finally completed in the autumn
of the year 1891.
F. V. DE G. S.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE . .
IN THE MARQUESAS . . . . . . . . . .
THE YARN
CHAPTER
I A SOUND COMMERCIAL EDUCATION . . .
II ROUSSILLON WINE . . . . . . . .
III TO INTRODUCE MR. PINKERTON . . . .
IV IN WHICH I EXPERIENCE Ext REMES OF
FORTUNE . . . . . . . . . .
V IN WHICH I AM DOWN ON MY LUCK IN PARIS
VI IN WHICH I GO WEST . . . . . . . .
VII IRONS IN THE FIRE : “OPES STREPITUMQUE”
VIII FACES ON THE CITY FRONT . . . . . .
IX THE WRECK OF THE “ FLYING SCUD '' . .
X IN WHICH THE CREW VANISH . . . . .
XI IN which JIM AND I TAKE DIFFERENT WAYS
XII THE “ NORAH CREINA ’’ . . . . . .
XIII THE ISLAND AND THE WRECK . . . . .
XIV THE CABIN OF THE “ FLYING SCUD '' . .
XV THE CARGO OF THE “ FLYING SCUD '' . .
XVI
IN WHICH I TURN SMUGGLER, AND THE
CAPTAIN CASUIST . . . . . . . .
PAGIt
xxii CON TENT's
CHAPTER PAGE
XVII LIGHT FROM THE MAN of WAR . . . .333
XVIII CROSS-QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANswers 351
XIX TRAVELS WITH A SHYSTER . . . . . 371
XX STALLBRIDGE-LE-CARTHEW . . . . . . 401
XXI FACE TO FACE . . . . . . . . . . 418
XXII THE REMITTANCE MAN . . . . . . . 428
XXIII THE BUDGET OF THE “CURRENCY LAss” 460
XXIV A HARD BARGAIN . . . . . . . . 492
XXV A BAD BARGAIN . . . . . . . . . 51 I
EPILOGUE
TO WILL H. LOW . . . . . . . . . . . 540


THE WRECKER
PROLOGUE
IN THE MARQUESAS
noon in Tai-O-hae, the French capital and
port of entry of the Marquesas Islands. The
trades blew strong and squally; the surf roared
loud on the 'shingle beach; and the fifty-ton
schooner of war, that carries the flag and in-
fluence of France about the islands of the can-
nibal group, rolled at her moorings under Prison
Hill. The clouds hung low and black on the sur-
rounding amphitheatre of mountains; rain had
fallen earlier in the day, real tropic rain, a water-
spout for violence; and the green and gloomy
brow of the mountain was still seamed with many
silver threads of torrent.
In these hot and healthy islands winter is but
a name. The rain had not refreshed, nor could
the wind invigorate, the dwellers of Tai-O-hae :
away at one end, indeed, the commandant was
directing some changes in the residency garden
beyond Prison Hill; and the gardeners, being
all convicts, had no choice but to continue to
obey. All other folks slumbered and took their
rest: Vaekehu, the native queen, in her trim
| 4.64309
I' was about three o'clock of a winter's after-
2 T H E W R E C K E R
house under the rustling palms; the Tahitian
commissary, in his beflagged official residence;
the merchants, in their deserted stores; and even
the club-servant in the club, his head fallen for-
ward on the bottle-counter, under the map of
the world and the cards of navy officers. In the
whole length of the single shore-side street, with
its Scattered board houses looking to the sea, its
grateful shade of palms and green jungle of
puraos, no moving figure could be seen. Only,
at the end of the rickety pier, that once (in the
prosperous days of the American rebellion) was
used to groan under the cotton of John Hart,
there might have been spied upon a pile of lum-
ber the famous tatooed white man, the living
curiosity of Tai-O-hae. -
His eyes were open, staring down the bay. He
saw the mountains droop, as they approached the
entrance, and break down in cliffs; the surf boil
white round the two sentinel islets; and between,
on the narrow bight of blue horizon, Ua-pu upraise
the ghost of her pinnacled mountain-tops. But his
mind would take no account of these familiar fea-
tures; as he dodged in and out along the frontier
line of sleep and waking, memory would serve him
with broken fragments of the past: brown faces
and white, of skipper and shipmate, king and chief,
would arise before his mind and vanish ; he would
recall old voyages, old landfalls in the hour of
dawn; he would hear again the drums beat for a
man-eating festival; perhaps he would summon up
the form of that island princess for the love of
T H E W R E C K E R 3
whom he had submitted his body to the cruel hands
Of the tattooer, and now sat on the lumber, at the
pier-end of Tai-O-hae, so strange a figure of a
European. Or perhaps from yet further back,
Sounds and scents of England and his childhood
might assail him: the merry clamour of cathedral
bells, the broom upon the foreland, the song of the
river on the weir.
It is bold water at the mouth of the bay; you can
Steer a ship about either sentinel, close enough to
toss a biscuit on the rocks. Thus it chanced that,
as the tattooed man sat dozing and dreaming, he
was startled into wakefulness and animation by the
appearance of a flying jib beyond the western islet.
Two more head-sails followed; and before the
tattooed man had scrambled to his feet, a topsail
Schooner, of some hundred tons, had luffed about
the sentinel and was standing up the bay, close-
hauled.
The sleeping city awakened by enchantment.
Natives appeared upon all sides, hailing each other
with the magic cry “Ehippy' — ship; the Queen
stepped forth on her veranda, shading her eyes
under a hand that was a miracle of the fine art of
tattooing; the commandant broke from his domes–
tic convicts and ran into the residency for his glass;
the harbour master, who was also the gaoler, came
speeding down the Prison Hill; the seventeen
brown Kanakas and the French boatswain's mate,
that make up the complement of the war-schooner,
crowded on the forward deck; and the various
English, Americans, Germans, Poles, Corsicans,
4. T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
and Scots — the merchants and the clerks of Tai-O-
hae — deserted their places of business, and gath-
ered, according to invariable custom, on the road
before the club.
So quickly did these dozen whites collect, so
short are the distances in Tai-O-hae, that they were
already exchanging guesses as to the nationality
and business of the strange vessel, before she had
gone about upon her second board towards the
anchorage. A moment after, English colours were
broken out at the main truck. -
“I told you she was a Johnny Bull — knew it by
her head-sails,” said an evergreen old salt, still
qualified (if he could anywhere have found an
owner unacquainted with his story) to adorn an-
other quarter-deck and lose another ship.
“She has American lines, anyway,” said the
astute Scotch engineer of the gin-mill; “it’s my
belief she’s a yacht.”
“That’s it,” said the old salt, “a yacht! look at
her davits, and the boat Over the stern.”
“A yacht in your eye l’’ said a Glasgow voice.
“Look at her red ensign! A yacht! not much she
is n’t l” -
“You can close the store, anyway, Tom,” ob-
served a gentlemanly German. “Bon jour, mon
Prince!” he added, as a dark, intelligent native
cantered by on a neat chestnut. “Vous alleg boire
Alºne verre de bière?” *
But Prince Stanilas Moanatini, the only reason-
ably busy human creature on the island, was riding
hot-spur to view this morning's landslip on the
T H E W R F C K E R 5
mountain road : the sun already visibly declined;
night was imminent; and if he would avoid the
perils of darkness and precipice, and the fear Of the
dead, the haunters of the jungle, he must for Once
decline a hospitable invitation. Even had he been
minded to alight, it presently appeared there would
be difficulty as to the refreshment offered.
“Beer!” cried the Glasgow voice. “No such a
thing; I tell you there's only eight bottles in the
club | Here's the first time I’ve seen British col-
ours in this portſ and the man that sails under
them has got to drink that beer.”
The proposal struck the public mind as fair,
though far from cheering; for some time back,
indeed, the very name of beer had been a sound of
sorrow in the club, and the evenings had passed in
dolorous computation.
“Here is Havens,” said one, as if welcoming a
fresh topic. “What do you think of her, Havens?”
“I don’t think,” replied Havens, a tall, bland,
cool-looking, leisurely Englishman, attired in spot-
less duck, and deliberately dealing with a cigarette.
“I may say I know. She's consigned to me from
Auckland by Donald & Edenborough. I am on my
way aboard.”
“What ship is she?” asked the ancient mariner.
“Have n’t an idea,” returned Havens. “Some
tramp they have chartered.”
With that, he placidly resumed his walk, and was
soon seated in the stern-sheets of a whale-boat
Imanned by uproarious Kanakas, himself daintily
perched out of the way of the least maculation,
6 T H E W R E C K E R
giving his commands in an unobtrusive, dinner-
table tone of voice, and sweeping neatly enough
alongside the schooner.
A weather-beaten captain received him at the
gang Way.
“You are consigned to us, I think,” said he. “I
am Mr. Havens.”
“That is right, sir,” replied the captain, shaking
hands. “You will find the Owner, Mr. Dodd, be-
low. Mind the fresh paint on the house.”
Havens stepped along the alley-way, and de-
scended the ladder into the main cabin.
“Mr. Dodd, I believe,” said he, addressing a
smallish, bearded gentleman, who sat writing at
the table. “Why,” he cried, “it is n’t Loudon
DOdd P’’
“Myself, my dear fellow,” replied Mr. Dodd,
springing to his feet with companionable alacrity.
“I had a half-hope it might be you, when I found
your name on the papers. Well, there's no
change in you; still the same placid, fresh-looking
Britisher.”
“I can’t return the compliment; for you seem
to have become a Britisher yourself,” said Havens.
“I promise you, I am quite unchanged,” re-
turned Dodd. “The red tablecloth at the top of
the stick is not my flag; it’s my partner's. He is
not dead, but sleepeth. There he is,” he added,
pointing to a bust which formed one of the numer-
ous unexpected ornaments of that unusual cabin.
Havens politely studied it. “A fine bust,” said
he ; “and a very nice-looking fellow.”
T H E W R E C K E R 7
“Yes; he's a good fellow,” said Dodd. “He
runs me now. It’s all his money.”
“He does n’t seem to be particularly short of it,”
added the other, peering with growing wonder
round the cabin.
“His money, my taste,” said Dodd. “The
black-walnut bookshelves are Old English ; the
books all mine, – mostly Renaissance French.
You should see how the beach-combers wilt away
when they go round them looking for a change of
Seaside Library novels. The mirrors are genuine
Venice; that’s a good piece in the corner. The
daubs are mine — and his ; the mudding mine.”
“Mudding? What is that?” asked Havens.
“These bronzes,” replied Dodd. “I began life
as a sculptor.” -
“Yes; I remember something about that,” said
the other. “I think, too, you said you were inter-
ested in Californian real estate.” - sº
“Surely, I never went so far as that,” said Dodd.
“Interested P I guess not. Involved, perhaps. I
was born an artist; I never took an interest in any-
thing but art. If I were to pile up this old
schooner to-morrow,” he added, “I declare I be-
lieve I would try the thing again!”
“Insured P” inquired Havens.
“Yes,” responded Dodd. “There’s some fool
in 'Frisco who insures us, and comes down like a
wolf on the fold on the profits; but we’ll get even
with him some day.”
“Well, I suppose it’s all right about the cargo,”
said Havens.
&
8 T H E W R E C K E R
“O, I suppose so !” replied Dodd. “Shall we
go into the papers?”
“We’ll have all to-morrow, you know,” said
Havens; “and they'll be rather expecting you at
the club. C'est l'heure de l'absinthe. Of course,
Loudon, you'll dine with me later on.”
Mr. Dodd signified his acquiescence; drew on
his white coat, not without a trifling difficulty, for
he was a man of middle age, and well-to-do;
arranged his beard and moustaches at one of the
Venetian mirrors; and, taking a broad felt hat,
led the way through the trade-room into the ship’s
waist. ;
The stern boat was waiting alongside, – a boat
of an elegant model, with cushions and polished
bard-wood fittings. r
“You steer,” observed Loudon. “You know
the best place to land.”
“I never like to steer another man’s boat,” re-
plied. Havens.
“Call it my partner's, and cry quits,” returned
Loudon, getting nonchalantly down the side.
Havens followed and took the yoke lines without .
further protest. “I am sure I don’t know how
you make this pay,” he said. “To begin with, she
is too big for the trade, to my taste; and then you
carry so much style.”
“I don't know that she does pay,” returned
Loudon. “I never pretend to be a business man.
My partner appears happy; and the money is all
his, as I told you — I Only bring the want of busi-
ness habits.”
T H E W R E C K E R 9
“You rather like the berth, I suppose?” sug-
gested Havens. *
“Yes,” said Loudon; “it seems odd, but I
rather do.” t -
While they were yet on board, the sun had
dipped; the Sunset gun (a rifle) cracked from the
war-schooner, and the colours had been handed
down. Dusk was deepening as they came ashore;
, and the Cercle Internationale (as the club is offi-
cially and significantly named) began to shine, from
under its low verandas, with the light of many
lamps. The good hours of the twenty-four drew
On ; the hateful, poisonous day-fly of Nukahiva
was beginning to desist from its activity; the land-
breeze came in refreshing draughts; and the club
men gathered together for the hour of absinthe.
To the commandant himself, to the man whom he
was then contending with at billiards — a trader
from the next island, honorary member of the club,
and once carpenter's mate on board a Yankee war-
ship — to the doctor of the port, to the Brigadier
of Gendarmerie, to the opium farmer, and to all
the white men whom the tide of commerce, or the
chances of shipwreck and desertion, had stranded
on the beach of Tai-O-hae, Mr. Loudon Dodd was
formally presented; by all (since he was a man of
pleasing exterior, smooth ways, and an unexception-
able flow of talk, whether in French or English)
he was excellently well received; and presently,
with one of the last eight bottles of beer on a table
at his elbow, found himself the rather silent centre-
piece of a voluble group on the veranda.
IO T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
Talk in the South Seas is all upon one pattern;
it is a wide ocean, indeed, but a narrow world:
you shall never talk long and not hear the name of
Bully Hayes, a naval hero whose exploits and
deserved extinction left Europe cold; commerce
will be touched on, copra, shell, perhaps cotton or
fungus; but in a far-away dilettante fashion, as by
men not deeply interested; through all, the names
of schooners and their captains will keep coming
and going, thick as may-flies; and news of the last
shipwreck will be placidly exchanged and debated.
To a stranger, this conversation will at first seem
scarcely brilliant; but he will soon catch the tone;
and by the time he shall have moved a year or so
in the island world, and come across a good num-
ber of the schooners, so that every captain's name
calls up a figure in pajamas or white duck, and
becomes used to a certain laxity of moral tone
which prevails (as in memory of Mr. Hayes) on
smuggling, ship-scuttling, barratry, piracy, the
labour trade, and other kindred fields of human
activity, he will find Polynesia no less amusing
and no less instructive than Pall Mall or Paris.
Mr. Loudon Dodd, though he was new to the
group of the Marquesas, was already an old, salted
trader; he knew the ships and the captains; he
had assisted, in other islands, at the first steps of
some career of which he now heard the culmina-
tion, or (vice versa) he had brought with him from
further south the end of some story which had
begun in Tai-O-hae. Among other matter of inter-
est, like other arrivals in the South Seas, he had
T H E W R E C K E R I I
a wreck to announce. The John T. Richards,
it appeared, had met the fate of other island
Schooners. t t
“Dickinson piled her up on Palmerston Island,”
Dodd announced. -
“Who were the owners?” inquired one of the
club men.
“O, the usual parties!” returned Loudon, —
“Capsicum & Co.”
A smile and a glance of intelligence went round
the group; and perhaps Loudon gave voice to the
general sentiment by remarking, “Talk of good
business I know nothing better than a schooner,
a competent captain, and a sound, reliable reef.”
“Good business! There's no such a thing !”
said the Glasgow man. “Nobody makes anything
but the missionaries — dash it!”
“I don’t know,” said another. “There’s a good
deal in opium.” -
“It’s a good job to strike a tabooed pearl-
island, say, about the fourth year,” remarked a
third ; “skim the whole lagoon on the sly, and
up stick and away before the French get wind
of you.”
“A pig nokket of cold is good,” observed a
German. -
“There's something in wrecks, too,” said Ha-
vens. “Look at that man in Honolulu, and the
ship that went ashore on Waikiki Reef; it was
blowing a kona, hard ; and she began to break up
as soon as she touched. Lloyd’s agent had her sold
inside an hour; and before dark, when she went to
I 2 T H E W R E C K E R
pieces in earnest, the man that bought her had
feathered his nest. Three more hours of daylight,
and he might have retired from business. As it
was, he built a house on Beretania Street, and
called it for the ship.”
“Yes, there's something in wrecks sometimes,”
said the Glasgow voice; “but not often.”
“As a general rule, there's deuced little in any-
thing,” said Havens.
“Well, I believe that's a Christian fact,” cried
the other. “What I want is a secret; get hold of
a rich man by the right place, and make him
squeal.”
“I suppose you know it’s not thought to be the
ticket,” returned Havens.
“I don’t care for that; it’s good enough for
me,” cried the man from Glasgow, stoutly. “The
only devil of it is, a fellow can never find a secret
in a place like the South Seas: only in London and
Paris.”
“McGibbon ’s been reading some dime novel, I
suppose,” said one club man.
“He’s been reading Aurora Floyd,” remarked
another.
“And what if I have P” cried McGibbon. “It’s
all true. Look at the newspapers' It’s just your
confounded ignorance that sets you snickering. I
tell you, it’s as much a trade as underwriting, and
a dashed sight more honest.”
The sudden acrimony of these remarks, called
Loudon (who was a man of peace) from his re-
serve. “It’s rather singular,” said he, “but I
T H E W R E C K E R 13
seem to have practised about all these means of
livelihood.” -
“Tit you effer vind a nokket?” inquired the
inarticulate German, eagerly.
“No. I have been most kinds of fool in my
time,” returned Loudon, “but not the gold-digging
variety. Every man has a sane spot somewhere.”
“Well, then,” suggested some one, “ did you
ever smuggle opium ?”
“Yes, I did,” said Loudon.
“Was there money in that?”
“All the w3:..." responded Loudon.
“And perhaps you bought a wreck?” asked
another.
“Yes, sir,” said Loudon.
“How did that pan out?” pursued the ques-
tioner.
“Well, mine was a peculiar kind of wreck,” re-
plied Loudon. “I don’t know, on the whole, that
I can recommend that branch of industry.”
“Did she break up?” asked some one. -
“I guess it was rather I that broke down,” says
Loudon. “Head not big enough.”
“Ever try the blackmail?” inquired Havens.
“Simple as you see me sitting here!” responded
Dodd.
“Good business?”
“Well, I’m not a lucky man, you see,” returned
the stranger. “It ought to have been good.”
“You had a secret?” asked the Glasgow man.
“As big as the State of Texas.”
“And the other man was rich?”
I4. T H E w RE C K E R
“He was n’t exactly Jay Gould, but I guess he
could buy these islands if he wanted.”
“Why, what was wrong, then? Could n't you
get hands on him?”
“It took time, but I had him cornered at last;
and then 3 3
“What then P’’
“The speculation turned bottom up. I became
the man's bosom friend.”
“The deuce you did l’
“He could fi’t have been particular, you mean?”
asked Dodd, pleasantly. “Well, no; he 's a man
of rather large sympathies.”
“If you're done talking nonsense, Loudon,”
said Havens, “let’s be getting to my place for
dinner.”
Outside, the night was full of the roaring of the
surf. Scattered lights glowed in the green thicket.
Native women came by twos and threes out of the
darkness, smiled and Ogled the two whites, perhaps
wooed them with a strain of laughter, and went by
again, bequeathing to the air a heady perfume Of
palm-oil and frangipani blossom. From the club
to Mr. Havens's residence was but a step or two,
and to any dweller in Europe they must have
seemed steps in fairyland. If such an one could
but have followed our two friends into the wide-
verandaed house, sat down with them in the cool
trellised room, where the wine shone on the lamp-
lighted tablecloth; tasted of their exotic food —
the raw fish, the breadfruit, the cooked bananas,
the roast pig served with the inimitable miti, and
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I 5
that king of delicacies, palm-tree salad ; seen and
heard by fits and starts, now peering round the
corner of the door, now railing within against
invisible assistants, a certain comely young native
lady in a sacque, who seemed too modest to be a
member of the family, and too imperious to be
less; and then if such an one were whisked again
through space to Upper Tooting, or wherever else
he honoured the domestic gods, “I have had a
dream,” I think he would say, as he sat up,
rubbing his eyes, in the familiar chimney-corner
chair, “I have had a dream of a place, and I
declare I believe it must be heaven.” But to
Dodd and his entertainer, all this amenity of the
tropic night and all these dainties of the island
table, were grown things of custom ; and they
fell to meat like men who were hungry, and
drifted into idle talk like men who were a trifle
bored.
The scene in the club was referred to.
“I never heard you talk so much nonsense, Lou-
don,” said the host.
“Well, it seemed to me there was sulphur in the
air, so I talked for talking,” returned the other.
“But it was none of it nonsense.”
“Do you mean to say it was true?” cried Ha-
vens, – “ that about the opium and the wreck, and
the blackmailing and the man who became your
friend P’’
“Every last word of it,” said Loudon.
“You seem to have been seeing life,’
the other.
y
returned
I6 T H E W R E C K E R
“Yes, it’s a queer yarn,” said his friend; “if
you think you would like, I’ll tell it you.”
Here follows the yarn of Loudon Dodd, not as
he told it to his friend, but as he subsequently
wrote it.
THE Y ARN
CHAPTER I
A SOUND COMMERCIAL EDUCATION

p | \HE beginning of this yarn is my poor
father’s character. There never was a
better man, nor a handsomer, nor (in my
view) a more unhappy — unhappy in his business,
in his pleasures, in his place of residence, and (I
am sorry to say it) in his son. He had begun life
*as a land-surveyor, soon became interested in real
estate, branched off into many other speculations,
and had the name of one of the Smartest men in the
State of Muskegon. “ Dodd has a big head,”
people used to say; but I was never so sure of his
capacity. His luck, at least, was beyond doubt for
long; his assiduity, always. He fought in that
daily battle of money-grubbing, with a kind of sad-
eyed loyalty like a martyr's; rose early, ate fast,
came home dispirited and over-weary, even from
success; grudged himself all pleasure, if his nature
was capable of taking any, which I sometimes won-
dered; and laid out, upon some deal in wheat or
corner in aluminium, the essence of which was little
better than highway robbery, treasures of conscien-
tiousness and self-denial."
2
18 T H E W R E C K E R
Unluckily, I never cared a cent for anything but
art, and never shall. My idea of man's chief end
was to enrich the world with things of beauty, and
have a fairly good time myself while doing so.
I do not think I mentioned that second part, which
is the only one I have managed to carry out; but
my father must have suspected the suppression, for
he branded the whole affair as self-indulgence.
“Well,” I remember crying once, “and what is
your life? You are only trying to get money, and
to get it from other people at that.”
He sighed bitterly (which was very much his
habit), and shook his poor head at me. “Ah,
Loudon, Loudon l’” said he, “you boys think your-
selves very smart. But, struggle as you please, a
man has to work in this world. He must be ang
honest man or a thief, Loudon.” riº
You can see for yourself how vain it was to
argue with my father. The despair that seized
upon me after such an interview was, besides, em-
bittered by remorse; for I was at times petulant,
but he invariably gentle; and I was fighting, after
all, for my own liberty and pleasure, he singly for
what he thought to be my good. And all the time
he never despaired. “There is good stuff in you,
Loudon,” he would say; “there is the right stuff
in you. Blood will tell, and you will come right in
time. I am not afraid my boy will ever disgrace
me; I am only vexed he should sometimes talk
nonsense.” And then he would pat my shoulder
or my hand with a kind of motherly way he had,
very affecting in a man so strong and beautiful.
T H E W R E C K E R 19
As soon as I had graduated from the high
school, he packed me off to the Muskegon Commer-
cial Academy. You are a foreigner, and you will
have a difficulty in accepting the reality of this seat
of education. I assure you before I begin that I
am wholly serious. The place really existed, pos-
sibly exists to-day: we were proud of it in the
State, as something exceptionally nineteenth cen-
tury and civilised; and my father, when he saw me
to the cars, no doubt considered he was putting me
in a straight line for the Presidency and the New
Jerusalem. .
“Loudon,” said he, “I am now giving you a
chance that Julius Caesar could not have given to
his son — a chance to see life as it is, before your
own turn comes to start in earnest. Avoid rash
speculation, try to behave like a gentleman; and
if you will take my advice, confine yourself to a
safe, conservative business in railroads. Bread-
stuffs are tempting, but very dangerous; I would
not try breadstuffs at your time of life; but you
may feel your way a little in other commodities.
Take a pride to keep your books posted, and never
throw good money after bad. There, my dear boy,
kiss me good-bye; and never forget that you are an
only chick, and that your dad watches your career
with fond suspense.”
The commercial college was a fine, roomy estab-
lishment, pleasantly situate among woods. The air
was healthy, the food excellent, the premium high.
Electric wires connected it (to use the words of the
prospectus) with “the various world centres.” The
2O T H E W R E C K E R
reading-room was well supplied with “commercial
organs.” The talk was that of Wall Street; and
the pupils (from fifty to a hundred lads) were prin-
cipally engaged in rooking or trying to rook One
another for nominal sums in what was called “col-
lege paper.” We had class hours, indeed, in the
morning, when we studied German, French, book-
keeping, and the like goodly matters; but the bulk
of our day and the gist of the education centred in
the exchange, where we were taught to gamble in
produce and securities. Since not one of the par-
ticipants possessed a bushel of wheat or a dollar's
worth of stock, legitimate business was of course
impossible from the beginning. It was cold-drawn
gambling, without colour or disguise. Just that
which is the impediment and destruction of all gen-
uine commercial enterprise, just that we were
taught with every luxury of stage effect. Our
simulacrum of a market was ruled by the real mar-
kets outside, so that we might experience the course
and vicissitude of prices. We must keep books,
and our ledgers were overhauled at the month’s end
by the principal or his assistants. To add a spice
of verisimilitude, “college paper '' (1ike poker
chips) had an actual marketable value. It was
bought for each pupil by anxious parents and guar-
dians at the rate of one cent for the dollar. The
same pupil, when his education was complete, re-
sold, at the same figure, so much as was left him
to the college; and even in the midst of his cur-
riculum, a successful operator would sometimes
realise a proportion of his holding, and stand a
T H E W R E C K E R 2. I
supper on the sly in the neighbouring hamlet.
In short, if there was ever a worse education, it
must have been in that academy where Oliver met
Charlie Bates. -
When I was first guided into the exchange to
have my desk pointed out by one of the assistant
teachers, I was overwhelmed by the clamour and
confusion. Certain blackboards at the other end
of the building were covered with figures contin-
ually replaced. As each new set appeared, the
pupils swayed to and fro, and roared out aloud
with a formidable and to me quite meaningless
vociferation; leaping at the same time upon the
desks and benches, signalling with arms and heads,
and scribbling briskly in note-books. I thought I
had never beheld a scene more disagreeable; and
when I considered that the whole traffic was illu-
sory, and all the money then upon the market would
scarce have sufficed to buy a pair of skates, I was
at first astonished, although not for long. Indeed,
I had no sooner called to mind how grown-up men
and women of considerable estate will lose their
temper about half-penny points, than (making an
immediate allowance for my fellow-students) I
transferred the whole of my astonishment to the
assistant teacher, who — poor gentleman — had
quite forgot to show me to my desk, and stood in
the midst of this hurly-burly, absorbed and seem-
ingly transported.
“Look, look,” he shouted in my ear; “a falling
market! The bears have had it all their own way
since yesterday.”
22 T H E W R E C K E R
“It can't matter,” I replied, making him hear
with difficulty, for I was unused to speak in such a
babel, “ since it is all fun.”
“True,” said he ; “ and you must always bear
in mind that the real profit is in the book-keeping.
I trust, Dodd, to be able to congratulate you upon
your books. You are to start in with ten thousand
dollars of college paper, a very liberal figure, which
should see you through the whole curriculum, if
you keep to a safe, conservative business. . . .
Why, what’s that?” he broke off, once more at-
tracted by the changing figures on the board.
“Seven, four, threel Dodd, you are in luck: this
is the most spirited rally we have had this term.
And to think that the same scene is now trans-
piring in New York, Chicago, St. Louis, and rival
business centres | For two cents, I would try a
flutter with the boys myself,” he cried, rubbing
his hands; “only it’s against the regulations.”
“What would you do, sir?” I asked.
“Do?” he cried with glittering eyes. “Buy
for all I was worth !” -
“Would that be a safe, conservative business?”
I inquired, as innocent as a lamb.
He looked daggers at me. “See that sandy-
haired man in glasses?” he asked, as if to change
the subject. “That’s Billson, our most prom-
inent undergraduate. We build confidently on
Billson’s future. You could not do better, Dodd,
than follow Billson.”
Presently after, in the midst of a still growing
tumult, the figures coming and going more busily
T H E W R E C K E R 23
than ever on the board, and the hall resounding
like Pandemonium with the howls of Operators,
the assistant teacher left me to my own resources
at my desk. The next boy was posting up his
ledger, figuring his morning's loss, as I discovered
later on ; and from this ungenial task he was
readily diverted by the sight of a new face.
“Say, Freshman,” he said, “what’s your name?
What? Son of Big Head Dodd? What’s your
figure? Ten thousand P O, you ’re away up!
What a soft-headed clam you must be to touch
your books!”
I asked him what else I could do, since the
books were to be examined once a month.
“Why, you galoot, you get a clerk l’’ cries he.
“One of our dead beats — that’s all they 're here
for. If you ’re a successful operator, you need
Inever do a stroke of work in this old college.”
The noise had now become deafening; and my
new friend, telling me that some one had certainly
“gone down,” that he must know the news, and
that he would bring me a clerk when he returned,
buttoned his coat and plunged into the tossing
throng. It proved that he was right: some one
had gone down; a prince had fallen in Israel;
the corner in lard had proved fatal to the mighty;
and the clerk who was brought back to keep my
books, spare me all work, and get all my share
of the education, at a thousand dollars a month,
college paper (ten dollars, United States currency),
was no other than the prominent Billson whom
I could do no better than follow. The poor lad
24. T H E W R E C K E R
was very unhappy. It’s the only good thing I
have to say for Muskegon Commercial College,
that we were all, even the small fry, deeply mor-
tified to be posted as defaulters; and the collapse
of a merchant prince like Billson, who had ridden
pretty high in his days of prosperity, was, of
course, particularly hard to bear. But the spirit
of make-believe conquered even the bitterness of
recent shame; and my clerk took his orders, and
fell to his new duties, with decorum and civility.
Such were my first impressions in this absurd
place of education; and to be frank, they were
far from disagreeable. As long as I was rich,
my evenings and afternoons would be my own;
the clerk must keep my books, the clerk could do
the jostling and bawling in the exchange; and I
could turn my mind to landscape-painting and
Balzac's novels, which were then my two pre-
occupations. To remain rich, then, became my
problem; or, in other words, to do a safe, con-
servative line of business. I am looking for that
line still; and I believe the nearest thing to it in
this imperfect world is the sort of speculation
sometimes insidiously proposed to childhood, in
the formula, “Heads, I win; tails, you lose.”
Mindful of my father's parting words, I turned
my attention timidly to railroads; and for a
month or so maintained a position of inglorious
Security, dealing for small amounts in the most
inert stocks, and bearing (as best I could) the
scorn of my hired clerk. One day I had ventured
a little further by way of experiment; and, in
T H E W R E C K E R 25
the sure expectation they would continue to go
down, sold several thousand dollars of Pan-Handle
" Preference (I think it was). I had no sooner
made this venture, than some fools in New York
began to bull the market; Pan-Handles rose like
a balloon; and in the inside of half an hour I
saw my position compromised. Blood will tell,
as my father said; and I stuck to it gallantly:
all afternoon I continued selling that infernal
stock, all afternoon it continued skying. I sup-
pose I had come (a frail cockle-shell) athwart
the hawse of Jay Gould ; and, indeed, I think I
remember that this vagary in the market proved
subsequently to be the first move in a considera-
ble deal. That evening, at least, the name of
H. Loudon Dodd held the first rank in our col-
legiate gazette, and I and Billson (once more
thrown upon the world) were competing for the
same clerkship. The present object takes the
present eye. My disaster, for the moment, was
the more conspicuous; and it was I that got the
situation. So you see, even in Muskegon Com-
mercial College, there were lessons to be learned.
For my own part, I cared very little whether
I lost or won at a game so random, so complex,
and so dull; but it was sorry news to write to
my poor father, and I employed all the resources
of my eloquence. I told him (what was the truth)
that the successful boys had none of the educa-
tion; so that if he wished me to learn, he should
rejoice at my misfortune. I went on (not very
consistently) to beg him to set me up again, when
26 T H E W R E C K E R
I would solemnly promise to do a safe business
in reliable railroads. Lastly (becoming some-
what carried away), I assured him I was totally
unfit for business, and implored him to take me
away from this abominable place, and let me go
to Paris to study art. He answered briefly, gently,
and Sadly, telling me the vacation was near at
hand, when we would talk things over. 8
When the time came, he met me at the depot,
and I was shocked to see him looking older. He
seemed to have no thought but to console me and
restore (what he supposed I had lost) my courage.
I must not be down-hearted; many of the best men
had made a failure in the beginning. I told him I
had no head for business, and his kind face dark-
ened. “You must not say that, Loudon,” he re-
plied; “I will never believe my son to be a
coward.”
“But I don’t like it,” I pleaded. “It has n’t
got any interest for me, and art has. I know I
could do more in art,” and I reminded him that
a successful painter gains large sums; that a pic-
ture of Meissonier's would sell for many thou-
sand dollars.
“And do you think, Loudon,” he replied, “ that
a man who can paint a thousand dollar picture
has not grit enough to keep his end up in the
stock market? No, sir; this Mason (of whom you
speak) or our own American Bierstadt — if you
were to put them down in a wheat pit to-morrow,
they would show their mettle. Come, Loudon,
my dear; Heaven knows I have no thought but
T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R. 27
your own good, and I will offer you a bargain.
I start you again next term with ten thousand
dollars; show yourself a man, and double it, and
then (if you still wish to go to Paris, which I
know you won't) I’ll let you go. But to let you
run away as if you were whipped, is what I am
too proud to do.”
My heart leaped at this proposal, and then Sank
again. It seemed easier to paint a Meissonier on
the spot than to win ten thousand dollars on that
mimic stock exchange. Nor could I help reflect-
ing on the singularity of such a test for a man's
capacity to be a painter. I ventured even to com-
ment on this.
He sighed deeply. “You forget, my dear,”
said he, “I am a judge of the one, and not of the
other. You might have the genius of Bierstadt
himself, and I would be none the wiser.”
“And then,” I continued, “it’s scarcely fair.
The other boys are helped by their people, who
telegraph and give them pointers. There's Jim
Costello, who never budges without a word from
his father in New York. And then, don't you
see, if anybody is to win, somebody must lose?”
“I’ll keep you posted,” cried my father, with
unusual animation; “I did not know it was al-
lowed. I’ll wire you in the office cipher, and
we’ll make it a kind of partnership business,
Loudon: — Dodd & Son, eh?” and he patted my
shoulder and repeated, “ Dodd & Son, Dodd &
Son,” with the kindlieste amusement.
If my father was to give me pointers, and the
28 T H E W R E C K E R
commercial college was to be a stepping-stone to
Paris, I could look my future in the face. The
old boy, too, was so pleased at the idea of our
association in this foolery that he immediately
plucked up spirit. Thus it befell that those who
had met at the depot like a pair of mutes, sat
down to table with holiday faces.
And now I have to introduce a new character
that never said a word nor wagged a finger, and
yet shaped my whole subsequent career. You have
crossed the States, so that in all likelihood you have
seen the head of it, parcel-gilt and curiously fluted,
rising among trees from a wide plain; for this new
character was no other than the State capitol of
Muskegon, then first projected. My father had
embraced the idea with a mixture of patriotism
and commercial greed both perfectly genuine. He
was of all the committees, he had subscribed a
great deal of money, and he was making arrange-
ments to have a finger in most of the contracts.
Competitive plans had been sent in ; at the time of
my return from college my father was deep in
their consideration; and as the idea entirely oc-
cupied his mind, the first evening did not pass away
before he had called me into council. Here was
a subject at last into which I could throw myself
with pleasurable zeal. Architecture was new to
me, indeed ; but it was at least an art; and for
all the arts I had a taste naturally classical and
that capacity to take delighted pains which some
famous idiot has supposed to be synonymous with
genius. I threw myself headlong into my father's
T H E W R E C K E R 29
work, acquainted myself with all the plans, their
merits and defects, read besides in special books,
made myself a master of the theory of Strains,
studied the current prices of materials, and (in
one word) “devilled ” the whole business so
thoroughly, that when the plans came up for con-
sideration, Big Head Dodd was supposed to have
earned fresh laurels. His arguments carried the
day, his choice was approved by the committee,
and I had the anonymous satisfaction to know
that arguments and choice were wholly mine. In
the recasting of the plan which followed, my part
was even larger; for I designed and cast with my
own hand a hot-air grating for the offices, which
had the luck or merit to be accepted. The energy
and aptitude which I displayed throughout de-
lighted and surprised my father, and I believe,
although I say it whose tongue should be tied,
that they alone prevented Muskegon capitol from
being the eyesore of my native State.
Altogether, I was in a cheery frame of mind
when I returned to the commercial college; and
my earlier operations were crowned with a full
measure of success. My father wrote and wired
to me continually. “You are to exercise your
own judgment, Loudon,” he would say. “All that
I do is to give you the figures; but whatever
Operation you take up must be upon your own
responsibility, and whatever you earn will be en-
tirely due to your own dash and forethought.”
For all that, it was always clear what he intended
me to do, and I was alwāys careful to do it. In-
go T H E W R E C K E R
side of a month I was at the head of seventeen
or eighteen thousand dollars, college paper. And
here I fell a victim to one of the vices of the sys-
tem. The paper (I have already explained) had a
real value of one per cent; and cost, and could be
sold, for currency. Unsuccessful speculators were
thus always Selling clothes, books, banjos, and
sleeve-links, in order to pay their differences; the
successful, on the other hand, were often tempted
to realise, and enjoy some return upon their profits.
Now I wanted thirty dollars’ worth of artist-
truck, for I was always sketching in the woods;
my allowance was for the time exhausted ; I had
begun to regard the exchange (with my father's
help) as a place where money was to be got for
stooping; and in an evil hour I realised three
thousand dollars of the college paper and bought
my easel. º
It was a Wednesday morning when the things
arrived, and set me in the seventh heaven of satis-
faction. My father (for I can Scarcely say my-
self), was trying at this time a “straddle * in
wheat between Chicago and New York; the oper-
ation so called is, as you know, one of the most
tempting and least safe upon the chess-board of
finance. On the Thursday, luck began to turn
against my father's calculations; and by the Fri-
day evening, I was posted on the boards as a de-
faulter for the second time. Here was a rude
blow : my father would have taken it ill enough
in any case; for however much a man may resent
the incapacity of an offly son, he will feel his
T H E W R E C K E R 3 I
Own more sensibly. But it chanced that, in our
bitter cup of failure, there was one ingredient
that might truly be called poisonous. He had
been keeping the run of my position; he missed
the three thousand dollars, paper; and in his view,
I had stolen thirty dollars, currency. It was an
extreme view perhaps; but in some senses, it was
just; and my father, although (to my judgment)
quite reckless of honesty in the essence of his
operations, was the soul of honour as to their
details. I had one grieved letter from him, dig-
nified and tender; and during the rest of that
wretched term, working as a clerk, selling my
clothes and sketches to make futile speculations,
my dream of Paris quite vanished, I was cheered
by no word of kindness and helped by no hint
of counsel from my father.
All the time he was no doubt thinking of little
else but his son, and what to do with him. I
believe he had been really appalled by what he
regarded as my laxity of principle, and began to
think it might be well to preserve me from temp-
tation; the architect of the capitol had, besides,
spoken obligingly of my design; and while he
was thus hanging between two minds, Fortune
suddenly stepped in, and Muskegon State capitol
reversed my destiny.
“Loudon,” said my father, as he met me at
the depot, with a smiling countenance, “if you
were to go to Paris, how long would it take you
to become an experienced sculptor P”
“How do you mean, father?” I cried. “Ex-
perienced?” t
32 T H E W R E C K E R
“A man that could be entrusted with the high-
est styles,” he answered: “the nude, for instance;
and the patriotic and emblematical styles.”
“It might take three years,” I replied.
“You think Paris necessary?” he asked. “There
are great advantages in our own country; and
that man Prodgers appears to be a very clever
Sculptor, though I suppose he stands too high to
go around giving lessons.” e
“Paris is the only place,” I assured him.
“Well, I think myself it will sound better,” he
admitted. “A Young Man, a Native of this State,
Son of a Leading Citizen, Studies Prosecuted un-
der the Most Experienced Masters in Paris,” he
added, relishingly.
“But, my dear dad, what is it all about?” I
interrupted. “I never even dreamed of being a
sculptor.”
“Well, here it is,” said he. “I took up the
statuary contract on our new capitol; I took it
up at first as a deal; and then it occurred to me
it would be better to keep it in the family. It
meets your idea; there's considerable money in
the thing; and it’s patriotic. So, if you say the
word, you shall go to Paris, and come back in
three years to decorate the capitol of your native
State. It’s a big chance for you, Loudon; and
I’ll tell you what — every dollar you earn, I’ll
put another alongside of it. But the sooner you
go, and the harder you work, the better; for if
the first half-dozen statues are n’t on a line with
public taste in Muskegon, there will be trouble.”
CHAPTER II
ROUSSILLON WINE

Y mother’s family was Scotch, and it
M was judged fitting I should pay a visit
On my way Paris–ward to my uncle
Adam Loudon, a wealthy retired grocer of Edin-
burgh. He was very stiff and very ironical; he
fed me well, lodged me sumptuously, and seemed
to take it out of me all the time, cent per cent,
in Secret entertainment which caused his specta-
cles to glitter and his mouth to twitch. The
ground of this ill-suppressed mirth (as well as I
could make out) was simply the fact that I was
an American. “Well,” he would say, drawing
out the word to infinity, “ and I suppose now in
your country, things will be so and so.” And
the whole group of my cousins would titter joy-
ously. Repeated receptions, of this sort must be
at the root, I suppose, of what they call the Great
American Jest; and I know I was myself goaded
into saying that my friends went naked in the sum-
mer months, and that the Second Methodist Episco-
pal Church in Muskegon was decorated with scalps.
I cannot say that these flights had any great suc-
cess; they seemed to awaken little more surprise
than the fact that my father was a Republican or
3
34 T H E W R E C K E R
that I had been taught in school to spell colour
without the u. If I had told them (what was
after all the truth) that my father had paid a
considerable annual sum to have me brought
up in a gambling hell, the tittering and grinning
of this dreadful family might perhaps have been
excused. -
I cannot deny but I was sometimes tempted to
knock my uncle Adam down; and indeed I be-
lieve it must have come to a rupture at last, if
they had not given a dinner-party at which I was
the lion. On this occasion, I learned (to my sur-
prise and relief) that the incivility to which I had
been subjected was a matter for the family circle
and might be regarded almost in the light of an
endearment. To strangers, I was presented with
consideration; and the account given of “my
American brother-in-law, poor Janie's man, James
K. Dodd, the well-known millionaire of Muske-
gon,” was calculated to enlarge the heart of a
proud Son.
An aged assistant of my grandfather's, a pleas-
ant, humble creature with a taste for whisky, was
at first deputed to be my guide about the city.
With this harmless but hardly aristocratic com-
panion, I went to Arthur's Seat and the Calton
Hill, heard the band play in the Princes Street
Gardens, inspected the regalia and the blood of
Rizzio, and fell in love with the great castle on
its cliff, the innumerable spires of churches, the
stately buildings, the broad prospects, and those
narrow and crowded lanes of the old town where
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 35
my ancestors had lived and died in the days be-
fore Columbus. -
But there was another curiosity that interested
me more deeply — my grandfather, Alexander
Loudon. In his time, the old gentleman had been
a working mason, and had risen from the ranks
more, I think, by shrewdness than by merit. In
his appearance, speech, and manners, he bore broad
marks of his origin, which were gall and worm-
wood to my uncle Adam. His nails, in spite of
anxious supervision, were often in conspicuous
mourning; his clothes hung about him in bags
and wrinkles like a ploughman's Sunday coat;
his accent was rude, broad, and dragging: take
him at his best, and even when he could be in-
duced to hold his tongue, his mere presence in a
corner of the drawing-room, with his open-air
wrinkles, his scanty hair, his battered hands, and
the cheerful craftiness of his expression, adver-
tised the whole gang of us for a self-made family.
My aunt might mince and my cousins bridle; but
there was no getting over the solid, physical fact
of the stonemason in the chimney-corner. -
That is one advantage of being an American :
it never Occurred to me to be ashamed of my grand-
father, and the old gentleman was quick to mark
the difference. He held my mother in tender
Imemory, perhaps because he was in the habit of
daily contrasting her with Uncle Adam, whom he
detested to the point of frenzy; and he set down
to inheritance from his favourite my own becom-
ing treatment of himself. On our walks abroad,
36 T H E W R E C K E R
which SOOn became daily, he would sometimes
(after duly warning me to keep the matter dark
from “Aadam ”) skulk into some old familiar
pot-house; and there (if he had the luck to en-
counter any of his veteran cronies) he would pre-
Sent me to the company with manifest pride, casting
at the same time a covert slur on the rest of his
descendants. “This is my Jeannie's yin,” he would
say. “He’s a fine fallow, him.” The purpose of
Our excursions was not to seek antiquities or to
enjoy famous prospects, but to visit one after an–
other a series of doleful suburbs, for which it was
the old gentleman's chief claim to renown that he
had been the sole contractor, and too often the
architect besides. I have rarely seen a more shock-
ing exhibition: the bricks seemed to be blushing
in the walls, and the slates on the roof to have
turned pale with shame; but I was careful not to
communicate these impressions to the aged ar-
tificer at my side; and when he would direct my
attention to some fresh monstrosity — perhaps with
the comment, “ There 's an idee of mine’s: it’s
cheap and tasty, and had a graand run; the idee
was soon stole, and there 's whole deestricts near
Glesgie with the goathic adeetion and that plunth,”
— I would civilly make haste to admire and (what
I found particularly delighted him) to inquire into
the cost of each adornment. It will be conceived
that Muskegon capitol was a frequent and a wel-
come ground of talk; I drew him all the plans
from memory; and he, with the aid of a narrow
volume full of figures and tables, which answered
T H E W R E C K E R 37
(I believe) to the name of Molesworth, and was
his constant pocket companion, would draw up
rough estimates and make imaginary offers on
the various contracts. Our Muskegon builders he
pronounced a pack of cormorants; and the con-
genial subject, together with my knowledge of
architectural terms, the theory of strains, and the
prices of materials in the States, formed a strong
bond of union between what might have been other-
wise an ill-assorted pair, and led my grandfather
to pronounce me, with emphasis, “a real intalli-
gent kind of a cheild.” Thus a second time, as
you will presently see, the capitol of my native
State had influentially affected the current of my
life.
I left Edinburgh, however, with not the least
idea that I had done a stroke of excellent busi– ’
ness for myself, and singly delighted to escape
Out of a somewhat dreary house and plunge in-
stead into the rainbow city of Paris. Every man
has his own romance; mine clustered exclusively
about the practice of the arts, the life of Latin
Quarter students, and the world of Paris as de-
picted by that grimy wizard, the author of the
Comédie Humaine. I was not disappointed — I
could not have been ; for I did not see the facts,
I brought them with me ready-made. Z. Marcas
lived next door to me in my ungainly, ill-smelling
hotel of the Rue Racine; I dined at my villainous
restaurant with Lousteau and with Rastignac: if
a curricle nearly, ran me down at a street-crossing,
Maxime de Trailles would be the driver. I dined,
38 T H E W R E C K E R
I Say, at a poor restaurant and lived in a poor
hotel; and this was not from need, but sentiment.
My father gave me a profuse allowance, and I
night have lived (had I chosen) in the Quartier
de l'Etoile and driven to my studies daily. Had
I done so, the glamour must have fled : I should
still have been but Loudon Dodd; whereas now
I was a Latin Quarter student, Murger's succes-
sor, living in flesh and blood the life of one of
those romances I had loved to read, to re-read, and
to dream Over, among the woods of Muskegon.
At this time we were all a little Murger-mad in
the Latin Quarter. The play of the Vie de Bohème
(a dreary, Snivelling piece) had been produced
at the Odéon, had run an unconscionable time —
for Paris, and revived the freshness of the legend.
The same business, you may say, or there and
thereabout, was being privately enacted in conse-
quence in every garret of the neighbourhood, and
a good third of the students were consciously im–
personating Rodolphe or Schaunard to their own
incommunicable satisfaction. Some of us went far,
and some farther. I always looked with awful
envy (for instance) on a certain countryman of
my own, who had a studio in the Rue Monsieur
le Prince, wore boots, and long hair in a net, and
could be seen tramping off, in this guise, to the
worst eating-house of the quarter, followed by a
Corsican model, his mistress, in the conspicuous
costume of her race and calling. It takes some
greatness of soul to carry even folly to such
heights as these; and for my own part, I had to
T H E W R E C K E R 39
content myself by pretending very arduously to
be poor, by wearing a Smoking-cap on the streets,
and by pursuing, through a series of misadven-
tures, that extinct mammal, the grisette. The
most grievous part was the eating and the drink-
ing. I was born with a dainty tooth and a palate
for wine; and only a genuine devotion to romance
could have supported me under the cat-civets that
I had to swallow, and the red ink of Bercy I must
wash them down withal. Every now and again,
after a hard day at the studio, where I was steadily
and far from unsuccessfully industrious, a wave of
distaste would overbear me; I would slink away
from my haunts and companions, indemnify my-
self for weeks of self-denial with fine wines and
dainty dishes; seated, perhaps on a terrace, per-
laps in an arbour in a garden, with a volume of
One of my favourite authors propped open in front
of me, and now consulted awhile, and now forgot-
ten : — so remain, relishing my situation, till night
fell and the lights of the city kindled; and thence
stroll homeward by the river-side, under the moon
or stars, in a heaven of poetry and digestion.
One such indulgence led me in the course of
my second year into an adventure which I must
relate: indeed, it is the very point I have been
aiming for, since that was what brought me in
acquaintance with Jim Pinkerton. I sat down
alone to dinner one October day when the rusty
leaves were falling and scuttling on the boulevard,
and the minds of impressionable men inclined in
about an equal degree towards sadness and con-
4.O T H E W R E C K E R
viviality. The restaurant was no great place, but
boasted a considerable cellar and a long printed
list of vintages. This I was perusing with the
double zest of a man who is fond of wine and a
lover of beautiful names, when my eye fell (near
the end of the card) on that not very famous or
familiar brand, Roussillon. I remember it was a
wine I had never tasted, ordered a bottle, found
it excellent, and when I had discussed the contents,
called (according to my habit) for a final pint.
It appears they did not keep Roussillon in half-
bottles. “All right,” said I. “Another bottle.”
The tables at this eating-house are close together;
and the next thing I can remember, I was in
somewhat loud conversation with my nearest neigh-
bours. From these I must have gradually extended
my attentions; for I have a clear recollection of
gazing about a room in which every chair was
half turned round and every face turned smilingly
to mine. I can even remember what I was saying
at the moment; but after twenty years, the embers
of shame are still alive; and I prefer to give your
imagination the cue, by simply mentioning that my
muse was the patriotic. It had been my design
to adjourn, for coffee in the company of some of
these new friends; but I was no sooner on the
sidewalk than I found myself unaccountably alone.
The circumstance scarce surprised me at the time,
much less now ; but I was somewhat chagrined
a little after to find I had walked into a kiosque.
I began to wonder if I were any the worse for
my last bottle, and decided to steady myself with
T H E W R E C K E R 4. I
coffee and brandy. In the Café de la Source, where
I went for this restorative, the fountain was play-
ing, and (what greatly surprised me) the mill and
the various mechanical figures on the rockery ap-
peared to have been freshly repaired and performed
the most enchanting antics. The café was ex-
traordinarily hot and bright, with every detail of a
conspicuous clearness, from the faces of the guests
to the type of the newspapers on the tables, and the
whole apartment swang to and fro like a hammock,
with an exhilarating motion. For some while I
was so extremely pleased with these particulars
that I thought I could never be weary of behold-
ing them: then dropped of a sudden into a cause-
less sadness; and then, with the same swiftness
and spontaneity, arrived at the conclusion that I
was drunk and had better get to bed.
It was but a step or two to my hotel, where I
got my lighted candle from the porter and mounted
the four flights to my own room. Although I
could not deny that I was drunk, I was at the same
time lucidly rational and practical. I had but one
preoccupation — to be up in time on the morrow
for my work; and when I observed the clock on
my chimney-piece to have stopped, I decided to
go down-stairs again and give directions to the
porter. Leaving the candle burning and my door
Open, to be a guide to me on my return, I set
forth accordingly. The house was quite dark; but
as there were only the three doors on each landing,
it was impossible to wander, and I had nothing to
do but descend the stairs until I saw the glimmer
42 T H E W R E C K E R
of the porter's night light. I counted four flights:
no porter. It was possible, of course, that I had
reckoned incorrectly; so I went down another and
another, and another, still counting as I went,
until I had reached the preposterous figure of
nine flights. It was now quite clear that I had
Somehow passed the porter's lodge without re-
marking it; indeed, I was, at the lowest figure,
five pairs of stairs below the street, and plunged
in the very bowels of the earth. That my hotel
should thus be founded upon catacombs was a
discovery of considerable interest; and if I had
not been in a frame of mind entirely business' ke,
I might have continued to explore all night this
subterranean empire. But I was bound I must
be up betimes on the next morning, and for that
end it was imperative that I should find the por-
ter. I faced about accordingly, and counting with
painful care, remounted towards the level of the
street. Five, six, and seven flights I climbed, and
still there was no porter. I began to be weary of
the job, and reflecting that I was now close to my
own room, decided I should go to bed. Eight, nine,
ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen flights I mounted; and
my open door seemed to be as wholly lost to me
as the porter and his floating dip. I remembered
that the house stood but six stories at its highest
point, from which it appeared (on the most mod-
erate computation) I was now three stories higher
than the roof. My original sense of amusement
was succeeded by a not unnatural irritation. “My
room has just got to be here,” said I, and I stepped
T H E W R E C K E R 43
towards the door with outspread arms. There was
no door and no wall; in place of either there
yawned before me a dark corridor, in which I
continued to advance for some time without en-
countering the smallest opposition. And this in
a house whose extreme area Scantily contained
three small rooms, a narrow landing, and the
stair! The thing was manifestly nonsense; and
you will scarcely be surprised to learn that I now
began to lose my temper. At this juncture I per-
ceived a filtering of light along the floor, stretched
forth my hand which encountered the knob of a
door-handle, and without further ceremony en-
tered a room. A young lady was within ; she was
going to bed, and her toilet was far advanced, or
the other way about, if you prefer.
“I hope you will pardon this intrusion,” said
I; “but my room is No. 12, and something has
gone wrong with this blamed house.”
She looked at me a moment: and then, “If you
will step outside for a moment, I will take you
there,” says she.
Thus, with perfect composure on both sides, the
matter was arranged. I waited awhile outside
her door. Presently she rejoined me, in a dress-
ing-gown, took my hand, led me up another
flight, which made the fourth above the level of
the roof, and shut me into my own room,
where (being quite weary after these contraordi-
nary explorations) I turned in, and slumbered
like a child.
I tell you the thing calmly, as it appeared to
44 T H E W R E C K E R
me to pass; but the next day, when I awoke and
put memory in the witness-box, I could not con-
ceal from myself that the tale presented a good
many improbable features. I had no mind for the
studio, after all, and went instead to the Luxem-
bourg gardens, there, among the sparrows and the
statues and the falling leaves, to cool and clear my
head. It is a garden I have always loved. You
sit there in a public place of history and fiction.
Barras and Fouché have looked from these win-
dows. Lousteau and De Banville (one as real as
the other) have rhymed upon these benches. The
city tramples by without the railings to a lively
measure; and within and about you, trees rustle,
children and sparrows utter their small cries, and
the statues look on for ever. Here, then, in a
seat opposite the gallery entrance, I set to work
on the events of the last night, to disengage (if
it were possible) truth from fiction.
The house, by daylight, had proved to be six
stories high, the same as ever. I could find, with
all my architectural experience, no room in its al-
titude for those interminable stairways, no width
between its walls for that long corridor, where I
had tramped at night. And there was yet a
greater difficulty. I had read somewhere an apho-
rism that everything may be false to itself save
human nature. A house might elongate or enlarge
itself — or seem to do so to a gentleman who had
been dining. The ocean might dry up, the rocks
melt in the sun, the stars fall from heaven like
autumn apples; and there was nothing in these
T H E W R E C K E R 45
incidents to boggle the philosopher. But the case
of the young lady stood upon a different founda–
tion. Girls were not good enough, or not good
that way, or else they were too good. I was
ready to accept any of these views: all pointed
to the same conclusion, which I was thus already
on the point of reaching, when a fresh argument
occurred, and instantly confirmed it. I could re-
member the exact words we had each said ; and
I had spoken, and she had replied, in English.
Plainly, then, the whole affair was an illusion:
catacombs, and stairs, and charitable lady, all were
equally the stuff of dreams.
I had just come to this determination, when
there blew a flaw of wind through the autumnal
gardens; the dead leaves showered down, and a
flight of, sparrows, thick as a snowfall, wheeled
above my head with sudden pipings. This agree-
able bustle was the affair of a moment, but it
startled me from the abstraction into which I had
fallen, like a summons. I sat briskly up, and as
I did so, my eyes rested on the figure of a lady
in a brown jacket and carrying a paint-box. By
her side walked a fellow some years older than
myself, with an easel under his arm; and alike
by their course and cargo I might judge they
were bound for the gallery, where the lady was,
doubtless, engaged upon some copying. You can
imagine my surprise when I recognised in her the
heroine of my adventure. To put the matter be-
yond question, our eyes met, and she, seeing her-
self remembered and recalling the trim in which
46 T H E w RE C K E R
I had last beheld her, looked swiftly on the ground
with just a shadow of confusion.
I could not tell you to-day if she were plain or
pretty; but she had behaved with so much good
sense, and I had cut so poor a figure in her pres-
ence, that I became instantly fired with the de-
sire to display myself in a more favourable light.
The young man besides was possibly her brother;
brothers are apt to be hasty, theirs being a part
in which it is possible, at a comparatively early
age, to assume the dignity of manhood; and it
occurred to me it might be wise to forestall all
possible complications by an apology.
On this reasoning I drew near to the gallery
door, and had hardly got in position before the
young man came out. Thus it was that I came
face to face with my third destiny; for my career
has been entirely shaped by these three elements,
— my father, the capitol of Muskegon, and my
friend, Jim Pinkerton. As for the young lady
with whom my mind was at the moment chiefly
Occupied, I was never to hear more of her from
that day forward: an excellent example of the
Blind Man’s Buff that we call life.
CHAPTER III
TO INTRODUCE MR. PINKERTON
NHE stranger, I have said, was some years
Older than myself: a man of a good
-, *, * stature, a very lively face, cordial, agi-
tated manners, and a grey eye as active as a
fowl's.
“May I have a word with you?” said I.
“My dear sir,” he replied, “I don’t know what
it can be about, but you may have a hundred if
you like.” *
“You have just 1eft the side of a young
lady,” I continued, “towards whom I was led
(very unintentionally) into the appearance of
an offence. To speak to herself would be only
to renew her embarrassment, and I seize the
Occasion of making my apology, and declaring
my respect, to one of my own sex who is her
friend, and perhaps,” I added, with a bow, “her
natural protector.” -
“You are a countryman of mine; I know it!”
he cried : “I am sure of it by your delicacy to
a lady. You do her no more than justice. I was
introduced to her the other night at tea, in the
apartment of Some people, friends of mine; and
meeting her again this morning, I could not do

48 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
less than carry her easel for her. My dear sir,
what is your name?”
I was disappointed to find he had so little bond
with my young lady; and but that it was I who
had sought the acquaintance, might have been
tempted to retreat. At the same time, Something
in the stranger's eye engaged me.
“My name,” said I, “is Loudon Dodd; I am
a student of sculpture here from Muskegon.”
“Of sculpture?” he cried, as though that would
have been his last conjecture. “Mine is James
Pinkerton; I am delighted to have the pleasure
of your acquaintance.” - -
“Pinkerton ” it was now my turn to exclaim.
“Are you Broken-Stool Pinkerton?” 4
He admitted his identity with a laugh of boyis
delight; and indeed any young man in the quar-
ter might have been proud to own a sobriquet thus
gallantly acquired.
In order to explain the name, I must here
digress, into a chapter of the history of manners
in the nineteenth century, very well worth com-
memoration for its own sake. In some of the
studios at that date, the hazing of new pupils was
both barbarous and obscene. Two incidents fol-
lowing one on the heels of the other tended to
produce an advance in civilisation by the means
(as so commonly happens) of a passing appeal
to savage standards. The first was the arrival of
a little gentleman from Armenia. He had a fez
upon his head and (what nobody counted On) a
dagger in his pocket. The hazing was set about
T H E W R E C K E R 49
in the customary style, and, perhaps in virtue of
the victim’s head-gear, even more boisterously than
usual. He bore it at first with an inviting pa-
tience; but upon one of the students proceeding
to an unpardonable freedom, plucked out his knife
and suddenly plunged it in the belly of the jester.
This gentleman, I am pleased to say, passed months
upon a bed of sickness, before he was in a posi-
tion to resume his studies. The second incident
was that which had earned Pinkerton his reputa-
tion. In a crowded studio, while some very filthy
brutalities were being practised on a trembling
debutant, a tall, pale fellow sprang from his stool
and (without the smallest preface or explanation)
sang out, “All English and Americans to clear
the shop !” Our race is brutal, but not filthy;
and the summons was nobly responded to. Every
Anglo-Saxon student seized his stool; in a mo-
ment the studio was full of bloody coxcombs, the
French fleeing in disorder for the door, the vic-
tim liberated and amazed. In this feat of arms,
both English-speaking nations covered themselves
with glory; but I am proud to claim the author
of the whole for an American, and a patriotic
American at that, being the same gentleman who
had subsequently to be held down in the bottom
of a box during a performance of L'Oncle Sam,
sobbing at intervals, “My country, O my coun-
try !” While yet another (my new acquaintance,
Pinkerton) was supposed to have made the most
conspicuous figure in the actual battle. At one
blow, he had broken his own stool and sent the
4 -
so T H E W R E C K E R
largest of his opponents back-foremost through
what we used to call “a conscientious nude.” It
appears that, in the continuation of his flight, this
fallen warrior issued on the boulevard still framed
in the burst canvas. -
It will be understood how much talk the incident
aroused in the students’ quarter, and that I was
highly gratified to make the acquaintance of my
famous countryman. It chanced I was to see more
of the quixotic side of his character before the
morning was done; for as we continued to stroll
together, I found myself near the studio of a
young Frenchman whose work I had promised to
examine, and in the fashion of the quarter car-
ried up Pinkerſon along with me. Some of my
comrades of this date were pretty Obnoxious fel-
lows. I could almost always admire and respect
the grown-up practitioners of art in Paris; but
many of those who were still in a state of pupil-
age were sorry specimens, so much so that I used
often to wonder where the painters came from,
and where the brutes of students went to. A
similar mystery hangs Over the intermediate stages
of the medical profession, and must have perplexed
the least observant. The ruffian, at least, whom
I now carried Pinkerton to visit, was one of the
most crapulous in the quarter. He turned out for
our delectation a huge “crust * (as we used to
call it) of St. Stephen, wallowing in red upon
his belly in an exhausted receiver, and a crowd
of Hebrews in blue, green, and yellow, pelting
him — apparently with buns; and while we gazed
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 5 I
upon this contrivance, regaled us with a piece of
his own recent biography, of which his mind was
still very full, and which he seemed to fancy
represented him in a heroic posture. I was one
of those cosmopolitan Americans, who accept the
world (whether at home or abroad) as they find
it, and whose favourite part is that of the spec-
tator; yet even I was listening with ill-suppressed
disgust, when I was aware of a violent plucking
at my sleeve.
“Is he saying he kicked her down-stairs?” asked
Pinkerton, white as St. Stephen.
“Yes,” said I : “his discarded mistress; and
then he pelted her with stones. I suppose that 's
what gave him the idea for his picture. He has
just been alleging the pathetic excuse that she was
old enough to be his mother.”
Something like a sob broke from Pinkerton.
“Tell him,” he gasped — “I can’t speak this lan-
guage, though I understand a little; I never had
any proper education — tell him I’m going to
punch his head.” -
“For God’s sake, do nothing of the sort!” I
cried. “They don’t understand that sort of thing
here.” And I tried to bundle.him out.
“Tell him first what we think of him,” he ob-
jected. “Let me tell him what he looks in the
eyes of a pure-minded American.”
“Leave that to me,” said I, thrusting Pinkerton
clear through the door.
“Qu'est-ce qu'il a 2 " ' inquired the student.
1 “What's the matter with him # *
52 T H E W R E C K E R
“Monsieur se sent mal au casur d’avoir trop
negardé votre croute,” “ said I, and made my es-
cape, scarce with dignity, at Pinkerton's heels.
“What did you say to him?” he asked.
“The only thing that he could feel,” was my
reply.
After this scene, the freedom with which I had
ejected my new acquaintance, and the precipitation
with which I had followed him, the least I could
do was to propose luncheon. I have forgot the
name of the place to which I led him, nothing
loath; it was on the far side of the Luxembourg
at least, with a garden behind, where we were
speedily set face to face at table, and began to dig
into each other's history and character, like terriers
after rabbits, according to the approved fashion of
youth. 4
Pinkerton's parents were from the old country;
there too, I incidentally gathered, he had himself
been born, though it was a circumstance he seemed
prone to forget. Whether he had run away, or his
father had turned him out, I never fathomed; but
about the age of twelve, he was thrown upon his
own resources. A travelling tin-type photographer
picked him up, like a haw out of a hedgerow, on
a wayside in New Jersey; took a fancy to the
urchin; carried him on with him in his wandering
life; taught him all he knew himself — to take
tin-types (as well as I can make out) and doubt
the Scriptures; and died at last in Ohiº the
! ‘. . . "... .
1 “ 7%e géntleman is sick at his stomach from hazáñg looked too
long at your daub.”
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 53
corner of a road. “He was a grand specimen,”
cried Pinkerton; “I wish you could have seen
him, Mr. Dodd. He had an appearance of mag-
nanimity that used to remind me of the patriarchs.”
On the death of this random protector, the boy
inherited the plant and continued the business.
“It was a life I could have chosen, Mr. Dodd l ''
he cried. “I have been in all the finest scenes of
that magnificent continent that we were born to
be the heirs of. I wish you could see my collection
of tin-types; I wish I had them here. They were
taken for my own pleasure and to be a memento;
and they show Nature in her grandest as well as
her gentlest moments.” As he tramped the West-
ern States and Territories, taking tin-types, the
boy was continually getting hold of books, good,
bad, and indifferent, popular and abstruse, from
the novels of Sylvanus Cobb to Euclid's Elements,
both of which I found (to my almost equal won-
der) he had managed to peruse: he was taking
stock by the way, of the people, the products, and
the country, with an eye unusually observant and
a memory unusually retentive; and he was collect-
ing for himself a body of magnanimous and semi-
intellectual nonsense, which he supposed to be the
natural thoughts and to contain the whole duty
of the born American. To be pure-minded, to be
patriotic, to get culture and money with both hands
and with the same irrational fervour — these ap-
peared to be the chief articles of his creed. In
later days (not of course upon this first occasion)
I would sometimes ask him why; and he had his
54 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
answer pat. “To build up the type l’ he would
cry. “We’re all committed to that; we’re all
under bond to fulfil the American Type 1 Lou-
don, the hope of the world is there. If we fail, like
these Óld feudal monarchies, what is left?”
The trade of a tin-typer proved too narrow for
the lad’s ambition; it was insusceptible of expan-
sion, he explained; it was not truly modern ; and
by a sudden conversion of front, he became a rail-
road scalper. The principles of this trade I never
clearly understood; but its essence appears to be
to cheat the railroads out of their due fare. “I
threw my whole soul into it; I grudged myself
food and sleep while I was at it; the most prac-
tised hands admitted I had caught on to the idea
in a month and revolutionised the practice inside
of a year,” he said. “And there's interest in it,
too. It’s amusing to pick out some one going by,
make up your mind about his character and tastes,
dash out of the office and hit him flying with an
offer of the very place he wants to go to. I don’t
think there was a scalper on the continent made
fewer blunders. But I took it only as a stage. I
was saving every dollar; I was looking ahead. I
knew what I wanted — wealth, education, a re-
fined home, and a conscientious, cultured lady for
a wife; for, Mr. Dodd '' – this with a formidable
outcry — “every man is bound to marry above
him: if the woman's not the man's superior, I
brand it as mere sensuality. There was my idea,
at least. That was what I was saving for; and
enough, too! But it is n’t every man, I know that
T H E W R E C K E R 55
— it’s far from every man — could do what I
did : close up the livest agency in St. Jo, where
he was coining dollars by the pot, set out alone,
without a friend or a word of French, and settle
down here to spend his capital learning art.”
“Was it an old taste?” I asked him, “Or a Sud-
den fancy?”
“Neither, Mr. Dodd,” he admitted. “Of
course, I had learned in my tin-typing excursions
to glory and exult in the works of God. But it
was n’t that. I just said to myself, What is most
wanted in my age and country? More culture and
more art, I said; and I chose the best place, Saved
my money, and came here to get them.”
The whole attitude of this young man warmed
and shamed me. He had more fire in his little
toe than I in my whole carcase; he was stuffed to
bursting with the manly virtues; thrift and cour-
age glowed in him; and even if his artistic voca-
tion seemed (to one of my exclusive tenets) not
quite clear, who could predict what might be ac-
complished by a creature so full-blooded and SO
inspired with animal and intellectual energy P So,
when he proposed that I should come and see his
work (one of the regular stages of a Latin Quarter
friendship) I followed him with interest and hope.
He lodged parsimoniously at the top of a tall
house near the Observatory, in a bare room, prin-
cipally furnished with his own trunks and papered
with his own despicable studies. No man has less
taste for disagreeable duties than myself; perhaps
there is only one subject on which I cannot flatter
56 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
a man without a blush; but upon that, upon all
that touches art, my sincerity is Roman. Once
and twice I made the circuit of his walls in silence,
Spying in every corner for some spark of merit;
he, meanwhile, following close at my heels, read-
ing the verdict in my face with furtive glances,
presenting some fresh study for my inspection with
undisguised anxiety, and (after it had been silently
weighed in the balances and found wanting) whisk-
ing it away with an open gesture of despair. By
the time the second round was completed, we were
both extremely depressed.
“O !” he groaned, breaking the long silence,
“it’s quite unnecessary you should speak!”
“Do you want me to be frank with you? I
think you are wasting time,” said I.
“You don’t see any promise?” he inquired, be-
guiled by Some return of hope, and turning upon
me the embarrassing brightness of his eye. “Not
in this still-life here, of the melon? One fellow
thought it good.” -
It was the least I could do to give the melon a
more particular examination; which, when I had
done, I could but shake my head. “I am truly
sorry, Pinkerton,” said I, “but I can’t advise you
to persevere.”
He seemed to recover his fortitude at the mo–
ment, rebounding from disappointment like a man
of india-rubber. “Well,” said he, stoutly, “I don’t
know that I’m surprised. But I’ll go on with the
course; and throw my whole soul into it, too.
You must n’t think the time is lost. It's all cul-
T H E W R E C K E R 57
ture; it will help me to extend my relations when
I get back home; it may fit me for a position on
one of the illustrateds; and then I can always
turn dealer,” he said, uttering the monstrous prop-
osition, which was enough to shake the Latin
Quarter to the dust, with entire simplicity. “It’s
all experience, besides ''; he continued, “ and it
seems to me there 's a tendency to underrate ex-
perience, both as net profit and investment. Never
mind. That’s done with. But it took courage for
you to say what you did, and I’ll never forget it.
Here’s my hand, Mr. Dodd. I’m not your equal
in culture or talent — ”
“You know nothing about that,” I interrupted.
“I have seen your work, but you have n’t seen
mine.” \
“No more I have,” he cried ; “and let's go
see it at once! But I know you are away up. I
can feel it here.”
To say truth, I was almost ashamed to intro-
duce him to my studio — my work, whether ab-
solutely good or bad, being so vastly superior to
his. But his spirits were now quite restored; and
he amazed me, on the way, with his light-hearted
talk and new projects. So that I began at last to
understand how matters lay: that this was not an
artist who had been deprived of the practice of his
single art; but only a business man of very ex-
tended interests, informed (perhaps something of
the most suddenly) that one investment out of
twenty had gone wrong.
As a matter of fact besides (although I never
58 T H E W R E. C K E R
suspected it) he was already seeking consolation
with another of the muses, and pleasing himself
with the notion that he would repay me for my
sincerity, cement our friendship, and (at One and
the same blow) restore my estimation of his tal-
ents. Several times already, when I had been
speaking of myself, he had pulled out a writing-
pad and scribbled a brief note; and now, when
we entered the studio, I saw it in his hand again,
and the pencil go to his mouth, as he cast a
comprehensive glance round the uncomfortable
building.
“Are you going to make a sketch of it?” I
could not help asking, as I unveiled the Genius
of Muskegon. -
“Ah, that 's my secret,” said he, “Never you
mind. A mouse can help a lion.”
He walked round my statue and had the design
explained to him. I had represented Muskegon
as a young, almost a stripling, mother, with some-
thing of an Indian type; the babe upon her knees
was winged, to indicate our soaring future; and
her seat was a medley of sculptured fragments,
Greek, Roman, and Gothic, to remind us of the
older worlds from which we trace our generation.
“Now, does this satisfy you, Mr. Dodd?” he
inquired, as soon as I had explained to him the
main features of the design.
“Well,” I said, “the fellows seem to think it’s
not a bad bonne femme for a beginner. I don’t
think it’s entirely bad, myself. Here is the best
point; it builds up best from here. No, it seems
T H E W R E C K E R 59
to me it has a kind of merit,” I admitted ; “but
I mean to do better.”
“Ah, that's the word l’’ cried Pinkerton.
“There's the word I love!” and he scribbled in
his pad. -
“What in creation ails you?” I inquired. “It’s
the most commonplace expression in the English
language.” -
“Better and better | * chuckled Pinkerton. “The
unconsciousness of genius. Lord, but this is com-
ing in beautiful!” and he scribbled again.
“If you ’re going to be fulsome,” said I, “I’ll
close the place of entertainment.” And I threat-
ened to replace the veil upon the Genius.
“No, no,” said he. “Don’t be in a hurry.
Give me a point or two. Show me what's par-
ticularly good.”
“I would rather you found that out for your-
self,” said I.
“The trouble is,” said he, “that I’ve never
urned my attention to sculpture, beyond, of
ourse, admiring it, as everybody must who has
a soul. So do just be a good fellow, and ex-
plain to me what you like in it, and what you
tried for, and where the merit comes in. It'll be
all education for me.”
“Well, in sculpture, you see, the first thing you
have to consider is the masses. It's, after all, a
kind of architecture,” I began, and delivered a
lecture on that branch of art, with illustrations
from my own masterpiece there present, all of
which, if you don’t mind, or whether you mind













6o T H E W R E C K E R
or not, I mean to conscientiously omit. Pinker-
ton listened with a fiery interest, questioned me
with a certain uncultivated shrewdness, and con-
tinued to scratch down notes, and tear fresh sheets
from his pad. I found it inspiring to have my
words thus taken down like a professor's lecture;
and having had no previous experience of the
press, I was unaware that they were all being
taken down wrong. For the same reason (in-
credible as it must appear in an American) I
never entertained the least suspicion that they were
destined to be dished up with a sauce of penny-
a-lining gossip; and myself, my person, and my
works of art butchered to make a holiday for the
readers of a Sunday paper. Night had fallen over
the Genius of Muskegon before the issue of my
theoretic eloquence was stayed, nor did I separat
from my new friend without an appointment for
the morrow.
I was indeed greatly taken with this first view
of my countryman, and continued, on further ac
quaintance, to be interested, amused, and attracte
by him in about equal proportions. I must not say
he had a fault, not only because my mouth is seale
by gratitude, but because those he had sprang
merely from his education, and you could see h
had cultivated and improved them like virtues. Fo
all that, I can never deny he was a troublous friend
to me, and the trouble began early.
It may have been a fortnight later that I divined
the secret of the writing-pad. My wretch (it
leaked out) wrote letters for a paper in the West














T H E W R E C K E R 6 I
and had filled a part of one of them with descrip-
tions of myself. I pointed out to him that he had
no right to do so without asking my permission.
“Why, this is just what I hoped l’ he ex-
claimed. “I thought you did n’t seem to catch on ;
only it seemed too good to be true.”
“But, my good fellow, you were bound to warn
me,” I objected.
“I know it’s generally considered etiquette,” he
admitted; “but between friends, and when it was
only with a view of serving you, I thought it
would n’t matter. I wanted it (if possible) to
come on you as a surprise; I wanted you just to
waken, like Lord Byron, and find the papers full
Of you. You must admit it was a natural thought.
And no man likes to boast of a favour beforehand.”
“But heavens and earth ! how do you know I
think it a favour?” I cried. -
He became immediately plunged in despair.
“You think it a liberty,” said he: “I see that.
I would rather have cut off my hand. I would
stop it now, only it’s too late; it’s published by
now. And I wrote it with so much pride and
pleasure!”
I could think of nothing but how to console him.
“O, I dare say it’s all right,” said I. “I know you
meant it kindly, and you would be sure to do it in
good taste.” -
“That you may swear to,” he cried. “It’s a
pure, bright, A number 1 paper; the St. Jo Sun-
day Herald. The idea of the series was quite my
Own; I interviewed the editor, put it to him

62 T H E W R E C K E R
straight; the freshness of the idea took him, and
I walked out of that office with the contract in my
pocket, and did my first Paris letter that evening
in St. Jo. The editor did no more than glance
his eye down the head-lines. “You’re the man for
us,’ said he.” -
I was certainly far from reassured by this sketch
of the class of literature in which I was to make
my first appearance; but I said no more, and pos-
sessed my Soul in patience, until the day came when
I received a copy of a newspaper marked in the
corner, “Compliments of J. P.” I opened it with
sensible shrinkings; and there, wedged between
an account of a prize-fight and a skittish article
upon chiropody — think of chiropody treated with
a leer! — I came upon a column and a half in which
myself and my poor statue were embalmed. Like
the editor with the first Of the series, I did but
glance my eye down the head-lines and was more
than satisfied.
ANOTHER OF PINKERTON'S SPICY CHATS.
ART PRACTITIONERS IN PARIS.
MUSKEGON'S COLUMNED CAPITOL.
SON OF MILLIONAIRE DODD,
PATRIOT AND ARTIST.
“HE MEANS TO DO BETTER.”
In the body of the text besides, my eye caught,
as it passed, some deadly expressions: “Figure
somewhat fleshy,” “bright, intellectual smile,”
T H E W R E C K E R 63
“ the unconsciousness of genius,” “‘Now, Mr.
Dodd, resumed the reporter, ‘what would be your
idea of a distinctively American quality in sculp-
ture?’” It was true the question had been asked ;
it was true, alas ! that I had answered; and now
here was my reply, or some strange hash of it,
gibbeted in the cold publicity of type. I thanked
God that my French fellow-students were igno-
rant of English; but when I thought of the British
— of Myner (for instance) or the Stennises — I
think I could have fallen on Pinkerton and beat
him.
To divert my thoughts (if it were possible) from
this calamity, I turned to a letter from my father
which had arrived by the same post. The envelope
contained a strip of newspaper-cutting; and my
eye caught again, “Son of Millionaire Dodd —
Figure somewhat fleshy,” and the rest of the de-
grading nonsense. What would my father think
of it? I wondered, and opened his manuscript.
“My dearest boy,” it began, “I send you a cutting,
which has pleased me very much, from a St. Joseph
paper of high standing. At last you seem to be
coming fairly to the front; and I cannot but reflect
with delight and gratitude how very few youths
of your age occupy nearly two columns of press-
matter all to themselves. I only wish your dear
mother had been here to read it over my shoulder;
but we will hope she shares my grateful emotion
in a better place. Of course I have sent a copy to
your grandfather and uncle in Edinburgh; so you
can keep the one I enclose. This Jim Pinkerton
64 T H E W R E C K E R
seems a valuable acquaintance; he has certainly
great talent; and it is a good general rule to keep
in with pressmen.”
I hope it will be set down to the right side of
my account, but I had no sooner read these words,
SO touchingly silly, than my anger against Pinker-
ton was swallowed up in gratitude. Of all the
circumstances of my career, my birth, perhaps,
excepted, not one had given my poor father so pro-
found a pleasure as this article in the Sunday
Herald. What a fool, then, was I, to be lament-
ing ! when I had at last, and for once, and at the
cost of only a few blushes, paid back a fraction of
my debt of gratitude. So that, when I next met
Pinkerton, I took things very lightly; my father
was pleased, and thought the letter very clever,
I told him ; for my own part, I had no taste for
publicity: thought the public had no concern with
the artist, only with his art; and though I owned
he had handled it with great consideration, I
should take it as a favour if he never did it again.
“There it is,” he said, despondingly. “I’ve
hurt you. You can’t deceive me, Loudon. It’s
the want of tact, and it’s incurable.” He sat
down, and leaned his head upon his hand. “I had
no advantages when I was young, you see,” he
added. .
“Not in the least, my dear fellow,” said I.
“Only the next time you wish to do me a service,
just speak about my work; leave my wretched
person out, and my still more wretched conversa-
tion; and above all,” I added, with an irrepressible
T H E W R E C K E R 65
shudder, “don’t tell them how I said it! There 's
that phrase, now : “With a proud, glad smile.’
Who cares whether I smiled or not?”
“O, there now, Loudon, you’re entirely wrong,”
he broke in. “That’s what the public likes; that's
the merit of the thing, the literary value. It’s to
call up the scene before them; it’s to enable the
humblest citizen to enjoy that afternoon the same
as I did. Think what it would have been to me
when I was tramping around with my tin-types
to find a column and a half of real, cultured con-
versation — an artist, in his studio abroad, talking
of his art — and to know how he looked as he did
it, and what the room was like, and what he had
for breakfast; and to tell myself, eating tinned
beans beside a creek, that if all went well, the
same sort of thing would, sooner or later, happen
to myself: why, Loudon, it would have been like
a peephole into heaven l’’
“Well, if it gives so much pleasure,” I admitted,
“the sufferers should n’t complain. Only give the
Other fellows a turn.”
The end of the matter was to bring myself and
the journalist in a more close relation. If I know
anything at all of human nature — and the if is no
mere figure of speech, but stands for honest doubt
— no series of benefits conferred, or even dangers
shared, would have so rapidly confirmed our friend-
ship as this quarrel avoided, this fundamental
difference of taste and training accepted and
condoned.
CHAPTER IV
IN WHICH I EXPERIENCE EXTREMES OF
FORTUNE

w X Y HETHER it came from my training
and repeated bankruptcy at the com-
mercial college, or by direct inheritance
from old Loudon, the Edinburgh mason, there can
be no doubt about the fact that I was thrifty.
Looking myself impartially over, I believe that is
my only manly virtue. During my first two years
in Paris I not only made it a point to keep well
inside of my allowance, but accumulated consider-
able savings in the bank. You will say, with my
masquerade of living as a penniless student, it
must have been easy to do so: I should have had
no difficulty, however, in doing the reverse. In-
deed, it is wonderful I did not; and early in the
third year, or soon after I had known Pinkerton,
a singular incident proved it to have been equally
wise. Quarter-day came, and brought no allow-
ance. A letter of remonstrance was despatched,
and for the first time in my experience, remained
unanswered. A cablegram was more effectual;
for it brought me at least a promise of attention.
“Will write at once,” my father telegraphed; but
I waited long for his letter. I was puzzled, angry,
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 67
and alarmed; but thanks to my previous thrift,
I cannot say that I was ever practically embar-
rassed. The embarrassment, the distress, the
agony, were all for my unhappy father at home in
Muskegon, struggling for life and fortune against
untoward chances, returning at night from a day
of ill-starred shifts and ventures, to read and per-
haps to weep over that last harsh letter from his
only child, to which he lacked the courage to reply.
Nearly three months after time, and when my
economies were beginning to run low, I received
at last a letter with the customary bills of
exchange.
“My dearest boy,” it ran, “I believe, in the
press of anxious business, your letters and even
your allowance have been somewhile neglected.
You must try to forgive your poor old dad, for he
has had a trying time; and now when it is over,
the doctor wants me to take my shotgun and go
to the Adirondacks for a change. You must not
fancy I am sick, only over-driven and under the
weather. Many of our foremost operators have
gone down: John T. M'Brady skipped to Canada
with a trunkful of boodle; Billy Sandwith, Charlie
Towns, Joe Kaiser, and many others of our lead-
ing men in this city bit the dust. But Big-Head
Dodd has again weathered the blizzard, and I
think I have fixed things so that we may be richer
than ever before autumn.
“Now I will tell you, my dear, what I propose.
You say you are well advanced with your first
Statue; start in manfully and finish it, and if your
5
68 T H E W R E C K E R
teacher — I can never remember how to spell his
name — will send me a certificate that it is up
to market standard, you shall have ten thousand
dollars to do what you like with, either at home
or in Paris. I suggest, since you say the facilities
for work are so much greater in that city, you
would do well to buy or build a little home; and
the first thing you know, your dad will be dropping
in for a luncheon. Indeed, I would come now, for
'I am beginning to grow old, and I long to see my
dear boy; but there are still some operations that
want watching and nursing. Tell your friend,
Mr. Pinkerton, that I read his letters every week;
and though I have looked in vain lately for my
Loudon’s name, still I learn something of the life
he is leading in that strange, old world, depicted
by an able pen.” -
Here was a letter that no young man could
possibly digest in solitude. It marked one of
those junctures when the confidant is necessary;
and the confidant selected was none other than
Jim Pinkerton. My father's message may have
had an influence in this decision; but I scarce
suppose so, for the intimacy was already far ad-
vanced. I had a genuine and lively taste for my
compatriot; I laughed at, I scolded, and I loved
him. He, upon his side, paid me a kind of dog-
like service of admiration, gazing at me from afar
off as at one who had liberally enjoyed those
“advantages '' which he envied for himself. He
followed at heel; his laugh was ready chorus; our
friends gave him the nickname of “The Hench-
T H E W R E C K E R 69
man.” It was in this insidious form that servitude
approached me.
Pinkerton and I read and re-read the famous
news: he, I can swear, with an enjoyment as un-
alloyed and far more vocal than my own. The
statue was nearly done: a few days’ work sufficed
to prepare it for exhibition; the master was ap-
proached; he gave his consent; and one cloudless
norning of May beheld us gathered in my studio
for the hour of trial. The master wore his many-
hued rosette; he came attended by two of my
French fellow-pupils — friends of mine and both
considerable sculptors in Paris at this hour. “Cor-
poral John ” (as we used to call him), breaking
for once those habits of study and reserve which
have since carried him so high in the opinion of
the world, had left his easel of a morning to coun-
tenance a fellow-countryman in some suspense.
My dear old Romney was there by particular re-
quest; for who that knew him would think a
pleasure quite complete unless he shared it, or not
Support a mortification more easily if he were pres-
ent to console? The party was completed by John
Myner, the Englishman; by the brothers Stennis,
— Stennis-aimé and Stennis-frère, as they used to
figure on their accounts at Barbizon — a pair of
hare-brained Scots; and by the inevitable Jim,
as white as a sheet and bedeved with the sweat
of anxiety.
I suppose I was little better myself when I
unveiled the Genius of Muskegon. The master
walked about it seriously; then he smiled.
7o T H E W R E C K E R
“It is already not so bad,” said he, in that funny
English of which he was so proud. “No, already
not so bad.” -
We all drew a deep breath of relief; and Cor-
poral John (as the most considerable junior pres-
ent) explained to him it was intended for a public
building, a kind of prefecture
“ Hé! Quoi?” cried he, relapsing into French.
“ Qu'est-ce que vous me chanteg-lä & O, in Amé-
rica,” he added, on further information being has-
tily furnished. “That is anozer sing. O véry
good, véry good.” -
The idea of the required certificate had to be
introduced to his mind in the light of a pleasantry
— the fancy of a nabob little more advanced than
the red Indians of “Fénnimore Cooperr ‘’; and
it took all our talents combined to conceive a form
of words that would be acceptable on both sides.
One was found, however: Corporal John en-
grossed it in his undecipherable hand, the master
lent it the sanction of his name and flourish, I
slipped it into an envelope along with one of the
two letters I had ready prepared in my pocket,
and as the rest of us moved off along the boule-
vard to breakfast, Pinkerton was detached in a
cab and, duly committed it to the post. gº •
The breakfast was ordered at Lavenue's, where
no one need be ashamed to entertain even the mas-
ter; the table was laid in the garden; I had chosen
the bill of fare myself; on the wine question, we
held a council of war with the most fortunate
results; and the talk, as soon as the master laid
* T H E W R E C K E R 71
aside his painful English, became fast and furious.
There were a few interruptions, indeed, in the
way of toasts. The master's health had to be
drunk, and he responded in a little well-turned
speech, full of neat allusions to my future and to
the United States; my health followed; and then
my father's must not only be proposed and drunk,
but a full report must be despatched to him at
Once by cablegram — an extravagance which was
almost the means of the master’s dissolution.
Choosing Corporal John to be his confidant (on
the ground, I presume, that he was already too
good an artist to be any longer an American except
in name) he summed up his amazement in one
oft-repeated formula — “C'est barbare!” Apart
from these genial formalities, we talked, talked of
art, and talked of it as only artists can. Here in
the South Seas we talk schooners most of the time;
in the quarter we talked art with the like unflag-
ging interest, and perhaps as much result.
Before very long, the master went away; CorpO-
ral John (who was already a sort of young mas-
ter) followed on his heels; and the rank and file
were naturally relieved by their departure. We
were now among equals; the bottle passed, the
conversation sped. I think I can still hear the
Stennis brothers pour forth their copious tirades;
Dijon, my portly French fellow-student, drop wit-
ticisms well conditioned like himself; and another
(who was weak in foreign languages) dash hotly
into the current of talk with some “Je trove que
3 3
pore oon sontimong de delicacy, Corot . . . ,” or
72 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
JJ .
some “Pour moi Corot est le plou . . . .”; and
then, his little raft of French foundering at once,
Scramble silently to shore again. He at least
could understand; but to Pinkerton, I think the
noise, the wine, the sun, the shadows of the leaves,
and the esoteric glory of being seated at a foreign
festival, made up the whole available means of
entertainment. -
We sat down about half-past eleven; I suppose
it was two when, Some point arising and some par-
ticular picture being instanced, an adjournment
to the Louvre was proposed. I paid the score, and
in a moment we were trooping down the Rue de
Renne. It was smoking hot; Paris glittered with
that superficial brilliancy which is so agreeable to
the man in high spirits, and in moods of dejection
SO depressing; the wine sang in my ears, it danced
and brightened in my eyes. The pictures that we
saw that afternoon, as we sped briskly and loqua-
ciously through the immortal galleries, appear to
me, upon a retrospect, the loveliest of all; the com-
ments we exchanged to have touched the highest
mark of criticism, grave or gay.
It was only when we issued again from the
museum that a difference of race broke up the
party. Dijon proposed an adjournment to a café,
there to finish the afternoon on beer; the elder
Stennis, revolted at the thought, moved for the
country, a forest if possible, and a long walk. At
once the English speakers rallied to the name of
any exercise; even to me, who have been often
twitted with my sedentary habits, the thought of
T H E W R E C K E R 73
country air and stillness proved invincibly attrac-
tive. It appeared, upon investigation, we had just
time to hail a cab and catch one of the fast trains
for Fontainebleau. Beyond the clothes we stood
in, all were destitute of what is called (with dainty
vagueness) personal effects; and it was earnestly
mooted, on the other side, whether we had not
time to call upon the way and pack a satchel P. But
the Stennis boys exclaimed upon our effeminacy.
They had come from London, it appeared, a week
before with nothing but great-coats and tooth-
brushes. No baggage — there was the secret of
existence. It was expensive, to be sure; for every
time you had to comb your hair, a barber must be
paid, and every time you changed your linen, one
shirt must be bought and another thrown away;
but anything was better (argued these young
gentlemen) than to be the slaves of haversacks.
“A fellow has to get rid gradually of all material
attachments; that was manhood '' (said they);
“ and as long as you were bound down to anything,
— house, umbrella, or portmanteau, - you were
still tethered by the umbilical cord.” Something
engaging in this theory carried the most of us
away. The two Frenchmen, indeed, retired, scoff-
ing, to their bock; and Romney, being too poor
to join the excursion on his own resources and
too proud to borrow, melted unobtrusively away.
Meanwhile the remainder of the company crowded
the benches of a cab; the horse was urged (as
lmorses have to be) by an appeal to the pocket of
the driver; the train caught by the inside of a
74. T H E W R E C K E R
minute; and in less than an hour and a half we were
breathing deep of the sweet air of the forest and
stretching our legs up the hill from Fontainebleau
octroi, bound for Barbizon. That the leading
members of our party covered the distance in fifty-
one minutes and a half is (I believe) one of the
historic landmarks of the colony; but you will
scarce be surprised to learn that I was somewhat
in the rear. Myner, a comparatively philosophic
Briton, kept me company in my deliberate ad-
vance; the glory of the sun’s going down, the fall
of the long shadows, the inimitable scent and the
inspiration of the woods, attuned me more and
more to walk in a silence which progressively in-
fected my companion; and I remember that, when
at last he spoke, I was startled from a deep
abstraction. *
“Your father seems to be a pretty good kind of
a father,” said he. “Why don't he come to see
you?” I was ready with some dozen of reasons,
and had more in stock; but Myner, with that
shrewdness which made him feared and admired,
suddenly fixed me with his eyeglass, and asked,
“Ever press him P”
The blood came in my face. No ; I had never
pressed him; I had never even encouraged him to
come. I was proud of him; proud of his hand-
some looks, of his kind, gentle ways, of that bright
face he could show when others were happy;
proud, too (meanly proud, if you like) of his great
wealth and startling liberalities. And yet he would
have been in the way of my Paris life, of much of
T H E W R E C K E R 75
which he would have disapproved. I had feared
to expose to criticism his innocent remarks on art;
I had told myself, I had even partly believed, he
did not want to come; I had been (and still am)
convinced that he was sure to be unhappy out of
|Muskegon; in short, I had a thousand reasons,
good and bad, not all of which could alter one iota
of the fact that I knew he only waited for my
invitation. - - •
“Thank you, Myner,” said I; “you ’re a much
better fellow than ever I supposed. I’ll write
to-night.” -
“O, you're a pretty decent sort yourself,” re-
turned Myner, with more than his usual flippancy
of manner, but (as I was gratefully aware) not a
trace of his occasional irony of meaning.
Well, these were brave days, on which I could
dwell for ever. Brave, too, were those that fol-
lowed, when Pinkerton and I walked Paris and
the suburbs, viewing and pricing houses for my
new establishment, or covered ourselves with dust
and returned laden with Chinese gods and brass
warming-pans from the dealers in antiquities. I
found Pinkerton well up in the situation of these
establishments as well as in the current prices, and
with quite a smattering of critical judgment; it
turned out he was investing capital in pictures and
curiosities for the States, and the superficial thor-
oughness of the creature appeared in the fact that,
although he would never be a connoisseur, he was
already something of an expert. The things them-
selves left him as near as may be cold; but he had
76 T H E . W R E C K E R
a joy of his own in understanding how to buy and
sell them.
In such engagements the time passed until I
might very well expect an answer from my father.
Two mails followed each other, and brought noth-
ing. By the third I received a long and almost
incoherent letter of remorse, encouragement, con-
solation, and despair. From this pitiful document,
which (with a movement of piety) I burned as
soon as I had read it, I gathered that the bubble
of my father's wealth was burst, that he was now
both penniless and sick; and that I, so far from
expecting ten thousand dollars to throw away in
juvenile extravagance, must look no longer for the
quarterly remittances on which I lived. My case
was hard enough; but I had sense enough to per-
ceive, and decency enough to do my duty. I sold
my curiosities, or rather I sent Pinkerton to sell
them; and he had previously bought and now dis-
posed of them so wisely that the loss was trifling.
This, with what remained of my last allowance,
left me at the head of no less than five thousand
francs. Five hundred I reserved for my own
immediate necessities; the rest I mailed inside of
the week to my father at Muskegon, where they
came in time to pay his funeral expenses.
The news of his death was scarcely a surprise
and scarce a grief to me. I could not conceive my
father a poor man. He had led too long a life of
thoughtless and generous profusion to endure the
change; and though I grieved for myself, I was
able to rejoice that my father had been taken from
T H E W R E C K E R 77
the battle. I grieved, I say, for myself; and it is
probable there were at the same date many thou-
sands of persons grieving with less cause. I had
lost my father; I had lost the allowance; my
whole fortune (including what had been returned
from Muskegon) scarce amounted to a thousand
francs; and to crown my Sorrows, the statuary
contract had changed hands. The new contractor
had a son of his own, or else a nephew ; and it was
signified to me, with business-like plainness, that
I must find another market for my pigs. In the
meanwhile I had given up my room, and slept on
a truckle-bed in a corner of the studio, where as
I read myself to sleep at night, and when I awoke
in the morning, that now useless bulk, the Genius
of Muskegon, was ever present to my eyes. Poor
stone lady! born to be enthroned under the gilded,
echoing dome of the new capitol, whither was she
now to drift? for what base purposes be ultimately
broken up, like an unseaworthy ship P and what
should befall her ill-starred artificer, standing, with
his thousand francs, on the threshold of a life so
hard as that of the unbefriended sculptor?
It was a subject often and earnestly debated by
myself and Pinkerton. In his opinion, I should
instantly discard my profession. “Just drop it,
here and now,” he would say. “Come back home
with me, and let’s throw our whole soul into busi-
ness. I have the capital; you bring the culture.
Dodd & Pinkerton — I never saw a better name
for an advertisement; and you can’t think, Lou-
don, how much depends upon a name.” On my
78 T H E W R E C K E R
side, I would admit that a sculptor should possess
one of three things — capital, influence, or an
energy only to be qualified as hellish. The two
first I had now lost; to the third I never had the
smallest claim; and yet I wanted the cowardice
(or perhaps it was the courage) to turn my back
on my career without a fight. I told him, besides,
that however poor my chances were in Sculpture,
I was convinced they were yet worse in business,
for which I equally lacked taste and aptitude. But
upon this head, he was my father over again;
assured me that I spoke in ignorance; that any
intelligent and cultured person was bound to suc-
ceed; that I must, besides, have inherited some of
my father's fitness; and, at any rate, that I had
been regularly trained for that career in the com-
mercial college. -
“Pinkerton,” I said, “can’t you understand
that, as long as I was there, I never took the
smallest interest in any stricken thing? The whole
affair was poison to me.”
“It’s not possible,” he would cry; “it can’t
be; you could n’t live in the midst of it and not
feel the charm; with all your poetry of soul, you
could n’t help ! Loudon,” he would go on, “you
drive me crazy. You expect a man to be all broken
up about the sunset, and not to care a dime for a
place where fortunes are fought for and made and
lost all day; or for a career that consists in study-
ing up life till you have it at your finger-ends,
spying out every cranny where you can get your
hand in and a dollar out, and standing there in the
T H E W R E C K E R 79
midst — one foot on bankruptcy, the other on a
borrowed dollar, and the whole thing spinning
round you like a mill — raking in the stamps, in
spite of fate and fortune.”
To this romance of dickering I would reply with
the romance (which is also the virtue) of art;
reminding him of those examples Of constancy
through many tribulations, with which the rôle
of Apollo is illustrated; from the case of Millet,
to those of many of our friends and comrades, who
had chosen this agreeable mountain-path through.
life, and were now bravely clambering among
rocks and brambles, penniless and hopeful.
“You will never understand it, Pinkerton,” I
would say. “You look to the result, you want to
see some profit of your endeavours: that is why
you could never learn to paint, if you lived to be
Methusalem. The result is always a fizzle: the
eyes of the artist are turned in ; he lives for a
frame of mind. Ilook at Romney, now. There
is the nature of the artist. He has n’t a cent; and
if you offered him to-morrow the command of an
army, or the presidentship of the United States,
he would n’t take it, and you know he would n't.”
“I suppose not,” Pinkerton would cry, scouring
his hair with both his hands; “and I can’t see
why; I can’t see what in fits he would be after,
not to ; I don’t seem to rise to these views. Of
course, it 's the fault of not having had advan-
tages in early life; but, Loudon, I’m so miser-
ably low, that it seems to me silly. The fact is,”
he might add with a smile, “I don’t seem to have
8O T H E W R E C K E R
the least use for a frame of mind without Square
Imeals; and you can’t get it Out Of my head that
it's a man’s duty to die rich, if he can.”
“What for P’’ I asked him once.
“O, I don’t know,” he replied. “Why in snakes
should anybody want to be a Sculptor, if you come
to that? I would love to sculp myself. But what
I can’t see is why you should want to do nothing
else. It seems to argue a poverty of nature.”
Whether or not he ever came to understand me
and I have been so tossed about since then that
I am not very sure I understand myself — he soon
perceived that I was perfectly in earnest; and after
about ten days of argument, stiddenly dropped the
subject, and announced that he was wasting capi-
tal, and must go home at once. No doubt he
should have gone long before, and had already lin-
gered over his intended time for the sake of our
companionship and my misfortune; but man is so
unjustly minded that the very fact, which ought
to have disarmed, only embittered my vexation.
I resented his departure in the light of a deser–
tion; I would not say, but doubtless I betrayed
it; and Something hang-dog in the man’s face and
bearing led me to believe he was himself remorse-
ful. It is certain at least that, during the time of
his preparations, we drew sensibly apart — a cir-
cumstance that I recall with shame. On the last
day, he had me to dinner at a restaurant which
he knew I had formerly frequented, and had only
forsworn of late from considerations of econ-
Omy. He seemed ill at ease; I was myself both
T H E W R E C K E R 8 I
sorry and sulky; and the meal passed with little
conversation. -
“Now, Loudon,” said he, with a visible effort,
after the coffee was come and Our pipes lighted,
“you can never understand the gratitude and loy-
alty I bear you. You don’t know what a boon it
is to be taken up by a man that stands on the
pinnacle of civilisation; you can’t think how it’s
refined and purified me, how it’s appealed to my
spiritual nature; and I want to tell you that I
would die at your door like a dog.”
I don’t know what answer I tried to make, but
he cut me short. -
“Let me say it out!” he cried. “I revere you
for your whole-souled devotion to art; I can’t
rise to it, but there's a strain of poetry in my
nature, Loudon, that responds to it. I want you
to carry it out, and I mean to help you.”
“Pinkerton, what nonsense is this?” I inter-
rupted.
“Now don’t get mad, Loudon; this is a plain
piece of business,” said he ; “it’s done every day;
it’s even typical. How are all those fellows over
here in Paris, Henderson, Sumner, Long?— it’s
all the same story: a young man just plum full
of artistic genius on the one side, a man of busi-
ness on the other who does n’t know what to do
with his dollars — ”
“But, you fool, you ’re as poor as a rat,” I
cried. -
“You wait till I get my irons in the fire
returned Pinkerton. “I’m bound to be rich; and
5
| 22
- 6
82 T H E W R E C K E R
I tell you I mean to have some of the fun as I
go along. Here's your first allowance; take it
at the hand of a friend; I’m One that holds
friendship sacred as you do yourself. It's only
a hundred francs; you 'll get the same every
month, and as soon as my business begins to
expand we’ll increase it to something fitting.
And so far from it being a favour, just let me
handle your statuary for the American market,
and I’ll call it one of the smartest strokes of
business in my life.”
It took me a long time, and it had cost us both
much grateful and painful emotion, before I had
finally managed to refuse his offer and compounded
for a bottle of particular wine. He dropped the
subject at last suddenly with a “Never mind;
that 's all done with,” nor did he again refer to
the subject, though we passed together the rest
of the afternoon, and I accompanied him, on his
departure, to the doors of the waiting-room at
St. Lazare. I felt myself strangely alone; a voice
told me that I had rejected both the counsels of
wisdom and the helping hand of friendship; and
as I passed through the great bright city on my
homeward way, I measured it for the first time
with the eye of an adversary.
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH I AM DOWN ON MY LUCK
IN PARIS
*
N no part of the world is starvation an agree-
| able business; but I believe it is admitted
there is no worse place to starve in than this
city of Paris. The appearances of life are there
so especially gay, it is so much a magnified beer-
garden, the houses are so ornate, the theatres SO
numerous, the very pace of the vehicles is so brisk,
that a man in any deep concern of mind or pain
of body is constantly driven in upon himself. In
his own eyes, he seems the one serious creature
moving in a world of horrible unreality; voluble
people issuing from a café, the queue at theatre
doors, Sunday cabſuls of second-rate pleasure-
seekers, the bedizened ladies of the pavement, the
show in the jewellers’ windows — all the familiar
sights contributing to flout his own unhappiness,
want, and isolation. At the same time, if he be
at all after my pattern, he is perhaps supported
by a childish satisfaction: this is life at last, he,
may tell himself; this is the real thing; the blad-
ders on which I was set swimming are now empty,
my own weight depends upon the Ocean; by my
own exertions I must perish or succeed; and I am
84. T H E w RE C K E R
now enduring in the vivid fact, what I SO much
delighted to read of in the case of Lousteau or
Lucien, Rodolphe or Schaunard.
Of the steps of my misery, I cannot tell at
length. In ordinary times what were politically
called “ loans '' (although they were never meant
to be repaid) were matters of constant course
among the students, and many a man has partly
lived on them for years. But my misfortune be-
fell me at an awkward juncture. Many of my
friends were gone; others were themselves in a
precarious situation. Romney (for instance) was
reduced to tramping Paris in a pair of country
sabots, his only suit of clothes so imperfect (in
spite of cunningly adjusted pins) that the authori-
ties at the Luxembourg suggested his withdrawal
from the gallery. Dijon, too, was on a lee shore,
designing clocks and gas-brackets for a dealer;
and the most he could do was to offer me a cor-
ner of his studio where I might work. My own
studio (it will be gathered) I had by that time lost;
and in the course of my expulsion the Genius of .
Muskegon was finally separated from her author.
To continue to possess a full-sized statue, a man
must have a studio, a gallery, or at least the
freedom of a back garden. He cannot carry it
about with him, like a satchel, in the bottom of
a cab, nor can he cohabit in a garret, ten by fif-
teen, with so momentous a companion. It was
my first idea to leave her behind at my depar-
ture. There, in her birthplace, she might lend an
inspiration, methought, to my successor. But the
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 85
proprietor, with whom I had unhappily quarrelled,
seized the occasion to be disagreeable, and called
upon me to remove my property. For a man in
such straits as I now found myself, the hire of
a lorry was a consideration; and yet even that
I could have faced, if I had had anywhere to
drive to after it was hired. Hysterical laughter
seized upon me, as I beheld (in imagination) my-
self, the waggoner, and the Genius of Muskegon,
standing in the public view of Paris, without the
shadow of a destination; perhaps driving at last
to the nearest rubbish-heap, and dumping there,
among the ordures of a city, the beloved child
of my invention. From these extremities I was
relieved by a seasonable offer; and I parted from
the Genius of Muskegon for thirty francs. Where
she now stands, under what name she is admired
or criticised, history does not inform us; but I
like to think she may adorn the shrubbery of
some suburban tea-garden, where holiday shop-
girls hang their hats upon the mother, and their
Swains (by way of an approach of gallantry)
identify the winged infant with the god of
love.
In a certain cabman's eating-house on the outer
boulevard I got credit for my midday meal. Sup-
per I was supposed not to require, sitting down
nightly to the delicate table of some rich acquaint-
ances. This arrangement was extremely ill-con-
sidered. My fable, credible enough at first, and
so long as my clothes were in good order, must
have seemed worse than doubtful after my coat
86 T H E W R E C K E R
became frayed about the edges, and my boots
began to Squelch and pipe along the restaurant
floors. The allowance of one meal a day besides,
though suitable enough to the state of my finances,
agreed poorly with my stomach. The restaurant
was a place I had often visited experimentally, to
taste the life of students then more unfortunate
than myself; and I had never in those days en-
tered it without disgust, or left it without nausea.
It was strange to find myself sitting down with
avidity, rising up with satisfaction, and count-
ing the hours that divided me from my return to
such a table. But hunger is a great magician;
and SO SOon as I had spent my ready cash, and
could no longer fill up on bowls of chocolate or
hunks of bread, I must depend entirely on that
cabman's eating-house, and upon certain rare,
long-expected, long-remembered windfalls. Dijon
(for instance) might get paid for some of his
pot-boiling work, or else an old friend would
pass through Paris; and then I would be enter-
tained to a meal after my own soul, and contract
a Latin Quarter loan, which would keep me in
tobacco and my morning coffee for a fortnight.
It might be thought the latter would appear the
more important. It might be supposed that a life,
led so near the confines of actual famine, should
have dulled the nicety of my palate. On the con-
trary, the poorer a man's diet, the more sharply
is he set on dainties. The last of my ready cash,
about thirty francs, was deliberately squandered
On a single dinner; and a great part of my time
T H E W R E C K E R 87
when I was alone was passed upon the details of
imaginary feasts.
One gleam of hope visited me — an order for
a bust from a rich Southerner. He was free-
handed, jolly of speech, merry of countenance;
kept me in good-humour through the sittings, and
when they were over, carried me off with him to
dinner and the sights of Paris. I ate well; I laid
on flesh; by all accounts, I made a favourable
likeness of the being, and I confess I thought my
future was assured. But when the bust was done,
and I had despatched it across the Atlantic, I could
never so much as learn of its arrival. The blow
felled me; I should have lain down and tried no
stroke to right myself, had not the honour of my
country been involved. For Dijon improved the
opportunity in the European style; informing me
(for the first time) of the manners of America:
how it was a den of banditti without the smallest
rudiment of law or order, and debts could be there
only collected with a shotgun. “ The whole world
knows it,” he would say; “ you are alone, mon petit
Loudon, you are alone to be in ignorance of these
facts. The judges of the Supreme Court fought
but the other day with stilettos on the bench at
Cincinnati. You should read the little book of
one of my friends: Le Touriste dans le Far-West;
you will see it all there in good French.” At last,
incensed by days of such discussion, I undertook
to prove to him the contrary, and put the affair
in the hands of my late father's lawyer. From
him I had the gratification of hearing, after a due
88 T H E W R E C K E R
interval, that my debtor was dead of the yellow
fever in Key West, and had left his affairs in
some confusion. I suppress his name; for though
he treated me with cruel nonchalance, it is prob-
able he meant to deal fairly in the end.
Soon after this a shade of change in my re-
ception at the cabman's eating-house marked the
beginning of a new phase in my distress. The
first day, I told myself it was but fancy; the next,
I made quite sure it was a fact; the third, in
mere panic I stayed away, and went for forty-
eight hours fasting. This was an act of great
unreason; for the debtor who stays away is but
the more remarked, and the boarder who misses
a meal is sure to be accused of infidelity. On the
fourth day, therefore, I returned, inwardly quak-
ing. The proprietor looked askance upon my en-
trance; the waitresses (who were his daughters)
neglected my wants and sniffed at the affected
joviality of my salutations; last and most plain,
when I called for a suisse (such as was being
served to all the other diners) I was bluntly told
there were no more. It was obvious I was near
the end of my tether; one plank divided me from
want, and now I felt it tremble. I passed a sleep-
less night, and the first thing in the morning took
my way to Myner's studio. It was a step I had
long meditated and long refrained from ; for I
was scarce intimate with the Englishman; and
though I knew him to possess plenty of money,
neither his manner nor his reputation were the
least encouraging to beggars.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 89
I found him at work on a picture, which I was
able conscientiously to praise, dressed in his usual
tweeds, plain, but pretty fresh, and standing out
in disagreeable contrast to my own withered and
degraded outfit. As we talked, he continued to
shift his eyes watchfully between his handiwork
and the fat model, who sat at the far end of the
studio in a state of nature, with one arm gallantly
arched above her head. My errand would have
been difficult enough under the best of circum-
stances: placed between Myner, immersed in his
art, and the white, fat, naked female in a ridicu-
lous attitude, I found it quite impossible. Again
and again I attempted to approach the point, again
and again fell back on commendations of the pic-
ture; and it was not until the model had enjoyed
an interval of repose, during which she took the
conversation in her own hands and regaled us (in
a soft, weak voice) with details as to her husband’s
prosperity, her sister's lamented decline from the
paths of virtue, and the consequent wrath of her
father, a peasant of stern principles, in the vicin-
ity of Chalons on the Marne; — it was not, I say,
until after this was over, and I had once more
cleared my throat for the attack, and once more
dropped aside into some commonplace about the
picture, that Myner himself brought me suddenly
and vigorously to the point.
“You did n’t come here to talk this rot,” said he.
“No,” I replied sullenly; “I came to borrow
money.”
He painted awhile in silence.
90 T H E W R E C K E R
“I don’t think we were ever very intimate?”
he asked.
“Thank you,” said I. “I can take my answer,”
and I made as if to go, rage boiling in my heart.
“Of course you can go if you like,” said Myner;
“but I advise you to stay and have it out.” .
“What more is there to say?” I cried. “You
don’t want to keep me here for a needless hu-
miliation P”
“Look here, Dodd, you must try and command
your temper,” said he. “This interview is of your
own seeking, and not mine; if you suppose it ’s
not disagreeable to me, you ’re wrong ; and if you
think I will give you money without knowing thor-
Oughly about your prospects, you take me for a
fool. Besides,” he added, “if you come to look
at it, you ’ve got over the worst of it by now : you
have done the asking, and you have every reason
to know I mean to refuse. I hold out no false
hopes, but it may be worth your while to let me
judge.”
Thus — I was going to say — encouraged, I
stumbled through my story; told him I had credit
at the cabman's eating-house, but began to think
it was drawing to a close; how Dijon lent me a
corner of his studio, where I tried to model orna-
ments, figures for clocks, Time with the scythe,
Leda and the swan, musketeers for candlesticks,
and other kickshaws, which had never (up to that
day) been honoured with the least approval.
“And your room?” asked Myner.
“O, my room is all right, I think,” said I.
T H E W R E C K E R 9 I
“She is a very good old lady, and has never even
mentioned her bill.”
“Because she is a very good old lady, I don't
see why she should be fined,” Observed Myner.
“What do you mean by that?” I cried.
“I mean this,” said he. “The French give a
great deal of credit amongst themselves; they find
it pays on the whole, or the system would hardly
be continued; but I can’t see where we come in ;
I can’t see that it’s honest of us Anglo-Saxons,
to profit by their easy ways, and then skip Over
the channel or (as you Yankees do) across the
Atlantic.”
“But I’m not proposing to skip,” I objected.
“Exactly,” he replied. “And should n’t you?
There 's the problem. You seem to me to have a
lack of sympathy for the proprietors of cabmen's
eating-houses. By your own account you 're not
getting on : the longer you stay, it 'll only be the
more out of the pocket of the dear old lady at
your lodgings. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do:
if you consent to go, I’ll pay your passage to
New York, and your railway fare and expenses
to Muskegon (if I have the name right) where your
father lived, where he must have left friends, and
where, no doubt, you 'll find an opening. I don’t
seek any gratitude, for of course you 'll think me
a beast; but I do ask you to pay it back when
you are able. At any rate, that 's all I can do.
It might be different if I thought you a genius,
Dodd; but I don’t, and I advise you not to.”
“I think that was uncalled for, at least,” said I.
92. T H E W R E C K E R
“I dare say it was,” he returned, with the same
Steadiness. “It seemed to me pertinent; and be-
sides, when you ask me for money upon no secur-
ity, you treat me with the liberty of a friend, and
it ’s to be presumed that I can do the like. But
the point is, do you accept P.”
“No, thank you,” said I; “I have another string
to my bow.” -
“All right,” says Myner. “Be sure it’s honest.”
“Honest? honest?” I cried. “What do you
mean by calling my honesty in question?”
“I won’t, if you don’t like it,” he replied. “You
seem to think honesty as easy as Blind Man’s Buff:
I don’t. It's some difference of definition.”
I went straight from this irritating interview,
during which Myner had never discontinued paint-
ing, to the studio of my old master. Only one
card remained for me to play, and I was now
resolved to play it: I must drop the gentleman
and the frock-coat, and approach art in the work-
man's tunic. º
“Tiens, this little Dodd | * cried the master;
and then, as his eye fell on my dilapidated cloth-
ing, I thought I could perceive his countenance
to darken. -
I made my plea in English; for I knew, if he
were vain of anything, it was of his achievement
of the island tongue. “Master,” said I, “will
you take me in your studio again? but this time
as a workman.”
“I sought your fazér was immensely reech,”
said he.
T H E W R E C K E R 93
I explained to him that I was now an orphan
and penniless.
He shook his head. “I have betterr work-
men waiting at my door,” said he ; “far betterr
workmen.” \
“You used to think something of my work,
sir,” I pleaded.
“Somesing, somesing—yes!” he cried; “énough
for a son of a reech man — not énough for an
orphan. Besides, I sought you might learn to be
an artist; I did not sink you might learn to be a
workman.”
On a certain bench on the outer boulevard, not
far from the tomb of Napoleon, a bench shaded
at that date by a shabby tree, and commanding a
view of muddy roadway and blank wall, I sat
down to wrestle with my misery. The weather
was cheerless and dark; in three days I had eaten
but once; I had no tobacco; my shoes were soaked,
my trousers horrid with mire; my humour and all
the circumstances of the time and place lugubri-
ously attuned. Here were two men who had both
spoken fairly of my work while I was rich and
wanted nothing; now that I was poor and lacked
all: “no genius,” said the one; “not enough for
an orphan,” the other; and the first offered me
my passage like a pauper immigrant, and the
second refused me a day's wage as a hewer of
stone — plain dealing for an empty belly. They
had not been insincere in the past; they were not
insincere to-day: change of circumstance had in-
troduced a new criterion: that was all.
94. T H E W R E C K E R
But if I acquitted my two Job’s comforters of
insincerity, I was yet far from admitting them in-
fallible. Artists had been contemned before, and
had lived to turn the laugh on their contemners.
How old was Corot before he struck the vein of
his own precious metal? When had a young man
been more derided (or more justly SO) than the
god of my admiration, Balzac” Or if I required
a bolder inspiration, what had I to do but turn
my head to where the gold dome of the Invalides
glittered against inky squalls, and recall the tale
of him sleeping there: from the day when a young
artillery-sub could be giggled at and nicknamed
Puss-in-Boots by frisky misses; on to the days
of so many crowns and so many victories, and SO
many hundred mouths of cannon, and so many
thousand war-hoofs trampling the roadways of as-
tonished Europe eighty miles in front of the grand
army? To go back, to give up, to proclaim my-
self a failure, an ambitious failure, first a rocket,
then a stick | I, Loudon Dodd, who had refused
all other livelihoods with scorn, and been ad-
vertised in the St. Joseph Sunday Herald as a
patriot and an artist, to be returned upon my
native Muskegon like damaged goods, and go the
circuit of my father’s acquaintance, cap in hand,
and begging to sweep offices ! No, by Napoleon'
I would die at my chosen trade; and the two who
had that day flouted me should live to envy my
success, or to weep tears of unavailing penitence
behind my pauper coffin.
Meantime, if my courage was still undimin-
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 95
ished, I was none the nearer to a meal. At no
great distance my cabman's eating-house stood,
at the tail of a muddy cab-rank, on the shores of
a wide thoroughfare of mud, offering (to fancy)
a face of ambiguous invitation. I might be re-
ceived, I might once more fill my belly there; on
the other hand, it was perhaps this day the bolt
was destined to fall, and I might be expelled in-
stead, with vulgar hubbub. It was policy to make
the attempt, and I knew it was policy; but I had
already, in the course of that one morning, endured
too many affronts, and I felt I could rather starve
than face another. I had courage and to spare for
the future, none left for that day; courage for the
main campaign, but not a spark of it for that pre-
liminary skirmish of the cabman's restaurant. I
continued accordingly to sit upon my bench, not
far from the ashes of Napoleon, now drowsy, now
light-headed, now in complete mental obstruction,
or only conscious of an animal pleasure in quies-
cence; and now thinking, planning, and remem-
bering with unexampled clearness, telling myself
tales of sudden wealth, and gustfully ordering and
greedily consuming imaginary meals: in the course
of which I must have dropped asleep.
It was towards dark that I was suddenly recalled
to famine by a cold souse of rain, and sprang Shiv-
ering to my feet. For a moment I stood bewil-
dered : the whole train of my reasoning and
dreaming passed afresh through my mind; I was
again tempted, drawn as if with cords, by the
image of the cabman's eating-house, and again
96 T H E W R E C K E R
recoiled from the possibility of insult. “Qui dort
dine,” thought I to myself; and took my home-
ward way with wavering footsteps, through rainy
streets in which the lamps and the shop-windows
now began to gleam; Still marshalling imaginary
dinners as I went.
“Ah, Monsieur Dodd,” said the porter, “there
has been a registered letter for you. The facteur
will bring it again to-morrow.”
A registered letter for me, who had been so long
without one? . Of what it could possibly contain,
I had no vestige of a guess; nor did I delay myself
guessing; far less form any conscious plan of dis-
honesty: the lies flowed from me like a natural
secretion.
“O,” said I, “my remittance at last! What a
bother I should have missed it! Can you lend me
a hundred francs until to-morrow P’’
I had never attempted to borrow from the porter
till that moment: the registered letter was, besides,
my warranty; and he gave me what he had —
three napoleons and some francs in silver. I pock-
eted the money carelessly, lingered awhile chaffing,
strolled leisurely to the door; and then (fast as
my trembling legs could carry me) round the cor-
ner to the Café de Cluny. French waiters are deft
and speedy: they were not deft enough for me;
and I had scarce decency to let the man set the
wine upon the table or put the butter alongside the
bread, before my glass and my mouth were filled.
Exquisite bread of the Café Cluny, exquisite first
glass of Old Pomard tingling to my wet feet, in-
T H E W R E C K E R 97
describable first Olive culled from the hors d’aeuvre
— I suppose, when I come to lie dying, and the
lamp begins to grow dim, I shall still recall your
savour. Over the rest of that meal, and the rest
of the evening, clouds lie thick: clouds perhaps of
Burgundy; perhaps, more properly, of famine and
repletion.
I remember clearly, at least, the shame, the
despair, of the next morning, when I reviewed
what I had done, and how I had swindled the poor,
honest porter; and, as if that were not enough,
fairly burnt my ships, and brought bankruptcy
home to that last refuge, my garret. The porter
would expect his money; I could not pay him;
here was scandal in the house; and I knew right
well, the cause of scandal would have to pack.
“What do you mean by calling my honesty in
question P” I had cried the day before, turning
upon Myner. Ah, that day before ! the day be-
fore Waterloo, the day before the Flood; the day
before I had sold the roof over my head, my
future, and my self-respect, for a dinner at the
Café Cluny
In the midst of these lamentations the famous
registered letter came to my door, with healing
under its seals. It bore the postmark of San Fran-
cisco, where Pinkerton was already struggling to
the neck in multifarious affairs: it renewed the
Offer of an allowance, which his improved estate
permitted him to announce at the figure of two
hundred francs a month; and in case I was in some
immediate pinch, it enclosed an introductory draft
7
98 T H E W R E C K E R
for forty dollars. There are a thousand excellent
reasons why a man, in this self-helpful epoch,
should decline to be dependent on another; but
the most numerous and cogent considerations all
bow to a necessity as Stern as mine; and the banks
were scarce open ere the draft was cashed.
It was early in December that I thus sold myself
into slavery; and for six months I dragged a
slowly lengthening chain of gratitude and uneasi-
ness. At the cost of some debt I managed to excel
myself and eclipse the Genius of Muskegon, in a
small but highly patriotic Standard Bearer for the
Salon; whither it was duly admitted, where it
stood the proper length of days entirely unre-
1marked, and whence it came back to me as
patriotic as before. I threw my whole soul (as
Pinkerton would have phrased it) into clocks and
candlesticks; the devil a candlestick-maker would
have anything to say to my designs. Even when
Dijon, with his infinite good-humour and infinite
scorn for all such journey-work, consented to
peddle them in indiscriminately with his own, the
dealers still detected and rejected mine. Home
they returned to me, true as the Standard Bearer;
who now, at the head of quite a regiment of lesser
idols, began to grow an eyesore in the Scanty
studio of my friend. Dijon and I have sat by the
hour, and gazed upon that company of images.
The severe, the frisky, the classical, the Louis
Quinze, were there — from Joan of Arc in her sol-
dierly cuirass to Leda with the Swan; nay, and
God forgive me for a man that knew better! the
T H E W R E C K E R 99
humourous was represented also. We sat and
gazed, I say; we criticised, we turned them hither
and thither; even upon the closest inspection they
looked quite like statuettes; and yet nobody would
have a gift of them!
Vanity dies hard ; in some obstinate cases it out-
lives the man : but about the sixth month, when
I already owed near two hundred dollars to
Pinkerton, and half as much again in debts scat-
tered about Paris, I awoke one morning with a
horrid sentiment of oppression, and found I was
alone: my vanity had breathed her last during the
night. I dared not plunge deeper in the bog; I
saw no hope in my poor statuary; I owned myself
beaten at last; and sitting down in my nightshirt
beside the window, whence I had a glimpse of the
tree-tops at the corner of the boulevard, and where
the music of its early traffic fell agreeably upon
my ear, I penned my farewell to Paris, to art, to
my whole past life, and my whole former self. “I
give in,” I wrote. “When the next allowance
arrives, I shall go straight out West, where you
can do what you like with me.” -
It is to be understood that Pinkerton ha
been, in a sense, pressing me to come from the
beginning; depicting his isolation among new ac-
quaintances, “who have none of them your cul-
ture,” he wrote; expressing his friendship in
terms so warm that it sometimes embarrassed me
to think how poorly I could echo them; dwelling
upon his need for assistance; and the next moment
turning about to commend my resolution and press
*
* s”
“s
:
*g
* * *
%
e s *,
*
º
:
As ſº *
* * *
**
*
e *
.
tº º *
IOO T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
me to remain in Paris. “Only remember, Lou-
don,” he would write, “if you ever do tire of it,
there's plenty work here for you — honest, hard,
well-paid work, developing the resources of this
practically virgin State. And of course I need n’t
say what a pleasure it would be to me if we were
going at it shoulder to shoulder.” I marvel (look-
ing back) that I could so long have resisted these
appeals, and continued to sink my friend's money
in a manner that I knew him to dislike. At least,
when I did awake to any sense of my position, I
awoke to it entirely; and determined not only to
follow his counsel for the future, but even as
regards the past, to rectify his losses. For in this
juncture of affairs I called to mind that I was not
without a possible resource, and resolved, at what-
ever cost of mortification, to beard the Loudon
family in their historic city. -
In the excellent Scots’ phrase, I made a moon-
light flitting, a thing never dignified, but in my
case unusually easy. As I had scarce a pair of
boots worth portage, I deserted the whole of my
effects without a pang. Dijon fell heir to Joan
of Arc, the Standard Bearer, and the Musketeers.
He was present when I bought and frugally stocked
my new portmanteau; and it was at the door of
the trunk shop that I took my leave of him, for
my last few hours in Paris must be spent alone.
It was alone (and at a far higher figure than my
finances warranted) that I discussed my dinner;
alone that I took my ticket at St. Lazare; all
alone, though in a carriage full of people, that I
º
º º en" e.
• * • * Q
* * e
º *
:
:
º
* *eº
tº ºn
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I O I
watched the moon shine on the Seine flood with its
tufted islets, on Rouen with her spires, and on the
shipping in the harbour of Dieppe. When the first
light of the morning called me from troubled slum-
bers on the deck, I beheld the dawn at first with
pleasure; I watched with pleasure the green shores
of England rising out of rosy haze; I took the
salt air with delight into my nostrils; and then all
came back to me; that I was no longer an artist,
no longer myself; that I was leaving all I cared
for, and returning to all that I detested, the slave
of debt and gratitude, a public and a branded
failure.
From this picture of my own disgrace and
wretchedness, it is not wonderful if my mind
turned with relief to the thought of Pinkerton,
waiting for me, as I knew, with unwearied affec-
tion, and regarding me with a respect that I had
never deserved, and might therefore fairly hope
that I should never forfeit. The inequality of our
relation struck me rudely. I must have been
stupid, indeed, if I could have considered the his–
tory of that friendship without shame — I, who
had given so little, who had accepted and profited
by so much. I had the whole day before me in
London, and I determined (at least in words) to set
the balance somewhat straighter. Seated in a cor-
ner of a public place, and calling for sheet after
sheet of paper, I poured forth the expression of my
gratitude, my penitence for the past, my reso-
lutions for the future. Till now, I told him, my
course had been mere selfishness. I had been
I O2 T H E W R E C K E R
selfish to my father and to my friend, taking
their help, and denying them (what was all they
asked) the poor gratification of my company and
COuntenance. *
Wonderful are the consolations of literature!
As soon as that letter was written and posted, the
consciousness of virtue glowed in my veins like
Some rare vintage.
CHAPTER VI
IN WHICH I GO WEST
in time to sit down with the family to
breakfast. More than three years had in-
tervened almost without mutation in that station-
ary household, since I had sat there first, a young
American freshman, bewildered among unfamiliar
dainties, finnan haddock, kippered salmon, baps and
mutton ham, and had wearied my mind in vain
to guess what should be under the tea-cozy. If
there were any change at all, it seemed that I
had risen in the family esteem. My father's death
once fittingly referred to, with a ceremonial length-
ening of Scotch upper lips and wagging of the
female head, the party launched at once (God help
me) into the more cheerful topic of my own suc-
cesses. They had been so pleased to hear such
good accounts of me; I was quite a great man
now ; where was that beautiful statue of the Genius
of Something or other? “You have n’t it here?
not here? Really?” asks the sprightliest of my
cousins, shaking curls at me; as though it were
likely I had brought it in the cab, or kept it con-
cealed about my person like a birthday surprise.
In the bosom of this family, unaccustomed to the
| REACHED my uncle's door next morning
IO4. T H E W R E C K E R
tropical nonsense of the West, it became plain the
Sunday Herald and poor, blethering Pinkerton
had been accepted for their face. It is not pos-
sible to invent a circumstance that could have
more depressed me; and I am conscious that I
behaved all through that breakfast like a whipt
schoolboy.
At length, the meal and family prayers being
both happily over, I requested the favour of an
interview with Uncle Adam on “the state of my
affairs.” At sound of this ominous expression,
the good man’s face conspicuously lengthened; and
when my grandfather, having had the proposition
repeated to him (for he was hard of hearing) an-
nounced his intention of being present at the inter-
view, I could not but think that Uncle Adam’s
sorrow kindled into momentary irritation. Noth-
ing, however, but the usual grim cordiality ap-
peared upon the surface; and we all three passed
ceremoniously to the adjoining library, a gloomy
theatre for a depressing piece of business. My
grandfather charged a clay pipe, and sat tremu-
lously smoking in a corner of the fireless chimney;
behind him, although the morning was both chill
and dark, the window was partly open and the
blind partly down: I cannot depict what an air.
he had of being out of place, like a man ship-
wrecked there. Uncle, Adam had his station at
the business table in the midst. Valuable rows
of books looked down upon the place of torture;
and I could hear sparrows chirping in the garden,
and my sprightly cousin already banging the piano
T H E W R E C K E R ios
and pouring forth an acid stream of song from the
drawing-room overhead.
It was in these circumstances that, with all
brevity of speech and a certain boyish sullenness
of manner, looking the while upon the floor, I in-
formed my relatives of my financial situation: the
amount I owed Pinkerton; the hopelessness of any
maintenance from sculpture; the career offered me
in the States; and how, before becoming more
beholden to a stranger, I had judged it right to
lay the case before my family.
“I am only sorry you did not come to me at
first,” said Uncle Adam. “I take the liberty to
say it would have been more decent.”
“I think so too, Uncle Adam,” I replied; “but
you must bear in mind I was ignorant in what
light you might regard my application.”
“I hope I would never turn my back on my
own flesh and blood,” he returned with emphasis;
but to my anxious ear, with more of temper than
affection. “I could never forget you were my
sister’s son. I regard this as a manifest duty. I
have no choice but to accept the entire responsi–
bility of the position you have made.”
I did not know what else to do but murmur
“Thank you.”
“Yes,” he pursued, “and there is something
providential in the circumstance that you come at
the right time. In my old firm there is a vacancy;
they call themselves Italian Warehousemen now,”
he continued, regarding me with a twinkle of
humour; “So you may think yourself in luck: we
Ioô T H E W R E C K E R
were only grocers in my day. I shall place you
there to-morrow.”
“Stop a moment, Uncle Adam,” I broke in.
“This is not at all what I am asking. I ask you
to pay Pinkerton, who is a poor man. I ask you
to clear my feet of debt, not to arrange my life or
any part of it.”
“If I wished to be harsh, I might remind you
that beggars cannot be choosers,” said my uncle;
“ and as to managing your life, you have tried
your own way already, and you see what you have
made of it. You must now accept the guidance of
those older and (whatever you may think of it)
wiser than yourself. All these schemes of your
friend (of whom I know nothing, by the bye) and
talk of openings in the West, I simply disregard.
I have no idea whatever of your going troking
across a continent on a wild-goose chase. In this
situation, which I am fortunately able to place at
your disposal, and which many a well-conducted
young man would be glad to jump at, you
will receive, to begin with, eighteen shillings a
week.”
“Eighteen shillings a week!” I cried. “Why,
my poor friend gave me more than that for
nothing!” -
“And I think it is this very friend you are now
trying to repay P’’ observed my uncle, with an air
Of one advancing a strong argument.
“Aadam l’’ said my grandfather.
“I’m vexed you should be present at this busi-
ness,” quoth Uncle Adam, swinging rather obse-
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 107
quiously towards the stonemason; “but I must
remind you it is of your own seeking.”
“Aadam ' ' repeated the old man.
“Well, sir, I am listening,” says my uncle.
My grandfather took a puff or two in silence;
ºnd then, “Ye're makin' an awful poor appear-
ºnce, Aadam,” said he. -
My uncle visibly reared at the affront. “I’m
sorry you should think so,” said he, “ and still
more sorry you should say so before present
company.” -
“A believe that; A ken that, Aadam,” returned
old Loudon, drily; “and the curiis thing is, I’m
no very carin’. See here, ma man,” he continued,
addressing himself to me. “A 'm your grand-
faither, am n’t I not? Never you mind what
Aadam says. A ’11 see justice din ye. A 'm
rich.”
“Father,” said Uncle Adam, “I would like one
word with you in private.”
I rose to go.
“Set down upon your hinderlands,” cried my
grandfather, almost savagely. “If Aadam has
anything to say, let him say it. It 's me that has
the money here; and by Gravy! I’m goin’ to
be obeyed.” -
Upon this scurvy encouragement, it appeared
that my uncle had no remark to offer: twice
challenged to “speak out and be done with it,”
he twice sullenly declined; and I may mention
that about this period of the engagement, I began
to be sorry for him.
Io8 T H E W R E C K E R
“See here, then, Jeannie’s yin l’’ resumed my
grandfather. “A ’m going to give ye a set-Off.
Your mither was always my favºrite, for A never
could agree with Aadam. A like ye fine yoursel’;
there's nae noansense aboot ye; ye’ve a fine nay-
teral idee of builder’s work; ye’ve been to France,
where they tell me they ’re grand at the stuccy. A
splendid thing for ceilin’s, the stuccy! and it's a
Vailyable disguise, too; A don’t believe there's a
builder in Scotland has used more stuccy than me.
But as A was sayin', if ye ’11 follie that trade, with
the capital that A 'm goin’ to give ye, ye may live
yet to be as rich as mysel’. Ye see, ye would
have always had a share of it when A was gone;
it appears ye’re needin’ it now ; well, ye ’ll get the
less, as is only just and proper.”
Uncle Adam cleared his throat. “This is very
handsome, father,” said he ; “ and I am sure Lou-
don feels it so. Very handsome, and as you say,
very just; but will you allow me to say that it had
better, perhaps, be put in black and white?”
The enmity always smouldering between the two
men at this ill-judged interruption almost burst in
flame. The stonemason turned upon his offspring,
his long upper lip pulled down, for all the world,
like a monkey’s. He stared awhile in virulent si-
lence; and then, “Get Gregg ' " said he.
The effect of these words was very visible. “He
will be gone to his office,” stammered my uncle.
“Get Gregg l’’ repeated my grandfather.
“I tell you, he will be gone to his office,” reit-
erated Adam.
T H E W R E C K E R IO9
5
“And I tell ye, he's takin' his smoke,” retorted
the old man.
“Very well, then,” cried my uncle, getting to
his feet with some alacrity, as upon a sudden
change of thought, “I will get him myself.”
“Ye will not!” cried my grandfather. “Ye
will sit there upon your hinderland.”
“Then how the devil am I to get him?” my
uncle broke forth, with not unnatural petulance.
My grandfather (having no possible answer)
grinned at his son with the malice of a School-
boy; then he rang the bell.
“Take the garden key,” said Uncle Adam to
the servant; “go over to the garden, and if Mr.
Gregg the lawyer is there (he generally sits under
the red hawthorn), give him old Mr. Loudon’s com-
pliments, and will he step in here for a moment?”
“Mr. Gregg the lawyer l’ At once I under-
stood (what had been puzzling me) the signifi-
cance of my grandfather and the alarm of my
poor uncle: the stonemason’s will, it was sup-
posed, hung trembling in the balance.
“Look here, grandfather,” I said, “I did n’t
want any of this. All I wanted was a loan of
(say) two hundred pounds. I can take care of
imyself; I have prospects and opportunities, good
friends in the States — ”
The old man waved me down. “It’s me that
speaks here,” he said curtly; and we waited the
coming of the lawyer in a triple silence. He
appeared at last, the maid ushering him in — a
Spectacled, dry but not ungenial looking man.
I IO T H E W R E C K E R
“Here, Gregg,” cried my grandfather. “Just
a question. What has Aadam got to do with my
Will P '’
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” said the
lawyer, staring.
“What has he got to do with it?” repeated
the old man, Smiting with his fist upon the arm
of his chair. “Is my money mine's, or is it
Aadam’s P Can Aadam interfere?”
“O, I see,” said Mr. Gregg. “Certainly not.
On the marriage of both of your children a cer-
tain sum was paid down and accepted in full of
legitim. You have surely not forgotten the cir-
cumstance, Mr. Loudon P”
“So that, if I like,” concluded my grandfather,
hammering out his words, “I can leave every doit
I die possessed of to the Great Magunn?” —
meaning probably the Great Mogul.
“No doubt of it,” replied Gregg, with a shadow
of a smile.
“Ye hear that, Aadam?” asked my grandfather.
“I may be allowed to say I had no need to
hear it,” said my uncle. -
“Very well,” says my grandfather. “You and
Jeannie's yin can go for a bit walk. Me and
Gregg has business.”
When once I was in the hall alone with Uncle
Adam, I turned to him, sick at heart. “Uncle
Adam,” I said, “ you can understand, better than
I can say, how very painful all this is to me.”
“Yes, I am sorry you have seen your grand-
father in so unamiable a light,” replied this ex-
T H E W R E C K E R I I I
traordinary man. “You should n’t allow it to
affect your mind though. He has sterling quali-
ties, quite an extraordinary character; and I have
no fear but he means to behave handsomely to
you.”
His composure was beyond my imitation: the
house could not contain me, nor could I even
promise to return to it: in concession to which
weakness, it was agreed that I should call in about
an hour at the office of the lawyer, whom (as he
left the library) Uncle Adam should waylay and
inform of the arrangement. I suppose there was
never a more topsy-turvy situation: you would
have thought it was I who had suffered some
rebuff, and that iron-sided Adam was a generous
conqueror who scorned to take advantage.
It was plain enough that I was to be endowed:
to what extent and upon what conditions I was
Inow left for an hour to meditate in the wide and
Solitary thoroughfares of the new town, taking
counsel with street-corner statues of George IV.
and William Pitt, improving my mind with the
pictures in the window of a music-shop, and re-
Inewing my acquaintance with Edinburgh east
wind. By the end of the hour I made my way
to Mr. Gregg’s office, where I was placed, with
a few appropriate words, in possession of a cheque
for two thousand pounds and a small parcel of
architectural works.
“Mr. Loudon bids me add,” continued the law-
yer, consulting a little sheet of notes, “that al-
though these volumes are very valuable to the
II 2 T H E W R E C K E R
practical builder, you must be careful not to lose
originality. He tells you also not to be “hadden
doun * – his own expression — by the theory of
strains, and that Portland cement, properly sanded,
will go a long way.” t
I smiled, and remarked that I supposed it would.
“I once lived in one of my excellent client’s
houses,” observed the lawyer; “and I was tempted,
in that case, to think it had gone far enough.”
“ Under these circumstances, sir,” said I, “you
will be rather relieved to hear that I have no in-
tention of becoming a builder.”
At this, he fairly laughed; and, the ice being
broken, I was able to consult him as to my con-
duct. He insisted I must return to the house, at
least, for luncheon, and one of my walks with
Mr. Loudon. “For the evening, I will furnish you
with an excuse, if you please,” said he, “by ask–
ing you to a bachelor dinner with myself. But
the luncheon and the walk are unavoidable. He
is an old man, and, I believe, really fond of you;
he would naturally feel aggrieved if there were
any appearance of avoiding him; and as for Mr.
Adam, do you know, I think your delicacy out
of place. . . . And now, Mr. Dodd, what are you
to do with this money?”
Ay, there was the question. With two thou-
sand pounds — fifty thousand francs — I might
return to Paris and the arts, and be a prince
and millionaire in that thrifty Latin Quarter. I
think I had the grace, with one corner of my
mind, to be glad that I had sent the London
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. II 3
letter: I know very well that with the rest and
worst of me, I repented bitterly of that precipi-
tate act. On one point, however, my whole mul-
tiplex estate of man was unanimous: the letter
being gone, there was no help but I must follow.
The money was accordingly divided into two un-
equal shares: for the first, Mr. Gregg got me a
bill in the name of Dijon to meet my liabilities.
in Paris; for the second, as I had already cash
in hand for the expenses of my journey, he sup-
plied me with drafts on San Francisco.
The rest of my business in Edinburgh, not to
dwell on a very agreeable dinner with the lawyer
or the horrors of the family luncheon, took the
form of an excursion with the stonemason, who
led me this time to no suburb or work of his old
hands, but with an impulse both natural and pretty,
to that more enduring home which he had chosen
for his clay. It was in a cemetery, by some
strange chance, immured within the bulwarks of
a prison; standing, besides, on the margin of a
cliff, crowded with elderly stone memorials, and
green with turf and ivy. The east wind (which
I thought too harsh for the old man) continually
shook the boughs, and the thin sun of a Scottish
summer drew their dancing shadows.
“I wanted ye to see the place,” said he. “Yon ’s
the stane. Euphemia Ross: that was my good-
wife, your grandmither — hoots! I’m wrong;
that was my first yin ; I had no bairns by her;
— yours is the second, Mary Murray, Born 1819,
Died 1850: that's her — a fine, plain, decent sort.
8
I I4. T H E W R E C K E R
of a creature, tak' her athegether. Alexander
Loudon, Born Seventeen Ninety-Twa, Died —
and then a hole in the ballant: that 's me. Alex-
ander’s my name. They ca'd me Ecky when I
was a boy. Eh, Ecky! ye're an awful auld
man l’’
I had a second and sadder experience of grave-
yards at my next alighting-place, the city of Mus-
kegon, now rendered conspicuous by the dome of
the new capitol encaged in scaffolding. It was late
in the afternoon when I arrived, and raining; and
as I walked in great streets, of the very name of
which I was quite ignorant — double, treble, and
quadruple lines of horse-cars jingling by — hun-
dred-fold wires of telegraph and telephone matting
heaven above my head — huge, staring houses,
garish and gloomy, flanking me from either hand
— the thought of the Rue Racine, ay, and of the
cabman's eating-house, brought tears to my eyes.
The whole monotonous Babel had grown, or I
should rather say swelled, with such a leap since
my departure, that I must continually inquire my
way, and the very cemetery was brand new.
Death, however, had been active; the graves were
already numerous, and I must pick my way in the
rain, among the tawdry sepulchres of million-
aires, and past the plain, black crosses of Hun-
garian labourers, till chance or instinct led me to
the place that was my father's. The stone had
been erected (I knew already) “by admiring
friends'; I could now judge their taste in mon-
uments; their taste in literature, methought, I
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. II 5
could imagine, and I refrained from drawing near
enough to read the terms of the inscription. But
the name was in larger letters and stared at me —
James K. Dodd. What a singular thing is a name,
I thought; how it clings to a man, and continually
misrepresents, and then survives him; and it
flashed across my mind, with a mixture of regret
and bitter mirth, that I had never known, and
now probably never should know, what the K had
represented. King, Kilter, Kay, Kaiser, I went,
running over names at random, and then stumbled
with ludicrous misspelling on Kornelius, and had
nearly laughed aloud. I have never been more
childish ; I suppose (although the deeper voices
of my nature seemed all dumb) because I have
never been more moved. And at this last incon-
gruous antic of my nerves, I was seized with a
panic of remorse and fled the cemetery.
Scarce less funereal was the rest of my expe-
rience in Muskegon, where, nevertheless, I lin-
gered, visiting my father's circle, for some days.
It was in piety to him I lingered; and I might have
spared myself the pain. His memory was already
quite gone out. For his sake, indeed, I was made
welcome; and for mine the conversation rolled
awhile with laborious effort on the virtues of the
deceased. His former comrades dwelt, in my
company, upon his business talents or his gener-
Osity for public purposes; when my back was
turned, they remembered him no more. My father
had loved me; I had left him alone to live and die
among the indifferent; now I returned to find him
I 16 T H E W R E C K E R
dead and buried and forgotten. Unavailing peni-
tence translated itself in my thoughts to fresh re-
solve. There was another poor soul who loved
me: Pinkerton. I must not be guilty twice of the
SalT16 €1°1'O1".
A week perhaps had been thus wasted, nor
had I prepared my friend for the delay. Accord-
ingly, when I had changed trains at Council Bluffs,
I was aware of a man appearing at the end of the
car with a telegram in his hand and inquiring
whether there were any one aboard “ of the name
of London Dodd?” I thought the name near
enough, claimed the despatch, and found it was
from Pinkerton: “What day do you arrive?
Awfully important.” I sent him an answer giving
day and hour, and at Ogden found a fresh despatch
awaiting me: “That will do. Unspeakable re-
lief. Meet you at Sacramento.” In Paris days
I had a private name for Pinkerton: “The Irre-
pressible '' was what I had called him in hours of
bitterness; and the name rose once more on my
lips. What mischief was he up to now P What
new bowl was my benignant monster brewing
for his Frankenstein P. In what new imbroglio
should I alight on the Pacific coast? My trust in
the man was entire, and my distrust perfect. I
knew he would never mean amiss; but I was con-
vinced he would almost never (in my sense) do
aright.
I suppose these vague anticipations added a
shade of gloom to that already gloomy place
of travel: Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada,
T H E W R E C K E R I 17
scowled in my face at least, and seemed to point
me back again to that other native land of mine,
the Latin Quarter. But when the Sierras had been
climbed, and the train, after So long beating and
panting, stretched itself upon the downward track
— when I beheld that vast extent of prosperous
country rolling seaward from the woods and the
blue mountains, that illimitable spread of rippling
corn, the trees growing and blowing in the merry
weather, the country boys thronging aboard the
train with figs and peaches, and the conductors, and
the very darky stewards, visibly exulting in the
change — up went my soul like a balloon; Care
fell from his perch upon my shoulders; and when
I spied my Pinkerton among the crowd at Sacra-
mento, I thought of nothing but to shout and wave
for him, and grasp him by the hand, like what he
was — my dearest friend.
“O Loudon l’’ he cried. “Man, how I’ve pined
for you! And you have n’t come an hour too soon.
You ’re known here and waited for ; I’ve been
booming you already; you're billed for a lecture
to-morrow night; Student Life in Paris, Grave and
Gay : twelve hundred places booked at the last
stock! Tut, man, you're looking thin' Here,
try a drop of this.” And he produced a case
bottle, staringly labelled PINKERTON's THIRTEEN
STAR GOLDEN STATE BRANDY, WARRANTED
ENTIRE.
“God bless me!” said I, gasping and winking
after my first plunge into this fiery fluid. “And
what does “Warranted Entire ' mean?”
I I 8 T H E W R E C K E R
“Why, Loudon | you ought to know that!”
cried Pinkerton. “It’s real, copper-bottomed
English; you see it on all the old-time wayside
hostelries over there.”
“But if I’m not mistaken, it means something
Warranted Entirely different,” said I, “ and ap-
plies to the public house, and not the beverages
sold.” -
“It’s very possible,” said Jim, quite unabashed.
“It’s effective, anyway; and I can tell you, sir,
it has boomed that spirit: it goes now by the gross
of cases. By the way, I hope you won’t mind;
I’ve got your portrait all over San Francisco for
the lecture, enlarged from that carte de visit:
H. Loudon Dodd, the Americo-Parisienne Sculp-
tor. Here’s a proof of the small handbills; the
posters are the same, only in red and blue, and the
letters fourteen by one.”
I looked at the handbill, and my head turned.
What was the use of words? why seek to explain
to Pinkerton the knotted horrors of “Americo-
Parisienne’? He took an early occasion to point
it out as “rather a good phrase; gives the two
sides at a glance: I wanted the lecture writ-
ten up to that.” Even after we had reached
San Francisco, and at the actual physical shock
of my own effigy placarded on the streets I
had broken forth in petulant words, he never
comprehended in the least the ground of my
aversion. &
“If I had only known you disliked red letter-
ing !” was as high as he could rise. “You are
5 5
T H E W R E C K E R II 9
perfectly right: a clear-cut black is preferable, and
shows a great deal further. The only thing that
pains me is the portrait: I own I thought that a
success. I’m dreadfully and truly Sorry, my dear
fellow : I see now it’s not what you had a right
to expect; but I did it, Loudon, for the best; and
the press is all delighted.” • ‘
At the moment, sweeping through green tule
swamps, I fell direct on the essential. “But, Pin-
kerton,” I cried, “this lecture is the maddest of
your madnesses. How can I prepare a lecture in
thirty hours?”
“All done, Loudon | * he exclaimed in triumph.
“All ready. Trust me to pull a piece of business
through. You'll find it all type-written in my
desk at home. I put the best talent of San Fran-
cisco on the job: Harry Miller, the brightest press-
man in the city.”
And so he rattled on, beyond reach of my
modest protestations, blurting out his complicated
interests, crying up his new acquaintances, and
ever and again hungering to introduce me to some
“whole-Souled, grand fellow, as sharp as a needle,”
from whom, and the very thought of whom, my
spirit shrank instinctively.
Well, I was in for it: in for Pinkerton, in for
the portrait, in for the type-written lecture. One
promise I extorted — that I was never again to
be committed in ignorance; even for that, when I
saw how its extortion puzzled and depressed the
Irrepressible, my soul repented me; and in all else
I suffered myself to be led uncomplaining at his
I 2C) T H E W R E C K E R
chariot wheels. The Irrepressible, did I say? The
Irresistible were nigher truth.
But the time to have seen me was when I Sat
down to Harry Miller's lecture. He was a face-
tious dog, this Harry Miller; he had a gallant way
of skirting the indecent which (in my case) pro-
duced physical nausea; and he could be sentimental
and even melodramatic about grisettes and starv-
ing genius. I found he had enjoyed the benefit
of my correspondence with Pinkerton: adventures
of my own were here and there horridly misrep-
resented, sentiments of my own echoed and exag-
gerated till I blushed to recognise them. I will do
Harry Miller justice: he must have had a kind of
talent, almost of genius; all attempts to lower his
tone proving fruitless, and the Harry-Millerism
ineradicable. Nay, the monster had a certain key
of style, or want of style, so that certain milder
passages, which I sought to introduce, discorded
horribly, and impoverished (if that were possible)
the general effect.
By an early hour of the numbered evening I
might have been observed at the sign of the Poodle
Dog, dining with my agent: So Pinkerton de-
lighted to describe himself. Thence, like an ox to
the slaughter, he led me to the hall, where I stood
presently alone, confronting assembled San Fran-
cisco, with no better allies than a table, a glass of
water, and a mass of manuscript and type-work,
representing Harry Miller and myself. I read the
lecture; for I had lacked both time and will to get
the trash by heart — read it hurriedly, humbly,
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I 2 I
and with visible shame. Now and then I would
catch in the auditorium an eye of some intelligence,
now and then, in the manuscript, would stumble
on a richer vein of Harry Miller, and my heart
would fail me, and I gabbled. The audience
yawned, it stirred uneasily, it muttered, grumbled,
and broke forth at last in articulate cries of “Speak
up!” and “Nobody can hear!” I took to skip-
ping, and being extremely ill-acquainted with the
country, almost invariably cut in again in the un-
intelligible midst of some new topic. What struck
me as extremely ominous, these misfortunes were
allowed to pass without a laugh. Indeed, I was
beginning to fear the worst, and even personal
indignity, when all at once the humour of the
thing broke upon me strongly. I could have
laughed aloud; and being again summoned to
speak up, I faced my patrons for the first time with
a smile. “Very well,” I said, “I will try; though
I don’t suppose anybody wants to hear, and I
can’t see why anybody should.” Audience and
lecturer laughed together till the tears ran down;
vociferous and repeated applause hailed my im-
promptu sally. Another hit which I made but a
little after, as I turned three pages of the copy:
“You see I am leaving out as much as I possibly
can,” increased the esteem with which my patrons
had begun to regard me; and when I left the stage
at last, my departing form was cheered with laugh-
ter, Stamping, shouting, and the waving of hats.
Pinkerton was in the waiting-room, feverishly
jotting in his pocket-book. As he saw me enter,
I 2.2 T H E w RE C K E R
he sprang up, and I declare, the tears were trick-
ling on his cheeks. , -
“My dear boy,” he cried, “I can never forgive
myself, and you can never forgive me. Never
mind: I did it for the best. And how nobly you
clung on I dreaded we should have had to return
the money at the doors.”
“It would have been more honest if we had,”
said I.
The pressmen followed me, Harry Miller in the
front ranks; and I was amazed to find them, on the
whole, a pleasant set of lads, probably more sinned
against than sinning, and even Harry Miller appar-
ently a gentleman. I had in oysters and cham-
pagne — for the receipts were excellent — and
being in a high state of nervous tension, kept the
table in a roar. Indeed, I was never in my life so
well inspired as when I described my vigil over
Harry Miller's literature or the series of my emo-
tions as I faced the audience. The lads vowed
I was the soul of good company and the prince of
lecturers; and — so wonderful an institution is
the popular press — if you had seen the notices
next day in all the papers, you must have supposed
my evening's entertainment an unqualified success.
I was in excellent spirits when I returned home
that night, but the miserable Pinkerton sorrowed
for us both. ſk
“O, Loudon,” he said, “I shall never forgive
myself. When I saw you did n’t catch on to the
idea of the lecture, I should have given it myself!”
CHAPTER VII
IRONS IN THE FIRE
Offes Strepitumque
\HE food of the body differs not so greatly
for the fool or the sage, the elephant or
* * , the cock-sparrow ; and similar chemical
elements, variously disguised, support all mortals.
A brief study of Pinkerton in his new setting con-
vinced me of a kindred truth about that other and
mental digestion, by which we extract what is
called “fun for our money ’’ out of life. In the
same spirit as a schoolboy, deep in Mayne Reid,
handles a dummy gun and crawls among imagi-
nary forests, Pinkerton sped through Kearney
Street upon his daily business, representing to
himself a highly coloured part in life's perform-
ance, and happy for hours if he should have
chanced to brush against a millionaire. Reality
was his romance; he gloried to be thus engaged;
he wallowed in his business. Suppose a man to dig
up a galleon on the Coromandel coast, his rakish
schooner keeping the while an offing under easy
sail, and he, by the blaze of a great fire of wreck-
wood, to measure ingots by the bucketful on the
uproarious beach; such an one might realise a

I 24. T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
greater material spoil; he should have no more
profit of romance than Pinkerton when he cast up
his weekly balance-sheet in a bald office. Every
dollar gained was like Something brought ashore
from a mysterious deep; every venture made was
like a diver's plunge; and as he thrust his bold
hand into the plexus of the money-market, he was
delightedly aware of how he shook the pillars of
existence, turned out men (as at a battle-cry) to
labour in far countries, and set the gold twitching
in the drawers of millionaires.
I could never fathom the full extent of his spec-
ulations; but there were five separate businesses
which he avowed and carried like a banner. The
Thirteen Star Golden State Brandy, Warranted
Entire (a very flagrant distillation) filled a great
part of his thoughts and was kept before the public
in an eloquent but misleading treatise: Why Drink
French Brandy? A Word to the Wise. He kept
an office for advertisers, counselling, designing,
acting as middleman with printers and bill-stickers,
for the inexperienced or the uninspired: the dull
haberdasher came to him for ideas, the smart the
atrical agent for his local knowledge; and one and
all departed with a copy of his pamphlet: How,
When, and Where; or, the Advertiser’s Wade-
Mecum. He had a tug chartered every Saturday
afternoon and night, carried people 'outside the
Heads, and provided them with lines and bait for
six hours' fishing, at the rate of five dollars a
person. I am told that Some of them (doubtless
adroit anglers) made a profit on the transaction.
T H E W R E C K E R 12;
Occasionally he bought wrecks and condemned
vessels; these latter (I cannot tell you how) found
their way to Sea again under aliases, and continued
to stem the waves triumphantly enough under the
colours of Bolivia or Nicaragua. Lastly, there
was a certain agricultural engine, glorying in a
great deal of vermilion and blue paint, and filling
(it appeared) a “long-felt want,” in which his in-
terest was something like a tenth.
This for the face or front of his concerns. “On
the outside,” as he phrased it, he was variously
and mysteriously engaged. No dollar slept in
his possession; rather he kept all simultaneously
flying like a conjurer with oranges. My Own
earnings, when. I began to have a share, he would
but show me for a moment, and disperse again,
like those illusive money gifts which are flashed
in the eyes of childhood only to be entombed in
the missionary box. And he would come down
radiant from a weekly balance-sheet, clap me on
the shoulder, declare himself a winner by Gar-
gantuan figures, and prove destitute of a quarter
for a drink.
“What on earth have you done with it?” I
would ask. -
“Into the mill again; all re-invested l’ he
would cry, with infinite delight. Investment was
ever his word. He could not bear what he called
gambling. “Never touch stocks, Loudon,” he
would say; “nothing but legitimate business.”
And yet, Heaven knows, many an indurated gam-
bler might have drawn back appalled at the first
1.26 T H E W R E C K E R
hint of some of Pinkerton’s investments | One,
which I succeeded in tracking home, and instance
for a specimen, was a seventh share in the charter
of a certain ill-starred schooner bound for Mexico,
to Smuggle weapons on the One trip, and cigars
upon the other. The latter end of this enterprise,
involving (as it did) shipwreck, confiscation, and
a lawsuit with the underwriters, was too painful
to be dwelt upon at length. “It’s proved a dis-
appointment,” was as far as my friend would go
with me in words; but I knew, from observation,
that the fabric of his fortunes tottered. For the
rest, it was only by accident I got wind of the
transaction; for Pinkerton, after a time, was shy
of introducing me to his arcana: the reason you
are to hear presently. *
The office which was (or should have been) the
point of rest for so many evolving dollars stood
in the heart of the city: a high and spacious
room, with many plate-glass windows. A glazed
cabinet of polished redwood offered to the eye a
regiment of some two hundred bottles, conspic-
uously labelled. These were all charged with
Pinkerton's Thirteen Star, although from across
the room it would have required an expert to
distinguish them from the same number of bottles
of Courvoisier. I used to twit my friend with
this resemblance, and propose a new edition of
the pamphlet, with the title thus improved: Why
Drink French Brandy, when we give you the same
labels? The doors of the cabinet revolved all day
upon their hinges; and if there entered any one
T H E W R E C K E R 127
who was a stranger to the merits of the brand,
he departed laden with a bottle. When I used to
protest at this extravagance, “My dear Loudon,”
Pinkerton would cry, “you don’t seem to catch
on to business principles | The prime cost of the
spirit is literally nothing. I could n’t find a cheaper
advertisement if I tried.” Against the side post
of the cabinet there leaned a gaudy umbrella, pre-
served there as a relic. It appears that when
|Pinkerton was about to place Thirteen Star upon
the market, the rainy season was at hand. He lay
dark, almost in penury, awaiting the first shower,
at which, as upon a signal, the main thorough-
fares became dotted with his agents, vendors of
advertisements; and the whole world of San
Francisco, from the business man fleeing for the
ferry-boat, to the lady waiting at the corner for
her car, sheltered itself under umbrellas with this
strange device: Are you wet 2 Try Thirteen Star.
“It was a mammoth boom,” said Pinkerton, with
a sigh of delighted recollection. “There was n’t
another umbrella to be seen. I stood at this win-
dow, Lotidon, feasting my eyes; and I declare, I
felt like Vanderbilt.” And it was to this neat
application of the local climate that he owed, not
only much of the sale of Thirteen Star, but the
whole business of his advertising agency.
The large desk (to resume our survey of the
office) stood about the middle, knee-deep in stacks
of handbills and posters, of Why Drink French
Brandy? and The Advertiser's Wade-Mecum. It
was flanked upon the one hand by two female
I 28 T H E W R E C K E R
type-writers, who rested not between the hours
of nine and four, and upon the other by a model
of the agricultural machine. The walls, where
they were not broken by telephone boxes and a
couple of photographs — one representing the
wreck of the James L. Moody on a bold and broken
coast, the other the Saturday tug alive with ama-
teur fishers — almost disappeared under oil-paint-
ings gaudily framed. Many of these were relics
of the Latin Quarter, and I must do Pinkerton
the justice to say that none of them were bad,
and some had remarkable merit. They went off
slowly but for handsome figures; and their places
were progressively supplied with the work of local
artists. These last it was one of my first duties
to review and criticise. Some of them were vil-
lainous, yet all were saleable. I said so; and the
next moment saw myself, the figure of a miserable
renegade, bearing arms in the wrong camp. I was
to look at pictures thenceforward, not with the eye
of the artist, but the dealer; and I saw the stream
widen that divided me from all I loved.
“Now, Loudon,” Pinkerton had said, the morn-
ing after the lecture, “ now, Loudon, we can go at
it shoulder to shoulder. This is what I have longed
for : I wanted two heads and four arms; and now
I have 'em. You'll find it’s just the same as art
— all observation and imagination; only more
movement. Just wait till you begin to feel the
charm l’” {
I might have waited long. Perhaps I lack a
sense; for our whole existence seemed to me one
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I 29
dreary bustle, and the place we bustled in fitly to be
called the Place of Yawning. I slept in a little
den behind the Office; Pinkerton, in the Office itself,
stretched on a patent sofa which sometimes col-
lapsed, his slumbers still further menaced by an
imminent clock with an alarm. Roused by this
diabolical contrivance, we rose early, went forth
early to breakfast, and returned by nine to what
Pinkerton called work, and I distraction. Masses
of letters must be opened, read, and answered;
Some by me at a subsidiary desk which had been
introduced on the morning of my arrival; others
by my bright-eyed friend, pacing the room like a
caged lion as he dictated to the tinkling type-
writers. Masses of wet proof had to be overhauled
and scrawled upon with a blue pencil — “rustic ’’
– “six-inch caps " — “bold spacing here " — or
Sometimes terms more fervid, as for instance this,
which I remember Pinkerton to have spirted on
the margin of an advertisement of Soothing Syrup;
“Throw this all down. Have you never printed an
advertisement? I’ll be round in half an hour.”
The ledger and sale-book, besides, we had always
with us. Such was the backbone of our occupation,
and tolerable enough ; but the far greater propor-
tion of our time was consumed by visitors, whole-
souled, grand fellows no doubt, and as sharp as
a needle, but to me unfortunately not diverting.
Some were apparently half-witted, and must be
talked over by the hour before they could reach
the humblest decision, which they only left the
office to return again (ten minutes later) and re-
9
I3O T H E W R E C K E R
scind. Others came with a vast show of hurry and
despatch, but I observed it to be principally show.
The agricultural model for instance, which was
practicable, proved a kind of fly-paper for these
busybodies. I have seen them blankly turn the
crank of it for five minutes at a time, simulating
(to nobody’s deception) business interest: “Good
thing this, Pinkerton P Sell much of it? Ha!
Could n’t use it, I suppose, as a medium of adver-
tisement for my article?” — which was perhaps
toilet soap. Others (a still worse variety) carried
us to neighbouring saloons to dice for cocktails
and (after the cocktails were paid) for dollars on
a corner of the counter. The attraction of dice
for all these people was indeed extraordinary: at
a certain club, where I once dined in the character
of “my partner, Mr. Dodd,” the dice-box came on
the table with the wine, an artless substitute for
after-dinner wit.
Of all our visitors, I believe I preferred Em-
peror Norton; the very mention of whose name
reminds me I am doing scanty justice to the folks
of San Francisco. In what other city would a
harmless madman who supposed himself emperor
of the two Americas have been so fostered and
encouraged P. Where else would even the people
of the streets have respected the poor soul's illu-
sion ? Where else would bankers and merchants
have received his visits, cashed his cheques, and
submitted to his small assessments? Where else
would he have been suffered to attend and address
the exhibition days of schools and colleges? where
T H E W R E C K E R I31
else, in God's green earth, have taken his pick of
restaurants, ransacked the bill of fare, and de-
parted scathless? They tell me he was even an
exacting patron, threatening to withdraw his cus-
tom when dissatisfied; and I can believe it, for
his face wore an expression distinctly gastronom-
ical. Pinkerton had received from this monarch
a cabinet appointment; I have seen the brevet,
wondering mainly at the good-nature of the printer
who had executed the forms, and I think my friend
was at the head either of foreign affairs or educa-
tion: it mattered, indeed, nothing, the prestation
being in all offices identical. It was at a compara-
tively early date that I saw Jim in the exercise of
his public functions. His Majesty entered the
office — a portly, rather flabby man, with the face
of a gentleman, rendered unspeakably pathetic and
absurd by the great sabre at his side and the pea-
cock's feather in his hat.
“I have called to remind you, Mr. Pinkerton,
that you are somewhat in arrear of taxes,” he
said, with old-fashioned, stately courtesy.
“Well, Your Majesty, what is the amount?”
asked Jim ; and when the figure was named (it
was generally two or three dollars), paid upon the
nail and offered a bonus in the shape of Thirteen
Star. *
“I am always delighted to patronise native in-
dustries,” said Norton the First. “San Francisco
is public-spirited in what concerns its Emperor;
and indeed, sir, of all my domains, it is my fa-
vourite city.”
132 T H E W R F C K E R
“Come,” said I, when he was gone, “I prefer
that customer to the lot.”
“It’s really rather a distinction,” Jim admitted.
“I think it must have been the umbrella racket
that attracted him.”
We were distinguished under the rose by the
notice of other and greater men. There were days
when Jim wore an air of unusual capacity and
resolve, spoke with more brevity like one pressed
for time, and took often on his tongue such
phrases as “Longhurst told me so this morn-
ing,” or “I had it straight from Longhurst him-
self.” It was no wonder, I used to think, that
Pinkerton was called to council with such Titans;
for the creature's quickness and resource were
beyond praise. In the early days when he con-
sulted me without reserve, pacing the room, pro-
jecting, ciphering, extending hypothetical interests,
trebling imaginary capital, his “engine '' (to re-
new an excellent old word) labouring full steam
ahead, I could never decide whether my sense
of respect or entertainment were the stronger.
But these good hours were destined to cur-
tailment. -
“Yes, it’s smart enough,” I once observed.
“But, Pinkerton, do you think it’s honest?”
“You don’t think it’s honest!” he wailed. “O
dear me, that ever I should have heard such an
expression on your lips' "
At sight of his distress, I plagiarised unblush-
ingly from Myner. “You seem to think honesty
as simple as Blind Man's Buff,” said I. “It’s a
5 5
T H E W R E C K E R I 33
more delicate affair than that: delicate as any
art.” -
“O well! at that ratel ” he exclaimed, with
complete relief. “That’s casuistry.”
“I am perfectly certain of one thing: that what
you propose is dishonest,” I returned.
“Well, say no more about it. That’s settled,”
he replied.
Thus, almost at a word, my point was carried.
But the trouble was that such differences con-
tinued to recur, until we began to regard each
other with alarm. If there were one thing Pin-
kerton valued himself upon, it was his honesty;
if there were one thing he clung to, it was my
good opinion; and when both were involved, as
was the case in these commercial cruces, the man
was on the rack. My own position, if you con-
sider how much I owed him, how hateful is the
trade of fault-finder, and that yet I lived and
fattened on these questionable operations, was
perhaps equally distressing. If I had been more
Sterling or more combative things might have
gone extremely far. But, in truth, I was just
base enough to profit by what was not forced
On my attention, rather than seek scenes: Pin-
kerton quite cunning enough to avail himself of
my weakness; and it was a relief to both when
he began to involve his proceedings in a decent
mystery.
Our last dispute, which had a most unlooked-
for consequence, turned on the refitting of con-
demned ships. He had bought a miserable hulk,
I34. T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
and came, rubbing his hands, to inform me she
was already on the slip, under a new name, to be
repaired. When first I had heard of this indus-
try I suppose I scarcely comprehended; but much
discussion had sharpened my faculties, and now
my brow became heavy.
“I can be no party to that, Pinkerton,” said I.
He leaped like a man shot. “What next?” he
cried. “What ails you, anyway? You seem to
me to dislike everything that 's profitable.”
“This ship has been condemned by Lloyd's
agent,” said I. -
“But I tell you it's a deal. The ship 's in
splendid condition; there’s next to nothing wrong
with her but the garboard streak and the stern-
post. I tell you Lloyd’s is a ring like everybody
else; only it's an English ring, and that 's what
deceives you. If it was American, you would be
crying it down all day. It 's Anglomania, common
Anglomania,” he cried, with growing irritation.
“I will not make money by risking men's lives,”
was my ultimatum.
“Great Caesar! is n’t all speculation a risk?
Is n’t the fairest kind of shipowning to risk men's
lives? And mining — how 's that for risk? And
look at the elevator business — there's danger, if
you like! Did n’t I take my risk when I bought
her? She might have been too far gone; and
where would I have been P Loudon,” he cried,
“I tell you the truth: you're too full of refine-
ment for this world !”
“I condemn you out of your own lips,” I re-
T H E W R E C K E R I 35
plied. “‘The fairest kind of shipowning,’ says
you. If you please, let us only do the fairest kind
of business.”
The shot told, the Irrepressible was silenced;
and I profited by the chance, to pour in a broad-
side of another sort. He was all sunk in money-
getting, I pointed out; he never dreamed of
anything but dollars. Where were all his gen-
erous, progressive sentiments? Where was his
culture? I asked. And where was the American
Type P - *
“It’s true, Loudon,” he cried, striding up and
down the room, and wildly scouring at his hair.
“You’re perfectly right. I’m becoming materi-
alised. O, what a thing to have to say, what a
confession to make | Materialised ! Me! Loudon,
this must go on no longer. You've been a loyal
friend to me once more; give me your hand 1 —
you ’ve saved me again. I must do something
to rouse the spiritual side: something desper-
ate; study something, something dry and tough.
What shall it be? Theology? Algebra? What’s
Algebra?”
“It’s dry and tough enough,” said I; “a” +
2db + b%.”
“It’s stimulating, though P” he inquired.
I told him I believed so, and that it was con-
sidered fortifying to Types.
“Then, that's the thing for me. I’ll study
Algebra,” he concluded.
The next day, by application to one of his type-
writing women, he got word of a young lady, one
136 T H E W R E C K E R
Miss Mamie McBride, who was willing and able
to conduct him in these bloomless meadows; and,
her circumstances being lean, and terms conse-
quently moderate, he and Mamie were SOOn in
agreement for two lessons in the week. He took
fire with unexampled rapidity; he seemed unable
to tear himself away from the symbolic art; an
hour's lesson occupied the whole evening; and the
original two was soon increased to four, and then
to five. I bade him beware of female blandish-
ments. “The first thing you know, you'll be
falling in love with the algebraist,” said I.
“Don’t say it even in jest,” he cried. “She’s
a lady I revere. I could no more lay a hand upon
her than I could upon a spirit. Loudon, I don’t
believe God ever made a purer-minded woman.”
Which appeared to me too fervent to be re-
assuring.
IMeanwhile I had been long expostulating with
my friend upon a different matter. “I’m the
fifth wheel,” I kept telling him. “ For any use
I am, I might as well be in Senegambia. The
letters you give me to attend to might be an-
swered by a sucking child. And I tell you what
it is, Pinkerton: either you’ve got to find me
some employment, or I’ll have to start in and
find it for myself.”
This I said with a corner of my eye in the
usual quarter, toward the arts, little dreaming
what destiny was to provide. -
“I’ve got it, Loudon,” Pinkerton at last re-
plied. “Got the idea on the Potrero cars. Found
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I 37
I had n’t a pencil, borrowed one from the con-
ductor, and figured on it roughly all the way in
town. I saw it was the thing at last; gives you
a real show. All your talents and accomplish-
ments come in. Here 's a sketch advertisement.
Just run your eye over it. ‘Sun, Ogone, and
Music / PINKERTON'S HEBDOMADARY
PICNICS' ' (That’s a good, catching phrase,
‘hebdomadary,’ though it's hard to say. I made
a note of it when I was looking in the diction-
ary how to spell hectagonal. ‘Well, you ’re a
boss word,' I said. “Before you’re very much
Older, I’ll have you in type as long as yourself.”
And here it is, you see.) Five dollars a head,
and ladies free. MonstER OLIO OF ATTRAC-
TIONS.’ (How does that strike you?) “Free
luncheon under the greenwood tree. Dance on
the elastic sward. Home again in the Bright
Evening Hours. Manager and Honorary Stew-
ard, H. Loudon Dodd, Esq., the well-known
connoisseur.’” $
Singular how a man runs from Scylla to
Charybdis I was so intent on securing the dis-
appearance of a single epithet that I accepted the
rest of the advertisement and all that it involved
without discussion. So it befell that the words
“well-known connoisseur’ were deleted; but that
H. Loudon Dodd became manager and honorary
steward of Pinkerton’s Hebdomadary Picnics, soon
shortened, by popular consent, to the Dromedary.
By eight o'clock, any Sunday morning, I was to
be observed by an admiring public on the wharf.
138 T H E W R E C K E R
The garb and attributes of sacrifice consisted of
a black frock-coat, rosetted, its pockets bulging
with sweetmeats and inferior cigars, trousers of
light blue, a sik hat like a reflector, and a var-
Inished wand. A goodly steamer guarded my one
flank, panting and throbbing, flags fluttering fore
and aft of her, illustrative of the Dromedary and .
patriotism. My other flank was covered by the
ticket-office, strongly held by a trusty character
of the Scots persuasion, rosetted like his superior
and Smoking a cigar to mark the occasion festive.
At half-past, having assured myself that all was
well with the free luncheons, I lit a cigar myself,
and awaited the strains of the “Pioneer Band.”
I had never to wait long — they were German and
punctual — and by a few minutes after the half-
hour, I would hear them booming down street with
a long military roll of drums, some score of gratui-
tous asses prancing at the head in bearskin hats
and buckskin aprons, and conspicuous with re-
splendent axes. The band, of course, we paid
for; but so strong is the San Franciscan passion
for public masquerade, that the asses (as I say)
were all gratuitous, pranced for the love of it,
and cost us nothing but their luncheon.
The musicians formed up in the bows of my
steamer, and struck into a skittish polka ; the
asses mounted guard upon the gangway and the
ticket-office; and presently after, in family parties
of father, mother, and children, in the form of
duplicate lovers or in that of solitary youth, the
public began to descend upon us by the carful
T H E W R E C K E R isy
at a time; four to six hundred perhaps, with a
strong German flavour, and all merry as children.
When these had been shepherded on board, and
the inevitable belated two or three had gained the
deck amidst the cheering of the public, the haw–
Ser was cast off, and we plunged into the bay.
And now behold the honorary steward in the
hour of duty and glory: see me circulate amid
the crowd, radiating affability and laughter, liberal
with my sweetmeats and cigars. I say unblushing
things to hobbledehoy girls, tell shy young per-
sons this is the married peoples' boat, roguishly
ask the abstracted if they are thinking of their
sweethearts, offer Paterfamilias a cigar, am struck
with the beauty and grow curious about the age
of mamma's youngest who (I assure her gaily)
will be a man before his mother; or perhaps it
may occur to me, from the sensible expression of
her face, that she is a person of good counsel, and
I ask her earnestly if she knows any particularly
pleasant place on the Saucelito or San Rafael
coast, for the scene of our picnic is always Sup-
posed to be uncertain. The next moment I am
back at my giddy badinage with the young ladies,
wakening laughter as I go, and leaving in my
wake applausive comments of “Is n’t Mr. Dodd
a funny gentleman?” and “O, I think he's just
too nice " '' -
An hour having passed in this airy manner, I
start upon my rounds afresh, with a bag full of
coloured tickets, all with pins attached, and all
with legible inscriptions: “Old Germany,” “Cali-
14o T H E W R E C K E R
fornia,” “True Love,” “Old Fogies,” “La Belle
France,” “Green Erin,” “The Land of Cakes,”
“Washington,” “Blue Jay,” “Robin Red-Breast,”
— twenty of each denomination; for when it comes
to the luncheon, we sit down by twenties. These
are distributed with anxious tact — for indeed this
is the most delicate part of my functions — but
outwardly with reckless unconcern, amidst the gay-
est flutter and confusion; and are immediately
after sported upon hats and bonnets, to the ex-
treme diffusion of cordiality, total strangers hail-
ing each other by “the number of their mess ''
— SO we humorously name it — and the deck
ringing with cries of, “Here, all Blue Jays to the
rescue !” or, “I say, am I alone in this blame'
ship P Ain’t there no more Californians?”
By this time we are drawing near to the ap-
pointed spot. I mount upon the bridge, the
observed of all observers.
“Captain,” I say, in clear, emphatic tones,
heard far and wide, “the majority of the com-
pany appear to be in favour of the little cove
beyond One Tree Point.”
“All right, Mr. Dodd,” responds the captain,
heartily; “all one to me. I am not exactly sure
of the place you mean ; but just you stay here
and pilot me.”
I do, pointing with my wand. I do pilot him,
to the inexpressible entertainment of the picnic;
for I am (why should I deny it?) the popular
man. We slow down off the mouth of a grassy
valley, watered by a brook, and set in pines and
T H E W R E C K E R I4 I
redwoods. The anchor is let go; the boats are
lowered, two of them already packed with the
materials of an impromptu bar; and the Pioneer
Band, accompanied by the resplendent asses, fill
the other, and move shoreward to the inviting
strains of Buffalo Gals, won't you come out to—
night? It is a part of our programme that one
of the asses shall, from sheer clumsiness, in the
course of this embarkation, drop a dummy axe
into the water: whereupon the mirth of the picnic
can hardly be assuaged. Upon one occasion, the
dummy axe floated, and the laugh turned rather
the wrong way. k
In from ten to twenty minutes the boats are
alongside again, the messes are marshalled sepa-
rately on the deck, and the picnic goes ashore, to
find the band and the impromptu bar awaiting
them. Then come the hampers, which are piled
upon the beach, and surrounded by a stern guard
of stalwart asses, axe on shoulder. It is here I
take my place, note-book in hand, under a banner
bearing the legend, “Come here for hampers.”
Each hamper contains a complete outfit for a sepa-
rate twenty, cold provender, plates, glasses, knives,
forks, and spoons: an agonised printed appeal from
the fevered pen of Pinkerton, pasted on the inside
of the lid, beseeches that care be taken of the glass
and silver. Beer, wine, and lemonade are flow-
ing already from the bar, and the various clans
of twenty file away into the woods, with bottles
under their arms, and the hampers strung upon
a stick. Till one they feast there, in a very mod-
I42 T H E W R E C K E R
erate seclusion, all being within earshot of the
band. From one till four, dancing takes place
upon the grass; the bar does a roaring business,
and the honorary steward, who has already ex-
hausted himself to bring life into the dullest of
the messes, must now indefatigably dance with the
plainest of the women. At four a bugle-call is
sounded; and by half-past behold us on board
again, pioneers, corrugated iron bar, empty bottles,
and all; while the honorary steward, free at last,
subsides into the captain’s cabin over a brandy and
soda and a book. Free at last, I say, yet there
remains before him the frantic leave-takings at
the pier, and a sober journey up to Pinkerton's
office with two policemen and the day's takings
in a bag.
What I have here sketched was the routine. But
we appealed to the taste of San Francisco more
distinctly in particular fêtes. “Ye Olde Time
Pycke-Nycke,” largely advertised in handbills be-
ginning “Oyez, Oyez!” and largely frequented
by knights, monks, and cavaliers, was drowned.
out by unseasonable rain, and returned to the city
one of the saddest spectacles I ever remember to
have witnessed. In pleasing contrast, and cer-
tainly our chief success, was “The Gathering of
the Clans,” or Scottish picnic. So many milk-
white knees were never before simultaneously ex-
hibited in public, and to judge by the prevalence
of “Royal Stewart’ and the number of eagle's
feathers, we were a high-born company. I threw
forward the Scottish flank of my own ancestry,
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I43
and passed muster as a clansman with applause.
There was, indeed, but one small cloud on this
red-letter day. I had laid in a large supply of
the national beverage, in the shape of The “Rob
Roy MacGregor O’ Blend, Warranted Old and
Vatted; and this must certainly have been a
generous spirit, for I had some anxious work
between four and half-past, conveying on board
the inanimate forms of chieftains.
To one of our ordinary festivities, where he was
the life and soul of his own mess, Pinkerton him-
Self came incognito, bringing the algebraist on his
arm. Miss Mamie proved to be a well-enough-
looking mouse, with a large, limpid eye, very good
manners, and a flow of the most correct expres–
sions I have ever heard upon the human lip. As
Pinkerton's incognito was strict, I had little op-
portunity to cultivate the lady’s acquaintance; but
I was informed afterwards that she considered me
“the wittiest gentleman she had ever met.” “The
Lord mend your taste in wit!” thought I; but
I cannot conceal that such was the general im–
pression. One of my pleasantries even went the
round of San Francisco, and I have heard it
(myself all unknown) bandied in saloons. To be
unknown began 'at last to be a rare experience:
a bustle woke upon my passage; above all, in
humble neighbourhoods. “Who’s that?” one
would ask, and the other would cry, “That!
Why, Dromedary Dodd 1 '' or with withering
scorn, “ Not know Mr. Dodd of the Picnics?
Well!” and indeed I think it marked a rather
I 44- T H E W R E C K E R
bārren destiny; for our picnics, if a trifle vulgar,
were as gay and innocent as the age of gold; I
am sure no people divert themselves so easily and
so well: and even with the cares of my steward-
ship, I was often happy to be there.
Indeed, there were but two drawbacks in the
least considerable. The first was my terror of
the hobbledehoy girls, to whom (from the de-
mands of my situation) I was obliged to lay
myself so open. The other, if less momentous,
was more mortifying. In early days, at my
mother's knee, as a man may say, I had acquired
the unenviable accomplishment (which I have
never since been able to lose) of singing Just be-
fore the Battle. I have what the French call a
fillet of voice, my best notes scarce audible about
a dinner-table, and the upper register rather to be
regarded as a higher power of silence: experts
tell me besides that I sing flat; nor, if I were
the best singer in the world, does Just before the
Battle occur to my mature taste as the song that
I would choose to sing. In spite of all which con-
siderations, at one picnic, memorably dull, and after
I had exhausted every other art of pleasing, I gave,
in desperation, my one song. From that hour my
doom was gone forth. Either we had a chronic
passenger (though I could never detect him), or
the very wood and iron of the steamer must have
retained the tradition. At every successive picnic
word went round that Mr. Dodd was a singer;
that Mr. Dodd sang Just before the Battle, and
finally that now was the time when Mr. Dodd
T H E W R E. C K E R I45
sang Just before the Battle; so that the thing
became a fixture like the dropping Of the dummy
axe, and you are to conceive me, Sunday after
Sunday, piping up my lamentable ditty and cov-
ered, when it was done, with gratuitous applause.
It is a beautiful trait in human nature that I was
invariably offered an encore.
I was well paid, however, even to sing. Pin-
kerton and I, after an average Sunday, had five
hundred dollars to divide. Nay, and the picnics
were the means, although indirectly, of bringing
me a singular windfall. This was at the end of
the season, after the “Grand Farewell Fancy
Dress Gala.” Many of the hampers had suffered
Severely; and it was judged wiser to save stor-
age, dispose of them, and lay in a fresh stock
when the campaign re-opened. Among my pur-
chasers was a workingman of the name of Speedy,
to whose house, after several unavailing letters, I
must proceed in person, wondering to find myself
Once again on the wrong side, and playing cred-
itor to some one else's debtor. Speedy was in the
belligerent stage of fear. He could not pay. It
appeared he had already resold the hampers, and
he defied me to do my worst. I did not like to
lose my own money; I hated to lose Pinkerton's;
and the bearing of my creditor incensed me.
“Do you know, Mr. Speedy, that I can send
you to the penitentiary P” said I, willing to read
him a lesson.
The dire expression was overheard in the next
room. A large, fresh, motherly Irishwoman ran
IO
I46 T H E W R E C K E R
forth upon the instant, and fell to besiege me with
caresses and appeals. “Sure now, and ye could n’t
have the heart to ut, Mr. Dodd, you, that 's so
well known to be a pleasant gentleman; and it's
a pleasant face ye have, and the picture of me
own brother that 's dead and gone. It's a truth
that he's been drinking. Ye can smell it off of
him, more blame to him. But, indade, and there's
nothing in the house beyont the furnicher, and
Thim Stock. It 's the stock that ye ’ll be taking,
dear. A Sore penny it has cost me, first and last,
and by all tales, not worth an owld tobacco pipe.”
Thus adjured, and somewhat embarrassed by the
stern attitude I had adopted, I suffered myself to
be invested with a considerable quantity of what
is called wild-cat stock, in which this excellent if
illogical female had been squandering her hard-
earned gold. It could scarce be said to better
my position, but the step quieted the woman; and,
on the other hand, I could not think I was taking .
much risk, for the shares in question (they were
those of what I will call the Catamount Silver
Mine) had fallen some time before to the bed-rock
quotation, and now lay perfectly inert, or were
only kicked (like other waste paper) about the
kennel of the exchange by bankrupt speculators.
A month or two after, I perceived by the stock-
list that Catamount had taken a bound; before
afternoon, “thim stock ’’ were worth a quite con-
siderable pot of money; and I learned, upon
inquiry, that a bonanza had been found in a con-
demned lead, and the mine was now expected to
T H E W R E C K E R I47
do wonders. Remarkable to philosophers how
bonanzas are found in condemned leads, and how
the stock is always at freezing-point immediately
before! By some stroke of chance, the Speedys
had held on to the right thing; they had escaped
the syndicate; yet a little more, if I had not
come to dun them, and Mrs. Speedy would have
been buying a silk dress. I could not bear, of
course, to profit by the accident, and returned to
offer restitution. The house was in a bustle; the
neighbours (all stock-gamblers themselves) had
crowded to condole; and Mrs. Speedy sat with
streaming tears, the centre of a sympathetic group.
“For fifteen year, I’ve been at ut,” she was
lamenting, as I entered, “ and grudging the babes
the very milk, more shame to me! to pay their
dhirty assessments. And now, my dears, I should
be a lady, and driving in my coach, if all had
their rights; and a sorrow on that man, Dodd
As soon as I set eyes on him, I seen the divil
was in the house.”
It was upon these words that I made my en-
trance, which was therefore dramatic enough,
though nothing to what followed. For when it
appeared that I was come to restore the lost for-
tune, and when Mrs. Speedy (after copiously
weeping on my bosom) had refused the restitution,
and when Mr. Speedy (summoned to that end
from a camp of the Grand Army of the Republic)
had added his refusal, and when I had insisted,
and they had insisted, and the neighbours had
applauded and supported each of us in turn; and
148 T H E W R E C K E R
when at last it was agreed we were to hold the
stock together, and share the proceeds in three
parts — one for me, one for Mr. Speedy, and one
for his spouse — I will leave you to conceive the
enthusiasm that reigned in that small, bare apart-
ment, with the Sewing-machine in the one corner,
and the babes asleep in the other, and pictures of
Garfield and the Battle of Gettysburg on the yellow
walls. Port wine was had in by a sympathiser,
and we drank it mingled with tears.
“And I dhrink to your health, my dear,” sobbed
Mrs. Speedy, especially affected by my gallantry
in the matter of the third share; “and I’m
sure we all dhrink to his health — Mr. Dodd of
the picnics, no gentleman better known than
him; and it’s my prayer, dear; the good God
may be long spared to see ye in health and
happiness!” -
In the end I was the chief gainer; for I sold my
third while it was worth five thousand dollars, but
the Speedys more adventurously held on until the
syndicate reversed the process, when they were
happy to escape with perhaps a quarter of that sum.
It was just as well; for the bulk of the money was
(in Pinkerton’s phrase) reinvested; and when
next I saw Mrs. Speedy, she was still gorgeously
dressed from the proceeds of the late success, but
was already moist with tears over the new catas-
trophe. “We’re froze out, me darlin'! All the
money we had, dear, and the sewing-machine, and
Jim's uniform, was in the Golden West; and the
vipers has put on a new assessment.”
T H E W R E C K E R I49
By the end of the year, therefore, this is how I
stood. I had made
By Catamount Silver Mine . . . . . . . . $5,000
By the picnics . . . . . . . . . . . . 3,000
By the lecture . . . . . . . . . . . . 6oo
By profit and loss on capital in Pinkerton's business I,350
$9,950
to which must be added -
What remained of my grandfather's donation . . 8,500
$18,450
It appears, on the other hand, that
I had spent . . . . . . . . . . . . 4,OOO
Which thus left me to the good . . . . . . $14,450
A result on which I am not ashamed to say I
looked with gratitude and pride. Some eight
thousand (being late conquest) was liquid and
actually tractile in the bank; the rest whirled be-
yond reach and even sight (save in the mirror of
a balance-sheet) under the compelling spell of
wizard Pinkerton. Dollars of mine were tacking
off the shores of Mexico, in peril of the deep and
the guardacostas; they rang on saloon-counters in
the city of Tombstone, Arizona; they shone in
faro-tents among the mountain diggings: the
imagination flagged in following them, so wide
were they diffused, so briskly they span to the
turning of the wizard's crank. But here, there,
Or everywhere I could still tell myself it was all
mine, and what was more convincing, draw sub-
stantial dividends. My fortune, I called it; and
it represented, when expressed in dollars or even
I 50 T H E W R E C K E R
British pounds, an honest pot of money; when
extended into francs, a veritable fortune. Per-
haps I have let the cat out of the bag; perhaps
you see already where my hopes were pointing,
and begin to blame my inconsistency. But I must
first tell you my excuse, and the change that had
befallen Pinkerton.
About a week after the picnic to which he
escorted Mamie, Pinkerton avowed the state of
his affections. From what I had observed on
board the steamer, where methought Mamie
waited on him with her limpid eyes, I encouraged
the bashful lover to proceed; and the very
Inext evening he was carrying me to call on his
affianced.
“You must befriend her, Loudon, as you have
always befriended me,” he said, pathetically.
“By saying disagreeable things? I doubt if
that be the way to a young lady's favour,” I re-
plied; “and since this picnicking I begin to be
a man of some experience.”
“Yes, you do nobly there; I can’t describe how
I admire you,” he cried. “Not that she will ever
need it; she has had every advantage. God knows
what I have done to deserve her. O man, what a
responsibility this is for a rough fellow and not
always truthful!” e
“ Brace up, old man, brace up !” said I.
But when we reached Mamie's boarding-house,
it was almost with tears that he presented me.
“Here is Loudon, Mamie,” were his words. “I
want you to love him; he has a grand nature.”
T H E W R E C K E R I 5 I
“You are certainly no stranger to me, Mr.
Dodd,” was her gracious expression. “James is
never weary of descanting on your goodness.”
“My dear lady,” said I, “when you know our
friend a little better, you will make a large allow-
ance for his warm heart. My goodness has con-
sisted in allowing him to feed and clothe and toil
for me when he could ill afford it. If I am now
alive, it is to him I owe it; no man had a kinder
friend. You must take good care of him,” I added,
laying my hand on his shoulder, “and keep him in
good order, for he needs it.”
Pinkerton was much affected by this speech, and
so, I fear, was Mamie. I admit it was a tactless
performance. “When you know our friend a little
better,” was not happily said, and even “keep him
in good order, for he needs it ’’ might be construed
into matter of offence; but I lay it before you in
all confidence of your acquittal: was the general
tone of it “patronising ”? Even if such was the
verdict of the lady, I cannot but suppose the blame
was neither wholly hers nor wholly mine; I cannot
but suppose that Pinkerton had already sickened
the poor woman of my very name, so that if I had
come with the songs of Apollo, she must still have
been disgusted.
Here, however, were two finger-posts to Paris.
Jim was going to be married, and so had the less
need of my society. I had not pleased his bride,
and SO was, perhaps, better absent. Late one even-
ing I broached the idea to my friend. It had been
a great day for me; I had just banked my five
I 52 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
thousand catamountain dollars; and as Jim had
refused to lay a finger on the stock, risk and profit
were both wholly mine, and I was celebrating the
event with stout and crackers. I began by telling
him that if it caused him any pain or any anxiety
about his affairs, he had but to say the word, and
he should hear no more of my proposal. He was
the truest and best friend I ever had or was ever
like to have ; and it would be a strange thing if
I refused him any favour he was sure he wanted.
At the same time I wished him to be sure; for my
life was wasting in my hands. I was like one from
home; all my true interests summoned me away.
I must remind him, besides, that he was now about
to marry and assume new interests, and that our
extreme familiarity might be even painful to his
wife. — “O no, Loudon, I feel you are wrong
there,” he interjected warmly, “she does appre-
ciate your nature.” — So much the better, then,
I continued ; and went on to point out that our
separation need not be for long; that, in the way
affairs were going, he might join me in two years
with a fortune, small, indeed, for the States, but in
France almost conspicuous; that we "might unite
Our resources, and have one house in Paris for the
winter and a second near Fontainebleau for sum-
mer, where we could be as happy as the day was .
long, and bring up little Pinkertons as practical,
artistic workmen, far from the money-hunger of
the West. “Let me go then,” I concluded; “not
as a deserter, but as the vanguard, to lead the march
of the Pinkerton men.”
T H E W R E C K E R 153
So I argued and pleaded, not without emotion;
my friend sitting opposite, resting his chin upon
his hand and (but for that single interjection)
silent. “I have been looking for this, Loudon,”
said he, when I had done. “It does pain me, and
that 's the fact — I’m so miserably selfish. And
I believe it's a death blow to the picnics; for it's
idle to deny that you were the heart and soul of
them with your wand and your gallant bearing,
and wit and humour and chivalry, and throwing
that kind of society atmosphere about the thing.
But for all that, you ’re right, and you ought to go.
You may count on forty dollars a week; and if
Depew City — one of nature's centres for this
State — pan out the least as I expect, it may be
double. But it’s forty dollars anyway; and to
think that two years ago you, were almost reduced
to beggary !”
“I was reduced to it,” said I.
“Well, the brutes gave you nothing, and I’m
glad of it now !” cried Jim. “It’s the triumphant
return I glory in Think of the master, and that
cold-blooded Myner too ! Yes, just let the Depew
City boom get on its legs, and you shall go; and
two years later, day for day, I’ll shake hands with
you in Paris, with Mamie on my arm, God bless
lmer * º
We talked in this vein far into the night. I was
myself so exultant in my new-found liberty, and
Pinkerton so proud of my triumph, so happy in my
happiness, in so warm a glow about the gallant little
woman of his choice, and the very room so filled
154 T H E W R E C K E R
with castles in the air and cottages at Fontaine-
bleau, that it was little wonder if sleep fled our
eyelids, and three had followed two upon the office
clock before Pinkerton unfolded the mechanism
of his patent sofa.
CHAPTER VIII
FACES ON THE CITY FRONT
it were exactly ruled in two, like sleep and
waking; the provinces of play and business
standing separate. The business side of my career
in San Francisco has been now disposed of ; I ap-
proach the chapter of diversion; and it will be
found they had about an equal share in building
up the story of the Wrecker — a gentleman whose
appearance may be presently expected.
With all my occupations, some six afternoons
and two or three odd evenings remained at my
disposal every week: a circumstance the more
agreeable as I was a stranger in a city singularly
picturesque. From what I had once called myself,
The Amateur Parisian, I grew (or declined) into
a water-side prowler, a lingerer on wharves, a
frequenter of shy neighbourhoods, a scraper of
acquaintance with eccentric characters. I visited
Chinese and Mexican gambling-hells, German
Secret Societies, sailors' boarding-houses, and
“ dives' of every complexion of the disreputable
and dangerous. I have seen greasy Mexican hands
pinned to the table with a knife for cheating, sea-
men (when blood-money ran high) knocked down
I is very much the custom to view life as if
156 T H E W R E C K E R
upon the public street and carried insensible on
board short-handed ships, shots exchanged and the
Smoke (and the company) dispersing from the
doors of the saloon. I have heard cold-minded
Polacks debate upon the readiest method of burn–
ing San Francisco to the ground, hot-headed work-
ing men and women bawl and swear in the tribune
at the Sand Lot, and Kearney himself open his
Subscription for a gallows, name the manufacturers
who were to grace it with their dangling bodies,
and read aloud to the delighted multitude a tele-
gram of adhesion from a member of the State leg-
islature: all which preparations of proletarian war
were (in a moment) breathed upon and abolished
by the mere name and fame of Mr. Coleman. That
lion of the Vigilantes had but to rouse himself and
shake his ears, and the whole brawling mob was
silenced. I could not but reflect what a strange
manner of man this was, to be living unremarked
there as a private merchant, and to be so feared
by a whole city; and if I was disappointed, in my
character of looker-on, to have the matter end
ingloriously without the firing of a shot or the
hanging of a single millionaire, philosophy tried to
tell me that this sight was truly the more pictur-
esque. In a thousand towns and different epochs
I might have had occasion to behold the cowardice
and carnage of street fighting; where else, but
only there and then, could I have enjoyed a view
of Coleman (the intermittent despot) walking med-
itatively up-hill in a quiet part of town, with a very
rolling gait, and slapping gently his great thigh P
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I 57
Minora canamus. This historic figure stalks
silently through a corner of the San Francisco of
my memory: the rest is bric-a-brac, the reminis-
cences of a vagrant sketcher. My delight was
much in slums. Little Italy was a haunt of mine;
there I would look in at the windows of small
eating-shops, transported bodily from Genoa or
Naples, with their macaroni, and chianti flasks and
portraits of Garibaldi, and coloured political cari-
catures; or (entering in) hold high debate with
some ear-ringed fisher of the bay as to the designs
of “Mr. Owstria '' and “Mr. ROOshia.” I was
often to be observed (had there been any to ob-
serve me) in that dispeopled, hill-side solitude of
Little Mearico, with its crazy wooden houses, end-
less crazy wooden stairs, and perilous mountain
goat-paths in the sand. Chinatown by a thousand
eccentricities drew and held me; I could never
have enough of its ambiguous, interracial atmos-
phere, as of a vitalised museum; never wonder
enough at its outlandish, necromantic-looking vege-
tables set forth to sell in commonplace American
shop-windows, its temple doors open and the scent
of the joss-sticks streaming forth on the American
air, its kites of Oriental fashion hanging fouled
in Western telegraph-wires, its flights of paper
prayers which the trade-wind hunts and dissipates
along Western gutters. I was a frequent wan-
derer on North Beach, gazing at the straits, and
the huge Cape-Horners creeping out to sea, and
imminent Tamalpais. Thence, on my homeward
way, I might visit that strange and filthy shed,
I 58 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
earth-paved and walled with the cages of wild
animals and birds, where at a ramshackle counter,
amid the yells of monkeys, and a poignant atmos-
phere of menagerie, forty-rod whisky was admin-
istered by a proprietor as dirty as his beasts. Nor
did I even neglect Nob Hill, which is itself a kind
of slum, being the habitat of the mere millionaire.
There they dwell upon the hill-top, high raised
above man's clamour, and the trade-wind blows
between their palaces about deserted streets.
But San Francisco is not herself only. She is
not only the most interesting city in the Union,
and the hugest smelting-pot of races and the
precious metals. She keeps, besides, the doors of
the Pacific, and is the port of entry to another
world and an earlier epoch in man's history.
Nowhere else shall you observe (in the ancient
phrase) so many tall ships as here convene from
round the Horn, from China, from Sydney, and
the Indies; but scarce remarked amid that crowd
of deep-sea giants, another class of craft, the Island
schooner, circulates: low in the water, with lofty
spars and dainty lines, rigged and fashioned like
a yacht, manned with brown-skinned, soft-spoken,
sweet-eyed native sailors, and equipped with their
great double-ender boats that tell a tale of boister-
ous sea-beaches. These steal out and in again,
unnoted by the world or even the newspaper
press, save for the line in the clearing column,
“Schooner So-and-so for Yap and South Sea
Islands " — steal out with nondescript cargoes
of tinned salmon, gin, bolts of gaudy cotton
T H E w RE C K E R I 59
stuff, women's hats, and Waterbury watches, to
return, after a year, piled as high as to the eaves
of the house with copra, or wallowing deep with
the shells of the tortoise or the pearl oyster. To
me, in my character of the Amateur Parisian, this
island traffic, and even the island world, were be-
yond the bounds of curiosity, and how much more
of knowledge. I stood there on the extreme shore
of the West and of to-day. Seventeen hundred
years ago, and seven thousand miles to the east,
a legionary stood, perhaps, upon the wall of An-
toninus, and looked northward toward the moun-
tains of the Picts. For all the interval of time
and space, I, when I looked from the cliff-house
on the broad Pacific, was that man’s heir and
analogue: each of us standing on the verge of
the Roman Empire (or, as we now call it, West-
ern civilisation), each of us gazing onward into
zones unromanised. But I was dull. I looked
rather backward, keeping a kind eye on Paris;
and it required a series of converging incidents
to change my attitude of nonchalance for one of
interest, and even longing, which I little dreamed
that I should live to gratify.
The first of these incidents brought me in ac-
quaintance with a certain San Francisco charac-
ter, who had something of a name beyond the
limits of the city, and was known to many lovers
of good English. I had discovered a new slum,
a place of precarious, sandy cliffs, deep, sandy
cuttings, solitary, ancient houses, and the butt-
ends of streets. It was already environed. The
16o T H E W R E C K E R
ranks of the street-lamps threaded it unbroken.
The city, upon all sides of it, was tightly packed,
and growled with traffic. To-day, I do not doubt
the very landmarks are all swept away; but it
offered then, within narrow limits, a delightful
peace, and (in the morning, when I chiefly went
there) a seclusion almost rural. On a steep sand-
hill, in this neighbourhood, toppled, on the most
insecure foundation, a certain row of houses, each
with a bit of garden, and all (I have to presume)
inhabited. Thither I used to mount by a crum-
bling footpath, and in front of the last of the
houses, would sit down to sketch. The very first
day I Saw I was observed, out of the ground-floor
window, by a youngish, good-looking fellow, pre-
maturely bald, and with an expression both lively
and engaging. The second, as we were still the
only figures in the landscape, it was no more than
natural that we should nod. The third, he came
fairly out from his entrenchments, praised my
sketch, and with the impromptu cordiality of ar-
tists carried me into his apartment; where I sat
presently in the midst of a museum of strange
objects, – paddles and battle-clubs and baskets,
rough-hewn stone images, ornaments of threaded
shell, cocoanut bowls, Snowy cocoanut plumes —
evidences and examples of another earth, another
climate, another race, and another (if a ruder)
culture. Nor did these objects lack a fitting com-
mentary in the conversation of my new acquaint-
ance. Doubtless you have read his book. You
know already how he tramped and starved, and
T H E W R E C K E R 161
had so fine a profit of living, in his days among
the islands; and, meeting him, as I did, one ar-
tist with another, after months of Offices and pic-
nics, you can imagine with what charm he would
speak, and with what pleasure I would hear. It
was in such talks, which we were both eager to
repeat, that I first heard the names — first fell
under the spell — of the islands; and it was from
one of the first of them that I returned (a happy
man) with Omoo under one arm, and my friend's
own adventures under the other.
The second incident was more dramatic, and had,
besides, a bearing on my future. I was standing,
one day, near a boat-landing under Telegraph Hill.
A large barque, perhaps of eighteen hundred tons,
was coming more than 11sually close about the point
to reach her moorings; and I was observing her
with languid inattention, when I observed two men
to stride across the bulwarks, drop into a shore
boat, and, violently dispossessing the boatman of
his oars, pull toward the landing where I stood.
In a surprisingly short time they came fearing up
the steps; and I could see that both were too well
dressed to be foremast hands — the first even with
research, and both, and specially the first, appeared
under the empire of some strong emotion.
“ Nearest police officer | * cried the leader.
“This way,” said I, immediately falling in with
their precipitate pace. “What’s wrong? What
ship is that?”
“That’s the Gleaner,” he replied. “I am chief
officer, this gentleman's third; and we’ve to get
II
16 T H E w R E cKER
in our depositions before the crew. You see they
might corral us with the captain; and that 's no
kind of berth for me. I’ve sailed with some hard
cases in my time, and seen pins flying like sand on
a squally day — but never a match to our old man.
It never let up from the Hook to the Farallones;
and the last man was dropped not sixteen hours
ago. Packet rats our men were, and as tough a
crowd as ever sand-bagged a man's head in ; but
they looked sick enough when the captain started
in with his fancy shooting.”
“O, he ’s done up,” observed the other. “He
won’t go to Sea no more.”
“You make me tired,” retorted his superior.
“If he gets ashore in one piece and is n’t lynched
in the next ten minutes, he 'll do yet. The owners -
have a longer memory than the public; they'll
stand by him; they don’t find as Smart a captain
every day in the year.”
“O, he 's a son of a gun of a fine captain,
there ain’t no doubt of that,” concurred the other,
heartily. “Why, I don't suppose there’s been no
wages paid aboard that Gleaner for three trips.”
“No wages P” I exclaimed, for I was still a
novice in maritime affairs.
“Not to sailor-men before the mast,” agreed
the mate. “Men cleared out; was n’t the soft
job they maybe took it for. She is n’t the first
ship that never paid wages.” -
I could not but observe that our pace was pro-
gressively relaxing; and indeed I have often won-
dered since whether the hurry of the start were
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 163
not intended for the gallery alone. Certain it is
at least, that when we had reached the police office,
and the mates had made their deposition, and told
their horrid tale of five men murdered, some with
Savage passion, Some with cold brutality, between
Sandy Hook and San Francisco, the police were
despatched in time to be too late. Before we ar-
rived, the ruffian had slipped out upon the dock,
had mingled with the crowd, and found a refuge
in the house of an acquaintance; and the ship was
only tenanted by his late victims. Well for him
that he had been thus speedy. For when word
began to go abroad among the shore-side charac-
ters, when the last victim was carried by to the
hospital, when those who had escaped (as by
miracle) from that floating shambles, began to
circulate and show their wounds in the crowd, it
was strange to witness the agitation that seized
and shook that portion of the city. Men shed
tears in public; bosses of lodging-houses, long
intired to brutality, and above all, brutality to
sailors, shook their fists at heaven: if hands could
have been laid on the captain of the Gleaner, his
shrift would have been short. That night (so
gossip reports) he was headed up in a barrel and
smuggled across the bay: in two ships already
he had braved the penitentiary and the gallows;
and yet, by last accounts, he now commands an–
Other On the Western Ocean. .
As I have said, I was never quite certain
whether Mr. Nares (the mate) did not intend
that his superior should escape. It would have
164 T H E W R E C K E R
been like his preference of loyalty to law; it would
have been like his prejudice, which was all in
favour of the after-guard. But it must remain
a matter of conjecture only. Well as I came to
know him in the sequel, he was never communica-
tive on that point, nor, indeed on any that con-
cerned the voyage of the Gleaner. Doubtless he
had some reason for his reticence. Even during
our walk to the police office, he debated several
times with Johnson, the third officer, whether he
ought not to give up himself, as well as to de-
nounce the captain. He had decided in the nega-
tive, arguing that “it would probably come to
nothing, and even if there was a stink, he had
plenty good friends in San Francisco.” And to
nothing it came; though it must have very nearly
come to something, for Mr. Nares disappeared
immediately from view and was scarce less closely
hidden than his captain.
Johnson, on the other hand, I often met. I
could never learn this man’s country; and though
he himself claimed to be American, neither his
English nor his education warranted the claim.
In all likelihood he was of Scandinavian birth and
blood, long pickled in the forecastles of English
and American ships. It is possible that, like so
many of his race in similar positions, he had al-
ready lost his native tongue. In mind, at least,
he was quite denationalised; thought only in Eng-
lish — to call it so; and though by nature one of
the mildest, kindest, and most feebly playful of
mankind, he had been so long accustomed to the
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. I65
cruelty of sea-discipline, that his stories (told per-
haps with a giggle) would sometimes turn me chill.
In appearance, he was tall, light of weight, bold
and high-bred of feature, dusky-haired, and with
a face of a clean even brown : the ornament of
outdoor men. Seated in a chair, you might have
passed him off for a baronet or a military officer;
but let him rise, and it was Fo'c's'le Jack that came
rolling toward you, crab-like; let him but Open
his lips, and it was Fo'c's'le Jack that piped and
drawled his ungrammatical gibberish. He had
sailed (among other places) much among the
islands; and after a Cape Horn passage with its
snow-squalls and its frozen sheets, he announced
his intention of “taking a turn among them Kana-
kas.” I thought I should have lost him soon; but
according to the unwritten usage of mariners, he
had first to dissipate his wages. “Guess I’ll have
to paint this town red,” was his hyperbolical ex-
pression; for sure no man ever embarked upon
a milder course of dissipation, most of his days
being passed in the little parlour behind Black
Tom’s public house, with a select corps of old
particular acquaintances, all from the South Seas,
and all patrons of a long yarn, a short pipe, and
glasses round. º
Black Tom's, to the front, presented the appear-
ance of a fourth-rate saloon, devoted to Kaiiaka
seamen, dirt, negrohead tobacco, bad cigars, worse
gin, and guitars and banjos in a state of decline.
The proprietor, a powerful coloured man, was at
Once a publican, a ward politician, leader of some
I66 T H E W R E C K E R
brigade of “lambs '' or “smashers,” at the wind
of whose clubs the party bosses and the mayor
were supposed to tremble, and (what hurt noth-
ing) an active and reliable crimp. His front quar-
ters, then, were noisy, disreputable, and not even
safe. I have seen worse frequented saloons where
...there were fewer scandals; for Tom was often
drunk himself; and there is no doubt the Lambs
must have been a useful body, or the place would
have been closed. I remember one day, not long
before an election, seeing a blind man, very well
dressed, led up to the counter and remain a long
while in consultation with the negro. The pair
looked so ill-assorted, and the awe with which the
drinkers fell back and left them in the midst of
an impromptu privacy was so unusual in such a
place, that I turned to my next neighbour with
a question. He told me the blind man was a dis-
tinguished party boss, called by some the King of
San Francisco, but perhaps better known by his
picturesque Chinese nickname of the Blind White
Devil. “The Lambs must be wanted pretty bad,
I guess,” my informant added. I have here a
sketch of the Blind White Devil leaning on the
counter; on the next page, and taken the same
lour, a jotting of Black Tom threatening a whole
crowd of customers with a long Smith and Wes-
son: to such heights and depths we rose and fell
in the front parts of the saloon. -
Meanwhile, away in the back quarters, sat the
small informal South Sea club, talking of another
world and surely of a different century. Old
T H E W R E C K E R 167
Schooner captains they were, old South Sea traders,
cooks, and mates: fine creatures, softened by resi-
dence among a Softer race: full men besides,
though not by reading, but by strange experience;
and for days together I could hear their yarns
with an unfading pleasure. All had indeed some
touch of the poetic; for the beach-comber, when
not a mere ruffian, is the poor relation of the ar-
tist. Even through Johnson's inarticulate speech,
his “O yes, there ain’t no harm in them Kana-
kas,” or, “O yes, that's a son of a gun of a fine
island, mountainious right down; I did n’t never
Ought to have left that island,” there pierced a
certain gusto of appreciation: and some of the
rest were master-talkers. From their long tales,
their traits of character and unpremeditated land-
scape, there began to piece itself together in my
head some image of the islands and the island life:
precipitous shores, spired mountain-tops, the deep
shade of hanging forests, the unresting surf upon
the reef, and the unending peace of the lagoon;
Sun, moon, and stars of an imperial brightness;
man moving in these scenes scarce fallen, and
woman lovelier than Eve; the primal curse abro-
gated, the bed made ready for the stranger, life
set to perpetual music, and the guest welcomed,
the boat urged, and the long night beguiled, with
poetry and choral song. A man must have been
an unsuccessful artist; he must have starved on
the streets of Paris; he must have been yoked
to a commercial force like Pinkerton, before he
can conceive the longings that at times assailed me.
I68 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
i
elbow, at the other a
The draughty, rowdy city of San Francisco, the
bustling office where my friend Jim paced like a
caged lion daily between ten and four, even (at
times) the retrospect of Paris, faded in compari-
son. Many a man less tempted would have thrown
up all to realise his visions; but I was by nature
unadventurous and uninitiative: to divert me from
all former paths and send me cruising through the
isles of paradise, some force external to myself
must be exerted; Destiny herself must use the fit-
ting wedge; and little as I deemed it, that tool
was already in her hand of brass.
I sat, one afternoon, in the corner of a great,
glassy, silvered saloon, a free lunch at my one
“conscientious nude ’’ from
the brush of local talent; when, with the tramp of
feet and a sudden buzz of voices, the Swing-doors
were flung broadly open and the place carried as
by storm. The crowd which thus entered (mostly
Seafaring men, and all prodigiously excited) con-
tained a sort of kernel or general centre of interest,
which the rest merely surrounded and advertised,
as children in the Old World surround and escort
the Punch-and-Judy man; and word went round
the bar like wildfire, that these were Captain Trent
and the survivors of the British brig Flying Scud,
picked up by a British war-ship on Midway Island,
arrived that morning in San Francisco Bay, and
now fresh from making the necessary declarations.
Presently I had a good sight of them : four brown,
Seamanlike fellows, standing by the counter, glass
in hand, the centre of a score of questioners. One
T H E W R E C K E R I69
was a Kanaka — the cook, I was informed; One
carried a cage with a canary, which Occasionally
trilled into thin song; one had his left arm in
a sling and looked gentlemanlike, and somewhat
sickly, as though the injury had been severe and
he was scarce recovered; and the captain himself
— a red-faced, blue-eyed, thick-set man of five and
forty — wore a bandage on his right hand. The
incident struck me; I was struck particularly to
see captain, cook, and foremast hands walking the
Street and visiting saloons in company; and, as
when anything impressed me, I got my sketch-book
out, and began to steal a sketch of the four cast-
aways. The crowd, sympathising with my design,
made a clear lane across the room; and I was thus
enabled, all unobserved myself, to observe with a
still-growing closeness the face and the demeanour
of Captain Trent. -
Warmed by whisky and encouraged by the
eagerness of the bystanders, that gentleman was
now rehearsing the history of his misfortune. It
was but scraps that reached me: how he “filled
her on the starboard tack,” and how “it came up
sudden out of the nor'nor'west,” and “ there she
was, high and dry.” Sometimes he would appeal to
one of the men — “That was how it was, Jack?”
— and the man would reply, “That was the way of
it, Captain Trent.” Lastly, he started a fresh tide
of popular sympathy by enunciating the sentiment,
“Damn all these Admiralty Charts, and that’s
what I say! ” From the nodding of heads and the
murmurs of assent that followed, I could see that
17o T H E W R E C K E R
Captain Trent had established himself in the public
mind as a gentleman and a thorough navigator:
about which period, my sketch of the four men and
the canary-bird being finished, and all (especially
the canary-bird) excellent likenesses, I buckled up
my book, and slipped from the saloon.
Little did I suppose that I was leaving Act I,
Scene I, of the drama of my life; and yet the scene,
or rather the captain’s face, lingered for some time
in my memory. I was no prophet, as I Say; but
I was something else: I was an observer; and One
thing I knew, I knew when a man was terrified.
Captain Trent, of the British brig Flying Scud,
had been glib ; he had been ready; he had been
loud; but in his blue eyes I could detect the chill,
and in the lines of his countenance spy the agi-
tation of perpetual terror. Was he trembling for
his certificate? In my judgment, it was some
livelier kind of fear that thrilled in the man’s
marrow as he turned to drink. Was it the result
of recent shock, and had he not yet recovered the
disaster to his brig 2 I remembered how a friend
of mine had been in a railway accident, and shook
and started for a month; and although Captain
Trent of the Flying Scud had none of the appear-
ance of a nervous man, I told myself, with incom-
plete conviction, that his must be a similar case.
CHAPTER IX
THE WRECK OF THE • , FLYING SCUD ''
\ HE next morning I found Pinkerton, who
had risen before me, seated at our usual
ill table, and deep in the perusal of what I
will call the Daily Occidental. This was a paper
(I know not if it be so still) that stood out alone
among its brethren in the West; the others, down
to their smallest item, were defaced with capitals,
head-lines, alliterations, Swaggering misquotations,
and the shoddy picturesque and unpathetic pathos
of the Harry Millers: the Occidental alone ap-
peared to be written by a dull, sane, Christian
gentleman, Singly desirous of communicating know-
ledge. It had not only this merit, which endeared
it to me, but was admittedly the best informed on
business matters, which attracted Pinkerton.
“Loudon,” said he, looking up from the journal,
“you sometimes think I have too many irons in the
fire. My notion, on the other hand, is, when you
See a dollar lying, pick it up! Well, here I’ve
tumbled over a whole pile of 'em on a reef in the
middle Of the Pacific.”
“Why, Jim, you miserable fellow !” I ex-
claimed; “ have n’t we Depew City, one of God’s
green centres for this State P have n’t we 5 3

172 T H E W R E C K E R
“Just listen to this,” interrupted Jim. “It’s
miserable copy; these Occidental reporter fellows
have no fire; but the facts are right enough, I
guess.” And he began to read:
‘‘ WRECK OF THE BRITISH BRIG ‘ FLYING SCUD '
“H. B. M. S. Tempest, which arrived yesterday at this
port, brings Captain Trent and four men of the British brig
Ayāng Scud, cast away February 12th on Midway Island, and
most providentially rescued the next day. The Flying Scud
was of 200 tons burthen, owned in London, and has been out
nearly two years tramping. Captain Trent left Hong Kong
December 8th, bound for this port in rice and a small mixed
cargo of silks, teas, and China notions, the whole valued at
$10,000, fully covered by insurance. The log shows plenty
of fine weather, with light airs, calms, and squalls. In lat.
28 N., long. I77 W., his water going rotten, and misled by
Hoyt's AVorth Pacific Directory, which informed him there
was a coaling station on the island, Captain Trent put in to
Midway Island. He found it a literal sandbank, surrounded
by a coral reef mostly submerged. Birds were very plenty,
there was good fish in the lagoon, but no firewood ; and the
water, which could be obtained by digging, brackish. He
found good holding-ground off the north end of the larger
bank in fifteen fathoms water; bottom sandy, with coral
patches. Here he was detained seven days by a calm, the
crew suffering severely from the water, which was gone quite
bad; and it was only on the evening of the 12th, that a little
wind sprang up, coming puffy out of N. N. E. Late as it
was, Captain Trent immediately weighed anchor and at-
tempted to get out. While the vessel was beating up to the
passage, the wind took a sudden lull and then veered squally
into N., and even N. N. W., driving the brig ashore on the
sand at about twenty minutes before six o'clock. John
Wallen, a native of Finland, and Charles Holdorsen, a native
of Sweden, were drowned alongside, in attempting to lower
a boat, neither being able to swim, the squall very dark, and
the noise of the breakers drowning everything. At the same
T H E W R E C K E R 173
time John Brown, another of the crew, had his arm broken by
the falls. Captain Trent further informed the OccIDENTAL
reporter, that the brig struck heavily at first bows on, he
supposes upon Coral ; that she then drove over the obstacle,
and now lies in sand, much down by the head and with a list
to starboard. In the first collision she must have sustained
some damage, as she was making water forward. The rice
will probably be all destroyed ; but the more valuable part
of the cargo is fortunately in the afterhold. Captain Trent
was preparing his long-boat for sea, when the providential
arrival of the 7 empest, pursuant to Admiralty orders to call at
islands in her course for castaways, saved the gallant captain
from all further danger. It is scarcely necessary to add that
both the officers and men of the unfortunate vessel speak in
high terms of the kindness they received on board the man-
of-war. We print a list of the survivors: Jacob Trent, master,
of Hull, England; Elias Goddedaal, mate, native of Christian-
sand, Sweden; Ah Wing, cook, native of Sana, China; John
Brown, native of Glasgow, Scotland; John Hardy, native of
London, England. The Flying Scud is ten years old, and
this morning will be sold as she stands, by order of Lloyd's
agent, at public auction for the benefit of the underwriters.
The auction will take place in the Merchants' Exchange at
ten o’clock.
“A’azrther Pazºſzcze/ars. — Later in the afternoon the OCCI-
DENTAL reporter found Lieutenant Sebright, first officer of
H. B. M. S. Z empesz, at the Palace Hotel. The gallant
officer was somewhat pressed for time, but confirmed the
account given by Captain Trent in all particulars. He added
that the Aºying Scud is in an excellent berth, and except in
the highly improbable event of a heavy N. W. gale, might
last until next winter.”
“You will never know anything of literature,”
said I, when Jim had finished. “That is a good,
honest, plain piece of work, and tells the story
clearly. I see only one mistake: the cook is not
a Chinaman; he is a Kanaka, , and I think a
Hawaiian.” - -
I 74. T H E W R E C K E R
“Why, how do you know that?” asked Jim.
“I saw the whole gang yesterday in a saloon,”
said I. “I even heard the tale, or might have
heard it, from Captain Trent himself, who struck
me as thirsty and nervous.”
“Well, that's neither here nor there,” cried
Pinkerton. “The point is, how about these dollars
lying on a reef ?”
“Will it pay?” I asked. -
“Pay like a sugar trust!” exclaimed Pinkerton.
“Don’t you see what this British officer says about
the safety P Don't you see the cargo's valued at
ten thousand P Schooners are begging just now ;
I can get my pick of them at two hundred and fifty
a month; and how does that foot up? It looks like
three hundred per cent to me.”
“You forget,” I objected, “the captain himself
declares the rice is damaged.”
“That’s a point, I know,” admitted Jim. “But
the rice is the sluggish article, anyway; it's little
more account than ballast; it's the tea and silks
that I look to ; all we have to find is the proportion,
and one look at the manifest will settle that. I’ve
rung up Lloyd's on purpose; the captain is to meet
me there in an hour, and then I'll be as posted on
that brig as if I built her. Besides, you ’ve no idea
what pickings there are about a wreck — copper,
lead, rigging, anchors, chains, even the crockery,
Loudon | *
“You seem to me to forget one trifle,” said I.
“Before you pick that wreck, you ’ve got to buy
her, and how much will she cost?”
T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R. I75
“One hundred dollars,” replied Jim, with the
promptitude of an automaton.
“How on earth do you guess that?” I cried.
“I don’t guess; I know it,” answered the Com-
mercial Force. “My dear boy, I may be a galoot
about literature, but you'll always be an outsider
in business. How do you suppose I bought the
James L. Moody for two hundred and fifty, her
boats alone worth four times the money? Because
my name stood first in the list. Well, it stands
there again; I have the naming of the figure, and
I name a small one because of the distance: but
it would n’t matter what I named ; that would be
the price.”
“It sounds mysterious enough,” said I. “Is this
public auction conducted in a subterranean vault?
Could a plain citizen — myself, for instance —
come and see?”
“O, everything's open and above board,” he
cried indignantly. “Anybody can come, only no-
body bids against us, and if he did, he would get
frozen out. It 's been tried before now, and once
was enough. We hold the plant; we’ve got the
connection; we can afford to go higher than any
outsider; there's two million dollars in the ring;
and we stick at nothing. Or suppose anybody
did buy over our head — I tell you, Loudon, he
would think this town gone crazy; he could no
more get business through on the city front
than I can dance; schooners, divers, men — all
he wanted — the prices would fly right up and
strike him.” -
176 T H E w RE C K E R
. “But how did you get in P” I asked. “You
were once an outsider like your neighbours, I
suppose?” -
“I took hold of that thing, Loudon, and just
studied it up,” he replied. “It took my fancy; it
was so romantic, and then I saw there was boodle
in the thing; and I figured on the business, till no
man alive could give me points. Nobody knew I
had an eye on wrecks till one fine morning I
dropped in upon Douglas B. Longhurst in his den,
gave him all the facts and figures, and put it to him
straight: “Do you want me in this ring? or shall
I start another?' He took half an hour, and when
I came back, ‘Pink,’ says he, ‘I’ve put your name
on.' The first time I came to the top, it was that
Moody racket; now it's the Flying Scud.”
Whereupon Pinkerton, looking at his watch, ut-
tered an exclamation, made a hasty appointment
with myself for the doors of the Merchants' Ex-
change, and fled to examine manifests and inter-
view the skipper. I finished my cigarette with the
deliberation of a man at the end of many picnics;
reflecting to myself that of all forms of the dollar
hunt, this wrecking had by far the most address
to my imagination. Even as I went down town,
in the brisk bustle and chill of the familiar San
Francisco thoroughfares, I was haunted by a vision
of the wreck, baking so far away in the strong
sun, under a cloud of sea-birds; and even then,
and for no better reason, my heart inclined towards
the adventure. If not myself, something that was
mine, some one at least in my employment should
T H E W R E C K E R 177
voyage to that Ocean-bounded pin-point and de-
scend to that deserted cabin. -
Pinkerton met me at the appointed moment,
pinched of lip and more than usually erect of
bearing, like one conscious of great resolves.
“Well ?” I asked.
“Well,” said he, “it might be better, and it
might be worse. This Captain Trent is a remark-
ably honest fellow — one out of a thousand. As
soon as he knew I was in the market, he owned
up about the rice in so many words. By his cal-
culation, if there’s thirty mats of it saved, it's
an outside figure. However, the manifest was
cheerier. There's about five thousand dollars of
the whole value in silks and teas and nut-oils
and that, all in the lazarette, and as safe as if
it was in Kearney Street. The brig was new
coppered a year ago. There's upwards of a hun-
dred and fifty fathom away-up chain. It’s not a
bonanza, but there 's boodle in it; and we’ll try
it on.’’.
It was by that time hard on ten o'clock, and
we turned at once into the place of sale. The
Flying Scud, although so important to ourselves,
appeared to attract a very humble share of popu-
lar attention. The auctioneer was surrounded by
perhaps a score of lookers-on, big fellows, for the
most part, of the true Western build, long in the
leg, broad in the shoulder, and adorned (to a plain
man's taste) with needless finery. A jaunty, OS-
tentatious comradeship prevailed. Bets were fly-
ing, and nicknames. “The boys’ (as they would
T 2 .
178 T H E W R E C K E R
have called themselves) were very boyish ; and it
was plain they were here in mirth, and not on
business. Behind, and certainly in strong contrast
to these gentlemen, I could detect the figure of my
friend Captain Trent, come (as I could very well
imagine that a captain would) to hear the last of
his old vessel. Since yesterday, he had rigged him-
self anew in ready-made black clothes, not very
aptly fitted; the upper left-hand pocket showing a
corner of silk handkerchief, the lower, on the other
side, bulging with papers. Pinkerton had just given
this man a high character. Certainly he seemed to
have been very frank, and I looked at him again to
trace (if possible) that virtue in his face. It was
red and broad and flustered and (I thought) false.
The whole man looked sick with some unknown
anxiety; and as he stood there, unconscious of
my observation, he tore at his nails, scowled on
the floor, or glanced suddenly, sharply, and fear-
fully at passers-by. I was still gazing at the
man in a kind of fascination, when the sale
began.
Some preliminaries were rattled through, to the
irreverent, uninterrupted gambolling of the boys;
and then, amid a trifle more attention, the auc-
tioneer sounded for some two or three minutes the
pipe of the charmer. Fine brig — new copper —
valuable fittings — three fine boats — remarkably
choice cargo — what the auctioneer would call a
perfectly safe investment; nay, gentlemen, he
would go further, he would put a figure on it:
he had no hesitation (had that bold auctioneer)
T H E W R E C K E R I79
in putting it in figures; and in his view, what
with this and that, and one thing and another,
the purchaser might expect to clear a sum equal
to the entire estimated value of the cargo; or,
gentlemen, in other words, a sum of ten thousand
dollars. At this modest computation the roof im-
mediately above the speaker's head (I suppose,
through the intervention of a spectator of ventri-
loquial taste) uttered a clear “Cock-a-doodle-
doo!” – whereat all laughed, the auctioneer
himself obligingly joining.
“Now, gentlemen, what shall we say,” resumed
that gentleman, plainly ogling Pinkerton, — “what
shall we say for this remarkable opportunity P*
“One hundred dollars,” said Pinkerton.
“One hundred dollars from Mr. Pinkerton,”
went the auctioneer, “one hundred dollars. No
other gentleman inclined to make any advance?
One hundred dollars, only one hundred dol-
lars . . .” *
The auctioneer was droning on to some such
tune as this, and I, on my part, was watching
with something between sympathy and amazement
the undisguised emotion of Captain Trent, when
we were all startled by the interjection of a bid.
“And fifty,” said a sharp voice.
Pinkerton, the auctioneer, and the boys, who
were all equally in the open secret of the ring,
were now all equally and simultaneously taken
aback.
“I beg your pardon,” said the auctioneer.
“Anybody bid?”
5
18o T H E W R E C K E R
“And fifty,” reiterated the voice, which I was
now able to trace to its origin, on the lips of a
Small, unseemly rag of human-kind. The speaker's
skin was grey and blotched; he spoke in a kind of
broken Song, with much variety of key; his ges-
tures seemed (as in the disease called St. Vitus’s
dance) to be imperfectly under control; he was
badly dressed; he carried himself with an air of
shrinking assumption, as though he were proud to
be where he was and to do what he was doing,
and yet half expected to be called in question and
kicked out. I think I never saw a man more of
a piece; and the type was new to me; I had
never before set eyes upon his parallel, and I
thought instinctively of Balzac and the lower re-
gions of the Comédie Humaine.
Pinkerton stared a moment on the intruder with
no friendly eye, tore a leaf from his note-book,
and scribbled a line in pencil, turned, beckoned a
messenger boy, and whispered “To Longhurst.”
Next moment, the boy had sped upon his errand,
and Pinkerton was again facing the auctioneer.
“Two hundred dollars,” said Jim.
“And fifty,” said the enemy.
“This looks lively,” whispered I to Pinkerton.
“Yes; the little beast means cold drawn biz,”
returned my friend. “Well, he'll have to have
a lesson. Wait till I see Longhurst. Three hun-
dred,” he added aloud.
“And fifty,” came the echo.
It was about this moment when my eye fell
again on Captain Trent. A deeper shade had
T H E W R E C K E R I 8 I
mounted to his crimson face: the new coat was
unbuttoned and all flying open; the new silk hand-
kerchief in busy requisition; and the man’s eye,
of a clear sailor blue, shone glassy with excite-
ment. He was anxious still, but now (if I could
read a face) there was hope in his anxiety.
“Jim,” I whispered, “ look at Trent. Bet you
what you please, he was expecting this.”
“Yes,” was the reply, “there's some blame'
thing going on here.” And he renewed his bid.
The figure had run up into the neighoburhood
of a thousand when I was aware of a sensation
in the faces opposite, and looking Over my shoul-
der, saw a very large, bland, handsome man come
strolling forth and make a little signal to the
auctioneer.
“One word, Mr. Borden,” said he ; and then to
Jim, “Well, Pink, where are we up to now P’’
Pinkerton gave him the figure. “I ran up to
that on my own responsibility, Mr. Longhurst,”
he added, with a flush. “I thought it the square
thing.”
“And so it was,” said Mr. Longhurst, patting
him kindly on the shoulder, like a gratified uncle.
“Well, you can drop out now ; we take hold
ourselves. You can run it up to five thousand;
and if he likes to go beyond that, he 's welcome
to the bargain.”
“By the bye, who is he?” asked Pinkerton.
“He looks away down.”
“I’ve sent Billy to find out.” And at the very
moment Mr. Longhurst received from the hands of
I 82 T H E W R E C K E R
One of the expensive young gentlemen a folded
paper. It was passed round from one to another
till it came to me, and I read: “Harry D. Bellairs,
Attorney-at-Law ; defended Clara Varden; twice
nearly disbarred.” *
“Well, that gets me!” observed Mr. Longhurst.
“Who can have put up a shyster like that?
Nobody with money, that 's a sure thing. Sup-
pose you tried a big bluff P I think I would,
Pink. Well, ta-ta! Your partner, Mr. Dodd?
Happy to have the pleasure of your acquaintance,
sir.” And the great man withdrew.
“Well, what do you think of Douglas B?”
whispered Pinkerton, looking reverently after him
as he departed. “Six foot of perfect gentleman
and culture to his boots.” -
During this interview the auction had stood
transparently arrested, the auctioneer, the specta-
tors, and even Bellairs, all well aware that Mr.
Longhurst was the principal, and Jim but a speak-
ing-trumpet. But now that the Olympian Jupiter
was gone, Mr. Borden thought proper to affect
severity.
“Come, come, Mr. Pinkerton. Any advance?”
he snapped.
And Pinkerton, resolved on the big bluff, re-
plied, “Two thousand dollars.”
Bellairs preserved his composure. “And fifty,”
said he. But there was a stir among the on-
lookers, and what was of more importance, Cap-
tain Trent had turned pale and visibly gulped.
1 A low lawyer.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 183
“Pitch it in again, Jim,” said I. “Trent is
weakening.”
“Three thousand,” said Jim.
“And fifty,” said Bellairs.
And then the bidding returned to its original
movement by hundreds and fifties; but I had been
able in the meanwhile to draw two conclusions.
In the first place, Bellairs had made his last ad-
vance with a smile of gratified vanity; and I
could see the creature was glorying in the kudos
of an unusual position and secure of ultimate suc-
cess. In the second, Trent had once more changed
colour at the thousand leap, and his relief, when
he heard the answering fifty, was manifest and
unaffected. Here then was a problem : both were
presumably in the same interest, yet the one was
not in the confidence of the other. Nor was this
all. A few bids later it chanced that my eye en-
countered that of Captain Trent, and his, which
glittered with excitement, was instantly, and I
thought guiltily, withdrawn. He wished, then, to
conceal his interest? As Jim had said, there was
Some blamed thing going on. And for certain,
here were these two men, so strangely united, so
strangely divided, both sharp-set to keep the wreck
from us, and that at an exorbitant figure.
Was the wreck worth more than we supposed P
A sudden heat was kindled in my brain; the bids
were nearing Longhurst's limit of five thousand ;
another minute, and all would be too late. Tear-
ing a leaf from my sketch-book, and inspired (I
Suppose) by vanity in my own powers of infer-
184 T H E W R E C K E R
ence and observation, I took the one mad decision
of my life. “If you care to go ahead,” I wrote,
“I’m in for all I’m worth.”
Jim read, and looked round at me like one be-
wildered; then his eyes lightened, and turning
again to the auctioneer, he bid, “Five thousand
one hundred dollars.”
“And fifty,” said monotonous Bellairs.
Presently Pinkerton scribbled, “What can it
be?” and I answered, still on paper: “I can't
imagine; but there's something. Watch Bellairs;
he'll go up to the ten thousand; see if he don't.”
And he did, and we followed. Long before this,
word had gone abroad that there was battle royal :
we were surrounded by a crowd that looked on
wondering; and when Pinkerton had offered ten
thousand dollars (the outside value of the cargo,
even were it safe in San Francisco Bay), and
Bellairs, smirking from ear to ear to be the centre
of SO much attention, had jerked out his answer-
ing, “And fifty,” wonder deepened to excitement.
“Ten thousand one hundred,” said Jim; and
even as he spoke, he made a sudden gesture with
his hand, his face changed, and I could see that
he had guessed, or thought that he had guessed,
the mystery. As he scrawled another memoran-
dum in his note-book, his hand shook like a
telegraph-Operator’s.
“Chinese ship,” ran the legend; and then, in
big, tremulous half-text, and with a flourish that
Overran the margin, “Opium !”
To be Sure! thought I: this must be the secret.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 185
I knew that scarce a ship came in from any Chinese
port, but she carried somewhere, behind a bulk-
head, or in some cunning hollow of the beams, a
nest of the valuable poison. Doubtless there was
some such treasure on the Flying Scud. How
much was it worth P. We knew not, we were
gambling in the dark; but Trent knew, and Bel-
lairs; and we could only watch and judge.
By this time neither Pinkerton nor I were of
sound mind. Pinkerton was beside himself, his
eyes like lamps. I shook in every member. To
any Stranger entering (say) in the course of the
fifteenth thousand, we should probably have cut
a poorer figure than Bellairs himself. But we did
Inot pause; and the crowd watched us, now in
silence, now with a buzz of whispers.
Seventeen thousand had been reached, when
Douglas B. Longhurst, forcing his way into the
Opposite row of faces, conspicuously and repeatedly
shook his head at Jim. Jim's answer was a note
of two words: “My racket! ” which, when the
great man had perused, he shook his finger warn-
ingly, and departed, I thought, with a sorrowful
COL111tenance.
Although Mr. Longhurst knew nothing of Bel-
lairs, the shady lawyer knew all about the Wrecker
Boss. He had seen him enter the ring with mani-
fest expectation; he saw him depart, and the bids
continue, with manifest surprise and disappoint-
ment. “Hullo!” he plainly thought, “this is not
the ring I’m fighting, then?” And he determined
to put on a spurt. -
I 86 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
“Eighteen thousand,” said he.
“And fifty,” said Jim, taking a leaf out of his
adversary’s book.
“Twenty thousand,” from Bellairs.
“And fifty,” from Jim, with a little nervous
titter.
And with one consent they returned to the old
pace, only now it was Bellairs who took the hun-
dreds, and Jim who did the fifty business. But by
this time our idea had gone abroad. I could hear
the word “opium ” pass from mouth to mouth;
and by the looks directed at us, I could see we were
supposed to have some private information. And
here an incident occurred highly typical of San
Francisco. Close at my back there had stood for
Some time a stout, middle-aged gentleman, with
pleasant eyes, hair pleasantly grizzled, and a ruddy,
pleasing face. All of a sudden, he appeared as a
third competitor, skied the Flying Scud with four
fat bids of a thousand dollars each, and then as
suddenly fled the field, remaining thenceforth (as
before) a silent, interested spectator.
Ever since Mr. Longhurst's useless intervention,
Bellairs had seemed uneasy; and at this new
attack, he began (in his turn) to scribble a note
between the bids. I imagined naturally enough
that it would go to Captain Trent; but when it was
done, and the writer turned and looked behind him
in the crowd, to my unspeakable amazement, he
did not seem to remark the captain's presence.
“Messenger boy, messenger boy!” I heard him
say. “Somebody call me a messenger boy.”
T H E W R E C K E R 187
At last somebody did, but it was not the captain.
“He is sending for instructions,” I wrote to
Pinkerton.
“For money,” he wrote back. “Shall I strike
out? I think this is the time.”
I nodded.
“Thirty thousand,” said Pinkerton, making a
leap of close upon three thousand dollars.
I could see doubt in Bellairs's eye; then, Sudden
resolution. “Thirty-five thousand,” said he.
“Forty thousand,” said Pinkerton.
There was a long pause, during which Bellairs's
countenance was as a book; and then, not much
too soon for the impending hammer, “Forty thou-
sand and five dollars,” said he.
Pinkerton and I exchanged eloquent glances.
We were of one mind. Bellairs had tried a bluff;
now he perceived his mistake, and was bidding
against time; he was trying to spin out the sale
until the messenger boy returned.
“Forty-five thousand dollars,” said Pinkerton :
his voice was like a ghost’s and tottered with
emotion.
“Forty-five thousand and five dollars,” said
Bellairs.
“Fifty thousand,” said Pinkerton.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Pinkerton. Did I
hear you make an advance, sir?” asked the
auctioneer.
“I — I have a difficulty in speaking,” gasped
Jim. “It’s fifty thousand, Mr. Borden.”
Bellairs was on his feet in a moment. “Auc-
188 T H E w R F C K E R
tioneer,” he said, “I have to beg the favour of
three moments at the telephone. In this matter,
I am acting on behalf of a certain party to whom
I have just written — ”
“I have nothing to do with any of this,” said
the auctioneer, brutally. “I am here to sell this
wreck. Do you make any advance on fifty
thousand P”
“I have the honour to explain to you, sir,” re-
turned Bellairs, with a miserable assumption of
dignity. “Fifty thousand was the figure named
by my principal; but if you will give me the small
favour of two moments at the telephone 5 y
“O, nonsense!” said the auctioneer. “If you
make no advance, I’ll knock it down to Mr.
Pinkerton.”
“I warn you,” cried the attorney, with sudden
shrillness. “Have a care what you're about. You
are here to sell for the underwriters, let me tell
you — not to act for Mr. Douglas Longhurst. This
sale has been already disgracefully interrupted to
allow that person to hold a consultation with his
minions. It has been much commented on.”
“There was no complaint at the time,” said
the auctioneer, manifestly discountenanced. “You
should have complained at the time.”
“I am not here to conduct this sale,” replied
Bellairs; “I am not paid for that.”
“Well, I am, you see,” retorted the auctioneer,
his impudence quite restored; and he resumed his
Sing-Song. “Any advance on fifty thousand dol-
lars? No advance on fifty thousand P No advance,
T H E W R E C K E R I89
gentlemen? Going at fifty thousand, the wreck of
the brig Flying Scud — going — going — gone !”
“My God, Jim, can we pay the money?” I
cried, as the stroke of the hammer seemed to recall
me from a dream.
“It’s got to be raised,” said he, white as a sheet.
“It’ll be a hell of a strain, Loudon. The credit ’s
good for it, I think; but I shall have to get around.
Write me a cheque for your stuff. Meet you at
the Occidental in an hour.”
I wrote my cheque at a desk, and I declare I
could never have recognised my signature. Jim
was gone in a moment; Trent had vanished even
earlier; only Bellairs remained exchanging insults
with the auctioneer; and behold ! as I pushed my
way out of the exchange, who should run full tilt
into my arms, but the messenger boy P
It was by SO near a margin that we became the
owners of the Flying Scud.
CHAPTER X
IN WEHICH THE CREW VANISH

T the door of the exchange, I found myself
A alongside of the short, middle-aged gen-
tleman who had made an appearance, SO
vigorous and so brief, in the great battle.
“Congratulate you, Mr. Dodd,” he said. “You
and your friend stuck to your guns nobly.”
“No thanks to you, sir,” I replied, “running us
up a thousand at a time, and tempting all the specu-
lators in San Francisco to come and have a try.”
“O, that was temporary insanity,” said he ;
“ and I thank the higher powers I am still a free
man. Walking this way, Mr. Dodd f l '11 walk
along with you. It’s pleasant for an old fogy like
myself to see the young bloods in the ring; I’ve
done some pretty wild gambles in my time in this
very city, when it was a smaller place and I was
a younger man. Yes, I know you, Mr. Dodd. By
sight, I may say I know you extremely well, you
and your followers, the fellows in the kilts, eh?
Pardon me. But I have the misfortune to Own
a little box on the Saucelito shore. I’ll be glad to
see you there any Sunday — without the fellows in
kilts, you know ; and I can give you a bottle of
wine, and show you the best collection of Arctic
T H E W R E C K E R I 9 I
voyages in the States. Morgan is my name —
Judge Morgan — a Welshman and a forty-niner.”
“O, if you’re a pioneer,” cried I, “ come to me,
and I’ll provide you with an axe.”
“You 'll want your axes for yourself, I fancy,”
he returned, with one of his quick looks. “ Unless
you have private knowledge, there will be a good
deal of rather violent wrecking to do before you
find that — opium, do you call it?”
“Well, it’s either opium, or we are stark, star-
ing mad,” I replied. “But I assure you we have
no private information. We went in (as I Suppose
you did yourself) on observation.”
“An observer, sir?” inquired the judge.
“I may say it is my trade — or, rather, was,”
said I.
“Well, now, and what did you think of Bel-
1airs P’’ he asked.
“Very little indeed,” said I.
“I may tell you,” continued the judge, “that
to me, the employment of a fellow like that appears
inexplicable. I knew him; he knows me too; he
has often heard from me in court; and I assure
you the man is utterly blown upon ; it is not safe
to trust him with a dollar; and here we find him
dealing up to fifty thousand. I can’t think who
can have so trusted him, but I am very sure it
was a stranger in San Francisco.”
“Some one for the owners, I suppose,” said I.
“Surely not!” exclaimed the judge. “Owners
in London can have nothing to say to opium
smuggled between Hong Kong and San Francisco.
I92 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
I should rather fancy they would be the last to
hear of it — until the ship was seized. No ; I was
thinking of the captain. But where would he get
the money? above a11, after having laid out so much
to buy the stuff in China. Unless, indeed, he were
acting for some one in 'Frisco; and in that case —
here we go round again in the vicious circle —
Bellairs would not have been employed.”
“I think I can assure you it was not the
captain,” said I; “ for he and Bellairs are not
acquainted.”
“Was n’t that the captain, with the red face
and coloured handkerchief ? He seemed to me to
follow Bellairs's game with the most thrilling
interest,” objected Mr. Morgan.
“Perfectly true,” said I; “Trent is deeply in-
terested; he very likely knew Bellairs, and he
certainly knew what he was there for; but I can
put my hand in the fire that Bellairs did n't know
Trent.” -
“Another singularity,” observed the judge.
“Well, we have had a capital forenoon. But you
take an old lawyer's advice, and get to Midway
Island as fast as you can. There's a pot of money
on the table, and Bellairs and Co. are not the men
to stick at trifles.” \
With this parting counsel, Judge Morgan shook
hands and made off along Montgomery Street,
while I entered the Occidental Hotel, on the steps
of which we had finished our conversation. I was
well known to the clerks, and as soon as it was
understood that I was there to wait for Pinkerton
T H E W R E C K E R I93
and lunch, I was invited to a seat inside the counter.
Here, then, in a retired corner, I was beginning to
come a little to myself after these so violent expe-
riences, when who should come hurrying in, and
(after a moment with a clerk) fly to one of the
telephone boxes but Mr. Henry D. Bellairs in per-
son P Call it what you will, but the impulse was
irresistible, and I rose and took a "place immediately
at the man's back. It may be some excuse that I
had often practised this very innocent form of
eavesdropping upon Strangers, and for fun. In-
deed, I scarce know anything that gives a lower
view of man's intelligence than to overhear (as
you thus do) one side of a communication.
“Central,” said the attorney, “224I and 584 B”
(or some such numbers) — “Who’s that? — All
right — Mr. Bellairs — Occidental; the wires are
fouled in the other place — Yes, about three min-
utes – Yes — Yes — Your figure, I am Sorry to
say — No — I had no authority — Neither more
nor less — I have every reason to suppose so — O,
Pinkerton, Montana Block — Yes – Yes — Very
good, sir — As you will, sir – Disconnect 584 B.”
Bellairs turned to leave; at sight of me behind
him, up flew his hands, and he winced and cringed,
as though in fear of bodily attack. “O, it’s you!”
he cried ; and then, somewhat recovered, “Mr.
Pinkerton's partner, I believe? I am pleased to
See you, Sir — to congratulate you on your late
Success.” And with that he was gone, obsequiously
bowing as he passed.
And now a madcap humour came upon me. It
I3
I94 T H E W R E C K E R
was plain Bellairs had been communicating with
his principal; I knew the number, if not the name;
should I ring up at once, it was more than likely
he would return in person to the telephone; why
should not I dash (vocally) into the presence of
this mysterious person, and have some fun for my
money? I pressed the bell.
... “Central,” said I, “connect again 224I and
584 B.” #
A phantom central repeated the numbers; there
was a pause, and then “Two two four one,” came
in a tiny voice into my ear — a voice with the
English sing-Song — the voice plainly of a gentle-
man, “Is that you again, Mr. Bellairs?” it
trilled. “I tell you it’s no use. Is that you, Mr.
Bellairs P Who is that?”
“I only want to put a single question,” said I,
civilly. “Why do you want to buy the Flying
Scud 2 °’
No answer came. The telephone vibrated and
hummed in miniature with all the numerous talk
of a great city; but the voice of 224I was silent.
Once and twice I put my question; but the tiny,
sing-song English voice, I heard no more. The
man, then, had fled? fled from an impertinent
question ? It scarce seemed natural to me; un-
less on the principle that the wicked fleeth when
no man pursueth. I took the telephone list and
turned the number up : “ 224I, Mrs. Keane, res.
942 Mission Street.” And that, short of driving
to the house and renewing my impertinence in
person, was all that I could do.
T H E W R E C K E R I95
Yet, as I resumed my seat in the corner of the
office, I was conscious of a new element of the
uncertain, the underhand, perhaps even the dan-
gerous, in our adventure; and there was now a
new picture in my mental gallery, to hang beside
that of the wreck under its canopy of sea-birds
and of Captain Trent mopping his red brow — the
picture of a man with a telephone dice-box to his
ear, and at the small voice of a single question,
struck suddenly as white as ashes. -
From these considerations I was awakened by
the striking of the clock. An hour and nearly
twenty minutes had elapsed since Pinkerton de-
parted for the money: he was twenty minutes
behind time; and to me who knew so well his
gluttonous despatch of business and had so fre-
quently admired his iron punctuality, the fact spoke
volumes. The twenty minutes slowly stretched into
an hour; the hour had nearly extended to a sec-
ond ; and I still sat in my corner of the office, or
paced the marble pavement of the hall, a prey to
the most wretched anxiety and penitence. The
hour for lunch was nearly over before I remem-
bered that I had not eaten. Heaven knows I
had no appetite; but there might still be much
to do — it was needful I should keep myself
in proper trim, if it were only to digest the
now too probable bad news; and leaving word
at the Office for Pinkerton, I sat down to table
and called for Soup, Oysters, and a pint of
champagne.
I was not long set, before my friend returned.
196 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
He looked pale and rather old, refused to hear
of food, and called for tea.
“I suppose all 's up?” said I, with an incredible
sinking.
“No,” he replied; “I’ve pulled it through,
Loudon; just pulled it through. I could n’t have
raised another cent in all 'Frisco. People don’t
like it; Longhurst even went back on me; said
he was n’t a three-card-monte man.”
“Well, what's the Odds?” said I. “That’s
all we wanted, is n’t it?”
“Loudon, I tell you I’ve had to pay blood for
that money,” cried my friend, with almost savage
energy and gloom. “It’s all on ninety days, too;
I could n’t get another day — not another day.
If we go ahead with this affair, Loudon, you'll
have to go yourself and make the fur fly. I’ll
stay of course — I’ve got to stay and face the
trouble in this city; though, I tell you, I just
long to go. I would show these fat brutes of
sailors what work was; I would be all through
that wreck and out at the other end, before they
had boosted themselves upon the deck! But
you’ll do your level best, Loudon; I depend
On you for that. You must be all fire and grit
and dash from the word “go.” That schooner
and the boodle on board of her are bound to be
here before three months, or it's B. U. S. T. —
bust.”
“I’ll swear I’ll do my best, Jim ; I’ll work
double tides,” said I. “It is my fault that you
are in this thing, and I’ll get you out again or
T H E W R E C K E R 197
kill myself. But what is that you say? “If we
go ahead P’ Have we any choice, then P’’
“I’m coming to that,” said Jim. “It is n’t that
I doubt the investment. Don’t blame yourself for
that; you showed a fine, Sound business instinct:
I always knew it was in you, but then it ripped
right out. I guess that little beast of an attorney
knew what he was doing; and he wanted nothing
better than to go beyond. No, there's profit in
the deal; it ’s not that; it's these ninety-day bills,
and the strain I’ve given the credit, for I’ve been
up and down, borrowing, and begging and bribing
to borrow. I don’t believe there 's another man
but me in 'Frisco,” he cried, with a sudden fer-
vour of self-admiration, “who could have raised
that last ten thousand 1 — Then there 's another
thing. I had hoped you might have peddled that
opium through the islands, which is safer and
more profitable. But with this three-month limit,
you must make tracks for Honolulu straight, and
communicate by steamer. I’ll try to put up some-
thing for you there; I’ll have a man spoken to
who 's posted on that line of biz. Keep a bright
lookout for him as soon 's you make the islands;
for it 's on the cards he might pick you up at sea
in a whale-boat or a steam-launch, and bring the
dollars right on board.”
It shows how much I had suffered morally dur-
ing my Sojourn in San Francisco, that even now,
when our fortunes trembled in the balance, I should
have consented to become a smuggler and (of
all things) a smuggler of Opium. Yet I did, and
198 T H E W R E C K E R
that in silence; without a protest, not without a
twinge.
“And suppose,” said I, “suppose the opium is
so securely hidden that I can’t get hands on it.”
“Then you will stay there till that brig is
kindling-wood, and stay and split that kindling-
wood with your penknife,” cried Pinkerton. “The
stuff is there; we know that; and it must be
found. But all this is only the one string to our
bow — though I tell you I’ve gone into it head-
first, as if it was our bottom dollar. Why, the
first thing I did before I’d raised a cent, and
with this other notion in my head already — the
first thing I did was to secure the schooner. The
Norah Creina, she is, sixty-four tons, quite big
enough for our purpose since the rice is spoiled,
and the fastest thing of her tonnage out of San
Francisco. For a bonus of two hundred, and a
rmonthly charter of three, I have her for my own
time; wages and provisions, say four hundred
more: a drop in the bucket. They began firing
the cargo out of her (she was part loaded) near
two hours ago; and about the same time John
Smith got the order for the stores. That’s what
I call business.”
“No doubt of that,” said I. “But the other
notion.”
“Well, here it is,” said Jim. “You agree with
me that Bellairs was ready to go higher?”
I saw where he was coming. “Yes, – and why
should nºt he P’’ said I. “Is that the line P’’
“That’s the line, Loudon Dodd,” assented Jim.
T H E W R E C K E R I99
“If Bellairs and his principal have any desire to
go me better, I’m their man.” -
A sudden thought, a sudden fear, shot into my
mind. What if I had been right? What if my
childish pleasantry had frightened the principal
away, and thus destroyed our chance? Shame
closed my mouth; I began instinctively a long
course of reticence; and it was without a word
of my meeting with Bellairs, or my discovery of
the address in Mission Street, that I continued the
discussion.
“Doubtless fifty thousand was originally men-
tioned as a round sum,” said I, “ or at least, so
Bellairs supposed. But at the same time it may
be an Outside sum; and to cover the expenses we
have already incurred for the money and the
Schooner — I am far from blaming you; I see
how needful it was to be ready for either event
— but to cover them we shall want a rather large
advance.”
“Bellairs will go to sixty thousand; it’s my
belief, if he were properly handled, he would take
the hundred,” replied Pinkerton. “Look back on
the way the sale ran at the end.”
“That is my own impression as regards Bel-
1airs,” I admitted. “The point I am trying to
make is that Bellairs himself may be mistaken;
that what he supposed to be a round sum was really
an outside figure.”
“Well, Loudon, if that is so,” said Jim, with
extraordinary gravity of face and voice, “if
that is so, let him take the Flying Scud at fifty
2OO T H E W R E C K E R
thousand, and joy go with her l I prefer the
loss.”
“Is that so, Jim P Are we dipped as bad as
that?” I cried. *
“We’ve put our hand further out than we can
pull it in again, Loudon,” he replied. “Why,
man, that fifty thousand dollars, before we get
Clear again, will cost us nearer seventy. Yes, it
figures up overhead to more than ten per cent a
month; and I could do no better, and there is n’t
the man breathing could have done as well. It
was a miracle, Loudon. I could n’t but admire
myself. O, if we had just the four months! And
you know, Loudon, it may still be done. With
your energy and charm, if the worst comes to the
worst, you can run that schooner as you ran one
of your picnics; and we may have luck. And, O,
man if we do pull it through, what a dashing
operation it will be ' What an advertisement!
what a thing to talk of, and remember all our
lives! However,” he broke off suddenly, “we
must try the safe thing first. Here’s for the
shyster l’’
There was another struggle in my mind, whether
I should even now admit my knowledge of the
Mission Street address. But I had let the favour-
able moment slip. I had now, which made it the
more awkward, not merely the original discovery,
but my late suppression to confess. I could not
help reasoning, besides, that the more natural
Course was to approach the principal by the road
Of his agent’s Office; and there weighed upon my
T H E W R E C K E R 2O I
spirits a conviction that we were already too
late, and that the man was gone two hours ago.
Once more, then, I held my peace; and after an
exchange of words at the telephone to assure our-
selves he was at home, we set out for the attor-
ney’s office.
The endless streets of any American city pass,
from one end to another, through strange degrees
and vicissitudes of splendour and distress, running
under the same name between monumental ware-
houses, the dens and taverns of thieves, and the
sward and shrubbery of villas. In San Francisco,
the sharp inequalities of the ground, and the Sea
bordering on so many sides, greatly exaggerate
these contrasts. The street for which we were
now bound took its rise among blowing sands,
somewhere in view of the Lone Mountain Ceme-
tery; ran for a term across that rather windy
Olympus of Nob Hill, or perhaps just skirted its
frontier; passed almost immediately after through
a stage of little houses, rather impudently painted,
and offering to the eye of the observer this diag-
nostic peculiarity, that the huge brass plates upon
the small and highly coloured doors bore only the
first names of ladies — Norah or Lily or Flor-
ence; traversed Chinatown, where it was doubt-
less undermined with opium cellars, and its blocks
pierced, after the similitude of rabbit-warrens, with
a hundred doors and passages and galleries; en-
joyed a glimpse of high publicity at the corner
of Kearney; and proceeded, among dives and ware-
houses, towards the City Front and the region of
2O2 - T H E W R E C K E R
the water-rats. In this last stage of its career,
where it was both grimy and solitary, and alter-
nately quiet and roaring to the wheels of drays,
we found a certain house of some pretension to
neatness, and furnished with a rustic Outside stair.
On the pillar of the stair a black plate bore in
gilded lettering this device: “Harry D. Bellairs,
Attorney-at-law. Consultations, 9 to 6.” On as-
cending the stairs, a door was found to stand Open
on the balcony, with this further inscription, “Mr.
Bellairs In.”
“I wonder what we do next,” said I.
“Guess we sail right in,” returned Jim, and
suited the action to the word.
The room in which we found ourselves was
clean, but extremely bare. A rather old-fashioned
secretaire stood by the wall, with a chair drawn
to the desk; in one corner was a shelf with half-
a-dozen law books; and I can remember literally
not another stick of furniture. One inference im-
posed itself: Mr. Bellairs was in the habit of sit-
ting down himself and suffering his clients to stand.
At the far end, and veiled by a curtain of red
baize, a second door communicated with the in-
terior of the house. Hence, after some coughing
and stamping, we elicited the shyster, who came
timorously forth, for all the world like a man in
fear of bodily assault, and then, recognising his
guests, suffered from what I can only call a ner-
vous paroxysm of courtesy. -
“Mr. Pinkerton and partner l’” said he. “I will
go and fetch you seats.”
T H E W R E C K E R 2O3
“Not the least,” said Jim. “No time. Much
rather stand. This is business, Mr. Bellairs. This
morning, as you know, I bought the wreck, Fly-
ing Scud.”
The lawyer nodded.
“And bought her,” pursued my friend, “at a
figure out of all proportion to the cargo and the
circumstances, as they appeared P’’
“And now you think better of it, and would
like to be off with your bargain? I have been
figuring upon this,” returned the lawyer. “My
client, I will not hide from you, was displeased
with me for putting her so high. I think we
were both too heated, Mr. Pinkerton : rivalry —
the spirit of competition. But I will be quite
frank — I know when I am dealing with gentle-
men — and I am almost certain, if you leave the
matter in my hands, my client would relieve you
of the bargain, so as you would lose ’” — he con-
sulted our faces with gimlet-eyed calculation —
“nothing,” he added shrilly.
And here Pinkerton amazed me.
“That's a little too thin,” said he. “I have the
wreck. I know there 's boodle in her, and I mean
to keep her. What I want is some points which
may save me needless expense, and which I am pre-
pared to pay for, money down. The thing for you
to consider is just this: am I to deal with you, or
direct with your principal: If you are prepared to
give me the facts right off, why, name your figure.
Only one thing! ” added Jim, holding a finger up,
“when I say money down,' I mean bills payable
204 “T H E W R E C K E R
when the ship returns, and if the information
proves reliable. I don't buy pigs in pokes.”
I had seen the lawyer's face light up for a mo-
ment, and then, at the Sound of Jim's proviso,
miserably fade. “I guess you know more about
this wreck than I do, Mr. Pinkerton,” said he. “I
only know that I was told to buy the thing, and
tried, and could n’t.”
“What I like about you, Mr. Bellairs, is that
you waste no time,” said Jim. “Now then; your
client’s name and address.”
“On consideration,” replied the lawyer, with
indescribable furtivity, “I cannot see that I am
entitled to communicate my client's name. I will
sound him for you with pleasure, if you care to
instruct me; but I cannot see that I can give you
his address.”
“Very well,” said Jim, and put his hat on.
“Rather a strong step, is n’t it?” (Between
every sentence was a clear pause.) “ Not think
better of it? Well, come — call it a dollar !”
“Mr. Pinkerton, sir!” exclaimed the offended
attorney; and indeed, I myself was almost afraid
that Jim had mistaken his man and gone too far.
“No present use for a dollar?” says Jim.
“Well, look here, Mr. Bellairs: we're both busy
men, and I’ll go to my outside figure with you
right away 35
“Stop this, Pinkerton,” I broke in. “I know
the address: 924 Mission Street.” ;
I do not know whether. Pinkerton or Bellairs
was the more taken aback.
s
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 2O5
“Why in snakes did n't you say so, Loudon?”
cried my friend.
“You did n’t ask for it before,” said I, colouring
to my temples under his troubled eyes.
It was Bellairs who broke silence, kindly supply-
ing me with all that I had yet to learn. “Since
you know Mr. Dickson's address,” said he, plainly
burning to be rid of us, “I suppose I need detain
you no longer.” -
I do not know how Pinkerton felt, but I had
death in my soul as we came down the outside
stair, from the den of this blotched spider. My
whole being was strung, waiting for Jim's first
question, and prepared to blurt out, I believe,
almost with tears, a full avowal. But my friend
asked nothing.
“We must hack it,” said he, tearing off in the
direction of the nearest stand. “No time to be
lost. You saw how I changed ground. No use in
paying the shyster’s commission.”
Again I expected a reference to my suppression;
again I was disappointed. It was plain Jim feared
the subject, and I felt I almost hated him for that
fear. At last, when we were already in the hack
and driving towards Mission Street, I could bear
my suspense no longer. - \
“You do not ask me about that address,”
said I.
“No,” said he, quickly and timidly. “What
was it? I would like to know.”
The note of timidity offended me like a buffet;
my temper rose as hot as mustard. “I must re-
2O6 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
quest you do not ask me,” said I. “It is a matter
I cannot explain.”
The moment the foolish words were said, that
moment I would have given worlds to recall
them : how much more, when Pinkerton, patting
my hand, replied: “All right, dear boy; not
another word ; that 's all done. I’m convinced
it’s perfectly right.” To return upon the sub-
ject was beyond my courage; but I vowed in-
wardly that I should do my utmost in the
future for this mad speculation, and that I would
cut myself in pieces before Jim should lose one
dollar.
We had no sooner arrived at the address than
I had other things to think of.
“Mr. Dickson? He's gone,’
Where had he gone?
“I’m sure I can’t tell you,” she answered. “He
was quite a stranger to me.”
“Did he express his baggage, ma’am P” asked
Pinkerton.
“Had n't any,” was the reply. “He came last
night and left again to-day with a satchel.”
“When did he leave?” I inquired.
“It was about noon,” replied the landlady.
“Some one rang up the telephone, and asked for
him; and I reckon he got some news, for he left
right away, although his rooms were taken by the
week. He seemed considerable put out: I reckon
it was a death.” *
My heart sank; perhaps my idiotic jest had in-
deed driven him away; and again I asked myself,
3
said the landlady.
T H E W R E C K E R 2O7
Why? and whirled for a moment in a vortex of
untenable hypotheses. -
“What was he like, ma’am P” Pinkerton was
asking, when I returned to consciousness of my
Surroundings.
“A clean-shaved man,” said the woman, and
could be led or driven into no more significant
description.
“Pull up at the nearest drug-store,” said Pinker-
ton to the driver; and when there, the telephone
was put in operation, and the message sped to the
Pacific Mail Steamship Company's office — this
was in the days before Spreckels had arisen —
“When does the next China steamer touch at
Honolt11tt P’’
“The City of Pekin; she cast off the dock
to-day, at half-past one,” came the reply.
“It’s a clear case of bolt,” said Jim. “He’s
skipped, or my name 's not Pinkerton. He 's gone
to head us off at Midway Island.”
Somehow I was not so sure; there were ele-
ments in the case, not known to Pinkerton — the
fears of the taptain, for example — that inclined
me otherwise; and the idea that I had terrified
Mr. Dickson into flight, though resting on so slen-
der a foundation, clung obstinately in my mind.
“Should n’t we see the list of passengers?” I
asked. - &
“Dickson is such a blamed common name,” re-
turned Jim ; “and then, as like as not, he would
change it.”
At this I had another intuition. A negative of
208 T H E W R E C K E R
a street scene, taken unconsciously when I was
absorbed in other thoughts, rose in my memory
with not a feature blurred : a view, from Bellairs's
door as we were coming down, of muddy roadway,
passing drays, matted telegraph wires, a Chinaboy
with a basket on his head, and (almost Opposite)
a corner grocery with the name of Dickson in great
gilt letters.
“Yes,” said I, “you are right; he would change
it. And anyway, I don't believe it was his name
at all; I believe he took it from a corner grocery
beside Bellairs’s.”
“As like as not,” said Jim, still standing on the
sidewalk with contracted brows.
“Well, what shall we do next?” I asked.
“The natural thing would be to rush the
schooner,” he replied. “But I don’t know. I tele-
phoned the captain to go at it head down and heels
in air; he answered like a little man; and I guess
he’s getting around. I believe, Loudon, we'll give
Trent a chance. Trent was in it; he was in it up
to the neck; even if he could n’t buy, he could give
us the straight tip.”
“I think so too,” said I. “Where shall we find
him?”
“British consulate of course,” said Jim. “And
that's another reason for taking him first. We can
hustle that schooner up all evening; but when
the consulate ’s shut, it’s shut.” e
At the consulate, we learned that Captain Trent
had alighted (such is I believe the classic phrase)
at the What Cheer House. To that large and
T H E W R E C K E R 2O9
unaristocratic hostelry we drove, and addressed
ourselves to a large clerk, who was chewing a tooth-
pick and looking straight before him.
“Captain Jacob Trent?”
“GOne,” said the clerk.
“Where has he gone?” asked Pinkerton.
“Cain't say,” said the clerk.
“When did he go?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” said the clerk, and with the
simplicity of a monarch offered us the spectacle of
his broad back.
What might have happened next I dread to pic-
ture, for Pinkerton’s excitement had been growing
steadily, and now burned dangerously high ; but
we were spared extremities by the intervention
of a second clerk.
“Why I Mr. Dodd | * he exclaimed, running
forward to the counter. “ Glad to see you, sir!
Can I do anything in your way?”
How virtuous actions blossom | Here was a
young man to whose pleased ears I had rehearsed
Just before the Battle, Mother, at some weekly
picnic; and now, in that tense moment of my life,
he came (from the machine) to be my helper.
“Captain Trent of the wreck? O yes, Mr.
Dodd; he left about twelve; he and another of the
men. The Kanaka went earlier by the City of
Pekin; I know that; I remember expressing his
chest. Captain Trent's P I’ll inquire, Mr. Dodd.
Yes, they were all here. Here are the names on
the register; perhaps you would care to look at
them while I go and see about the baggage?”
I4.
2 IO T H E W R E C K E R
I drew the book toward me, and stood look-
ing at the four names all written in the same
hand, rather a big and rather a bad one: Trent,
Brown, Hardy, and (instead of Ah Sing) Jos.
Amalt1.
“Pinkerton,” said I, suddenly, “have you that
Occidental in your pocket?”
“Never left me,” said Pinkerton, producing the
paper. a
I turned to the account of the wreck. “Here,”
said I; “ here 's the name. “Elias Goddedaal,
mate.’ Why do we never come across Elias
Goddedaal P”
“That’s so,” said Jim. “Was he with the rest
in that saloon when you saw them P”
“I don’t believe it,” said I. “They were
only four, and there was none that behaved like
a mate.”
At this moment the clerk returned with his
report.
“The captain,” it appeared, “came with some
kind of an express waggon, and he and the man
took off three chests and a big satchel. Our porter
helped to put them on, but they drove the cart
themselves. The porter thinks they went down
town. It was about one.”
“Still in time for the City of Pekin,” observed
Jim.
“How many of them were here?” I inquired.
“Three, sir, and the Kanaka,” replied the clerk.
“I can’t somehow find out about the third, but he's
gone too.”
T H E W R E C K E R 2 IT
“Mr. Goddedaal, the mate, was n’t here then?”
I asked. -
“No, Mr. Dodd, none but what you see,” says
the clerk. e
“Nor you never heard where he was P’’
“ No. Any particular reason for finding these
men, Mr. Dodd?” inquired the clerk.
“This gentleman and I have bought the wreck,”
I explained; “we wished to get some informa-
tion, and it is very annoying to find the men all
gone.”
A certain group had gradually formed about us, .
for the wreck was still a matter of interest; and
at this, one of the bystanders, a rough seafaring
man, spoke suddenly.
“I guess the mate won’t be gone,” said he.
“He 's main sick; never left the sick-bay aboard
the Tempest; so they tell me.”
Jim took me by the sleeve. “Back to the con-
sulate,” said he.
But even at the consulate nothing was known
of Mr. Goddedaal. The doctor of the Tempest
had certified him very sick; he had sent his
papers in, but never appeared in person before
the authorities. -
“Have you a telephone laid on to the Tem-
pest?” asked Pinkerton.
“Laid on yesterday,” said the clerk.
“Do you mind asking, or letting me ask?
We are very anxious to get hold of Mr. Godde-
daal.”
“All right,” said the clerk, and turned to the
2 I 2 T H E W R E C K E R
telephone. “I’m sorry,” he said presently, “Mr.
Goddedaal has left the ship, and no one knows
where he is.”
“Do you pay the men's passage home?” I in-
quired, a sudden thought striking me.
“If they want it,” said the clerk; “sometimes
they don’t. But we paid the Kanaka's passage
to Honolulu this morning; and by what Captain
Trent was saying, I understand the rest are going
home together.”
“Then you have n’t paid them?” said I.
“Not yet,” said the clerk.
“And you would be a good deal surprised, if
I were to tell you they were gone already ?” I
asked. -
“O, I should think you were mistaken,” said
he.
“Such is the fact, however,” said I.
“I am sure you must be mistaken,
peated.
“May I use your telephone one moment?” asked
Pinkerton; and as soon as permission had been
granted, I heard him ring up the printing-office
where our advertisements were usually handled.
More I did not hear; for suddenly recalling the
big, bad hand in the register of the What Cheer
House, I asked the consulate clerk if he had a
specimen of Captain Trent’s writing. Whereupon
I learned that the captain could not write, having
cut his hand open a little before the loss of the
brig ; that the latter part of the log even had
been written up by Mr. Goddedaal, and that Trent
5
he re-
T H E W R E C K E R 2 I 3
had always signed with his left hand. By the
time I had gleaned this information, Pinkerton
was ready.
“That's all that we can do. Now for the
schooner,” said he: “ and by to-morrow evening
I lay hands on Goddedaal, or my name 's not
Pinkerton.”
“How have you managed P” I inquired.
“You’ll see before you get to bed,” said Pin-
kerton. “And now, after all this backwarding
and forwarding, and that hotel clerk, and that bug
Bellairs, it'll be a change and a kind of consola-
tion to see the schooner. I guess things are hum-
ming there.”
But on the wharf, when we reached it, there
was no sign of bustle, and but for the galley
smoke, no mark of life on the Norah Creina.
Pinkerton’s face grew pale, and his mouth straight-
ened, as he leaped on board.
“Where's the captain of this P” and he left
the phrase unfinished, finding no epithet sufficiently
energetic for his thoughts.
It did not appear whom or what he was ad-
dressing; but a head, presumably the cook's,
appeared in answer at the galley door.
“In the cabin, at dinner,” said the cook delib-
erately, chewing as he spoke.
“Is that cargo out?”
“No, sir.”
“None Of it P '? --
“O, there's some of it out. We’ll get at the
rest of it livelier to-morrow, I guess.”
2. I4. T H E W R E C K E R
“I guess there 'll be something broken first,”
said Pinkerton, and strode to the cabin.
Here we found a man, fat, dark, and quiet,
seated gravely at what seemed a liberal meal. He
looked up, upon our entrance; and seeing Pinker-
ton continue to stand facing him in silence, hat
On head, arms folded, and lips compressed, an
expression of mingled wonder and annoyance
began to dawn upon his placid face.
“Well,” said Jim. “And so this is what you
call rushing around?”
“Who are you?” cries the captain.
“Me! I’m Pinkerton l’’ retorted Jim, as though
the name had been a talisman.
“You ’re not very civil, whoever you are,” was
the reply. But still a certain effect had been pro-
duced, for he scrambled to his feet, and added
hastily, “A man must have a bit of dinner, you
know, Mr. Pinkerton.”
“Where's your mate P” snapped Jim.
“He’s up town,” returned the other.
“Up town l’’ sneered Pinkerton. “Now I’11
tell you what you are: you're a Fraud; and if
I was n’t afraid of dirtying my boot, I would kick
you and your dinner into that dock.”
“I’ll tell you something, too,” retorted the cap-
tain, duskily flushing. “I would n’t sail this ship
for the man you are, if you went upon your knees.
I’ve dealt with gentlemen up to now.”
“I can tell you the names of a number of
gentlemen you'll never deal with any more, and
that 'S the whole of Longhurst's gang,” said
T H E W R E C K E R 2 I 5
Jim. “I’ll put your pipe out in that quarter, my
friend. Here, rout out your traps as quick as
look at it, and take your vermin along with
you. I’ll have a captain in, this very night,
that 's a sailor, and Some Sailors to work for
him.”
“I’ll go when I please, and that 's to-morrow
Imorning,” cried the captain after us, as we de-
parted for the shore.
“There 's something gone wrong with the world
to-day; it must have come bottom up !” wailed
Pinkerton. “ Bellairs, and then the hotel clerk, and
now This Fraud! And what am I to do for a
Captain, Loudon, with Longhurst gone home an
hour ago, and the boys all scattered P”
“I know,” said I. “Jump in ” And then to
the driver: “Do you know Black Tom's P”
Thither then we rattled; passed through the
bar, and found (as I had hoped) Johnson in the
enjoyment of club life. The table had been thrust
upon one side; a South Sea merchant was dis-
coursing music from a mouth-organ in one cor-
ner; and in the middle of the floor Johnson and
a fellow-seaman, their arms clasped about each
other's bodies, somewhat heavily danced. The
room was both cold and close; a jet of gas,
which continually menaced the heads of the per-
formers, shed a coarse illumination; the mouth-
organ sounded 'shrill and dismal; and the faces
of all concerned were church-like in their gravity.
It were, of course, indelicate to interrupt these
Solemn frolics; so we edged ourselves to chairs,
216 T H E W R E C K E R
for all the world like belated comers in a concert-
room, and patiently waited for the end. At length
the organist, having exhausted his Supply of breath,
ceased abruptly in the middle of a bar. With the
cessation of a strain, the dances likewise came to
a full stop, swayed a moment, still embracing, and
then separated and looked about the circle for
applause.
“Very well danced l’” said one; but it appears
the compliment was not strong enough for the
performers, who (forgetful of the proverb) took
up the tale in person.
“Well!” said Johnson. “I may n’t be no sailor,
but I can dance 1 ''
And his late partner, with an almost pathetic
conviction, added, “My foot is as light as a
feather.”
Seeing how the wind set, you may be sure I
added a few words of praise before I carried
Johnson alone into the passage: to whom, thus
mollified, I told so much as I judged needful
of our situation, and begged him, if he would
not take the job himself, to find me a smart
111211.
“Me " '' he cried. “I could n’t no more do it
than I could try to go to hell!”
“I thought you were a mate,” said I.
“So I am a mate,” giggled Johnson, “ and you
don’t catch me shipping noways else. But I’ll tell
you what, I believe I can get you Arty Nares:
you seen Arty: first-rate navigator and a son of
a gun for style.” And he proceeded to explain
T H E W R E C K E R 217
to me that Mr. Nares, who had the promise of
a fine barque in six months, after things had
quieted down, was in the meantime living very
private, and would be pleased to have a change
of air.
I called out Pinkerton and told him. “Nares!”
he cried, as soon as I had come to the name. “I
would jump at the chance of a man that had had
Nares's trousers on Why, Loudon, he 's the
smartest deep-water mate out of San Francisco,
and draws his dividends regular in Service and
out.” This hearty indorsation clinched the pro-
posal; Johnson agreed to produce Nares before
six the following morning; and Black Tom, be-
ing called into the consultation, promised us four
smart hands for the same hour, and even (what
appeared to all of us excessive) promised them
sober.
The streets were fully lighted when we left
Black Tom's : street after street sparkling with
gas or electricity, line after line of distant lumi-
naries climbing the steep sides of hills towards
the overvaulting darkness; and on the other hand,
where the waters of the bay invisibly trembled, a
hundred riding lanterns marked the position of a
hundred ships. The sea-fog flew high in heaven;
and at the level of man’s life and business it was
cleaf and chill. By silent consent, we paid the
hack off, and proceeded arm in arm towards the
Poodle Dog for dinner.
At one of the first hoardings, I was aware of
a bill-sticker at work: it was a late hour for this
2 I 8 T H E W R E C K E R
employment, and I checked Pinkerton until the
sheet should be unfolded. This is what I read:
TWO HUND RED DOLLARS REWARD.
OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE
WRECKED BRIG FLYING SCUD
APPLYING,
PERSONALLY OR BY LETTER,
AT THE OFFICE OF JAMES PINKERTON, MONTANA BLOCK,
BEFORE NOON TO-MORROW, TUESDAY, 12TH,
WILL RECEIVE
TWO HUND RED DOLLARS REWARD.
“This is your idea, Pinkerton l’” I cried.
“Yes. They've lost no time; I’ll say that for
them — not like the Fraud,” said he. “But mind
you, Loudon, that 's not half of it. The cream of
the idea 's here: we know our man 's sick; well, a
copy of that has been mailed to every hospital, every
doctor, and every drug-store in San Francisco.”
Of course, from the nature of our business,
Pinkerton could do a thing of the kind at a figure
extremely reduced; for all that, I was appalled at
the extravagance, and said so.
“What matter a few dollars now P” he replied
sadly. “It’s in three months that the pull comes,
Loudon.”
We walked on again in silence, not without a
Shiver. Even at the Poodle Dog, we took our food
with Small appetite and less speech; and it was not
until he was warmed with a third glass of cham-
T H E W R E C K E R 2 I 9
pagne that Pinkerton cleared his throat and looked
upon me with a deprecating eye.
“Loudon,” said he, “there was a subject you
did n’t wish to be referred to. I only want to do
so indirectly. It was n’t " — he faltered — “it
was n’t because you were dissatisfied with me?”
he concluded, with a quaver.
“Pinkerton | * cried I.
“No, no, not a word just now,” he hastened
to proceed. “Let me speak first. I appreciate,
though I can’t imitate, the delicacy of your na-
ture; and I can well understand you would rather
die than speak of it, and yet might feel disap-
pointed. I did think I could have done better
myself. But when I found how tight money was
in this city, and a man like Douglas B. Longhurst
— a forty-niner, the man that stood at bay in a
corn patch for five hours against the San Diablo
squatters — weakening on the operation, I tell you,
Loudon, I began to despair; and — I may have
made mistakes, no doubt there are thousands who
could have done better — but I give you a loyal
hand on it, I did my best.”
“My poor Jim,” said I, “as if I ever doubted
you! as if I did n't know you had done wonders!
All day I’ve been admiring your energy and re-
source. And as for that affair — ”
“No, Loudon, no more, not a word more! I
don’t want to hear,” cried Jim.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t want to tell
you,” said I; “ for it's a thing I’m ashamed of.”
“Ashamed, Loudon 2 O, don’t say that; don’t
22 O T H E W R E C K E R
use such an expression even in jest! ” protested
Pinkerton. $
“Do you never do anything you ’re ashamed
of P’ I inquired.
“No,” says he, rolling his eyes. “Why? I’m
sometimes sorry afterwards, when it pans out dif-
ferent from what I figured. But I can’t see what
I would want to be ashamed for.”
I sat awhile considering with admiration the
simplicity of my friend’s character. Then I sighed.
“Do you know, Jim, what I’m sorriest for P’’ said
I. “At this rate, I can’t be best man at your
marriage.” -
“My marriage!” he repeated, echoing the sigh.
“No marriage for me now. I’m going right down
to-night to break it to her. I think that's what's
shaken me all day. I feel as if I had had no right
(after I was engaged) to operate so widely.”
“Well, you know, Jim, it was my doing, and
you must lay the blame on me,” said I.
“Not a cent of it!” he cried. “I was as eager
as yourself, only not so bright at the beginning.
No; I’ve myself to thank for it; but it's a
wrench.”
While Jim departed on his dolorous mission, I
returned alone to the office, lit the gas, and sat
down to reflect on the events of that momentous
day: on the strange features of the tale that had
been so far unfolded, the disappearances, the ter-
rors, the great sums of money; and on the dan-
gerous and ungrateful task that awaited me in the
immediate future.
T H E W R E. C K E R . 22 I
It is difficult, in the retrospect of such affairs,
to avoid attributing to Ourselves in the past a
measure of the knowledge we possess to-day. But
I may say, and yet be well within the mark, that
I was consumed that night with a fever of Sus-
picion and curiosity; exhausted my fancy in Solu-
tions, which I still dismissed as incommensurable
with the facts; and in the mystery by which I saw
myself surrounded, found a precious stimulus for
my courage and a convenient SOOthing draught for
conscience. Even had all been plain Sailing, I do
not hint that I should have drawn back. Smug-
gling is one of the meanest of crimes, for by that
we rob a whole country pro rata, and are there-
fore certain to impoverish the poor: to Smuggle
opium is an offence particularly dark, since it
stands related not so much to murder, as to mas-
sacre. Upon all these points I was quite clear;
my sympathy was all in arms against my interest;
and had not Jim been involved, I could have dwelt
almost with satisfaction on the idea of my fail-
ure. But Jim, his whole fortune, and his marriage,
depended upon my success; and I preferred the
interests of my friend before those of all the
islanders in the South Seas. This is a poor, pri-
vate morality, if you like; but it is mine, and the
best I have ; and I am not half so much ashamed
of having embarked at all on this adventure, as
I am proud that (while I was in it, and for the
sake of my friend) I was up early and down late,
set my own hand to everything, took dangers as
they came, and for once in my life played the man
22.2 T H E W R E C K E R
throughout. At the same time, I could have de-
sired another field of energy; and I was the more
grateful for the redeeming element of mystery.
Without that, though I might have gone ahead
and done as well, it would scarce have been with
ardour; and what inspired me that night with an
impatient greed of the Sea, the island, and the
wreck, was the hope that I might stumble there
upon the answer to a hundred questions, and learn
why Captain Trent fanned his red face in the
exchange, and why Mr. Dickson fled from the
telephone in the Mission Street lodging-house.
CHAPTER XI
IN which JIM AND I TAKE DIFFERENT
WAYS
was to unhappiness that I opened them again
next morning, to a confused sense of Some
calamity still inarticulate, and to the consciousness
of jaded limbs and of a swimming head. I must
have lain for some time inert and stupidly miser-
able, before I became aware of a reiterated knock-
ing at the door; with which discovery all my wits
flowed back in their accustomed channels, and I
remembered the sale, and the wreck, and Godde-
daal, and Nares, and Johnson, and Black Tom, and
the troubles of yesterday, and the manifold engage-
ments of the day that was to come. The thought
thrilled me like a trumpet in the hour of battle. In
a moment, I had leaped from bed, crossed the office
where Pinkerton lay in a deep trance of sleep on
the convertible sofa, and stood in the doorway, in
ny night gear, to receive our visitors.
Johnson was first, by way of usher, smiling.
From a little behind, with his Sunday hat tilted
forward Over his brow, and a cigar glowing be-
tween his lips, Captain Nares acknowledged our
previous acquaintance with a succinct nod. Behind
I WAS unhappy when I closed my eyes; and it
224 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
him again, in the top of the stairway, a knot of
sailors, the new crew of the Norah Creina, stood
polishing the wall with back and elbow. These
I left without, to their reflections. But Our two
Officers I carried at Once into the office, where
(taking Jim by the shoulder) I shook him slowly
into consciousness. He sat up, all abroad for the
moment, and stared on the new captain.
“Jim,” said I, “this is Captain Nares. Captain,
Mr. Pinkerton.”
Nares repeated his curt nod, still without speech;
and I thought he held us both under a watchful
scrutiny. |
“O !” says Jim, “this is Captain Nares, is it?
Good-morning, Captain Nares. Happy to have the
pleasure of your acquaintance, sir. I know you
well by reputation.”
Perhaps, under the circumstances of the moment,
this was scarce a welcome speech. At least, Nares
received it with a grunt.
“Well, Captain,” Jim continued, “you know
about the size of the business? You ’re to take the
Norah Creina to Midway Island, break up a wreck,
call at Honolulu, and back to this port? I suppose
that 's understood P’’ -
“Well,” returned Nares, with the same unami-
able reserve, “ for a reason, which I guess you
know, the cruise may suit me; but there 's a point
or two to settle. We shall have to talk, Mr. Pin-
kerton. But whether I go or not, somebody will;
there 's no sense in losing time; and you might
give Mr. Johnson a note, let him take the hands
6
T H E W R E C K E R 225
right down, and set to to overhaul the rigging.
The beasts look sober,” he added, with an air of
great disgust, “and need putting to work to keep
them so.” -
This being agreed upon, Nares watched his sub-
ordinate depart and drew a visible breath. e
“And now we’re alone and can talk,” said he.
“What’s this thing about? It’s been advertised
like Barnum's museum; that poster of yours has
set the Front talking; that's an objection in itself,
for I’m laying a little dark just now ; and anyway,
before I take the ship, I require to know what I’m
going after.”
Thereupon Pinkerton gave him the whole tale,
beginning with a businesslike precision, and work-
ing himself up, as he went on, to the boiling-point
of narrative enthusiasm. Nares sat and smoked,
hat still on head, and acknowledged each fresh fea-
ture of the story with a frowning nod. But his
pale blue eyes betrayed him, and lighted visibly.
“Now you see for yourself,” Pinkerton con-
cluded: “there 's every last chance that Trent has
skipped to Honolulu, and it won’t take much of
that fifty thousand dollars to charter a smart
schooner down to Midway. Here’s where I want
a man!” cried Jim, with contagious energy. “That
wreck ’s mine; I’ve paid for it, money down; and
if it's got to be fought for, I want to see it fought
for lively. If you ’re not back in ninety days, I
tell you plainly, I’ll make one of the biggest busts
ever seen upon this coast; it's life or death for
Mr. Dodd and me. As like as not, it ’11 come to
I 5
226 T H E W R E C K E R
grapples on the island; and when I heard your
name last night — and a blame' sight more this
morning when I saw the eye you've got in
your head — I said, ‘Nares is good enough for
me! ” ” -
“I guess,” observed Nares, studying the ash of
his cigar, “the Sooner I get that schooner outside
the Farallones, the better you'll be pleased.”
“You’re the man I dreamed of !” cried Jim,
bouncing on the bed. “There's not five per cent
of fraud in all your carcase.”
“Just hold on,” said Nares. “There's another
point. I heard Some talk about a supercargo.”
“That’s Mr. Dodd, here, my partner,” replied
Jim.
“I don’t see it,” returned the captain, drily.
“One captain 's enough for any ship that ever I
was aboard.”
“Now, don’t you start disappointing me,” said
Pinkerton; “ for you ’re talking without thought.
I’m not going to give you the run of the books of
this firm, am I? I guess not. Well, this is not
only a cruise; it 's a business Operation; and
that 's in the hands of my partner. You sail that
ship, you see to breaking up that wreck and keep-
ing the men upon the jump, and you ’11 find your
hands about full. Only, no mistake about one
thing: it has to be done to Mr. Dodd's satisfac-
tion; for it's Mr. Dodd that's paying.”
“I’m accustomed to give satisfaction,” said
Mr. Nares, with a dark flush. -
“And so you will here!” cried Pinkerton. “I
T H E W R E C K E R 227
understand you. You're prickly to handle, but
you ’re straight all through.”
“The position 's got to be understood, though,”
returned Nares, perhaps a trifle mollified. “My
position, I mean. I’m not going to ship sailing-
master; it’s enough out of my way already, to set
a foot on this mosquito schooner.”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” retorted Jim, with an in-
describable twinkle: “you just meet me on the
ballast, and we’ll make it a barquentine.”
Nares laughed a little; tactless Pinkerton had
once more gained a victory in tact. “Then there 's
another point,” resumed the captain, tacitly re-
linquishing the last. “How about the owners?”
“O, you leave that to me; I’m one of Long-
hurst's crowd, you know,” said Jim, with sudden
bristling vanity. “Any man that 's good enough
for me, is good enough for them.”
“Who are they P’’ asked Nares.
“M'Intyre and Spittal,” said Jim.
“O, well, give me a card of yours,” said the
captain : “you need n’t bother to write; I keep
M“Intyre and Spittal in my vest-pocket.”
Boast for boast; it was always thus with Nares
and Pinkerton — the two vainest men of my ac-
quaintance. And having thus reinstated himself
in his own opinion, the captain rose, and, with a
couple of his stiff nods, departed.
“Jim,” I cried, as the door closed behind him,
“I don’t like that man.”
“You’ve just got to, Loudon,” returned Jim.
“He 's a typical American seaman — brave as a
/ 228 T H E W R E C K E R
lion, full of resource, and stands high with his
Owners. He 's a man with a record.”
“For brutality at sea,” said I.
“Say what you like,” exclaimed Pinkerton, “it
was a good hour we got him in : I’d trust Mamie's
life to him to-morrow.”
“Well, and talking of Mamie P” says I.
Jim paused with his trousers half on. “She’s
the gallantest little soul God ever made l’ he cried.
“Loudon, I meant to knock you up last night, and
I hope you won't take it unfriendly that I did n’t.
I went in and looked at you asleep; and I saw
you were all broken up, and let you be. The
news would keep, anyway; and even you, Lou-
don, could n’t feel it the same way as I did.”
“What news?” I asked. -
“It’s this way,” says Jim. “I told her how
we stood, and that I backed down from marrying.
‘Are you tired of me?’ says she God bless her
Well, I explained the whole thing over again, the
chance of smash, your absence unavoidable, the
point I made of having you for the best man, and
that. ‘If you're not tired of me, I think I see one
way to manage,’ says she. ‘Let’s get married
to-morrow, and Mr. Loudon can be best man
before he goes to sea.’ That’s how she said it,
crisp and bright, like one of Dickens's characters.
It was no good for me to talk about the Smash.
‘You ’11 want me all the more,” she said. Loudon,
I only pray I can make it up to her; I prayed for
it last night beside your bed, while you lay sleep-
ing — for you, and Mamie and myself; and — I
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 229
don't know if you quite believe in prayer, I'm a
bit Ingersollian myself — but a kind of sweetness
came over me, and I could n’t help but think it was
an answer. Never was a man so lucky 1 You and
me and Mamie ; it's a triple cord, Loudon. If
either of you were to die! And she likes you so
much, and thinks you so accomplished and dis-
tingué-looking, and was just as set as I was to
have you for best man. “Mr. Loudon,’ she calls
you ; seems to me so friendly And she sat up till
three in the morning fixing up a costume for the
marriage; it did me good to see her, Loudon, and
to see that needle going, going, and to say “All
this hurry, Jim, is just to marry you!' I could n’t
believe it; it was so like some blame' fairy story.
To think of those old tin-type times about turned
Imy head; I was so unrefined then, and so illiter-
ate, and so lonesome; and here I am in clover,
and I’m blamed if I can see what I’ve done to
deserve it.” -
So he poured forth with innocent volubility the
fulness of his heart; and I, from these irregular
communications, must pick out, here a little and
there a little, the particulars of his new plan. They
were to be married, sure enough, that day; the
wedding breakfast was to be at Frank's; the even-
ing to be passed in a visit of God-speed aboard the
Norah Creina; and then we were to part, Jim and
I, he to his married life, I on my sea-enterprise.
If ever I cherished an ill-feeling for Miss Mamie,
I forgave her now ; SO brave and kind, so pretty
and venturesome, was her decision. The weather
23O T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
frowned overhead with a leaden sky, and San
Francisco had never (in all my experience) looked
So bleak, and gaunt, and shoddy, and crazy, like a
city prematurely old; but through all my wander-
ings and errands to and fro, by the dock-side Or in
ithe jostling street, among rude Sounds and ugly
sights, there ran in my mind, like a tiny strain of
music, the thought of my friend's happiness.
For that was indeed a day of many and incongru-
ous occupations. Breakfast was scarce swallowed,
before Jim must run to the City Hall and Frank's
about the cares of marriage, and I hurry to John
Smith's upon the account of stores, and thence, on
a visit of certification, to the Norah Creina. Me-
thought she looked smaller than ever, Sundry great
ships overspiring her from close without. She was
already a nightmare of disorder; and the wharf
alongside was piled with a world of casks, and
cases, and tins, and tools, and coils of rope, and
miniature barrels of giant powder, such as it
seemed no human ingenuity could stuff on board
of her. Johnson was in the waist, in a red shirt
and dungaree trousers, his eye kindled with ac-
tivity. With him I exchanged a word or two;
thence stepped aft along the narrow alleyway
between the house and the rail, and down the
companion to the main cabin, where the captain
sat with the commissioner at wine.
I gazed with disaffection at the little box which
for many a day I was to call home. On the star-
board was a stateroom for the captain; on the port,
a pair of frowsy berths, one over the other, and
T H E w R E C K E R 23 I
abutting astern upon the side of an unsavoury
cupboard. The walls were yellow and damp, the
floor black and greasy; there was a prodigious
litter of straw, Old newspapers, and broken
packing-cases; and by way of Ornament, only a
glass-rack, a thermometer presented “with com-
pliments * of some advertising whisky-dealer, and
a swinging lamp. It was hard to foresee that,
before a week was up, I should regard that cabin
as cheerful, lightsome, airy, and even spacious.
I was presented to the commissioner, and to a
young friend of his whom he had brought with
him for the purpose (apparently) of smoking
cigars; and after we had pledged one another in
a glass of California port, a trifle sweet and sticky
for a morning beverage, the functionary spread
his papers on the table, and the hands were sum-
moned. Down they trooped, accordingly, into the
cabin; and stood eyeing the ceiling or the floor,
the picture of sheepish embarrassment, and with
a common air of wanting to expectorate and not
quite daring. In admirable contrast, stood the
Chinese cook, easy, dignified, set apart by spotless
raiment, the hidalgo of the seas.
I dare say you never had occasion to assist at
the farce which followed. Our shipping laws in
the United States (thanks to the inimitable Dana)
are conceived in a spirit of paternal stringency, and
proceed throughout on the hypothesis that poor
Jack is an imbecile, and the other parties to the
contract, rogues and ruffians. A long and wordy
paper of precautions, a fo'c's'le bill of rights, must
232 T H E W R E C K E R
pe read separately to each man. I had now the
benefit of hearing it five times in brisk succession;
and you would suppose I was acquainted with its
contents. But the commissioner (worthy man)
spends his days in doing little else; and when we
bear in mind the parallel case of the irreverent
curate, we need not be surprised that he took the
passage tempo prestissimo, in one roulade of gabble
— that I, with the trained attention of an educated
man, could gather but a fraction of its import –
and the sailors nothing. No profanity in giving
orders, no sheath-knives, Midway Island and any
other port the master may direct, not to exceed
six calendar months, and to this port to be paid
off: so it seemed to run, with surprising verbiage;
so ended. And with the end, the commissioner, in
each case, fetched a deep breath, resumed his nat-
ural voice, and proceeded to business. “Now, my
man,” he would say, “ you ship A. B. at so many
dollars, American gold coin. Sign your name
here, if you have one, and can write.” Whereupon,
and the name (with infinite hard breathing) being
signed, the commissioner would proceed to fill in
the man’s appearance, height, etc., on the official
form. In this task of literary portraiture he seemed
to rely wholly upon temperament; for I could not
perceive him to cast one glance on any of his
models. He was assisted, however, by a running
commentary from the captain : “Hair blue and
eyes red, nose five foot seven, and stature broken ''
— jests as old, presumably, as the American ma-
rine; and, like the similar pleasantries of the
T H E w R E C K E R 233
billiard board, perennially relished. The highest
note of humour was reached in the case of the
Chinese cook, who was shipped under the name
of “One Lung,” to the sound of his own protests
and the self-approving chuckles of the functionary.
“Now, Captain,” said the latter, when the men
were gone, and he had bundled up his papers,
“ the law requires you to carry a slop-chest and a
chest of medicines.”
“I guess I know that,” said Nares.
“I guess you do,” returned the commissioner,
and helped himself to port.
But when he was gone, I appealed to Nares on
the same subject, for I was well aware we carried
none of these provisions.
“Well,” drawled Nares, “there’s sixty pounds
of niggerhead on the quay, is n’t there? and twenty
pounds of salts; and I never travel without some
painkiller in my gripsack.”
As a matter of fact, we were richer. The cap-
tain had the usual sailor’s provision of quack medi-
cines, with which, in the usual sailor fashion, he
would daily drug himself, displaying an extreme
inconstancy, and flitting from Kennedy’s Red Dis-
covery to Kennedy’s White, and from Hood's Sar-
saparilla to Mother Seigel’s Syrup. And there
were, besides, some mildewed and half-empty bot-
tles, the lables Obliterated, Over which Nares would
sometimes sniff and speculate. “Seems to smell
1ike diarrhoea stuff,” he would remark. “I wish 't
I knew, and I would try it.” But the slop-chest
was indeed represented by the plugs of nigger-
234 T H E W R E C K E R
head, and nothing else. Thus paternal laws are
made, thus they are evaded; and the schooner put
to Sea, like plenty of her neighbours, liable to a
fine of six hundred dollars.
This characteristic scene, which has delayed me
Over-long, was but a moment in that day of exer-
cise and agitation. To fit out a schooner for Sea,
and improvise a marriage between dawn and dusk,
involves heroic effort. All day Jim and I ran, and
tramped, and laughed, and came near crying, and
fell in sudden anxious consultations, and were sped
(with a prepared sarcasm on our lips) to Some fal–
lacious milliner, and made dashes to the schooner
and John Smith's, and at every second corner were
reminded (by our own huge posters) of our des–
perate estate. Between whiles, I had found the
time to hover at some half-a-dozen jewellers’ win-
dows; and my present, thus intemperately chosen,
was graciously accepted. I believe, indeed, that
was the last (though not the least) of my con-
cerns, before the old minister, shabby and benign,
was routed from his house and led to the office
like a performing poodle; and there, in the grow-
ing dusk, under the cold glitter of Thirteen Star,
two hundred strong, and beside the garish glories
of the agricultural engine, Mamie and Jim were
made one. The scene was incongruous, but the
business pretty, whimsical, and affecting: the type-
writers with such kindly faces and fine posies,
Mamie so demure, and Jim — how shall I de-
scribe that poor, transfigured Jim P. He began by
taking the minister aside to the far end of the
T H E W R E C K E R 235
office. I knew not what he said, but I have rea-
son to believe he was protesting his unfitness; for
he wept as he said it: and the old minister, him-
self genuinely moved, was heard to console and
encourage him, and at one time to use this ex-
pression: “I assure you, Mr. Pinkerton, there are
not many who can say so much "- from which
I gathered that my friend had tempered his self-
accusations with at least one legitimate boast.
From this ghostly counselling, Jim turned to me;
and though he never got beyond the explosive ut-
terance of my name and one fierce handgrip, Com-
municated some of his own emotion, like a charge
of electricity, to his best man. We stood up to
the ceremony at last, in a general and kindly dis-
composure. Jim was all abroad; and the divine
himself betrayed his sympathy in voice and de-
meanour, and concluded with a fatherly allocution,
in which he congratulated Mamie (calling her “my
dear ’’) upon the fortune of an excellent husband,
and protested he had rarely married a more inter-
esting couple. At this stage, like a glory descend-
ing, there was handed in, ea machina, the card of
Douglas B. Longhurst, with congratulations and
four dozen Perrier-Jouet. A bottle was opened;
and the minister pledged the bride, and the brides-
maids simpered and tasted, and I made a speech
with airy bacchanalianism, glass in hand. But
poor Jim must leave the wine untasted. “Don’t
touch it,” I had found the opportunity to whis-
per; “ in your state, it will make you as drunk
as a fiddler.” And Jim had wrung my hand,
236 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
with a “God bless you, Loudon' — saved me
again!”
Hard following upon this, the Supper passed
off at Frank's with somewhat tremulous gaiety.
And thence, with one-half of the Perrier-Jouet —
I would accept no more — we voyaged in a hack
to the Norah Creina.
“What a dear little ship !” cried Mamie, as our
miniature craft was pointed out to her. And then,
on second thought, she turned to the best man.
“And how brave you must be, Mr. Dodd,” she
cried, “to go in that tiny thing so far upon the
Ocean ” And I perceived I had risen in the lady’s
estimation.
The dear little ship presented a horrid picture
of confusion, and its Occupants of weariness and
ill-humour. From the cabin the cook was storing
tins into the lazarette, and the four hands, sweaty
and sullen, were passing them from one to an-
other from the waist. Johnson was three parts
asleep over the table; and in his bunk, in his
own cabin, the captain sourly chewed and puffed
at a cigar.
“See here,” he said, rising; “ you’ll be sorry
you came. We can’t stop work if we're to get
away to-morrow. A ship getting ready for sea
is no place for people, anyway. You'll only in-
terrupt my men.” !.
I was on the point of answering something tart;
but Jim, who was acquainted with the breed, as
he was with most things that had a bearing on
affairs, made haste to pour in oil.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 237
“Captain,” he said, “I know we’re a nuisance
here, and that you ’ve had a rough time. But all
we want is that you should drink one glass of wine
with us, Perrier-Jouet, from Longhurst, on the
Occasion of my marriage, and Loudon’s — Mr.
Dodd's — departure.”
“Well, it’s your lookout,” said Nares. “I
don’t mind half an hour. Spell, O !” he added to
the men; “go and kick your heels for half an
hour, and then you can turn to again a trifle live-
lier. Johnson, see if you can’t wipe off a chair
for the lady.”
His tone was no more gracious than his lan-
guage; but when Mamie had turned upon him the
soft fire of her eyes, and informed him that he
was the first sea-captain she had ever met, “ex-
cept captains of steamers, of course ’’ — she so
qualified the statement — and had expressed a
lively sense of his courage, and perhaps implied
(for I suppose the arts of ladies are the same as
those of men) a modest consciousness of his good
looks, our bear began insensibly to soften ; and it
was already part as an apology, though still with
unaffected heat of temper, that he volunteered some
sketch of his annoyances.
“A pretty mess we’ve had,” said he. “Half
the stores were wrong; I’ll wring John Smith's
neck for him some of these days. Then two news-
paper beasts came down, and tried to raise copy
out of me, till I threatened them with the first
thing handy; and then some kind of missionary
bug, wanting to work his passage to Raiatea or
238 T H E W R E C K E R
somewhere. I told him I would take him off the
wharf with the butt-end of my boot, and he went
away cursing. This vessel's been depreciated by
the look of him.” -
While the captain spoke, with his strange, hu-
mourous, arrogant abruptness, I observed Jim to
be sizing him up, like a thing at Once quaint and
familiar, and with a scrutiny that was both curi-
ous and knowing.
“One word, dear boy,” he said, turning sud-
denly to me. And when he had drawn me on
deck, “That man,” says he, “will carry sail till
your hair grows white; but never you let on,
never breathe a word. I know his line: he 'll die
before he '11 take advice; and if you get his back
up, he'll run you right under. I don't often jam
in my advice, Loudon; and when I do, it means
I’m thoroughly posted.” -
The little party in the cabin, so disastrously
begun, finished, under the mellowing influence of
wine and woman, in excellent feeling and with
some hilarity. Mamie, in a plush Gainsborough
hat and a gown of wine-coloured silk, sat, an
apparent queen, among her rude surroundings
and companions. The dusky litter of the cabin
set off her radiant trimness: tarry Johnson was
a foil to her fair beauty; she glowed in that poor
place, fair as a star; until even I, who was not
usually of her admirers, caught a spark of ad-
miration; and even the captain, who was in no
courtly humour, proposed that the scene should
be commemorated by my pencil. It was the last
T H E W R E C K E R 239
act of the evening. Hurriedly as I went about
my task, the half-hour had lengthened out to more
than three before it was completed : Mamie in
full value, the rest of the party figuring in out-
line only, and the artist himself introduced in a
back view, which was pronounced a likeness. But
it was to Mamie that I devoted the best of my
attention; and it was with her I made my chief
Sl1CCCSS.
“O !” she cried, “am I really like that? No
wonder Jim . . . .” She paused. “Why it’s just
as lovely as he 's good ’’ she cried : an epigram
which was appreciated, and repeated as we made.
our salutations, and called out after the retreat-
ing couple as they passed away under the lamp-
light on the wharf.
Thus it was that our farewells were smuggled
through under an ambuscade of laughter, and the
parting over ere I knew it was begun. The figures
vanished, the steps died away along the silent city
front; on board, the men had returned to their
1abours, the captain to his solitary cigar; and after
that long and complex day of business and emo-
tion, I was at last alone and free. It was, per-
haps, chiefly fatigue that made my heart so heavy.
I leaned at least upon the house, and stared at the
foggy heaven, or Over the rail at the wavering
reflection of the lamps, like a man that was quite
done with hope and would have welcomed the
asylum of the grave. And all at once, as I thus
stood, the City of Pekin flashed into my mind,
racing her thirteen knots for Honolulu, with the
24.O T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
hated Trent — perhaps with the mysterious Godde-
daal — on board; and with the thought, the
blood leaped and careered through all my body.
It seemed no chase at all; it seemed we had no
chance, as we lay there bound to iron pillars, and
fooling away the precious moments Over tins of
beans. “Let them get there first!” I thought.
“Let them We can’t be long behind.” And
from that moment, I date myself a man of a
rounded experience: nothing had lacked but this,
that I should entertain and welcome the grim
thought of bloodshed.
It was long before the toil remitted in the cabin.
and it was worth my while to get to bed; long
after that, before sleep favoured me; and scarce
a moment later (or so it seemed) when I was
recalled to consciousness by bawling men and the
jar of straining hawsers.
The schooner was cast off before I got on deck.
In the misty obscurity of the first dawn, I saw the
tug heading us with glowing fires and blowing
smoke, and heard her beat the roughened waters
of the bay. Beside us, on her flock of hills, the
lighted city towered up and stood swollen in the
raw fog. It was strange to see her burn on thus
wastefully, with half-quenched luminaries, when
the dawn was already grown strong enough to
show me, and to suffer me to recognise, a solitary
figure standing by the piles.
Or was it really the eye, and not rather the
heart, that identified that shadow in the dusk,
among the shore-side lamps? I know not. It was
T H E W R E C K E R 24. I
Jim, at least; Jim, come for a last look; and
we had but time to wave a valedictory gesture
and exchange a wordless cry. This was Our Sec-
ond parting, and our capacities were now reversed.
It was mine to play the Argonaut, to speed affairs,
to plan and to accomplish — if need were, at the
price of life; it was his to sit at home, to study
the calendar, and to wait. I knew besides another
thing that gave me joy. I knew that my friend
had succeeded in my education; that the romance
Of business, if our fantastic purchase merited the
name, had at last stirred my dilettante nature; and,
as we swept under cloudy Tamalpais and through
the roaring narrows of the bay, the Yankee blood
sang in my veins with suspense and exultation.
Outside the heads, as if to meet my desire, we
found it blowing fresh from the north-east. No
time had been lost. The sun was not yet up be-
fore the tug cast off the hawser, gave us a salute
Of three whistles, and turned homeward toward the
coast, which now began to gleam along its margin
with the earliest rays of day. There was no other
ship in view when the Norah Creina, lying over
under all plain sail, began her long and lonely
voyage to the wreck.
I6
CHAPTER XII
THE • NORAH CREINA ’’
Pacific voyage, when the trades are not
Stinted, and the ship, day after day, goes
free. The mountain scenery of trade-wind clouds,
watched (and in my case painted) under every
vicissitude of light — blotting stars, withering in
the moon’s glory, barring the Scarlet eve, lying
across the dawn collapsed into the unfeatured
morning bank, or at noon raising their Snowy
summits between the blue roof of heaven and the
blue floor of sea; the small, busy, and deliberate
world of the schooner, with its unfamiliar scenes,
the spearing of dolphin from the bowsprit end, the
holy war on sharks, the cook making bread on
the main hatch; reefing down before a violent
squall, with the men hanging out on the foot-
ropes; the squall itself, the catch at the heart, the
opened sluices of the sky; and the relief, the re-
newed loveliness of life, when all is over, the sun
forth again, and our out-fought enemy only a blot
upon the leeward sea. I love to recall, and would
that I could reproduce that life, the unforgettable,
the unrememberable. The memory, which shows
so wise a backwardness in registering pain, is be-
| LOVE to recall the glad monotony of a
T H E W R E C K E R 243
sides an imperfect recorder of extended pleasures;
and a long-continued wellbeing escapes (as it were,
by its mass), our petty methods of commemora-
tion. On a part of our life’s map there lies a
roseate, undecipherable haze, and that is all.
Of one thing, if I am at all to trust my own
annals, I was delightedly conscious. Day after
day, in the sun-gilded cabin, the whisky-dealer’s
thermometer stood at 84. Day after day, the air
had the same indescribable liveliness and sweet-
ness, Soft and nimble, and cool as the cheek of
health. Day after day the sun flamed ; night after
night the moon beaconed, or the stars paraded
their lustrous regiment. I was aware of a spirit-
ual change, or, perhaps, rather a molecular recon-
stitution. My bones were sweeter to me. I had
come home to my own climate, and looked back
with pity on those damp and wintry zones, mis-
called the temperate.
“Two years of this, and comfortable quarters
to live in, kind of shake the grit out of a man,”
the captain remarked; “ can’t make out to be happy
anywhere else. A townie of mine was lost down
this way, in a coal-ship that took fire at sea. He
struck the beach somewhere in the Navigators;
and he wrote to me that when he left the place,
it would be feet first. He 's well Off, too, and his
father owns some coasting-craft Down East; but
Billy prefers the beach, and hot rolls off the bread-
fruit trees.” Aft
A voice told me I was on the same track as
Billy. But when was this? Our outward track
244 T H E W R E C K E R
in the Norah Creina lay well to the northward;
and perhaps it is but the impression of a few pet
days which I have unconsciously spread longer,
or perhaps the feeling grew upon me later, in the
run to Honolulu. One thing I am Sure: it was
before I had ever seen an island worthy of the
name that I must date my loyalty to the South
Seas. The blank sea itself grew desirable under
such skies: and wherever the trade-wind blows, I
know no better country than a schooner's deck.
But for the tugging anxiety as to the journey's
end, the journey itself must thus have counted for
the best of holidays. My physical wellbeing was
over-proof; effects of sea and sky kept me for
ever busy with my pencil; and I had no lack of
intellectual exercise of a different order in the
study of my inconsistent friend, the captain. I
call him, friend, here on the threshold; but that
is to look well ahead. At first, I was too much
horrified by what I considered his barbarities, too
much puzzled by his shifting humours, and too
frequently annoyed by his small vanities, to re-
gard him otherwise than as the cross of my exist-
ence. It was only by degrees, in his rare hours
of pleasantness, when he forgot (and made me
forget) the weaknesses to which he was so prone,
that he won me to a kind of unconsenting fond-
ness. Lastly, the faults were all embraced in a
more generous view : I saw them in their place,
like discords in a musical progression; and ac-
cepted them and found them picturesque, as we
accept and admire, in the habitable face of nature,
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 245
the smoky head of the volcano or the pernicious
thicket of the swamp.
He was come of good people Down East, and
had the beginnings of a thorough education. His
temper had been ungovernable from the first; and
it is likely the defect was inherited, and the blame
of the rupture not entirely his. He ran away at
least to sea; suffered horrible maltreatment, which
seemed to have rather hardened than enlightened
him; ran away again to shore in a South Ameri-
can port; proved his capacity and made money,
although still a child; fell among thieves and
was robbed ; worked back a passage to the States,
and knocked one morning at the door of an old
lady whose orchard he had often robbed. The
introduction appears insufficient; but Nares knew
what he was doing. The sight of her old neigh-
bourly depredator shivering at the door in tatters,
the very Oddity of his appeal, touched a soft spot
in the spinster's heart. “I always had a fancy
for the old lady,” Nares said, “even when she
used to stampede me out of the orchard, and shake
her thimble and her old curls at me out of the
window as I was going by; I always thought she
was a kind of pleasant old girl. Well, when she
came to the door that morning, I told her so, and
that I was stone-broke; and she took me right
in, and fetched out the pie.” She clothed him,
taught him, had him to sea again in better shape,
welcomed him to her hearth on his return from
every cruise, and when she died, bequeathed him
her possessions. “She was a good old girl,” he
246 T H E w R E C K E R
would say. “I tell you, Mr. Dodd, it was a queer
thing to see me and the old lady talking a pasear
in the garden, and the old man SCOwling at us
over the pickets. She lived right next door to
the old man, and I guess that 's just what took
me there. I wanted him to know that I was
badly beat, you see, and would rather go to the
devil than to him. What made the dig harder,
he had quarrelled with the old lady about me and
the orchard: I guess that made him rage. Yes,
I was a beast when I was young. But I was
always pretty good to the old lady.” Since then
he had prospered, not uneventfully, in his profes-
sion; the old lady's money had fallen in during
the voyage of the Gleaner, and he was now, as
soon as the smoke of that engagement cleared
away, secure of his ship. I suppose he was about
thirty: a powerful, active man, with a blue eye,
a thick head of hair, about the colour of oakum
and growing low over the brow; clean-shaved and
lean about the jaw; a good singer; a good per-
former on that sea-instrument, the accordion; a
quick Observer, a close reasoner; when he pleased,
of a really elegant address; and when he chose,
the greatest brute upon the seas.
His usage of the men, his hazing, his bullying,
his perpetual fault-finding for no cause, his per-
petual and brutal sarcasm, might have raised a
mutiny in a slave galley. Suppose the steerman’s
eye to have wandered : “You 5 —, little,
mutton-faced Dutchman,” Nares would bawl;
“you want a booting to keep you on your
T H E W R E C K E R 247
course! I know a little city-front slush when I
see one. Just you glue your eye to that com-
pass, or I’ll show you round the vessel at the
butt-end of my boot.” Or suppose a hand to
linger aft, whither he had perhaps been summoned
not a minute before. “Mr. Daniells, will you
oblige me by stepping clear of that main sheet?”
the captain might begin, with truculent courtesy.
“Thank you. And perhaps you 'll be so kind as
to tell me what the hell you ’re doing on my
quarter-deck? I want no dirt of your sort here.
Is there nothing for you to do? Where's the
mate? Don’t you set me to find work for you,
or I'll find you some that will keep you on your
back a fortnight.” Such allocutions, conceived
with a perfect knowledge of his audience, so that
every insult carried home, were delivered with a
mien so menacing and an eye so fiercely cruel,
that his unhappy subordinates shrank and quailed.
Too often violence followed; too often I have
heard and seen, and boiled at the cowardly ag-
gression; and the victim, his hands bound by law,
has risen again from deck and crawled forward
stupefied — I know not what passion of revenge
in his wronged heart.
It seems strange I should have grown to like
this tyrant. It may even seem strange that I
should have stood by and suffered his excesses
to proceed. But I was not quite such a chicken
as to interfere in public; for I would rather have
a man or two mishandled than one-half of us
butchered in a mutiny and the rest suffer on the
248 T H E W R E C K E R
gallows. And in private, I was unceasing in my
protests. t
“Captain,” I Once said to him, appealing to his
patriotism, which was of a hardy quality, “this is
no way to treat American seamen. You don’t call
it American to treat men like dogs?”
“Americans?” he said grimly. “Do you call
these Dutchmen and Scattermouches * Americans?
I’ve been fourteen years to sea, all but one trip
under American colours, and I’ve never laid eye
on an American foremast hand. There used to
be such things in the old days, when thirty-five
dollars were the wages out of Boston; and then
you could see ships handled and run the way they
want to be. But that 's all past and gone; and
nowadays the only thing that flies in an American
ship is a belaying-pin. You don’t know ; you
have n’t a guess. How would you like to go on
deck for your middle watch, fourteen months on
end, with all your duty to do and every one's life
depending on you, and expect to get a knife ripped
into you as you come out of your stateroom, or
be sand-bagged as you pass the boat, or get tripped
into the hold, if the hatches are off in fine weather?
That kind of shakes the starch out of the brotherly
love and New Jerusalem business. You go through
the mill, and you'll have a bigger grudge against
every old shellback that dirties his plate in the three
Oceans, than the Bank of California could settle up.
1 In sea-lingo (Pacific) Dutchman includes all Teutons and
folk from the basin of the Baltic; Scattermouch, all Latins and
Levantines.
T H E W R E C K E R 249
No; it has an ugly look to it, but the only way to
run a ship is to make yourself a terror.”
“Come, Captain,” said I, “there are degrees
in everything. You know American ships have
a bad name; you know perfectly well if it was n’t
for the high wage and the good food, there 's not
a man would ship in one if he could help ; and
even as it is, some prefer a British ship, beastly
food and all.”
“O, the lime-juicers?” said he. “There's
plenty booting in lime-juicers, I guess; though I
don’t deny but what some of them are soft.”
And with that he smiled like a man recalling
something. “Look here, that brings a yarn in
my head,” he resumed; “and for the sake of the
joke, I’ll give myself away. It was in 1874, I
shipped mate in the British ship Maria, from
'Frisco for Melbourne. She was the queerest
craft in some ways that ever I was aboard of.
The food was a caution; there was nothing fit
to put your lips to — but the lime-juice, which was
from the end bin no doubt: it used to make me
sick to see the men's dinners, and sorry to see my
own. The old man was good enough, I guess;
Green was his name; a mild, fatherly old galoot.
But the hands were the lowest gang I ever handled;
and whenever I tried to knock a little spirit into
them, the old man took their part! It was Gilbert
and Sullivan on the high seas; but you bet I
would n’t let any man dictate to me. “You give
me your orders, Captain Green,' I said, ‘ and you'll
find I’ll carry them out; that 's all you've got
2 go. T H E W R E C K E R
to say. You'll find I do my duty,” I said; “how
I do it is my lookout; and there 's no man born
that's going to give me lessons.' Well, there was
plenty dirt on board that Maria first and last. Of
course, the old man put my back up, and, of course,
he put up the crew’s; and I had to regular fight
my way through every watch. The men got to
hate me, so 's I would hear them grit their teeth
when I came up. At last, one day, I saw a big
hulking beast of a Dutchman booting the ship's
boy. I made one shoot of it off the house and laid
that Dutchman out. Up he came, and I laid him
out again. “Now,' I said, “if there's a kick left
in you, just mention it, and I’ll stamp your ribs
in like a packing-case.’ He thought better of it,
and never let on ; lay there as mild as a deacon
at a funeral; and they took him below to reflect
on his native Dutchland. One night we got caught
in rather a dirty thing about 25 South. I guess
we were all asleep; for the first thing I knew
there was the fore-royal gone. I ran forward,
bawling blue hell; and just as I came by the
foremast, something struck me right through the
forearm and stuck there. I put my other hand
up, and by George' it was the grain; the beasts
had speared me like a porpoise. ‘ Cap'n ' ' I cried.
— ‘What’s wrong?’ says he. — ‘They've grained
me,’ says I. — ‘ Grained you?’ says he. ‘Well,
I’ve been looking for that.’ — ‘And by God,' I
cried, ‘ I want to have some of these beasts mur-
dered for it!’ — ‘Now, Mr. Nares,’ says he, “ you
better go below. If I had been one of the men,
T H E W R E C K E R 25 I
you’d have got more than this. And I want no
more of your language on deck. You 've cost
me my fore-royal already,’ says he ; and if you
carry on, you 'll have the three sticks out of her.’
That was old man Green’s idea of supporting offi-
cers. But you wait a bit; the cream 's coming.
We made Melbourne right enough, and the old
man said: ‘Mr. Nares, you and me don’t draw
together. You ’re a first-rate seaman, no mistake
of that; but you ’re the most disagreeable man I
ever Sailed with ; and your language and your
conduct to the crew I cannot stomach. I guess
we 'll separate.' I did n’t care about the berth,
you may be sure; but I felt kind of mean ; and
if he made one kind of stink, I thought I could
make another. So I said I would go ashore and
see how things stood; went, found I was all right,
and came aboard again on the top rail. — ‘Are
you getting your traps together, Mr. Nares?’ says
the old man. — ‘No,' says I; ‘I don’t know as
we'll separate much before 'Frisco; at least,' I
said, ‘it’s a point for your consideration. I’m
very willing to say good-bye to the Maria, but
I don’t know whether you'll care to start me
out with three months' wages.’ He got his
money-box right away. “My son,’ says he,
‘I think it cheap at the money.” He had me
there.”
It was a singular tale for a man to tell of him-
self; above all, in the midst of our discussion;
but it was quite in character for Nares. I never
made a good hit in our disputes, I never justly
252 T H E W R E C K E R
resented any act or speech of his, but what I
found it long after carefully posted in his day-
book and reckoned (here was the man's Oddity)
to my credit. It was the same with his father,
whom he had hated ; he would give a sketch of
the old fellow, frank and credible, and yet So
honestly touched that it was charming. I have
never met a man so strangely constituted: to pos-
sess a reason of the most equal justice, to have
his nerves at the same time quivering with petty
spite, and to act upon the nerves and not the
Té2LSO11. ,
A kindred wonder in my eyes was the nature
of his courage. There was never a braver man :
he went out to welcome danger; an emergency
(came it never so sudden) strung him like a tonic.
And yet, upon the other hand, I have known none
so nervous, so oppressed with possibilities, looking
upon the world at large, and the life of a sailor in
particular, with SO constant and haggard a con-
sideration of the ugly chances. All his courage
was in blood, not merely cold, but icy with rea-
soned apprehension. He would lay our little craft
rail under, and “ hang on ” in a squall, until I gave
myself up for lost, and the men were rushing to
their stations of their own accord. “There,” he
would say, “I guess there's not a man on board
would have hung on as long as I did that time;
they'll have to give up thinking me no schooner
Sailor. I guess I can shave just as near capsizing
as any other captain of this vessel, drunk or sober.”
And then he would fall to repining and wishing
T H E W R E C K E R 253
himself well out of the enterprise, and dilate on the
peril of the seas, the particular dangers of the
Schooner rig, which he abhorred, the various ways
in which we might go to the bottom, and the
prodigious fleet of ships that have sailed out in
the course of history, dwindled from the eyes
of watchers, and returned no more. “Well,” he
would wind up, “I guess it don’t much matter.
I can’t see what any one wants to live for, anyway.
If I could get into some one else's apple-tree,
and be about twelve years old, and just stick the
way I was, eating stolen apples, I won’t say. But
there's no sense to this grown-up business — sail-
Orising, politics, the piety mill, and all the rest of
it. Good clean drowning is good enough for me.”
It is hard to imagine any more depressing talk for
a poor landsman on a dirty night; it is hard to
imagine anything less sailor-like (as sailors are
Supposed to be and generally are) than this per-
sistent harping on the minor.
But I was to see more of the man’s gloomy con-
stancy ere the cruise was at an end. *
On the morning of the seventeenth day I came
on deck, to find the schooner under double reefs,
and flying rather wild before a heavy run of sea.
Snoring trades and humming sails had been our
portion hitherto. We were already nearing the
island. My restrained excitement had begun again
to overmaster me; and for some time my only
book had been the patent log that trailed over the
taffrail, and my chief interest the daily observation
and our caterpillar progress across the chart. My
2.54 T H E W R E C K E R
first glance, which was at the compass, and my
second, which was at the log, were all that I could
wish. We lay our course; we had been doing over
eight since nine the night before; and I drew a
heavy breath of satisfaction. And then I know not
what odd and wintry appearance of the Sea and
sky knocked suddenly at my heart. I observed the
schooner to look more than usually small, the men
silent and studious of the weather. Nares, in one
of his rusty humours, afforded me no shadow of
a morning salutation. He, too, seemed to observe
the behaviour of the ship with an intent and
anxious scrutiny. What I liked still less, Johnson
himself was at the wheel, which he span busily,
often with a visible effort; and as the seas ranged
up behind us, black and imminent, he kept casting
behind him eyes of animal swiftness, and drawing
in his neck between his shoulders, like a man dodg-
ing a blow. From these signs, I gathered that all
was not exactly for the best; and I would have
given a good handful of dollars for a plain answer
to the questions which I dared not put. Had I
dared, with the present danger signal in the cap-
tain's face, I should only have been reminded
of my position as supercargo — an office never
touched upon in kindness — and advised, in a very
indigestible manner, to go below. There was noth-
ing for it, therefore, but to entertain my vague
apprehensions as best I should be able, until it
pleased the captain to enlighten me of his own ac-
cord. This he did sooner than I had expected; as
soon, indeed, as the Chinaman had summoned us
T H E W R E C K E R 255
to breakfast, and we sat face to face across the
narrow board.
“See here, Mr. Dodd,” he began, looking at me
rather queerly, “here is a business point arisen.
This sea 's been running up for the last two days,
and now it’s too high for comfort. The glass is
falling, the wind is breezing up, and I won’t say
but what there's dirt in it. If I lay her to, we
may have to ride out a gale of wind and drift God
knows where — on these French Frigate Shoals,
for instance. If I keep her as she goes, we’ll make
that island to-morrow afternoon, and have the lee
Of it to lie under, if we can’t make out to run in.
The point you have to figure on, is whether you'll
take the big chances of that Captain Trent making
the place before you, or take the risk of something
llappening. I’m to run this ship to your satis-
faction,” he added, with an ugly sneer. “Well,
here 's a point for the supercargo.”
“Captain,” I returned, with my heart in my
mouth, “ risk is better than certain failure.”
“Life is all risk, Mr. Dodd,” he remarked.
-“But there's one thing: it’s now or never; in
half an hour, Archdeacon Gabriel could n’t lay
her to, if he came down-stairs on purpose.”
“All right,” said I. “Let’s run.” -
“Run goes,” said he ; and with that he fell to
breakfast, and passed half an hour in stowing away
pie and devoutly wishing himself back in San
Francisco. When we came on deck again, he took
the wheel from Johnson — it appears they could
trust none among the hands — and I stood close
256 T H E W R E C K E R
beside him, feeling safe in this proximity, and tast-
ing a fearful joy from our surroundings and the
consciousness of my decision. The breeze had
already risen, and as it tore over our heads, it
uttered at times a long hooting note that sent my
heart into my boots. The sea pursued us without
remission, leaping to the assault of the low rail.
The quarter-deck was all awash, and we must
close the companion doors.
“And all this, if you please, for Mr. Pinker-
ton’s dollars!” the captain suddenly exclaimed.
“There 's many a fine fellow gone under, Mr.
Dodd, because of drivers like your friend. What
do they care for a ship or two P Insured, I guess.
What do they care for sailors' lives alongside of
a few thousand dollars? What they want is speed
between ports, and a damned fool of a captain
that 'll drive a ship under as I’m doing this one.
You can put in the morning, asking why I do it.”
I sheered off to another part of the vessel as fast
as civility permitted. This was not at all the talk
that I desired, nor was the train of reflection which
it started anyway welcome. Here I was, running
some hazard of my life, and perilling the lives of
seven others; exactly for what end, I was now at
liberty to ask myself. For a very large amount of
a very deadly poison, was the obvious answer; and
I thought if all tales were true, and I were soon
to be subjected to cross-examination at the bar of
Eternal Justice, it was one which would not in-
crease my popularity with the court. “Well, never
Imind, Jim,” thought I. “I’m doing it for you.”
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 257
Before eleven, a third reef was taken in the
main-sail; and Johnson filled the cabin with a
storm-sail of NO. I duck and sat cross-legged on
the streaming floor, vigorously putting it to rights.
with a couple of the hands. By dinner I had fled
the deck, and sat in the bench corner, giddy, dumb,
and stupefied with terror. The frightened leaps
of the poor Norah Creina, Spanking like a stag for
bare existence, bruised me between the table and
the berths. Overhead, the wild huntsman of the
storm passed continuously in one blare of mingled
noises; Screaming wind, straining timber, lashing
rope's end, pounding block and bursting sea con-
tributed; and I could have thought there was at
times another, a more piercing, a more human
note, that dominated all, like the wailing of an
angel; I could have thought I knew the angel's
name, and that his wings were black. It seemed
incredible that any creature of man’s art could long
endure the barbarous mishandling of the seas,
kicked as the schooner was from mountain-side
to mountain-side, beaten and blown upon and
wrenched in every joint and sinew, like a child
upon the rack. There was not a plank of her that
did not cry aloud for mercy; and as she continued
to hold together, I became conscious of a growing
sympathy with her endeavours, a growing admi-
ration for her gallant staunchness, that amused and
at times obliterated my terrors for myself. God
bless every man that swung a mallet on that tiny
and strong hull! It was not for wages only that he
laboured, but to save men's lives.
17
258 T H E W R E C K E R
All the rest of the day, and all the following
night, I sat in the corner or lay wakeful in my
bunk; and it was only with the return of morning
that a new phase of my alarms drove me once more
On deck. A gloomier interval I never passed.
Johnson and Nares steadily relieved each other at
the wheel and came below. The first glance of
each was at the glass, which he repeatedly knuckled
and frowned upon; for it was sagging lower all
the time. Then, if Johnson were the visitor, he
would pick a snack out of the cupboard, and stand,
braced against the table, eating it, and perhaps
obliging me with a word or two of his hee-haw
conversation: how it was “a son of a gun of a
cold night on deck, Mr. Dodd" (with a grin):
how “it was n’t no night for panjammers, he
could tell me '': having transacted all which, he
would throw himself down in his bunk and sleep
his two hours with compunction. But the captain
neither ate nor slept. “You there, Mr. Dodd?”
he would say, after the obligatory visit to the glass.
“Well, my son, we’re one hundred and four
miles '' (or whatever it was) “off the island, and
scudding for all we’re worth. We’ll make it to-
morrow about four, or not, as the case may be.
That’s the news. And now, Mr. Dodd, I’ve
stretched a point for you; you can see I’m dead
tired; so just you stretch away back to your bunk .
again.” And with this attempt at geniality, his
teeth would settle hard down on his cigar, and he
would pass his spell below staring and blinking at
the cabin lamp through a cloud of tobacco Smoke.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 259
He has told me since that he was happy, which I
should never have divined. “You see,” he said,
“ the wind we had was never anything out of the
way; but the sea was really nasty, the Schooner
wanted a lot of humouring, and it was clear from
the glass that we were close to some dirt. We
might be running out of it or we might be running
right crack into it. Well, there's always some-
thing sublime about a big deal like that; and it
kind of raises a man in his own liking. We're a
queer kind of beasts, Mr. Dodd.”
The morning broke with sinister brightness; the
air alarmingly transparent, the sky pure, the rim of
the horizon clear and strong against the heavens.
The wind and the wild seas, now vastly swollen,
indefatigably hunted us. I stood on deck, choking
with fear; I seemed to lose all power upon my
limbs; my knees were as paper when she plunged
into the murderous valleys; my heart collapsed
when some black mountain fell in avalanche beside
her counter, and the water, that was more than
spray, swept round my ankles like a torrent. I was
conscious of but one strong desire, to bear myself
decently in my terrors, and whatever should hap-
pen to my life, preserve my character: as the cap-
tain said, we are a queer kind of beasts. Breakfast
time came, and I made shift to swallow some hot
tea. Then I must stagger below to take the time,
reading the chronometer with dizzy eyes, and mar-
velling the while what value there could be in
observations taken in a ship launched (as Ours then
was) like a missile among flying seas. The fore-
26o T H E W R E C K E R
noon dragged on in a grinding monotony of peril;
every spoke of the wheel a rash, but an obliged
experiment — rash as a forlorn hope, needful as
the leap that lands a fireman from a burning stair-
case. Noon was made; the captain dined on his
day’s work, and I on watching him; and Our place
was entered on the chart with a meticulous pre-
cision which seemed to me half pitiful and half
absurd, since the next eye to behold that sheet of
paper might be the eye of an exploring fish. One
o'clock came, then two; the captain gloomed and
chafed, as he held to the coaming of the house,
and if ever I saw dormant murder in man’s eye,
it was in his. God help the hand that should have
disobeyed him. , *
Of a sudden, he turned towards the mate, who
was doing his trick at the wheel.
“Two points on the port bow,” I heard him say.
And he took the wheel himself. •
Johnson nodded, wiped his eyes with the back
of his wet hand, watched a chance as the vessel
lunged up-hill, and got to the main rigging, where
he swarmed aloft. Up and up, I watched him go,
hanging on at every ugly plunge, gaining with
every lull of the schooner's movement, until, clam-
bering into the cross-trees and clinging with one
arm around the masts, I could 'see him take one
comprehensive sweep of the Southwesterly horizon,
The next moment, he had slid down the backstay
and stood on deck, with a grin, a nod, and a ges-
ture of the finger that said, “yes”; the next again,
and he was back sweating and squirming at the
T H E W R E C K E R 261
wheel, his tired face streaming and Smiling, and
his hair and the rags and corners of his clothes
lashing round him in the wind.
Nares went below, fetched up his binocular, and
fell into a silent perusal of the sea-line; I also,
with my unaided eyesight. Little by little, in that
white waste of water, I began to make out a
quarter where the whiteness appeared more con-
densed : the sky above was whitish likewise, and
misty like a squall; and little by little there
thrilled upon my ears a note deeper and more
terrible than the yelling of the gale — the long,
thundering roll of breakers. Nares wiped his
night glass on his sleeve and passed it to me,
motioning, as he did so, with his hand. An
endless wilderness of ranging billows came and
went and danced in the circle of the glass; now
and then a pale corner of sky, or the strong line
of the horizon rugged with the heads of waves;
and then of a sudden — come and gone ere I could
fix it, with a swallow’s swiftness — one glimpse
of what we had come so far and paid so dear to
see: the masts and rigging of a brig pencilled on
heaven, with an ensign streaming at the main, and
the ragged ribbons of a topsail thrashing from the
yard. Again and again, with toilful searching, I
recalled that apparition. There was no sign of
any land; the wreck stood between sea and sky,
a thing the most isolated I had ever viewed; but
as we drew nearer, I perceived her to be defended
by a line of breakers which drew off on either
hand and marked, indeed, the nearest segment of
262 T H E W R E C K E R
the reef. Heavy spray hung over them like a
smoke, some hundred feet into the air; and the
Sound of their consecutive explosions rolled like a
cannonade.
In half an hour we were close in ; for perhaps
as long again, we skirted that formidable barrier
towards its farther side; and presently the sea
began insensibly to moderate and the ship to go
more sweetly. We had gained the lee of the island
as (for form's sake) I may call that ring of foam
and haze and thunder; and shaking out a reef,
wore ship and headed for the passage.
CHAPTER XIII
THE ISLAND AND THE WRECK
ALL hands were filled with joy. It was
A betrayed in their alacrity and easy faces:
C -\ Johnson smiling broadly at the wheel,
Nares studying the sketch chart of the island with
an eye at peace, and the hands clustered forward,
eagerly talking and pointing: So manifest was our
escape, so wonderful the attraction of a single foot
of earth after so many suns had set and risen on
an empty sea. To add to the relief, besides, by
one of those malicious coincidences which suggest
for fate the image of an underbred and grinning
schooboy, we had no sooner worn ship than the
wind began to abate.
For myself, however, I did but exchange anxie-
ties. I was no sooner out of one fear than I fell
upon another; no sooner secure that I should my-
self make the intended haven, than I began to be
convinced that Trent was there before me. I
climbed into the rigging, stood on the board, and
eagerly scanned that ring of coral reef and burst-
ing breaker, and the blue lagoon which they en-
closed. The two islets within began to show plainly
— Middle Brooks and Lower Brooks Island, the
Directory named them : two low, bush-covered,

264 T H E W R E C K E R
rolling strips of sand, each with glittering beaches,
each perhaps a mile or a mile and a half in
length, running east and west, and divided by a
narrow channel. Over these, innumerable as
maggots, there hovered, chattered, Screamed and
clanged, millions of twinkling sea-birds: white
and black; the black by far the largest. With
singular scintillations, this vortex of winged life
swayed to and fro in the strong sunshine, whirled
continually through itself, and would now and
again burst asunder and scatter as wide as the
lagoon: so that I was irresistibly reminded of
what I had read of nebular convulsions. A thin
cloud overspread the area of the reef and the
adjacent Sea — the dust, as I could not but fancy,
of earlier explosions. And a little apart, there
was yet another focus of centrifugal and centrip-
etal flight, where, hard by the deafening line of
breakers, her sails (all but the tattered topsail)
snugly furled down, and the red rag that marks
Old England on the seas beating, union down, at
the main — the Flying Scud, the fruit of so many
toilers, a recollection in So many lives of men,
whose tall spars had been mirrored in the re-
motest corners of the sea — lay stationary at last
and for ever, in the first stage of naval dissolu-
tion. Towards her, the taut Norah Creina, vulture-
wise, wriggled to windward: come from so far
to pick her bones. And, look as I pleased, there
was no other presence of man or of man’s handi-
work; no Honolulu schooner lay there crowded
with armed rivals, no smoke rose from the fire at
T H E W R E C K E R 265
which I fancied Trent cooking a meal of Sea-
birds. It seemed, after all, we were in time, and
I drew a mighty breath.
I had not arrived at this reviving certainty be-
fore the breakers were already close aboard, the
leadsman at his station, and the captain posted in
the fore cross-trees to con us through the coral
lumps of the lagoon. All circumstances were in
our favour, the light behind, the sun low, the wind
still fresh and steady, and the tide about the turn.
A moment later we shot at racing speed betwixt
two pier-heads of broken water; the lead began
to be cast, the captain to bawl down his anxious
directions, the schooner to tack and dodge among
the scattered dangers of the lagoon; and at One
bell in the first dog watch, we had come to our
anchor off the north-east end of Middle Brooks
Island, in five fathoms water. The sails were
gasketted and covered, the boats emptied of the
miscellaneous stores and Odds and ends of sea-
furniture, that accumulate in the course of a voy-
age, the kedge sent ashore, and the decks tidied
down : a good three-quarters of an hour's work,
during which I raged about the deck like a man
with a strong toothache. The transition from the
wild Sea to the comparative immobility of the
lagoon had wrought strange distress among my
nerves: I could not hold still whether in hand or
foot; the slowness of the men, tired as dogs after
our rough experience outside, irritated me like
Something personal; and the irrational Screaming
of the sea-birds saddened me like a dirge. It was
266 T H E W R E C K E R
a relief when, with Nares, and a couple of hands,
I might drop into the boat and move off at last
for the Flying Scud.
“She looks kind of pitiful, don’t she P” observed
the captain, nodding towards the wreck, from which
we were separated by some half a mile. “Looks
as if she did n’t like her berth, and Captain Trent
had used her badly. Give her ginger, boys!” he
added to the hands, “ and you can all have shore
liberty to-night to see the birds and paint the town
red.” - - -
We all laughed at the pleasantry, and the boat
skimmed the faster over the rippling face of the
lagoon. The Flying Scud would have seemed
small enough beside the wharves of San Francisco,
but she was some thrice the size of the Norah
Creina, which had been so long our continent; and
as we craned up at her wall-sides, she impressed
us with a mountain magnitude. She lay head to
the reef, where the huge blue wall of the rollers
was for ever ranging up and crumbling down;
and to gain her starboard side, we must pass
below the stern. The rudder was hard aport,
and we could read the legend:
FLYING SCUD
HULL
On the other side, about the break of the poop,
some half a fathom of rope ladder trailed over
the rail, and by this we made our entrance.
T H E W R E C K E R 267
She was a roomy ship inside, with a raised
poop standing some three feet higher than the
deck, and a small forward house, for the men's
bunks and the galley, just abaft the foremast.
There was one bóat on the house, and another
and larger one, in beds on deck, on either hand
of it. She had been painted white, with tropical
economy, outside and in ; and we found, later On,
that the stanchions of the rail, hoops of the scuttle-
butt, etc., were picked out with green. At that
time, however, when we first stepped aboard, all
was hidden under the droppings of innumerable
sea-birds.
The birds themselves gyrated and screamed
meanwhile among the rigging; and when we
looked into the galley, their outrush drove us
back. Savage-looking fowl they were, savagely
beaked, and some of the black ones great as
eagles. Half buried in the slush, we were aware
of a litter of kegs in the waist; and these, on
being somewhat cleaned, proved to be water
beakers and quarter casks of mess beef with
some colonial brand, doubtless collected there be-
fore the Tempest hove in sight, and while Trent
and his men had no better expectation than to
strike for Honolulu in the boats. Nothing else
was notable on deck, save where the loose topsail
had played some havoc with the rigging, and
there hung, and swayed, and sang in the declin-
ing wind, a raffle of intorted cordage.
With a shyness that was almost awe, Nares and
I descended the companion. The stair turned upon
268 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
itself and landed us just forward of a thwart-ship
bulkhead that cut the poop in two. The fore part
formed a kind of miscellaneous storeroom, with
a double-bunked division for the cook (as Nares
supposed) and second mate. The after part con-
tained, in the midst, the main cabin, running in
a kind of bow into the curvature of the stern ; on
the port side, a pantry opening forward and a
stateroom for the mate; and on the starboard,
the captain’s berth and water-closet. Into these
we did but glance: the main cabin holding us.
It was dark, for the sea-birds had obscured the
skylight with their droppings; it smelt rank and
fusty; and it was beset with a loud swarm of
flies that beat continually in our faces. Suppos-
ing them close attendants upon man and his broken
meat, I marvelled how they had found their way to
Midway reef; it was sure at least some vessel must
have brought them, and that long ago, for they
had multiplied exceedingly. Part of the floor was
strewn with a confusion of clothes, books, nautical
instruments, odds and ends of finery, and such
trash as might be expected from the turning out
of several seaman’s chests, upon a sudden emer-
gency and after a long cruise. It was strange in
that dim cabin, quivering with the near thunder
of the breakers and pierced with the screaming of
the fowls, to turn over so many things that other
men had coveted, and prized, and worn on their
warm bodies — frayed old underclothing, pajamas
of strange design, duck suits in every stage of
rtistiness, oil, skins, pilot coats, bottles of scent,
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 269
embroidered shirts, jackets of Ponjee silk — clothes
for the night watch at Sea or the day ashore in the
hotel veranda; and mingled among these, books,
cigars, fancy pipes, quantities of tobacco, many
keys, a rusty pistol, and a sprinkling of cheap
curiosities — Benares brass, Chinese jars and pic-
tures, and bottles of odd shells in cotton, each
designed no doubt for somebody at home — per-
haps in Hull, of which Trent had been a native
and his ship a citizen.
Thence we turned our attention to the table,
which stood spread, as if for a meal, with stout
ship's crockery and the remains of food — a pot
of marmalade, dregs of coffee in the mugs, un-
recognisable remains of foods, bread, some toast,
and a tin of condensed milk. The tablecloth,
Originally of a red colour, was stained a dark
brown at the captain's end, apparently with coffee;
at the other end, it had been folded back, and a
pen and ink-pot stood on the bare table. Stools
were here and there about the table, irregularly
placed, as though the meal had been finished and
the men Smoking and chatting; and one of the
stools lay on the floor, broken.
“See they were writing up the log,” said
Nares, pointing to the ink-bottle. “Caught nap-
ping, as usual. I wonder if there ever was a
captain yet, that lost a ship with his log-book up
to date? He generally has about a month to fill
up On a clean break, like Charles Dickens and
his serial novels. – What a regular, lime-juicer
Spread ' " he added contemptuously. “Marmalade
270 T H E W R E C K E R
— and toast for the old man l Nasty, Slovenly
pigs' "
There was something in this criticism of the
absent that jarred upon my feelings. I had no
love indeed for Captain Trent or any of his
vanished gang; but the desertion and decay of
this once habitable cabin struck me hard : the
death of man’s handiwork is melancholy like the
death of man himself; and I was impressed with
an involuntary and irrational sense of tragedy in
my surroundings.
“This sickens me,” I said. “Let’s go on deck
and breathe.” -
The captain nodded. “It is kind of lonely, is n’t
it?” he said. “But I can’t go up till I get the
code signals. I want to run up Got Left or
something, just to brighten up this island home.
Captain Trent has n’t been here yet, but he'll drop
in before long; and it ’11 cheer him up to see a
signal on the brig.”
“Is n’t there some official expression we could
use?” I asked, vastly taken by the fancy. “‘Sold
for the benefit of the underwriters: for further
particulars, apply to J. Pinkerton, Montana Block,
S. F.’” -
“Well,” returned Nares, “I won’t say but what
an old navy quartermaster might telegraph all that,
..if you gave him a day to do it in and a pound
of tobacco for himself. But it’s above my regis-
ter. I must try something short and sweet: KB,
urgent signal, Heave all aback '; or LM, urgent,
* The berth you ’re now in is not safe '; or what
T H E W R E C K E R 27 I
do you say to PQH P — ‘Tell my owners the ship
answers remarkably well.’”
“It’s premature,” I replied; “but it seems cal-
culated to give pain to Trent. PQPI for me.”
The flags were found in Trent’s cabin, neatly
stored behind a lettered grating; Nares chose what
he required and (I following) returned on deck,
where the sun had already dipped, and the dusk
was coming.
“Here! don't touch that, you fool!” shouted
the captain to one of the hands, who was drinking
from the scuttle-butt. “That water 's rotten | *
“Beg pardon, sir,” replied the man. “Tastes
quite sweet.”
“Let me see,” returned Nares, and he took the
dipper and held it to his lips. “Yes, it’s all
right,” he said. “Must have rotted and come
sweet again. Queer, is n’t it, Mr. Dodd? Though
I’ve known the same on a Cape-Horner.” •
There was something in his intonation that made
me look him in the face; he stood a little on tiptoe
to look right and left about the ship, like a man
filled with curiosity, and his whole expression and
bearing testified to some suppressed excitement.
“You don’t believe what you're saying !” I
broke out.
“O, I don’t know but what I do 1" he replied,
laying a hand upon me soothingly. “The thing 's
very possible. Only, I’m bothered about something
else.”
And with that he called a hand, gave him the
code flags, and stepped himself to the main signal
272 T H E W R E C K E R
halliards, which vibrated under the weight of the
ensign Overhead. A minute later, the American
colours, which we had brought in the boat, re-
placed the English red, and PQFI was fluttering
at the fore.
“Now, then,” said Nares, who had watched the
breaking out of his signal with the old-maidish
particularity of an American sailor, “out with
those handspikes, and let's see what water there
is in the lagoon.”
The bars were shoved home; the barbarous
cacophony of the clanking pump rose in the waist;
and streams of ill-smelling water gushed on deck
and made valleys in the slab guano. Nares leaned.
On the rail, watching the steady stream of bilge as
though he found some interest in it.
“What is it that bothers you?” I asked.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing shortly,” he re-
plied. “But here’s another. Do you see those
boats there, one on the house and two on the beds?
Well, where is the boat Trent lowered when he
lost the hands?” -
“Got it aboard again, I suppose,” said I.
“Well, if you’ll tell me why | * returned the
captain. -
“Then it must have been another,” I suggested,
“She might have carried another on the main
hatch, I won’t deny,” admitted Nares; “but I can’t
see what she wanted with it, unless it was for the
old man to go out and play the accordion in, on
moonlight nights.” t
“It can’t much matter, anyway,” I reflected.
T H E W R E C K E R 273
“O, I don’t suppose it does,” said he, glancing
Over his shoulder at the spouting of the scuppers.
“And how long are we to keep up this racket?”
I asked. “We’re simply pumping up the lagoon.
Captain Trent himself said she had settled down
and was full forward.”
“Did he?” said Nares, with a significant dry-
ness. And almost as he spoke the pumps sucked,
and Sucked again, and the men threw down their
bars. “There, what do you make of that?” he
asked. “Now, I’ll tell, Mr. Dodd,” he went on,
lowering his voice, but not shifting from his easy
attitude against the rail, “this ship is as sound as
the Norah Creina. I had a guess of it before we
came aboard, and now I know.”
“It’s not possible!” I cried. “What do you
Imake of Trent?”
“I don't make anything of Trent; I don't know
whether he's a liar or only an old wife; I simply
tell you what’s the fact,” said Nares. “And I’ll
tell you something more,” he added: “I’ve taken
the ground myself in deep-water vessels; I know
what I’m saying; and I say that, when she first
struck and before she bedded down, seven or eight
hours' work would have got this hooker off, and
there 's no man that ever went two years to sea but
1must have known it.” *
I could only utter an exclamation.
Nares raised his finger warningly. “Don’t let
them get hold of it,” said he. “Think what you
like, but say nothing.”
I glanced round; the dusk was melting into
I8
274. T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
early night; the twinkle of a lantern marked the
schooner's position in the distance; and Our men,
free from further labour, stood grouped together
in the waist, their faces illuminated by their glow-
ing pipes.
“Why did n’t Trent get her off?” inquired
the captain. “Why did he want to buy her back
in 'Frisco for these fabulous sums, when he might
have sailed her into the bay himself?”
“Perhaps he never knew her value until then,”
I suggested.
“I wish we knew her value now,” exclaimed
Nares. “However, I don’t want to depress you ;
I’m sorry for you, Mr. Dodd; I know how bother-
ing it must be to you; and the best I can say ’s
this: I have n’t taken much time getting down,
and now I’m here I mean to work this thing in
proper style. I just want to put your mind at
rest: you shall have no trouble with me.”
There was something trusty and friendly in his
voice; and I found myself gripping hands with
him, in that hard, short shake that means so much
with English-speaking people.
“We’ll do, old fellow,” said he. “We’ve
shaken down into pretty good friends, you and
me; and you won’t find me working the business
any the less hard for that. And now let’s scoot
for supper.” *
After supper, with the idle curiosity of the sea-
farer, we pulled ashore in a fine moonlight, and
landed on Middle Brooks Island. A flat beach
Surrounded it upon all sides; and the midst was
T H E W R E C K E R 275
Occupied by a thicket of bushes, the highest of them
Scarcely five feet high, in which the sea-fowl lived.
Through this we tried at first to strike; but it were
easier to cross Trafalgar Square upon a day of
demonstration than to invade these haunts of sleep-
ing sea-birds; the nests sank, and the eggs burst
under footing; wings beat in our faces, beaks men-
aced our eyes, our minds were confounded with the
screeching, and the coil spread over the island and
mounted high into the air. -
“I guess we’ll saunter round the beach,” said
Nares, when we had made good our retreat.
The hands were all busy after sea-birds' eggs,
So there were none to follow us. Our way lay on
the crisp sand by the margin of the water : on one
side, the thicket from which we had been dislodged;
ôn the other, the face of the lagoon, barred with
a broad path of moonlight, and beyond that, the
line, alternately dark and shining, alternately hove
high and fallen prone, of the external breakers.
The beach was strewn with bits of wreck and drift:
Some redwood and spruce logs, no less than two
lower masts of junks, and the stern-post of a Euro-
pean ship; all of which we looked on with a shade
of serious concern, speaking of the dangers of the
Sea and the hard case of castaways. In this sober
vein we made the greater part of the circuit of the
island; had a near view of its neighbour from
the southern end; walked the whole length of the
westerly side in the shadow of the thicket; and
came forth again into the moonlight at the oppo-
site extremity.
276 T H E W R E C K E R
On our right, at the distance of about half a mile,
the Schooner lay faintly heaving at her anchors.
About half a mile down the beach, at a spot still
hidden from us by the thicket, an upboiling of the
birds showed where the men were still (with sailor-
like insatiability) collecting eggs. And right be-
fore us, in a small indentation of the sand, we were
aware of a boat lying high and dry, and right
side up. -
Nares crouched back into the shadow of the
bushes.
“What the devil’s this?” he whispered.
“Trent,” I suggested, with a beating heart.
“We were damned fools to come ashore un-
armed,” said he. “But I’ve got to know where
I stand.” In the shadow, his face looked con-
spicuously white, and his voice betrayed a strong
excitement. He took his boat’s whistle from
his pocket. “In case I might want to play a
tune,” said he, grimly, and thrusting it between
his teeth, advanced into the moonlit open; which
we crossed with rapid steps, looking guiltily about
us as we went. Not a leaf stirred; and the
boat, when we came up to it, offered convincing
proof of long desertion. She was an eighteen-
foot whale-boat of the ordinary type, equipped
with oars and thole-pins. Two or three quarter-
casks lay on the bilge amidships, one of which
must have been broached, and now stank horribly;
and these, upon examination, proved to bear the
same New Zealand brand as the beef on board
the wreck.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 277
“Well, here's the boat,” said I. “Here’s one
of your difficulties cleared away.”
“H’m,” said he. There was a little water in the
bilge, and here he stooped and tasted it.
“Fresh,” he said. “Only rain-water.”
“You don't object to that?” I asked.
“No,” said he.
“Well, then, what ails you?” I cried. º
“In plain United States, Mr. Dodd,” he re-
turned, “a whale-boat, five ash sweeps, and a barrel
of Stinking pork.”
“Or, in other words, the whole thing?” I com-
Imented.
“Well, it’s this way,” he condescended to
explain. “I’ve no use for a fourth boat at all;
but a boat of this model tops the business. I don’t
say the type ’s not common in these waters; it's as
common as dirt; the traders carry them for surf-
boats. But the Flying Scud: a deep-water tramp,
who was lime-juicing around between big ports,
Calcutta and Rangoon and 'Frisco and the Canton
River ? No; I don’t see it.” -
We were leaning over the gunwale of the boat
as we spoke. The captain stood nearest the bow,
and he was idly playing with the trailing painter,
when a thought arrested him. He hauled the line
in hand over hand, and stared, and remained star-
ing, at the end. -
“Anything wrong with it?” I asked.
“Do you know, Mr. Dodd,” said he, in a queer
voice, “this painter's been cut? A sailor always
seizes a rope's end, but this is sliced short off with
278 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
the cold steel. This won’t do at all for the men,”
he added. “Just stand by till I fix it up more
natural.” - -
“Any guess what it all means?” I asked.
“Well, it means one thing,” said he. “It means
Trent was a liar. I guess the story of the Flying
Scud was a sight more picturesque than he gave
out.” *
Half an hour later, the whale-boat was lying
astern of the Norah Creima; and Nares and I
sought our bunks, silent and half bewildered by
our late discoveries. - -
CHAPTER XIV
THE CABIN OF THE • FLYING SCUD 27

P | \HE sun of the morrow had not cleared the
morning bank: the lake of the lagoon,
the islets, and the wall of breakers now
beginning to subside, still lay clearly pictured in
the flushed obscurity of early day, when we stepped
again upon the deck of the Flying Scud: Nares,
myself, the mate, two of the hands, and one dozen
bright, virgin axes, in war against that massive
structure. I think we all drew pleasurable breath;
so profound in man is the instinct of destruction,
so engaging is the interest of the chase. For we
were now about to taste, in a Supreme degree, the
double joys of demolishing a toy and playing “Hide
the handkerchief '': sports from which we had all
perhaps desisted since the days of infancy. And
the toy we were to burst in pieces was a deep-
sea ship; and the hidden good for which we were
to hunt was a prodigious fortune.
The decks were washed down, the main hatch
removed, and a gun-tackle purchase rigged, before
the boat arrived with breakfast. I had grown so
suspicious of the wreck, that it was a positive relief
to me to look down into the hold, and see it full,
or nearly full, of undeniable rice packed in the
28o T H E W R E C K E R
Chinese fashion in boluses of matting. Breakfast
over, Johnson and the hands turned to upon the
cargo; while Nares and I, having Smashed Open
the skylight and rigged up a windsail on deck,
began the work of rummaging the cabins.
I must not be expected to describe our first day's
work, or (for that matter) any of the rest, in order
and detail as it occurred. Such particularity might
have been possible for several officers and a draft
of men from a ship of war, accompanied by an
experienced secretary with a knowledge of short-
hand. For two plain human beings, unaccustomed
to the 11se of the broad-axe and consumed with an
impatient greed of the result, the whole business
melts, in the retrospect, into a nightmare of exer-
tion, heat, hurry, and bewilderment; sweat pour-
ing from the face like rain, the scurry of rats, the
choking exhalations of the bilge, and the throbs
and splinterings of the toiling axes. I shall content
myself with giving the cream of our discoveries in
a logical rather than a temporal order; though the
two indeed practically coincided, and we had fin-
ished our exploration of the cabin, before we could
be certain of the nature of the cargo.
Nares and I began operations by tossing up
pell-mell through the companion, and piling in a
squalid heap about the wheel, all clothes, personal
effects, the crockery, the carpet, stale victuals, tins
of meat, and in a word, all movables from the main
cabin. Thence, we transferred our attention to the
captain’s quarters on the starboard side. Using
the blankets for a basket, we sent up the books,
T H E W R E C K E R 28 I
instruments, and clothes to Swell Our growing
midden on the deck; and then Nares, going on
hands and knees, began to forage underneath the
bed. Box after box of Manilla cigars rewarded
his search. I took occasion to smash Some of these
boxes open, and even to guillotine the bundles of
cigars; but quite in vain — no secret cache Of
Opium encouraged me to continue.
“I guess I’ve got hold of the dicky now !”
exclaimed Nares, and turning round from my
perquisitions, I found he had drawn forth a heavy
iron box, secured to the bulkhead by chain and
padlock. On this he was now gazing, not with
the triumph that instantly inflamed my own bosom,
but with a somewhat foolish-appearance of surprise.
“By George, we have it now !” I cried, and
would have shaken hands with my companion;
but he did not see, or would not accept, the
salutation.
“Let’s see what's in it first,” he remarked,
drily. And he adjusted the box upon its side,
and with some blows of an axe burst the lock
open. I threw myself beside him, as he replaced
the box on its bottom and removed the lid. I
cannot tell what I expected; a million’s worth of
diamonds might perhaps have pleased me; my
cheeks burned, my heart throbbed to bursting;
and lo! there was disclosed but a trayful of
papers, neatly taped, and a cheque-book of the
customary pattern. I made a snatch at the tray
to see what was beneath; but the captain's hand
fell on mine, heavy and hard.
282 T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R.
“Now, boss l’’ he cried, not unkindly, “is this
to be run shipshape? Or is it a Dutch grab-
racket?”
And he proceeded to untie and run over the
contents of the papers, with a serious face and
what seemed an Ostentation of delay. Me and my
impatience it would appear he had forgotten; for
when he was quite done, he sat awhile thinking,
whistled a bar or two, refolded the papers, tied
them up again; and then, and not before, delib-
erately raised the tray.
I saw a cigar-box, tied with a piece of fishing-
line, and four fat canvas-bags. Nares whipped
out his knife, cut the line, and opened the box. It
was about half full of sovereigns.
“And the bags?” I whispered.
The captain ripped them open one by one, and
a flood of mixed silver coin burst forth and rat-
tled in the rusty bottom of the box. Without a
word, he set to work to count the gold.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s the ship's money,” he returned, doggedly
continuing his work.
“The ship's money?” I repeated. “That’s the
money Trent tramped and traded with ? And
there’s his cheque-book to draw upon his owners?
And he has left it?” -
“I guess he has,” said Nares, austerely, jotting
down a note of the gold; and I was abashed into
silence till his task should be completed.
It came, I think, to three hundred and seventy-
eight pounds sterling; some nineteen pounds of
T H E W R E C K E R 283
it in silver: all of which we turned again into
the chest.
“And what do you think of that?” I asked.
“Mr. Dodd,” he replied, “you see something
of the rumness of this job, but not the whole.
The specie bothers you, but what gets me is the
papers. Are you aware that the master of a ship
has charge of all the cash in hand, pays the men
advances, receives freight and passage money, and
runs up bills in every port? All this he does as
the owner's confidential agent, and his integrity
is proved by his receipted bills. I tell you, the
captain of a ship is more likely to forget his
pants than these bills which guarantee his char-
acter. I’ve known men drown to save them : bad
men, too; but this is the shipmaster's honour.
And here this Captain Trent — not hurried, not
threatened with anything but a free passage in a
British man-of-war — has left them all behind
I don’t want to express myself too strongly, be-
cause the facts appear against me, but the thing
is impossible.” -
Dinner came to us not long after, and we ate
it on deck, in a grim silence, each privately rack-
ing his brain for some solution of the mysteries.
I was indeed so swallowed up in these considera–
tions, that the wreck, the lagoon, the islets, and
the strident sea-fowl, the strong sun then beating
on my head, and even the gloomy countenance of
the captain at my elbow, all vanished from the
field of consciousness. My mind was a blackboard,
on which I scrawled and blotted out hypotheses;
284 T H E W R E C K E R
comparing each with the pictorial records in my
memory: cyphering with pictures. In the course
of this tense mental exercise I recalled and studied
the faces of one memorial masterpiece, the Scene
of the saloon; and here I found myself, on a Sud-
den, looking in the eyes of the Kanaka.
“There's one thing I can put beyond doubt, at
all events,” I cried, relinquishing my dinner and
getting briskly afoot. “There was that Kanaka
I saw in the bar with Captain Trent, the fellow
the newspapers and ship's articles made out to be
a Chinaman. I mean to rout his quarters out and
settle that.”
“All right,” said Nares. “I’ll lazy off a bit
longer, Mr. Dodd; I feel pretty rocky and mean.”
We had thoroughly cleared out the three after-
compartments of the ship: all the stuff from the
main cabin and the mate's and captain’s quarters
lay piled about the wheel; but in the forward
stateroom with the two bunks, where Nares had
said the mate and cook most likely berthed, we
lmad as yet done nothing. Thither I went; it was
very bare; a few photographs were tacked on the
bulkhead, one of them indecent; a single chest
stood open, and like all we had yet found, it had
been partly rifled. An armful of two-shilling
novels proved to me beyond a doubt it was a
European’s : no Chinaman would have possessed
any, and the most literate Kanaka conceivable in
a ship’s galley was not likely to have gone be-
yond one. It was plain, then, that the cook had
not berthed aft, and I must look elsewhere.
T H E W R E C K E R 285
The men had stamped down the nests and driven
the birds from the galley, so that I could now
enter without contest. One door had been already
blocked with rice; the place was in part darkness,
full of a foul stale smell and a cloud of nasty
flies; it had been left, besides, in some disorder,
or else the birds, during their time of tenancy,
had knocked the things about; and the floor, like
the deck before we washed it, was spread with
pasty filth. Against the wall, in the far corner,
I found a handsome chest of camphor wood bound
with brass, such as Chinamen and sailors love, and
indeed all of mankind that plies in the Pacific.
From its outside view I could thus make no de-
duction; and strange to say, the interior was con-
cealed. All the other chests, as I have said already,
we had found gaping open and their contents scat-
tered abroad; the same remark we found to apply
afterwards in the quarters of the seamen; only
this camphor-wood chest, a singular exception, was
both closed and locked. -
I took an axe to it, readily forced the paltry
Chinese fastening, and, like a custom-house officer,
plunged my hands among the contents. For some
while I groped among linen and cotton. Then my
teeth were set on edge with silk, of which I drew
forth several strips covered with mysterious char-
acters. . And these settled the business, for I rec-
Ognised them as a kind of bed-hanging popular
with the commoner class of the Chinese. Nor
were farther evidences wanting, such as night-
clothes of an extraordinary design, a three-stringed
286 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
Chinese fiddle, a silk handkerchief full of roots and
herbs, and a neat apparatus for Smoking opium
with a liberal provision of the drug. Plainly, then,
the cook had been a Chinaman; and if so, who
was Jos. Amalu ? Or had Jos. stolen the chest
before he proceeded to ship under a false name
and domicile? It was possible, as anything was
possible in such a welter; but regarded as a Solu-
tion, it only led and left me deeper in the bog.
For why should this chest have been deserted and
neglected, when the others were rummaged or re-
moved P and where had Jos. come by that second
chest, with which (according to the clerk at the
What Cheer) he had started for Honolulu ? -
“And how have you fared?” inquired the cap-
tain, whom I found luxuriously reclining in our
mound of litter. And the accent on the pronoun,
the heightened colour of the speaker's face, and
the contained excitement in his tones, advertised
me at once that I had not been alone to make
discoveries.
“I have found a Chinaman’s chest in the galley,”
said I, “ and John (if there was any John) was
not so much as at the pains to take his opium.”
Nares seemed to take it mighty quietly. “That
So P " said he. “Now, cast your eyes on that and
own you're beaten l’’ And with a formidable clap
of his open hand, he flattened out before me, on
the deck, a pair of newspapers. -
I gazed upon them dully, being in no mood for
fresh discoveries. -
“Look at them, Mr. Dodd,” cried the captain,
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 287
sharply. “Can't you look at them?” And he
ran a dirty thumb along the title. “‘Sydney
Morning Herald, November 26th,’ can’t you make
that out?” he cried, with rising energy. “And
don’t you know, sir, that not thirteen days after .
this paper appeared in New South Pole, this ship
we're standing in heaved her blessed anchors out
of China P. How did the Sydney Morning Herald
get to Hong Kong in thirteen days? Trent made
no land, he spoke no ship, till he got here. Then
he either got it here or in Hong Kong. I give
you your choice, my son ’’ he cried, and fell back
among the clothes like a man weary of life.
“Where did you find them?” I asked. “In that
black bag?”
“Guess so,” he said. “You need n’t fool with
it. There's nothing else but a lead-pencil and a
kind of worked-out knife.”
I looked in the bag, however, and was well
rewarded.
“Every man to his trade, Captain,” said I.
“You’re a sailor, and you ’ve given me plenty of
points; but I am an artist, and allow me to in-
form you this is quite as strange as all the rest.
The knife is a palette knife; the pencil, a Wind-
sor and Newton, and a B B B at that. A palette
knife and a B B B on a tramp brig . It’s against
the laws of nature.” - -
“It would sicken a dog, would n’t it?” said
Nares.
“Yes,” I continued, “it’s been used by an artist,
too: see how it’s sharpened — not for writing —
288 T H E W R E C K E R
no man could write with that. An artist, and
straight from Sydney P. How can he come in P’’
“O, that's natural enough,” sneered Nares.
“They cabled him to come up and illustrate this
dime novel.”
We fell awhile silent.
“Captain,” I said at last, “there is something
deuced underhand about this brig. You tell me
you 've been to sea a good part of your life. You
must have seen shady things done on ships, and
heard of more. Well, what is this? is it insur-
ance? is it piracy P what is it about? what can
it be ſor?’”
“Mr. Dodd,” returned Nares, “ you're right
about me having been to sea the bigger part of
my life. And you’re right again, when you think
I know a good many ways in which a dishonest
captain may n’t be on the square, nor do exactly
the right thing by his owners, and altogether be
just a little too smart by ninety-nine and three-
quarters. There 's a good many ways, but not
so many as you ’d think; and not one that has
any mortal thing to do with Trent. Trent and
his whole racket has got to do with nothing —
that 's the bed-rock fact; there 's no sense to it,
and no use in it, and no story to it: it’s a beastly
dream. And don't you run away with that no-
tion that landsmen take about ships. A society
actress don’t go around more publicly than what
a ship does, nor is more interviewed, nor more
humbugged, nor more run after by all sorts of
little fussinesses in brass buttons. And more than
T H E W R E C K E R 289
an actress, a ship has a deal to lose; she's capital,
and the actress only character — if she's that. The
ports of the world are thick with people ready to
kick a captain into the penitentiary, if he's not
as bright as a dollar and as honest as the morning
star; and what with Lloyd keeping watch and
watch in every corner of the three oceans, and the
insurance leeches, and the consuls, and the cus-
toms bugs, and the medicos, you can only get the
idea by thinking of a landsman watched by a
hundred and fifty detectives, or a stranger in a
village Down East.”
“Well, but at sea?” I said.
“You make me tired,” retorted the captain.
“What’s the use — at sea? Everything's got to
come to bearings at some port, has n’t it? You
can’t stop at sea for ever, can you? — No ; the
Flying Scud is rubbish; if it meant anything, it
would have to mean something so almighty intri-
cate that James G. Blaine has n’t got the brains
to engineer it; and I vote for more axeing, pio-
neering, and opening up the resources of this phe-
nomenal brig, and less general fuss,” he added,
arising. “The dime-museum symptoms will drop
in of themselves, I guess, to keep us cheery.”
But it appeared we were at the end of discoveries
for the day; and we left the brig about sundown,
without being further puzzled or further enlight-
ened. The best of the cabin spoils — books, instru-
ments, papers, silks, and curiosities — we carried
along with us in a blanket, however, to divert
the evening hours; and when supper was over,
I9
290 T H E W R E C K E R
and the table cleared, and Johnson set down to a
dreary game of cribbage between his right hand
and his left, the captain and I turned out our
blanket on the floor, and sat side by side to ex-
amine and appraise the spoils.
The books were the first to engage our notice.
These were rather numerous (as Nares contemp-
tuously put it) “for a lime-juicer.” Scorn of the
British mercantile marine glows in the breast of
every Yankee merchant captain; as the scorn is
not reciprocated, I can only suppose it justified in
fact; and certainly the old country mariner ap-
pears of a less studious disposition. The more
credit to the officers of the Flying Scud, who had
quite a library, both literary and professional.
There were Findlay's five directories of the world
— all broken-backed, as is usual with Findlay, and
all marked and scribbled Over with corrections and
additions — several books of navigation, a signal
code, and an Admiralty book of a sort of Orange
hue, called Islands of the Eastern Pacific Ocean,
|Wol. III., which appeared from its imprint to be
the latest authority, and showed marks of fre-
quent consultation in the passages about the
French Frigate Shoals, the Harman, Cure, Pearl,
and Hermes reefs, Lisiansky Island, Ocean Island,
and the place where we then lay — Brooks or
Midway. A volume of Macaulay's Essays and a
shilling Shakespeare led the van of the belles
lettres; the rest were novels: several Miss Brad-
dons — of course, Aurora Floyd, which has pene-
trated to every isle of the Pacific, a good many
T H E W R E C K E R 29 I
cheap detective books, Rob Roy, Auerbach's Auf
der Höhe in the German, and a prize temperance
story, pillaged (to judge by the stamp) from an
Anglo-Indian circulating library.
“The admiralty man gives a fine picture of our
island,” remarked Nares, who had turned up Mid-
way Island. “He draws the dreariness rather mild,
but you can make out he knows the place.”
“Captain,” I cried, “you ’ve struck another point
in this mad business. See here,” I went on eagerly,
drawing from my pocket a crumpled fragment of
the Daily Occidental which I had inherited from
Jim : “‘misled by Hoyt's Pacific Directory 'P
Where's Hoyt?”
“Let’s look into that,” said Nares. “I got that
book on purpose for this cruise.” Therewith he
fetched it from the shelf in his berth, turned to
Midway Island, and read the account aloud. It
stated with precision that the Pacific Mail Com-
pany were about to form a depot there, in prefer-
ence to Honolulu, and that they had already a
station on the island.
“I wonder who gives these Directory men
their information,” Nares reflected. “Nobody can
blame Trent after that. I never got in company
with Squarer lying; it reminds a man of a presi-
dential campaign.”
“All very well,” said I. “That’s your Hoyt,
and a fine, tall copy. But what I want to know
is, where is Trent's Hoyt?”
“Took it with him,” Shuckled Nares. “He had
left everything else, bills and money and all the
292 T H E W R E C K E R
rest; he was bound to take something, or it would
have aroused attention on the Tempest: ‘Happy
thought,” says he; “let’s take Hoyt.’”
“And has it not occurred to you,” I went on,
“that all the Hoyts in creation could n’t have
misled Trent, since he had in his hand that red
admiralty book, an official publication, later in date,
and particularly full on Midway Island P” -
“That’s a fact!” cried Nares; “and I bet the
first Hoyt he ever saw was out of the mercantile
library in San Francisco. Looks as if he'd brought
her here on purpose, don’t it? But then that 's
inconsistent with the steam-crusher of the sale.
That’s the trouble with this brig racket; any one
can make half-a-dozen theories for sixty or sev-
enty per cent of it; but when they're made, there's
always a fathom or two of slack hanging out of
the Other end.” -
I believe our attention fell next on the papers,
of which we had altogether a considerable bulk.
I had hoped to find among these matter for a full-
length character of Captain Trent, but here I was
doomed, on the whole, to disappointment. We
could make out he was an orderly man, for all his
bills were docketed and preserved. That he was
convivial, and inclined to be frugal even in con-
viviality, several documents proclaimed. Such let-
ters as we found were, with one exception, arid
notes from tradesmen. The exception, signed
Hannah Trent, was a somewhat fervid appeal for
a loan. “You know what misfortunes I have
had to bear,” wrote Hannah, “ and how much I
T H E W R E C K E R 293
am disappointed in George. The landlady ap-
peared a true friend when I first came here, and
I thought her a perfect lady. But she has come out
since then in her true colours; and if you will not
be softened by this last appeal, I can’t think what
is to become of your affectionate — ” and then the
signature. This document was without place or
date, and a voice told me that it had gone like-
wise without answer. On the whole, there were
few letters anywhere in the ship; but we found
One before.we were finished, in a seaman's chest,
of which I must transcribe some sentences. It was
dated from some place on the Clyde. “My dearist
son,” it ran, “this is to tell you your dearist father
passed away, Jan twelft, in the peace of the Lord.
He had your photo and dear David’s lade upon his
bed, made me sit by him. Let’s be a thegither, he
said, and gave you all his blessing. O my dear
laddie, why were nae you and Davie here? He
would have had a happier passage. He spok of
both of ye all night most beautiful, and how ye
used to stravaig on the Saturday afternoons, and
of auld Kelvinside. Sooth the tune to me, he said,
though it was the Sabbath, and I had to sooth
him Kelvin Grove, and he looked at his fiddle, the
dear man. I cannae bear the sight of it, he 'll never
play it mair. O my lamb, come home to me, I’m
all by my lane now.” The rest was in a religious
vein and quite conventional. I have never seen
any one more put out than Nares, when I handed
him this letter; he had read but a few words, be-
fore he cast it down; it was perhaps a minute ere
294 T H E W R E C K E R
he picked it up again, and the performance was
repeated the third time before he reached the end.
“It’s touching, is n’t it?” said I.
For all answer, Nares exploded in a brutal Oath ;
and it was some half an hour later that he vouch-
safed an explanation. “I’ll tell you what broke
me up about that letter,” said he. “My old man
played the fiddle, played it all out of tune: One of
the things he played was Martyrdom, I remember
— it was all martyrdom to me. He was a pig Of
a father, and I was a pig of a son; but it sort of
came over me I would like to hear that fiddle Squeak
again. Natural,” he added ; “I guess we're all
beasts.”
“All sons are, I guess,” said I. “I have the
same trouble on my conscience: we can shake
hands on that.” Which (oddly enough, perhaps)
we did.
Amongst the papers we found a considerable
sprinkling of photographs; for the most part
either of very debonair-looking young ladies or
old women of the lodging-house persuasion. But
one among them was the means of our crowning
discovery. - -
“They're not pretty, are they, Mr. Dodd?” said
Nares, as he passed it over. -
“Who?” I asked, mechanically taking the card
(it was a quarter-plate) in hand, and smothering
a yawn; for the hour was late, the day had been
laborious, and I was wearying for bed.
“Trent and Company,” said he. “That’s a his-
toric picture of the gang.”
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 295
I held it to the light, my curiosity at a low ebb :
I had seen Captain Trent once, and had no delight
in viewing him again. It was a photograph of the
deck of the brig, taken from forward : all in apple-
pie order; the hands gathered in the waist, the
officers on the poop. At the foot of the card was
written, “Brig. Flying Scud, Rangoon,” and a
date; and above or below each individual figure
the name had been carefully noted.
As I continued to gaze, a shock went through
me; the dimness of sleep and fatigue lifted from
my eyes, as fog lifts in the channel; and I beheld
with startled clearness, the photographic present-
ment of a crowd of strangers. “I. Trent, Master’’
at the top of the card directed me to a smallish,
weazened man, with bushy eyebrows and full white
beard, dressed in a frock-coat and white trousers;
a flower stuck in his button-hole, his bearded chin
set forward, his mouth clenched with habitual de-
termination. There was not much of the sailor in
his looks, but plenty of the martinet: a dry, precise
man, who might pass for a preacher in some rigid
sect; and whatever he was, not the Captain Trent
of San Francisco. The men, too, were all new to
me: the cook, an unmistakable Chinaman, in his
characteristic dress, standing apart on the poop
steps. But perhaps I turned on the whole with the
greatest curiosity to the figure labelled “E. Godde-
daal, Ist off.” He whom I had never seen, he might
be the identical; he might be the clue and spring
of all this mystery; and I scanned his features
with the eye of a detective. He was of great stat-
296 T H E W R E C K E R
ure, seemingly blond as a viking, his hair clustering
round his head in frowsy curls, and two enormous
whiskers, like the tusks of some strange animal,
jutting from his cheeks. With these virile appen-
dages and the defiant attitude in which he stood,
the expression of his face only imperfectly har-
monised. It was wild, heroic, and womanish look-
ing; and I felt I was prepared to hear he was a
sentimentalist, and to see him weep.
For some while I digested my discovery in pri-
vate, reflecting how best, and how with most of
drama, I might share it with the captain. Then
my sketch-book came in my head; and I fished it
out from where it lay, with other miscellaneous
possessions, at the foot of my bunk and turned to
my sketch of Captain Trent and the survivors of
the British brig Flying Scud in the San Francisco
bar-room.
“Nares,” said I, “I’ve told you how I first saw
Captain Trent in that saloon in 'Frisco P how he
came with his men, one of them a Kanaka with
a canary-bird in a cage? and how . I saw him
afterwards at the auction, frightened to death, and
as much surprised at how the figures skipped up
as anybody there? Well,” said I, “there's the
man I saw '' – and I laid the sketch before him
— “there's Trent of 'Frisco and there are his
three hands. Find one of them in the photograph,
and I’ll be obliged.”
Nares compared the two in silence. “Well,”
he said at last, “I call this rather a relief: seems
to clear the horizon. We might have guessed at
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 297
something of the kind from the double ration of
chests that figured.” -
“Does it explain anything?” I asked.
“It would explain everything,” Nares replied,
“but for the steam-crusher. It 'll all tally as neat
as a patent puzzle, if you leave out the way these
people bid the wreck up. And there we come to
a stone wall. But whatever it is, Mr. Dodd, it’s
on the crook.”
“And looks like piracy,” I added.
“Looks like blind hookey!” cried the captain.
“No, don’t you deceive yourself; neither your
head nor mine is big enough to put a name on
this business.”
CHAPTER XV
THE CARGO OF THE • FLYING SCUD 7?
N my early days I was a man, the most wedded
to his idols of my generation. I was a dweller
A under roofs: the gull of that which we call
civilisation; a superstitious votary of the plastic
arts: a cit; and a prop of restaurants. I had a
comrade in those days, somewhat of an outsider,
though he moved in the company of artists, and a
man famous in our small world for gallantry, knee
breeches, and dry and pregnant sayings. He, look-
ing on the long meals and waxing bellies of the
French, whom I confess I somewhat imitated,
branded me as “a cultivator of restaurant fat.”
And I believe he had his finger on the dangerous
spot; I believe, if things had gone smooth with
me, I should be now swollen like a prize-Ox in
body, and fallen in mind to a thing perhaps as
low as many types of bourgeois — the implicit or
exclusive artist. That was a home word of Pin-
kerton’s, deserving to be writ in letters of gold on
the portico of every school of art: “What I can't
see is why you should want to do nothing else.”
The dull man is made, not by the nature, but by
the degree of his immersion in a single business.
And all the more if that be sedentary, uneventful,

T H E W R E C K E R 299
and ingloriously safe. More than one-half of him
will then remain unexercised and undeveloped ; the
rest will be distended and deformed by over-nutri-
tion, Over-cerebration, and the heat of rooms. And
I have often marvelled at the impudence of gen-
tlemen, who describe and pass judgments on the
life of man, in almost perfect ignorance of all its
necessary elements and natural careers. Those
who dwell in clubs and studios may paint excellent
pictures or write enchanting novels. There is one
thing that they should not do: they should pass
no judgment on man's destiny, for it is a thing
with which they are unacquainted. Their own life
is an excrescence of the moment, doomed, in the
vicissitude of history, to pass and disappear: the
eternal life of man, spent under sun and rain and
in rude physical effort, lies upon one side, scarce
changed since the beginning.
I would I could have carried along with me to
Midway Island all the writers and the prating
artists of my time. Day after day of hope deferred,
of heat, of unremitting toil; night after night of
aching limbs, bruised hands, and a mind obscured
with the grateful vacancy of physical fatigue: the
scene, the nature of my employment; the rugged
speech and faces of my fellow-toilers, the glare of
the day on deck, the stinking twilight in the bilge,
the shrill myriads of the ocean-fowl: above all, the
sense of our immitigable isolation from the world
and from the current epoch; — keeping another
time, some eras old; the new day heralded by no
daily paper, only by the rising sun; and the State,
3OO T H E W R E C K E R
the churches, the peopled empires, war, and the
rumours of war, and the voices of the arts, all gone
silent as in the days ere they were yet invented.
Such were the conditions of my new experience in
life, of which (if I had been able) I would have had
all my confrères and contemporaries to partake:
forgetting, for that while, the Orthodoxies of the
noment, and devoted to a single and material pur-
pose under the eye of heaven.
Of the nature of our task, I must continue to
give Some summary idea. The forecastle was lum-
bered with ship's chandlery, the hold nigh full of
rice, the lazarette crowded with the teas and silks.
These must all be dug out; and that made but a
fraction of our task. The hold was ceiled through-
Out; a part, where perhaps some delicate cargo was
once stored, had been lined, in addition, with inch
boards; and between every beam there was a mov-
able panel into the bilge. Any of these, the bulk-
heads of the cabins, the very timbers of the hull
itself, might be the place of hiding. It was there-
fore necessary to demolish, as we proceeded, a great
part of the ship's inner skin and fittings, and to
auscultate what remained, like a doctor sounding
for a lung disease. Upon the return, from any
beam or bulkhead, of a flat or doubtful sound, we
must up axe and hew into the timber: a violent
and — from the amount of dry rot in the wreck
— a mortifying exercise. Every night saw a
deeper inroad into the bones of the Flying Scud
— more beams tapped and hewn in splinters, more
planking peeled away and tossed aside — and every
T H E W R E C K E R 301
night saw us as far as ever from the end and object
of our arduous devastation. In this perpetual dis-
appointment, my courage did not fail me, but my
spirits dwindled; and Nares himself grew silent
and morose. At night, when supper was done, we
passed an hour in the cabin, mostly without speech :
I, Sometimes dozing over a book; Nares, sullenly
but busily drilling sea-shells with the instrument
called a Yankee Fiddle. A stranger might have
supposed we were estranged; as a matter of fact,
in this silent comradeship of labour, our intimacy
grew. -
I had been struck, at the first beginning of our
enterprise upon the wreck, to find the men so ready
at the captain's lightest word. I dare not say they
liked, but I can never deny that they admired him
thoroughly. A mild word from his mouth was
more valued than flattery and half a dollar from
myself; if he relaxed at all from his habitual atti-
tude of censure, smiling alacrity surrounded him;
and I was led to think his theory of captainship,
even if pushed to excess, reposed upon some ground
of reason. But even terror and admiration of the
captain failed us before the end. The men wearied
of the hopeless, unremunerative quest and the long
strain of labour. They began to shirk and grumble.
Retribution fell on them at once, and retribution
multiplied the grumblings. With every day it took
harder driving to keep them to the daily drudge;
and we, in our narrow boundaries, were kept con-
scious every moment of the ill-will of ºur assistants.
In spite of the best care, the object of our search
302 T H E W R E C K E R
was perfectly well known to all on board; and there
had leaked out besides some knowledge of those
inconsistencies that had so greatly amazed the cap-
tain and myself. I could overhear the men debate
the character of Captain Trent, and set forth com-
peting theories of where the opium was stowed;
and as they seemed to have been eavesdropping
On Ourselves, I thought little shame to prick up my
ears when I had the return chance of spying upon
them, in this way. I could diagnose their temper
and judge how far they were informed upon the
mystery of the Flying Scud. It was after having
thus overheard some almost mutinous speeches,
that a fortunate idea crossed my mind. At night,
I matured it in my bed, and the first thing the next
Imorning, broached it to the captain.
“Suppose I spirit up the hands a bit,” I asked,
“by the offer of a reward?”
“If you think you ’re getting your month's
wages out of them the way it is, I don’t,” was his
reply. “However, they are all the men you ’ve
got, and you ’re the Supercargo.”
This, from a person of the captain's character,
might be regarded as complete adhesion; and the
crew were accordingly called aft. Never had the
captain worn a front more menacing. It was Sup-
posed by all that some misdeed had been discov-
ered, and Some surprising punishment was to be
announced.
“See here, you!” he threw at them over his
shoulder as he walked the deck, “Mr. Dodd, here,
is going to offer a reward to the first man who
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R 3O3
strikes the opium in that wreck. There's two ways
of making a donkey go; both good, I guess: the
one 's kicks and the other's carrots. Mr. DOdd 's
going to try the carrots. Well, my sons,” — and
here he faced the men for the first time with
his hands behind him — “if that opium 's not
found in five days, you can come to me for the
kicks.”
He nodded to the present narrator, who took up
the tale. “Here is what I propose, men,” said I:
“I put up one hundred and fifty dollars. If any
man can lay hands on the stuff right away, and off
his own club, he shall have the hundred and fifty
down. If any one can put us on the scent of where
to look, he shall have a hundred and twenty-five,
and the balance shall be for the lucky One who
actually picks it up. We’ll call it the Pinkerton
Stakes, Captain,” I added, with a smile.
“Call it the Grand Combination Sweep, then,”
cries he. “For I go you better. Look here, men,
I make up this jack-pot to two hundred and fifty
dollars, American gold coin.”
“Thank you, Captain Nares,” said I; “that was
handsomely done.”
“It was kindly meant,” he returned.
The offer was not made in vain; the hands had
scarce yet realised the magnitude of the reward,
they had scarce begun to buzz aloud in the extrem-
ity of hope and wonder, ere the Chinese cook
Stepped forward with gracious gestures and ex-
planatory Smiles.
“Captain,” he began, “I serv-um two year
3o4 T H E W R E C K E R
Melican navy; serv-um six year mail-boat Stew-
ard. Savvy plenty.”
“Oho!” cried Nares, “you savvy plenty, do
you? (Beggar’s seen this trick in the mail-boats,
I guess.) Well, why you no savvy a little SOOmer,
Sonny ?” -
“I think bimeby make-um reward,” replied the
cook, with smiling dignity.
“Well, you can’t say fairer than that,” the cap-
tain admitted, “ and now the reward 's offered,
you '11 talk? Speak up, then. Suppose you speak
true, you get reward. See?” -
“I think long time,” replied the Chinaman.
“See plenty litty mat lice; too-muchy plenty litty
mat lice; sixty ton, litty mat lice. I think all-e-
time: perhaps plenty opium plenty litty mat lice?”
“Well, Mr. Dodd, how does that strike you?”
asked the captain. “He may be right, he may be
wrong. He 's likely to be right: for if he is n’t,
where can the stuff be? On the other hand, if
he 's wrong, we destroy a hundred and fifty tons
of good rice for nothing. It’s a point to be
considered.” -
“I don't hesitate,” said I. “Let’s get to the
bottom of the thing. The rice is nothing; the rice
will neither make nor break us.”
“That’s how I expected you to see it,” returned
Nares. - -
And we called the boat away and set forth on
Our new quest.
The hold was now almost entirely emptied; the
mats (of which there went forty to the short ton)
T H E W R E C K E R 3O5
had been stacked on deck, and now crowded the
ship's waist and forecastle. It was our task to dis-
embowel and explore six thousand individual mats,
and incidentally to destroy a hundred and fifty tons
of valuable food. Nor were the circumstances of
the day's business less strange than its essential
nature. Each man of us, armed with a great knife,
attacked the pile from his own quarter, slashed
into the nearest mat, burrowed in it with his hands,
and shed forth the rice upon the deck, where it
heaped up, overflowed, and was trodden down,
poured at last into the scuppers, and occasionally
spouted from the vents. About the wreck, thus
transformed into an overflowing granary, the sea-
fowl swarmed in myriads and with surprising in-
solence. The sight of so much food confounded
them; they deafened us with their shrill tongues,
swooped in our midst, dashed in our faces, and
snatched the grain from between our fingers. The
Imen — their hands bleeding from these assaults —
turned savagely on the offensive, drove their knives
into the birds, drew them out crimsoned, and turned
again to dig among the rice, unmindful of the
gawking creatures that struggled and died among
their feet. We made a singular picture: the hover-
ing and diving birds; the bodies of the dead dis-
colouring the rice with blood; the scuppers vom-
iting breadstuff; the men, frenzied by the gold
hunt, toiling, slaying, and shouting aloud: Over all,
the lofty intricacy of rigging and the radiant
heaven of the Pacific. Every man there toiled in
the immediate hope of fifty dollars; and I, of fifty
2O
306 T H E W R E C K E R
thousand. Small wonder if we waded callously in
blood and food.
It was perhaps about ten in the forenoon when
the scene was interrupted. Nares, who had just
ripped Open a fresh mat, drew forth, and slung at
his feet, among the rice, a papered tin box.
“How 's that?” he shouted.
A cry broke from all hands: the next moment,
forgetting their own disappointment, in that con-
tagious sentiment of success, they gave three cheers
that scared the sea-birds; and the next, they had
crowded round the captain, and were jostling to-
gether and groping with emulous hands in the new-
opened mat. Box after box rewarded them, six in
all; wrapped, as I have said, in a paper envelope,
and the paper printed on, in Chinese characters.
Nares turned to me and shook my hand. “I
began to think we should never see this day,” said
he. “I congratulate you, Mr. Dodd, on having
pulled it through.”
The captain’s tones affected me profoundly; and
when Johnson and the men pressed round me in
turn with congratulations, the tears came in my
eyes. -
“These are five-tael boxes, more than two
pounds,” said Nares, weighing one in his hand.
“Say two hundred and fifty dollars to the mat.
Lay into it, boys! we’ll make Mr. Dodd a million-
aire before dark.” *
It was strange to see with what a fury we fell to.
The men had now nothing to expect; the mere
idea of great sums inspired them with disinterested
T H E W R E. C. K. H. R. 3O7
ardour. Mats were slashed and disembowelled,
the rice flowed to our knees in the ship's waist, the
sweat ran in our eyes and blinded us, Our arms
ached to agony; and yet our fire abated not. Din-
ner came; we were too weary to eat, too hoarse for
conversation; and yet dinner was Scarce done,
before we were afoot again and delving in the
rice. Before nightfall not a mat was unexplored,
and we were face to face with the astonishing
result.
For of all the inexplicable things in the story of
the Flying Scud, here was the most inexplicable.
Out of the six thousand mats, only twenty were
found to have been sugared; in each we found the
same amount, about twelve pounds of drug; mak-
ing a grand total of two hundred and forty pounds.
By the last San Francisco quotation, opium was
selling for a fraction over twenty dollars a pound;
but it had been known not long before to bring
as much as forty in Honolulu, where it was
contraband.
Taking, then, this high Honolulu figure, the
value of the opium on board the Flying Scud fell
considerably short of ten thousand dollars, while
at the San Francisco rate, it lacked a trifle of five
thousand. And fifty thousand was the price that
Jim and I had paid for it. And Bellairs had been
eager to go higher There is no language to
express the stupor with which I contemplated this
result. -
It may be argued we were not yet sure; there
might be yet another cache; and you may be cer-
308 T H E W R E. C. K. F. R.
tain in that hour of my distress the argument was
inot forgotten. There was never a ship more ar-
dently perquested; no stone was left unturned, and
Ino expedient untried; day after day of growing
despair, we punched and dug in the brig's vitals,
exciting the men with promises and presents; even-
ing after evening Nares and I sat face to face in
the narrow cabin, racking our minds for Some
neglected possibility of search. I could stake my
salvation on the certainty of the result: in all
that ship there was nothing left of value but the
timber and the copper nails. So that our case was
lamentably plain; we had paid fifty thousand dol-
lars, borne the charges of the schooner, and paid
fancy interest on money; and if things went well
with us, we might realise fifteen per cent of the
first outlay. We were not merely bankrupt, we
were comic bankrupts: a fair butt for jeering in
the streets. I hope I bore the blow with a good
countenance; indeed, my mind had long been quite
made up, and since the day we found the opium I
had known the result. But the thought of Jim
and Mamie ached in me like a physical pain, and
I shrank from speech and companionship.
I was in this frame of mind when the captain
proposed that we should land upon the island. I
saw he had something to say, and only feared it
might be consolation; for I could just bear my
grief, not bungling sympathy; and yet I had no
choice but to accede to his proposal.
We walked awhile along the beach in silence.
The sun overhead reverberated rays of heat; the
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 3O9
staring sand, the glaring lagoon, tortured our eyes;
and the birds and the boom of the far-away
breakers made a Savage Symphony.
“I don’t require to tell you the game's up f ''
Nares asked.
“No,” said I.
“I was thinking of getting to sea to-morrow,”
he pursued.
“The best thing you can do,” said I.
“Shall we say Honolulu ?” he inquired.
“O yes; let’s stick to the programme,” I cried.
“Honolulu be it !”
There was another silence, and then Nares
cleared his throat. $
“We’ve been pretty good friends, you and
me, Mr. Dodd,” he resumed. “We’ve been going
through the kind of thing that tries a man.
We’ve had the hardest kind of work, we've been
badly backed, and now we’re badly beaten. And
we've fetched through without a word of disagree-
ment. I don’t say this to praise myself: it’s my
trade; it's what I’m paid for, and trained for,
and brought up to. But it was another thing for
you; it was all new to you; and it did me good
to see you stand right up to it and Swing right
into it, day in, day out. And then see how you ’ve
taken this disappointment, when everybody knows
you must have been taughtened up to shying-point!
I wish you'd let me tell you, Mr. Dodd, that you've
stood out mighty manly and handsomely in all this
business, and made every one like you and admire
you. And I wish you'd let me tell you, besides,
316 T H E W R E C K E R
that I’ve taken this wreck business as much to
heart as you have ; something kind of rises in my
throat when I think we’re beaten; and if I thought
waiting would do it, I would stick on this reef until
we starved.”
I tried in vain to thank him for these gener-
ous words, but he was beforehand with me in a
1m0nment. . -
“I did n’t bring you ashore to sound my
praises,” he interrupted. “We understand one
another now, that 's all; and I guess you can
trust me. What I wished to speak about is
imore important, and it 's got to be faced. What
are we to do about the Flying Scud and the
dime novel?” &
“I really have thought nothing about that,” I
replied. “But I expect I mean to get at the bot-
tom of it; and if the bogus Captain Trent is to
be found on the earth's surface, I guess I mean
to find him.”
“All you've got to do is talk,” said Nares;
“you can make the biggest kind of boom; it is n’t
often the reporters have a chance at such a yarn
as this; and I can tell you how it will go. It will
go by telegraph, Mr. Dodd; it’ll be telegraphed
by the column, and head-lined, and frothed up, and
denied by authority; and it ’11 hit bogus Captain
Trent in a Mexican bar-room, and knock over
bogus Goddedaal in a slum somewhere up the
Baltic, and bowl down Hardy and Brown in
sailors' music halls round Greenock. O, there’s
no doubt you can have a regular domestic Judg-
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 3 II
ment Day. The only point is whether you delib-
erately want to.”
“Well,” said I, “I deliberately don’t want one
thing : I deliberately don’t want to make a public
exhibition of myself and Pinkerton : So moral —
smuggling opium; such damned fools – paying
fifty thousand for a ‘dead horse ’ſ ”
“No doubt it might damage you in a business
sense,” the captain agreed. “And I’m pleased
you take that view ; for I’ve turned kind of soft
upon the job. There 's been some crookedness
about, no doubt of it; but, Law bless you! if we
dropped upon the troupe, all the premier artists
would slip right out with the boodle in their grip-
sacks, and you ’d only collar a lot of old mutton-
headed shell-backs that did n’t know the back of
the business from the front. I don’t take much
stock in Mercantile Jack, you know that; but, poor
devil, he ’s got to go where he ’s told ; and if you
make trouble, ten to one it’ll make you sick to see
the innocents who have to stand the racket. It
would be different if we understood the operation;
but we don’t, you see: there’s a lot of queer cor-
ners in life; and my vote is to let the blame' thing
1ie.”
“You speak as if we had that in our power,” I
objected.
“And so we have,” said he.
“What about the men?” I asked. “They know
too much by half; and you can’t keep them from
talking.” - g
“Can't I?” returned Nares. “I bet a boarding-
5
3 I 2 T H E W R E C K E R
master can! They can be all half-seas over, when
they get ashore, blind drunk by dark, and cruising
out of the Golden Gate in different deep-sea ships
by the next morning. Can't keep them from talk-
ing, can't I? Well, I can make them talk separate,
leastways. If a whole crew came talking, parties
would listen; but if it's only one lone old shell-
back, it’s the usual yarn. And at least, they
need n’t talk before six months, or — if we have
luck, and there's a whaler handy — three years.
And by that time, Mr. Dodd, it’s ancient history.”
“That’s what they call shanghaiing, is n’t it?”
I asked. “I thought it belonged to the dime novel.”
“O, dime novels are right enough,” returned the
captain. “Nothing wrong with the dime novel,
only that things happen thicker than they do in
life, and the practical seamanship is off colour.”
“So we can keep the business to ourselves,” I
mused.
“There’s one other person that might blab,”
said the captain. “Though I don’t believe she has
anything left to tell.” *
“And who is she?” I asked.
“The old girl there,” he answered, pointing to
the wreck. “I know there's nothing in her; but
somehow I'm afraid of some one else — it’s the
last thing you ’d expect, so it’s just the first that 'll
happen — some one dropping into this God-forgot-
ten island where nobody drops in, waltzing into
that wreck that we’ve grown old with searching,
stooping straight down, and picking right up the
very thing that tells the story. What’s that to me?
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 3 I 3
you may ask, and why am I gone Soft Tommy
on this Museum of Crooks? They've smashed
up you and Mr. Pinkerton; they've turned my
hair grey with conundrums; they've been up
to larks, no doubt; and that 's all I know of
them — you say. Well, and that 's just where it
is. I don’t know enough ; I don’t know what's
uppermost; it’s just such a lot of miscellaneous
eventualities as I don’t care to go stirring up; and
I ask you to let me deal with the old girl after
a patent of my own.”
“Certainly — what you please,” said I, Scarce
with attention, for a new thought now Occupied
my brain. “Captain,” I broke out, “ you are
wrong; we cannot hush this up. There is one
thing you have forgotten.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“A bogus Captain Trent, a bogus Goddedaal, a
whole bogus crew, have all started home,” said I.
“If we are right, not one of them will reach his
journey’s end. And do you mean to say that such
a circumstance as that can pass without remark?”
“Sailors,” said the captain, “only sailors! If
they were all bound for one place, in a body, I
don’t say so; but they're all going separate — to
Hull, to Sweden, to the Clyde, to the Thames.
Well, at each place, what is it? Nothing new.
Only one sailor man missing: got drunk, or got
drowned, or got left: the proper sailor’s end.”.
Something bitter in the thought and in the
speaker’s tones struck me hard. “Here is one
that has got left!” I cried, getting sharply to my
314 T H E W R E C K E R
feet; for we had been some time seated. “I wish
it were the other. I don’t — don’t relish going
home to Jim with this l’’
“See here,” said Nares, with ready tact, “I
must be getting aboard. Johnson's in the brig
annexing chandlery and canvas, and there 's Some
things in the Norah that want fixing against we
go to sea. Would you like to be left here in the
chicken-ranch P I’ll send for you to supper.”
I embraced the proposal with delight. Solitude,
in my frame of mind, was not too dearly pur-
chased at the risk of sunstroke or sand-blindness;
and soon I was alone on the ill-omened islet. I
should find it hard to tell of what I thought —
of Jim, of Mamie, of our lost fortune, of my lost
hopes, of the doom before me: to turn to at Some
mechanical occupation in some subaltern rank, and
to toil there, unremarked and unamused, until the
Hour of the last deliverance. I was, at least, SO
sunk in sadness, that I scarce remarked where I
was going; and chance (or Some finer sense that
lives in us, and only guides us when the mind is
in abeyance) conducted my steps into a quarter of
the island where the birds were few. By some
devious route, which I was unable to retrace for
my return, I was thus able to mount, without in-
terruption, to the highest point of land. And here
I was recalled to consciousness by a last discovery.
The spot on which I stood was level, and com-
manded a wide view of the lagoon, the bound-
ing reef, the round horizon. Nearer hand I saw
the sister islet, the wreck, the Norah Creina, and the
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 3.I 5
Norah’s boat already moving shoreward. For the
sun was now low, flaming on the sea’s verge; and
the galley chimney smoked on board the schooner.
It thus befell that though my discovery was both
affecting and suggestive, I had no leisure to ex-
amine further. What I saw was the blackened
embers of fire of wreck. By all the signs, it must
have blazed to a good height and burned for days;
from the scantling of a spar that lay upon the
Imargin only half consumed, it must have been the
work of more than one; and I received at once
the image of a forlorn troop of castaways, house-
less in that lost corner of the earth, and feeding
there their fire of signal. The next moment a hail
reached me from the boat; and bursting through
the bushes and the rising sea-fowl, I said farewell
(I trust for ever) to that desert isle.
CHAPTER XVI
IN WHICH I TURN SMUGGLER, AND THE
CAPTAIN CASUIST

HE last night at Midway, I had little
sleep; the next morning, after the sun
was risen, and the clatter of departure
had begun to reign on deck, I lay a long while
dozing ; and when at last I stepped from the
companion, the Schooner was already leaping
through the pass into the open sea. Close on
her board, the huge scroll of a breaker unfurled
itself along the reef with a prodigious clamour;
and behind I saw the wreck vomiting into the
morning air a coil of smoke. The wreaths al-
ready blew out far to leeward; flames already
glittered in the cabin skylight; and the sea-fowl
were scattered in surprise as wide as the lagoon.
As we drew further off, the conflagration of the
Flying Scud flamed higher; and long after we
had dropped all signs of Midway Island, the smoke
still hung in the horizon like that of a distant
steamer. With the fading out of that last vestige,
the Norah Creina passed again into the empty
world of cloud and water by which she had ap-
proached; and the next features that appeared,
T H E W R E C K E R 317
eleven days later, to break the line of sky, were
the arid mountains of Oahu.
It has often since been a comfortable thought to
me that we had thus destroyed the tell-tale rem-
nants of the Flying Scud; and often a strange
one that my last sight and reminiscence of that
fatal ship should be a pillar of Smoke on
the horizon. To so many others besides my-
Self the same appearance had played a part in
the various stages of that business: luring Some
to what they little imagined, filling some with
unimaginable terrors. But ours was the last
Smoke raised in the story; and with its dying
away the secret of the Flying Scud became a
private property.
It was by the first light of dawn that we saw,
close on board, the metropolitan island of Hawaii.
We held along the coast, as near as we could ven-
ture, with a fresh breeze and under an unclouded
heaven; beholding, as we went, the arid mountain-
sides and scrubby cocoa-palms of that somewhat
melancholy archipelago. About four of the after-
Inoon we turned Waimanolo Point, the westerly
headland of the great bight of Honolulu; showed
ourselves for twenty minutes in full view ; and
then fell again to leeward, and put in the rest of
daylight, plying under shortened sail under the
1ee of Waimanolo.
A little after dark we beat once more about the
point, and crept cautiously toward the mouth of the
Pearl Lochs, where Jim and I had arranged I was
to meet the smugglers. The night was happily
318 T H E W R E C K E R
obscure, the water smooth. We showed, accord-
ing to instructions, no light on deck: only a red
lantern dropped from either cathead to within a
couple of feet of the water. A look-out was sta-
tioned on the bowsprit end, another in the cross-
trees; and the whole ship's company crowded
forward, Scouting for enemies or friends. It was
now the crucial moment of our enterprise; we
were now risking liberty and credit; and that for
a sum so small to a man in my bankrupt situation,
that I could have laughed aloud in bitterness. But
the piece had been arranged, and we must play it
to the finish. e
For some while, we saw nothing but the dark
nnountain outline of the island, the torches of
native fishermen glittering here and there along
the foreshore, and right in the midst, that clus-
ter of brave lights with which the town of
Honolulu advertises itself to the seaward. Pres-
ently a ruddy star appeared inshore of us, and
seemed to draw near unsteadily. This was the
anticipated signal; and we made haste to show
the countersign, lowering a white light from the
quarter, extinguishing the two others, and lay-
ing the schooner incontinently to. The star ap-
proached slowly; the sounds of oars and of men's
speech came to us across the water; and then a
voice hailed us. -
“Is that Mr. Dodd P’’
“Yes,” I returned. “Is Jim Pinkerton there?”
“No, sir,” replied the voice. “But there's one
of his crowd here; name of Speedy.”
T H E W R E C K E R 3 T 9
“I’m here, Mr. Dodd,” added Speedy himself.
“I have letters for you.”
“All right,” I replied. “Come aboard, gentle-
men, and let me see my mail.”
A whale-boat accordingly ranged alongside, and
three men boarded us: my old San Francisco
friend, the stock-gambler Speedy, a little wizened
person of the name of Sharpe, and a big, flourish-
ing, dissipated-looking man called Fowler. The
two last (I learned afterward) were frequent part-
ners; Sharpe supplied the capital, and Fowler, who
was quite a character in the islands and occupied
a considerable station, brought activity, daring,
and a private influence, highly necessary in the
case. Both seemed to approach the business with
a keen sense of romance; and I believe this was the
chief attraction, at least with Fowler — for whom
I early conceived a sentiment of liking. But in
that first moment I had something else to think of
than to judge my new acquaintances; and before
Speedy had fished out the letters, the full extent
of our misfortune was revealed.
“We’ve rather bad news for you, Mr. Dodd,”
said Fowler. “Your firm's gone up.”
“Already l’” I exclaimed.
“Well, it was thought rather a wonder Pinker-
ton held on as long as he did,” was the reply.
“The wreck deal was too big for your credit; you
were doing a big business, no doubt, but you were
doing it on precious little capital; and when the
strain came, you were bound to go. Pinkerton ’s
through all right: seven cents dividend; some
32O T H E W R E C K E R
remarks made, but nothing to hurt: the press let
you down easy — I guess Jim had relations there.
The only trouble is, that all this Flying Scud affair
got in the papers with the rest; everybody's wide
awake in Honolulu; and the sooner we get the
stuff in and the dollars out, the better for all
concerned.”
“Gentlemen,” said I, “you must excuse me.
My friend, the captain here, will drink a glass of
champagne with you to give you patience; but as
for myself, I am unfit even for ordinary conversa-
tion till I have read these letters.”
They demurred a little: and indeed the danger
of delay seemed obvious; but the sight of my dis-
tress, which I was unable entirely to control, ap-
pealed strongly to their good-nature; and I was
suffered at last to get by myself on deck, where,
by the light of a lantern smuggled under shelter
of the low rail, I read the following wretched
correspondence. -
“My dear Loudon,” ran the first, “this will be handed
you by your friend Speedy of the Catamount. His sterling
character and loyal devotion to yourself pointed him out as
the best man for our purposes in Honolulu — the parties on
the spot being difficult to manipulate. A man called Billy
Fowler (you must have heard of Billy) is the boss; he is in
politics some, and squares the officers. I have hard times
before me in the city, but I feel as bright as a dollar and as
strong as John L. Sullivan. What with Mamie here, and my
partner speeding over the seas, and the bonanza in the wreck,
I feel like I could juggle with the Pyramids of Egypt, same
as conjurers do with aluminium balls. My earnest prayers
follow you, Loudon, that you may feel the way I do —just
inspired My feet don’t touch the ground; I kind of swim.
T H E W R E C K E R 32 I
Mamie is like Moses and Aaron that held up the other in-
dividual’s arms. She carries me along like a horse and
buggy. I am beating the record.
“Your true partner,
“J. P.INKERTON.”
Number two was in a different style:
“My dearest Loudon, how am I to prepare you for this
dire intelligence? O dear me, it will strike you to the earth.
The Fiat has gone forth ; our firm went bust at a quarter
before twelve. It was a bill of . Bradley's (for $200) that
brought these vast operations to a close, and evolved liabilities
of upwards of two hundred and fifty thousand. O, the shame
and pity of it ! and you but three weeks gone ! Loudon,
don’t blame your partner: if human hands and brains could
have sufficed, I would have held the thing together. But it
just slowly crumbled ; Bradley was the last kick, but the
blamed business just melted. I give the liabilities; it’s sup-
posed they’re all in ; for the cowards were waiting, and the
claims were filed like taking tickets to hear Patti. I don’t
quite have the hang of the assets yet, our interests were so
extended; but I am at it day and night, and I guess will
make a creditable dividend. If the wreck pans out only half
the way it ought, we'll turn the laugh still. I am as full of
grit and work as ever, and just tower above our troubles.
Mamie is a host in herself. Somehow I feel like it was only
me that had gone bust, and you and she soared clear of it.
Hurry up. That’s all you have to do.
“Yours ever,
“J. PINKERTON.”
The third was yet more altered:
“My poor Loudon,” it began, “I labour far into the night
getting our affairs in order; you could not believe their vast-
ness and complexity. Douglas B. Longhurst said humor-
ously that the receiver’s work would be cut out for him. I
cannot deny that some of them have a speculative look.
God forbid a sensitive, refined spirit like yours should ever
2I
322 T H E W.R E C K E R
come face to face with a Commissioner in Bankruptcy;
these men get all the sweetness knocked right out of them.
But I could bear up better if it were n’t for press comments.
Often and often, Loudon, I recall to mind your most legitimate
critiques of the press system. They published an interview
with me, not the least like what I said, and with ſeering
comments; it would make your blood boil, it was literally
inhumane, I would n’t have written it about a yellow dog
that was in trouble like what I am. Mamie just winced, the
first time she has turned a hair right through the whole
catastrophe. How wonderfully true was what you said long
ago in Paris, about touching on people's personal appearance
The ſellow said • ?
And then these words had been scored through;
and my distressed friend turned to another subject.
“I cannot bear to dwell upon our assets. They simply
don’t show up. Even Thirteen Star, as sound a line as can
be produced upon this coast, goes begging. The wreck has
thrown a blight on all we ever touched. And where 's the
use P God never made a wreck big enough to fill our deficit.
I am haunted by the thought that you may blame me ; I
know how I despised your remonstrances. O, Loudon, don’t
be hard on your miserable partner. The funny-dog business
is what kills. I fear your stern rectitude of mind like the eye
of God. I cannot think but what some of my books seem
mixed up; otherwise, I don’t seem to see my way as plain as
I could wish to. Or else my brain is gone soft. Loudon, if
there should be any unpleasantness, you can trust me to
do the right thing and keep you clear. I’ve been telling
them already, how you had no business grip and never saw
the books. O, I trust I have done right in this I knew
it was a liberty; I know you may justly complain ; but it was
some things that were said. And mind you, all legitimate
business | Not even your shrinking sensitiveness could find
fault with the first look of one of them, if they had panned
out right. And you know, the FAying Scud was the biggest
gamble of the crowd, and that was your own idea. Mamie
T H E W R.E C K E R 323
says she never could bear to look you in the face, if that idea
had been mine ; she is so conscientious !
“Your broken-hearted
6 * JIM.”
The last began without formality:
“This is the end of me commercially. I give up ; my
nerve is gone. I suppose I Ought to be glad; for we’re
through the court. I don't know as ever I knew how, and
I’m sure I don’t remember. If it pans out — the wreck, I
mean — we'll go to Europe, and live on the interest of Our
money. No more work for me. I shake when people speak
to me. I have gone on, hoping and hoping, and working and
working, and the lead has pinched right out. I want to lie
on my back in a garden, and read Shakespeare and E. P. Roe.
Don’t suppose it’s cowardice, Toudon. I’m a sick man.
Rést is what I must have. I’ve worked hard all my life;
I never spared myself; every dollar I ever made, I’ve coined
my brains for it. I’ve never done a mean thing; I’ve lived
respectable, and given to the poor. Who has a better right
to a holiday than I have 2 And I mean to have a year of it
straight out; and if I don't, I shall lie right down here in
my tracks, and die of worry and brain trouble. Don’t mis-
take. That’s so. If there are any pickings at all, trust
Søeedy; don’t let the creditors get wind of what there is.
I helped you when you were down ; help me now. Don’t
deceive yourself; you've got to help me right now, or never.
I am clerking, and not ſit to cy//ier. Mamie's typewriting
at the Phoenix Guano Exchange down town. The light is
right out of my life. I know you’ll not like to do what I
propose. Think only of this ; that it's life or death for
e “JIM PINKERTON.
“P. S. Our figure was seven per cent. O, what a fall
was there ! Well, well, it’s past mending; I don’t want to
whine. But, Loudon, I do want to live. No more ambition;
all I ask is life. I have so much to make it sweet to me !
I am clerking, and use/ess at that. I know I would have fired
such a clerk inside of forty minutes, in my time. But my
time's over. I can only cling on to you. Don't fail.
“JIM PINKERTON.”
324 T H E W R E C K E R
There was yet one more postscript, yet one more
Outburst of Self-pity and pathetic adjuration; and
a doctor's Opinion, unpromising enough, was be-
sides enclosed. I pass them both in silence. I
think shame to have shown, at so great length, the
half-baked virtues of my friend dissolving in the
crucible of sickness and distress; and the effect
upon my Spirits can be judged already. I got
to my feet, when I had done, drew a deep breath,
and stared hard at Honolulu. One moment the
world seemed at an end; the next, I was con-
Scious of a rush of independent energy. On Jim
I could rely no longer; I must now take hold
myself. I must decide and act on my own better
thoughts.
The word was easy to say; the thing, at the
first blush, was undiscoverable. I was over-
whelmed with miserable, womanish pity for my
broken friend; his outcries grieved my spirit; I
saw him then and now — then, so invincible; now,
brought so low — and knew neither how to refuse,
nor how to consent to his proposal. The remem-
brance of my father, who had fallen in the same
field unstained, the image of his monument incon-
gruously rising, a fear of the law, a chill air that
seemed to blow upon my fancy from the doors of
prisons, and the imaginary clank of fetters, recalled
me to a different resolve. And then again, the
wails of my sick partner intervened. So I stood
hesitating, and yet with a strong sense of capacity
behind: sure, if I could but choose my path, that
I should walk in it with resolution.
T H E w RE C K E R 32.5
Then I remembered that I had a friend on board,
and stepped to the companion.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “only a few moments
more; but these, I regret to say, I must make more
tedious still by removing your companion. It is
indispensable that I should have a word or two
with Captain Nares.”
Both the smugglers were afoot at once, protest-
ing. The business, they declared, must be de-
spatched at once; they had run risk enough, with
a conscience; and they must either finish now,
Or go.
“The choice is yours, gentlemen,” said I, “ and,
I believe, the eagerness. I am not yet sure that I
have anything in your way; even if I have, there
are a hundred things to be considered; and I
assure you it is not at all my habit to do business
with a pistol to my head.”
“That is all very proper, Mr. Dodd; there is
no wish to coerce you, believe me,” said Fowler;
“only, please consider our position. It is really
dangerous; we were not the only people to see
your schooner off Waimanolo.”
“Mr. Fowler,” I replied, “I was not born yes-
terday. Will you allow me to express an opinion,
in which I may be quite wrong, but to which I am
entirely wedded ? If the custom-house officers had
been coming, they would have been here now. In
other words, somebody is working the Oracle, and
(for a good guess) his name is Fowler.”
Both men laughed loud and long; and being
supplied with another bottle of Longhurst's cham-
326 T H E W R E C K E R
pagne, suffered the captain and myself to leave
them without further word.
I gave Nares the correspondence, and he
skimmed it through. f
“Now, Captain,” said I, “I want a fresh mind
On this. What does it mean?”
“It’s large enough text,” replied the captain.
“It means you ’re to stake your pile on Speedy,
hand him over all you can, and hold your tongue.
I almost wish you had n’t shown it me,” he added,
wearily. “What with the specie from the wreck
and the opium money, it comes to a biggish deal.”
“That’s supposing that I do it?” said I.
“Exactly,” said he, “supposing you do it.”
“And there are pros and cons to that,” I
observed.
“There's San Quentin, to start in with,” said
the captain; “ and suppose you clear the peniten-
tiary, there's the nasty taste in the mouth. The
figure 's big enough to make bad trouble, but it's
not big enough to be picturesque; and I should
guess a man always feels kind of small who has
sold himself under six cyphers. That would be
my way, at least; there’s an excitement about
a million that might carry me on ; but the other
way, I should feel kind of lonely when I woke in
bed. Then there's Speedy. Do you know him
We]1 P '’ -
“No, I do not,” said I.
“Well, of course he can vamoose with the entire
Speculation, if he chooses,” pursued the captain,
“ and if he don’t I can’t see but what you've got
5 3
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 327
to support and bed and board with him to the end
of time. I guess it would weary me. Then there's
|Mr. Pinkerton, of course. He 's been a good
friend to you, has n’t he? Stood by you, and all
that? and pulled you through for all he was
Worth P ''
“That he has,” I cried; “I could never begin
telling you my debt to him l’’
“Well, and that's a consideration,” said the
captain. “As a matter of principle, I would n’t
look at this business at the money. “ Not good
enough,’ would be my word. But even principle
goes under when it comes to friends — the right
sort, I mean. This Pinkerton is frightened, and
he seems sick; the medico don’t seem to care a cent
about his state of health; and you’ve got to figure
how you would like it, if he came to die. Remem-
ber, the risk of this little swindle is all yours; it’s
no sort of risk to Mr. Pinkerton. Well, you've
got to put it that way plainly, and see how you like
the sound of it: my friend Pinkerton is in danger
of the New Jerusalem, I am in danger of San
Quentin; which risk do I propose to run ?”
“That’s an ugly way to put it,” I objected,
“ and perhaps hardly fair. There 's right and
wrong to be considered.” -
“Don’t know the parties,” replied Nares; “and
I’m coming to them, anyway. For it strikes me,
when it came to Smuggling opium, you walked
right up?”
“So I did,” I said; “ sick I am to have to
say it!”
5 & 4
328 T H E W R E C K E R
“All the same,” continued Nares, “you went
into the opium-smuggling with your head down;
and a good deal of fussing I’ve listened to, that
you had nºt more of it to smuggle. Now, maybe
your partner's not quite fixed the same as you are;
maybe he sees precious little difference between the
one thing and the other.”
“You could not say truer: he sees none, I do
believe,” cried I; “and though I see one, I could
never tell you how.”
“We never can,” said the Oracular Nares; “taste
is all a matter of opinion. But the point is, how
will your friend take it? You refuse a favour, and
you take the high horse at the same time; you
disappoint him, and you rap him over the knuckles.
It won’t do, Mr. Dodd; no friendship can stand
that. You must be as good as your friend, or as
bad as your friend, or start on a fresh deal with-
out him.”
“I don’t see it!” said I. “You don’t know
Jim I ?”
“Well, you will see,” said Nares. “And now,
here's another point. This bit of money looks
mighty big to Mr. Pinkerton; it may spell life
or health to him; but among all your creditors,
I don’t see that it amounts to a hill of beans — I
don’t believe it ’11 pay their car-fares all round.
And don’t you think you'll ever get thanked. You
were known to pay a long price for the chance
of rummaging that wreck; you do the rummag-
ing, you come home, and you hand Over ten thou-
sand — or twenty, if you like — a part of which
5
T H E W R E C K E R 329
you'll have to own up you made by Smuggling;
and, mind! you 'll never get Billy Fowler to stick
his name to a receipt. Now, just glance at the
transaction from the outside, and see what a clear
case it makes. Your ten thousand is a Sop; and
people will only wonder you were so damned im–
pudent as to offer such a small one! Whichever
way you take it, Mr. Dodd, the bottom 's out of
your character; so there's one thing less to be
considered.” -
“I dare say you 'll scarce believe me,” said I,
“but I feel that a positive relief.”
“You must be made some way different from
me, then,” returned Nares. “And, talking about
me, I might just mention how I stand. You'll
have no trouble from me — you ’ve trouble enough
Of your own; and I’m friend enough, when a
friend 's in need, to shut my eyes and go right
where he tells me. All the same, I’m rather
queerly fixed. My Owners '11 have to rank with
the rest on their charter-party. Here am I, their
representative' and I have to look over the ship's
side while the bankrupt walks his assets ashore in
Mr. Speedy's hat-box. It’s a thing I would n’t do
for James G. Blaine; but I’ll do it for you, Mr.
Dodd, and only sorry I can’t do more.”
“Thank you, Captain; my mind is made up,”
said I. “I’ll go straight, ruat calum ! I never
understood that old tag before to-night.”
“I hope it is n’t my business that decides you?”
asked the captain.
“I’ll never deny it was an element,” said I.
33O T H E W R E C K E R
“I hope, I hope I'm not cowardly; I hope I could
Steal for Jim myself; but when it comes to drag-
ging in you and Speedy, and this one and the other,
why, Jim has got to die, and there's an end. I’ll
try and work for him when I get to 'Frisco, I sup-
pose; and I suppose I’ll fail, and look on at his
death, and kick myself: it can’t be helped — I’ll
fight it on this line.” -
“I don’t say as you ’re wrong,” replied Nares,
“ and I’ll be hanged if I know if you’re right.
It suits me anyway. And look here — had n’t you
better just show our friends over the side?” he
added; “no good of being at the risk and worry
of smuggling for the benefit of creditors.”
“I don’t think of the creditors,” said I. “But
I’ve kept this pair so long, I have n’t got the
brass to fire them now.”
Indeed, I believe that was my only reason for
entering upon a transaction which was now out-
side my interest, but which (as it chanced) re-
paid me fifty-fold in entertainment. Fowler and
Sharpe were both preternaturally sharp; they did
1me the honour in the beginning to attribute to
myself their proper vićes; and before we were
done had grown to regard me with an esteem
akin to worship. This proud position I attained
by no more recondite arts, than telling the mere
truth and unaffectedly displaying my indifference
to the result. I have doubtless stated the essen-
tials of all good diplomacy, which may be rather
regarded, therefore, as a grace of state, than the
effect of management. For to tell the truth is not
3.
T H E W R E C K E R 33 I
in itself diplomatic, and to have no care for the
result a thing involuntary. When I mentioned,
for instance, that I had but two hundred and forty
pound of drug, my Smugglers exchanged meaning
glances, as who should say, “Here is a foeman
worthy of our steel !” But when I carelessly pro-
posed thirty-five dollars a pound, as an amendment
to their offered twenty, and wound up with the
remark: “The whole thing is a matter of moon-
shine to me, gentlemen. Take it or want it, and
fill your glasses '' — I had the indescribable grati-
fication to see Sharpe nudge Fowler warningly,
and Fowler choke down the jovial acceptance that
stood ready on his lips, and lamely substitute a
“No — no more wine, please, Mr. Dodd ' ' Nor
was this all: for when the affair was settled at fifty
dollars a pound — a shrewd stroke of business for
my creditors — and our friends had got on board
their whale-boat and shoved off, it appeared they
were imperfectly acquainted with the conveyance
of sound upon still water, and I had the joy to
overhear the following testimonial. -
“Deep man, that Dodd,” said Sharpe.
And the bass-toned Fowler 'echoed, “Damned
if I understand his game.”
Thus we were left once more alone upon the
Norah Creina; and the news of the night, and the
lamentations of Pinkerton, and the thought of my
own harsh decision, returned and besieged me in
the dark. According to all the rubbish I had read,
I should have been sustained by the warm con-
sciousness of virtue. Alas, I had but the One
332 T H E W R E C K E R
feeling: that I had sacrificed my sick friend to
the fear of prison-cells and stupid starers. And
no moralist has yet advanced So far as to number
cowardice amongst the things that are their own
reward.
CHAPTER XVII
LIGHT FROM THE MAN OF WAR
close off the buoy and saw the city sparkle in
its groves about the foot of the Punch-bowl,
and the masts clustering thick in the small har-
bour. A good breeze, which had risen with the
sea, carried us triumphantly through the intrica-
cies of the passage; and we had soon brought up
not far from the landing-stairs. I remember to
have remarked an ugly horned reptile of a modern
war-ship in the usual moorings across the port, but
my mind was so profoundly plunged in melancholy
that I paid no heed. - -
Indeed, I had little time at my disposal. Mes-
sieurs Sharpe and Fowler had left the night before
in the persuasion that I was a liar of the first mag-
nitude; the genial belief brought them aboard again
with the earliest opportunity, proffering help to one
who had proved how little he required it, and hos-
pitality to so respectable a character. I had busi-
ness to mind, I had some need both of assistance
and diversion; I liked Fowler—I don't know why;
and in short, I let them do with me as they desired.
No creditor intervening, I spent the first half of
the day inquiring into the conditions of the tea
I N the early sunlight of the next day, we tossed
334 T H E W R E C K E R
and silk market under the auspices of Sharpe;
lunched with him in a private apartment at the
Hawaiian Hotel — for Sharpe was a teetotaller in
public; and about four in the afternoon was de-
livered into the hands of Fowler. This gentleman
owned a bungalow on the Waikiki beach ; and there
in company with certain young bloods of Hono-
lulu, I was entertained to a sea-bathe, indiscrimi-
nate cocktails, a dinner, a hula-hula, and (to round
off the night) poker and assorted liquors. To lose
money in the small hours to pale, intoxicated youth,
has always appeared to me a pleasure overrated.
In my then frame of mind, I confess I found it
even delightful; put up my money (or rather my
creditors’), and put down Fowler's champagne
with equal avidity and success; and awoke the
next morning to a mild headache and the rather
agreeable lees of the last night's excitement. The
young bloods, many of whom were still far from
sober, had taken the kitchen into their own hands,
vice the Chinaman deposed; and since each was
engaged upon a dish of his own, and none had
the least scruple in demolishing his neighbour's
handiwork, I became early convinced that many
eggs would be broken and few omelets made. The
discovery of a jug of milk and a crust of bread
enabled me to stay my appetite; and since it was
Sunday, when no business could be done, and the
festivities were to be renewed that night in the
abode of Fowler, it occurred to me to slip silently
away and enjoy some air and Solitude. -
I turned seaward under the dead crater known
T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R. 33.5
as Diamond Head. My way was for some time
under the shade of certain thickets of green, thorny
trees, dotted with houses. Here I enjoyed some
pictures of the native life: wide-eyed, naked chil-
dren, mingled with pigs; a youth asleep under a
tree; an old gentleman spelling through glasses
his Hawaiian Bible; the somewhat embarrassing
Spectacle of a lady at her bath in a spring; and
the glimpse of gaudy-coloured gowns in the deep
shade of the houses. Thence I found a road along
the beach itself, wading in sand, opposed and buf-
feted by the whole weight of the trade: on one
hand, the glittering and Sounding surf, and the bay
lively with many sails; on the other, precipitous,
arid gullies and sheer cliffs, mounting towards the
crater and the blue sky. For all the companion-
ship of skimming vessels, the place struck me with
a sense of solitude. There came in my head what
I had been told the day before at dinner, of a
cavern above in the bowels of the volcano, a place
only to be visited with the light of torches, a
treasure-house of the bones of priests and war-
riors, and clamorous with the voice of an unseen
river pouring seaward through the crannies of the
mountain. At the thought, it was revealed to me
suddenly, how the bungalows, and the Fowlers,
and the bright, busy town and crowding ships,
were all children of yesterday; and for centuries
before, the obscure life of the natives, with its
glories and ambitions, its joys and crimes and
agonies, had rolled unseen, like the mountain river,
in that sea-girt place. Not Chaldea appeared more
336 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
ancient, nor the Pyramids of Egypt more abstruse;
and I heard time measured by “the drums and
tramplings ’’ of immemorial conquests, and saw
myself the creature of an hour. Over the bank-
ruptcy of Pinkerton and Dodd of Montana Block,
S. F., and the conscientious troubles of the junior
partner, the spirit of eternity was seen to smile.
To this mood of philosophic sadness, my ex-
cesses of the night before no doubt contributed;
for more things than virtue are at times their own
reward: but I was greatly healed at least of my
distresses. And while I was yet enjoying my ab-
stracted humour, a turn of the beach brought me
in view of the signal station, with its watch-house
and flag-staff, perched on the immediate margin
of a cliff. The house was new and clean and bald,
and stood naked to the trades. The wind beat
about it in loud squalls; the seaward windows rat-
tled without mercy; the breach of the surf below
contributed its increment of noise; and the fall
of my foot in the narrow veranda passed unheard
by those within. 2. r
They were two on whom I thus entered unex-
pectedly: the look-out man, with grizzled beard,
keen seaman's eyes, and that brand on his coun-
tenance that comes of solitary living ; and a visitor,
an oldish oratorical fellow, in the smart tropical
array of the British man-o’-war's man, perched on
a table, and smoking a cigar. I was made pleas-
antly welcome, and was soon listening with amuse-
ment to the sea-lawyer.
“No, if I had n’t have been born an English-
T H E W R E C K E R 337
man,” was one of his sentiments, “ damn me! I’d
rather 'a' been born a Frenchy I’d like to see
another nation fit to black their boots.” Presently
after, he developed his views on home politics with
similar trenchancy. “I’d rather be a brute beast
than what I’d be a liberal,” he said. “Carrying
banners and that! a pig's got more sense. Why,
look at our chief engineer — they do say he car-
ried a banner with his own 'ands: ‘Hooroar for
Gladstone !' I suppose, or ‘Down with the Aris-
tocracy ' What 'arm does the aristocracy do?
Show me a country any good without one! Not
the States; why, it's the 'ome of corruption' I
knew a man — he was a good man, 'ome born —
who was signal quartermaster in the Wyandotte.
He told me he could never have got there, if he
had n’t have run with the boys’ — told it me as
I’m telling you. Now we’re all British subjects
here ” he was going on.
“I am afraid I am an American,” I said
apologetically.
He seemed the least bit taken aback, but recov-
ered himself; and with the ready tact of his betters,
paid me the usual British compliment on the ri-
poste. “You don’t say so !” he exclaimed. “Well,
I give you my word of honour, I’d never have
guessed it. Nobody could tell it on you,” said he,
as though it were some form of liquor. *
I thanked him, as I always do, at this particular
stage, with his compatriots: not so much perhaps
for the compliment to myself and my poor country,
as for the revelation (which is ever fresh to me)
22
338 T H E W R. E. C K E R
of Britannic self-sufficiency and taste. And he
was so far softened by my gratitude, as to add
a word of praise on the American method of lacing
sails. “You’re ahead of us in lacing sails,” he
said. “You can say that with a clear conscience.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I shall certainly do
SO.”
At this rate, we got along Swimmingly; and
when I rose to retrace my steps to the Fowlery, he
at once started to his feet and offered me the wel-
come solace of his company for the return. I
believe I discovered much alacrity at the idea; for
the creature (who seemed to be unique, or to rep-
resent a type like that of the dodo) entertained
me hugely. But when he had produced his hat,
I found I was in the way of more than entertain-
ment; for on the ribbon I could read the legend:
“H. M. S. Tempest.”
“I say,” I began, when our adieus were paid,
and we were scrambling down the path from the
look-out, “it was your ship that picked up the men
on board the Flying Scud, was n’t it?”
“You may say so,” said he. “And a blessed
good job for the Flying-Scuds. It’s a God-
forsaken spot, that Midway Island.”
“I’ve just come from there,” said I. “It was
I who bought the wreck.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” cried the sailor :
lem’n in the white schooner P’’
“The same,” said I.
My friend saluted, as though we were now, for
the first time, formally introduced.
& 4 y
O” assº
gen
T H E W R E C K E R 339
“Of course,” I continued, “I am rather taken
up with the whole story; and I wish you would
tell me what you can of how the men were saved.”
“It was like this,” said he. “We had orders
to call at Midway after castaways, and had our
distance pretty nigh run down the day before. We
Steamed half-speed all night, looking to make it
about noon; for old Tootles — beg your pardon,
Sir — the captain — was precious scared of the
place at night. Well, there 's nasty, filthy currents
round that Midway; you know, as has been there;
and one on 'em must have set us down. Least-
ways, about six bells, when we had ought to been
miles away, Some one sees a sail, and lo and be old,
there was the spars of a full-rigged brig | We
raised her pretty fast, and the island after her;
and made out she was hard aground, canted on her
bilge, and had her ens’n flying, union down. It
was breaking 'igh on the reef, and we laid well out,
and sent a couple of boats. I did n’t go in neither; .
only stood and looked on ; but it seems they was
all badly scared and muddled, and did n’t know
which end was uppermost. One on 'em kep'
Snivelling and wringing of his 'ands; he come on
board all of a sop like a monthly nurse. That
Trent, he come first, with his 'and in a bloody
rag. I was near 'em as I am to you; and I could
make out he was all to bits — 'eard his breath
rattle in his blooming lungs as he come down the
ladder. Yes, they was a scared lot, small blame
to 'em, I say ! The next after Trent, come him
as was mate.”
34O T H E W R E C K E R
“Goddedaal' " I exclaimed.
“And a good name for him, too,” chuckled
the man-o’-war's man, who probably confounded
the word with a familiar oath. “A good name,
too; only it were n’t his. He was a gen’lem’n
born, sir, as had gone maskewerading. One of
our officers knowed him at 'ome, reckonises him,
Steps up, 'olds out his 'and right off, and Says
le: ‘’Ullo, Norrie, old chappie!’ he says. The
Other was coming up, as bold as look at it; did n’t
seem put out — that 's where blood tells, sir!
Well, no sooner does he 'ear his born name given
him, than he turns as white as the Day of Judg-
ment, stares at Mr. Sebright like he was looking
at a ghost, and then (I give you my word of
honour) turned to, and doubled up in a dead
faint. ‘Take him down to my berth,’ says Mr. Se-
bright. ‘’T is poor old Norrie Carthew,’ he says.” .
“And what — what sort of a gentleman was
, this Mr. Carthew P” I gasped. -
“The ward-room steward told me he was come
of the best blood in England,” was my friend’s
reply: “Eton and 'Arrow bred; — and might have
been a bar'net! ”
“No, but to 100k at P” I corrected him.
..“ The same as you or me,” was the uncom-
promising answer: “not much to look at. I did n’t
know he was a gen’lem'n ; but then, I never see
him cleaned up.” s
“How was that?” I cried. “O, yes, I remem-
ber: he was sick all the way to 'Frisco, was he
Inot P '’
T H E w RE C K E R 34. I
“Sick, or sorry, or something,” returned my
informant. “My belief, he did n’t hanker after
showing up. He kep' close; the ward-room Stew-
ard, what took his meals in, told me he ate nex'
to nothing; and he was fetched ashore at 'Frisco
on the quiet. Here was how it was. It seems
his brother had took and died, him as had the
estate. This one had gone in for his beer, by
what I could make out; the old folks at 'ome had
turned rusty; no one knew where he had gone to.
Here he was, slaving in a merchant brig, ship-
wrecked on Midway, and packing up his duds
for a long voyage in a open boat. He comes On
board our ship, and by God, here he is a landed
proprietor, and may be in Parliament to-morrow !
It's no less than natural he should keep dark: so
would you and me, in the same box.”
“I dare say,” said I. “But you saw more of
the Others P” -
“To be sure,” says he: “no 'arm in them from
what I see. There was one 'Ardy there: colonial
born he was, and had been through a power of
money. There was no nonsense about 'Ardy; he
had been up, and he had come down, and took it
so. His 'eart was in the right place; and he was
well informed, and knew French ; and Latin, I
believe, like a nativel I liked that 'Ardy; he was
a good-looking boy, too.”
“Did they say much about the wreck?” I
asked.
“There was n’t much to say, I reckon,” replied
the man-o’-war's man. “It was all in the papers.
5 3
5
342 T H E w RE C K E R
'Ardy used to yarn most about the coins he had
gone through ; he had lived with book-makers,
and jockeys, and pugs, and actors, and all that:
a precious low lot! ” added this judicious person.
“But it’s about here my 'orse is moored, and
by your leave I’ll be getting ahead.”
“One moment,” said I. “Is Mr. Sebright on
board P’’
“No, sir, he’s ashore to-day,” said the sailor.
“I took up a bag for him to the 'otel.”
With that we parted. Presently after my friend
Overtook and passed me on a hired steed which
seemed to scorn its cavalier; and I was left in the
dust of his passage, a prey to whirling thoughts.
For I now stood, or seemed to stand, on the im–
mediate threshold of these mysteries. I knew
the name of the man Dickson — his name was
Carthew ; I knew where the money came from
that opposed us at the sale — it was part of Car-
thew’s inheritance; and in my gallery of illustra-
tions to the history of the wreck, one more picture
hung; perhaps the most dramatic of the series.
It showed me the deck of a war-ship in that
distant part of the great Ocean, the officers and
seamen looking curiously on ; and a man of birth
and education, who had been sailing under an alias
on a trading-brig, and was now rescued from
desperate peril, felled like an ox by the bare sound
of his own name. I could not fail to be reminded
of my own experience at the Occidental telephone.
The hero of three styles, Dickson, Goddedaal, or
Carthew, must be the owner of a lively — or a
T H E W R E C K E R 343
loaded — conscience, and the reflection recalled to
me the photograph found on board the Flying
Scud, just such a man, I reasoned, would be ca-
pable of just such starts and crises; and I inclined
to think that Goddedaal (or Carthew) was the
nainspring of the mystery.
One thing was plain: as long as the Tempest
was in reach, I must make the acquaintance of
both Sebright and the doctor. To this end, I
excused myself with Mr. Fowler, returned to
Honolulu, and passed the remainder of the day
hanging vainly round the cool verandas of the
hotel. It was near nine o'clock at night before
I was rewarded.
“That is the gentleman you were asking for,”
said the clerk. -
I beheld a man in tweeds, of an incomparable
languor of demeanour, and carrying a cane with
genteel effort. From the name, I had looked to
find a sort of viking and young ruler of the battle
and the tempest; and I was the more disappointed,
and not a little alarmed, to come face to face with
this impracticable type. -
“I believe I have the pleasure of addressing
Lieutenant Sebright,” said I, stepping forward.
“Aw, yes,” replied the hero; “but, awl I dawn’t
knaw you, do I?” (He spoke for all the world
like Lord Foppington in the old play — a proof
of the perennial nature of man's affectations.
But his limping dialect, I scorn to continue to
reproduce.)
“It was with the intention of making myself
344 T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R.
known, that I have taken this step,” said I, entirely
unabashed (for impudence begets in me its like
— perhaps my only martial attribute). “We have
a common subject of interest, to me very lively;
and I believe I may be in a position to be of some
service to a friend of yours — to give him, at least,
Some very welcome information.”
The last clause was a Sop to my conscience:
I could not pretend, even to myself, either the
power or the will to serve Mr. Carthew ; but I
felt sure he would like to hear the Flying Scud
was burned.
“I don’t know — I — I don’t understand you,”
stammered my victim. “I don’t have any friends
in Honolulu, don't you know P”
“The friend to whom I refer is English,” I
replied. “It is Mr. Carthew, whom you picked
up at Midway. My firm has bought the wreck;
I am just returned from breaking her up; and
— to make my business quite clear to you — I
have a communication it is necessary I should
make; and have to trouble you for Mr. Carthew’s
address.” - --
It will be seen how rapidly I had dropped all
hope of interesting the frigid British bear. He,
on his side, was plainly on thorns at my insistence;
I judged he was suffering torments of alarm lest
I should prove an undesirable acquaintance; diag-
nosed him for a shy, dull, vain, unamiable animal,
without adequate defence — a sort of dishoused
Snail; and concluded, rightly enough, that he
would consent to anything to bring our interview
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 345
to a conclusion. A moment later, he had fled,
leaving with me a sheet of paper, thus inscribed:
Norris Carthew,
Stallbridge-le-Carthew,
Dorset.
I might have cried victory, the field of battle
and some of the enemy's baggage remaining in
my occupation. As a matter of fact, my moral
sufferings during the engagement had rivalled
those of Mr. Sebright; I was left incapable of fresh
hostilities; I owned that the navy of old England
was (for me) invincible as of yore; and giving
up all thought of the doctor, inclined to salute her
veteran flag, in the future, from a prudent dis-
tance. Such was my inclination, when I retired
to rest; and my first experience the next morning
strengthened it to certainty. For I had the
pleasure of encountering my fair antagonist On
his way on board; and he honoured me with a
recognition so disgustingly dry, that my impa-
tience overflowed, and (recalling the tactics of
Nelson) I neglected to perceive or to return it.
Judge of my astonishment, some half-hour later,
to receive a note of invitation from the Tempest.
“Dear Sir,” it began, “we are all naturally
very much interested in the wreck of the Flying
Scud, and as soon as I mentioned that I had the
pleasure of making your acquaintance, a very gen-
eral wish was expressed that you would come and
dine on board. It will give us all the greatest
346 T H E W R E C K E R
pleasure to see you to-night, or in case you should
be otherwise engaged, to luncheon either to-mor-
row or to-day.” A note of the hours followed,
and the document wound up with the name of
“J. Lascelles Sebright,” under an undeniable
statement that he was sincerely mine.
“No, Mr. Lascelles Sebright,” I reflected, “you
are not, but I begin to suspect that (like the lady
in the song) you are another's. You have men-
tioned your adventure, my friend; you have been
blown up; you have got your orders; this note
has been dictated ; and I am asked on board (in
spite of your melancholy protests) not to meet the
men, and not to talk about the Flying Scud, but
to undergo the scrutiny of some one interested
in Carthew: the doctor, for a wager. And for a
second wager, all this springs from your facility
in giving the address.” I lost no time in answering
the billet, electing for the earliest-occasion; and
at the appointed hour, a somewhat blackguard-
looking boat's crew from the Norah Creina con-
veyed me under the guns of the Tempest.
The ward-room appeared pleased to see me;
Sebright's brother officers, in contrast to himself,
took a boyish interest in my cruise; and much was
talked of the Flying Scud; of how she had been
lost, of how I had found her, and of the weather,
the anchorage, and the currents about Midway
Island. Carthew was referred to more than once
without embarrassment; the parallel case of a
late Earl of Aberdeen, who died mate On board
a Yankee schooner, was adduced. If they told
T H E w R E C K E R 34.7
me little of the man, it was because they had not
much to tell, and only felt an interest in his recog-
nition and pity for his prolonged ill-health. I
could never think the subject was avoided ; and
it was clear that the officers, far from practising
concealment, had nothing to conceal.
So far, then, all seemed natural, and yet the
doctor troubled me. This was a tall, rugged, plain
man, on the wrong side of fifty, already grey, and
with a restless mouth and bushy eyebrows: he
spoke seldom, but then with gaiety; and his great,
qtaking, silent laughter was infectious. I could
make out that he was at once the quiz of the ward-
room and perfectly respected; and I made sure that
he observed me covertly. It is certain I returned
the compliment. If Carthew had feigned sickness
— and all seemed to point in that direction — here
was the man who knew all — or certainly knew
much. His strong, sterling face progressively and
silently persuaded of his full knowledge. That
was not the mouth, these were not the eyes of one
who would act in ignorance, or could be led at
random. Nor again was it the face of a man
Squeamish in the case of malefactors; there was
even a touch of Brutus there, and something of
the hanging judge. In short, he seemed the last
character for the part assigned him in my theories;
and wonder and curiosity contended in my mind.
Luncheon was over, and an adjournment to
the Smoking-room proposed, when (upon a Sud-
den impulse) I burned my ships, and pleading
indisposition, requested to consult the doctor.
348 T H E w R E C K E R
“There is nothing the matter with my body,
Dr. Urquart,” said I, as soon as we were alone.
He hummed, his mouth worked, he regarded
me steadily with his grey eyes, but resolutely held
his peace.
“I want to talk to you about the Flying Scud
and Mr. Carthew,” I resumed. “Come: you must
have expected this. I am sure you know all; you
are shrewd, and must have a guess that I know
much. How are we to stand to one another P and
how am I to stand to Mr. Carthew P”
“I do not fully understand you,” he replied,
after a pause; and then, after another: “It is the
spirit I refer to, Mr. Dodd.” - . .
“The spirit of my inquiries?” I asked.
He nodded. *
“I think we are at cross-purposes,” said T.
“The spirit is precisely what I came in quest of.
I bought the Flying Scud at a ruinous figure, run
up by Mr. Carthew through an agent; and I am,
in consequence, a bankrupt. But if I have found
no fortune in the wreck, I have found unmistak-
able evidences of foul play. Conceive my position:
I am ruined through this man, whom I never saw:
I might very well desire revenge or compensa-
tion; and I think you will admit I have the means
to extort either.”
He made no sign in answer to this challenge.
“Can you not understand, then,” I resumed,
“ the spirit in which I come to one who is
Surely in the secret, and ask him, honestly and
plainly : How do I stand to Mr. Carthew P”
T H E W R E C K E R 349
“I must ask you to be more explicit,” said he.
“You do not help me much,” I retorted. “But
see if you can understand: my conscience is not
very fine spun ; still, I have one. Now, there are
degrees of foul play, to some of which I have no
particular objection. I am sure with Mr. Carthew,
I am not at all the person to forego an advantage;
and I have much curiosity. But on the other
hand, I have no taste for persecution; and I ask
you to believe that I am not the man to make bad
worse, or heap trouble on the unfortunate.”
“Yes; I think I understand,” said he. “Sup-
pose I pass you my word that, whatever may
have occurred, there were excuses — great excuses
— I may say, very great?”
“It would have weight with me, doctor,” I
replied.
“I may go further,” he pursued. “Suppose I
had been there or you had been there: after a cer-
tain event had taken place, it's a grave question
what we might have done — it's even a question
what we could have done — ourselves. Or take
me. I will be plain with you, and own that I am
in possession of the facts. You have a shrewd
guess how I have acted in that knowledge. May
I ask you to judge from the character of my ac-
tion, something of the nature of that knowledge,
which I have no call, nor yet no title, to share with
you?”
I cannot convey a sense of the rugged convic-
tion and judicial emphasis of Dr. Urquart's speech:
to those who did not hear him, it may appear as
35O T H E W R E C K E R
if he fed me on enigmas; to myself, who heard, I
Seemed to have received a lesson and a compliment.
“I thank you,” I said. “I feel you have said
as much as possible, and more than I had any
right to ask. I take that as a mark of confidence,
which I will try to deserve. I hope, sir, you will
let me regard you as a friend.” *...*
He evaded my proffered friendship with a blunt
proposal to rejoin the mess; and yet a moment
later, contrived to alleviate the snub. For, as we
entered the smoking-room, he laid his hand on
my shoulder with a kind familiarity.
“I have just prescribed for Mr. Dodd,” says
he, “a glass of our Madeira.”
I have never again met Dr. Urquart; but he
wrote himself so clear upon my memory that I
think I see him still. And indeed I had cause to
remember the man for the sake of his communi-
cation. It was hard enough to make a theory fit
the circumstances of the Flying Scud; but one in
which the chief actor should stand the least ex-
cused, and might retain the esteem or at least the
pity of a man like Dr. Urquart, failed me utterly.
Here at least was the end of my discoveries; I
learned no more, till I learned all; and my reader
has the evidence complete. Is he more astute than
I was P or, like me, does he give it up P
CHAPTER XVIII
CROSS-QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS
HAVE said hard words of San Francisco;
they must scarce be literally understood (one
st cannot suppose the Israelites did justice to
the land of Pharaoh); and the city took a fine
revenge of me on my return. She had never,
worn a more becoming guise; the sun shone, the
air was lively, the people had flowers in their but-
tonholes and smiles upon their faces; and as I
made my way towards Jim's place of employment,
with some very black anxieties at heart, I seemed
to myself a blot on the surrounding gaiety.
My destination was in a by-Street, in a mean,
rickety building; “The Franklin H. Dodge Steam
Printing Company ” appeared upon its front, and
in characters of greater freshness, so as to sug-
gest recent conversion, the watch-cry, “White
Labor Only.” In the office, in a dusty pen, Jim
sat alone before a table. A wretched change had
Overtaken him in clothes, body, and bearing; he
looked sick and shabby; he who had once rejoiced
in his day’s employment, like a horse among pas-
tures, now Sat staring on a column of accounts,
idly chewing a pen, at times heavily sighing, the
picture of inefficiency and inattention. He was

352 T H E W R EC K E R
sunk deep in a painful reverie; he neither saw
nor heard me; and I stood and watched him un-
observed. I had a sudden vain relenting. Re-
pentance bludgeoned me. As I had predicted to
Nares, I stood and kicked myself. Here was I
come home again, my honour saved; there was
my friend in want of rest, nursing, and a gener-
ous diet; and I asked myself with Falstaff, “What
is in that word honour? what is that honour?”
and, like Falstaff, I told myself that it was
air. -
“Jim l’” said I.
“TLoudon l’’ he gasped, and jumped from his
chair and stood shaking.
The next moment I was Over the barrier, and
we were hand in hand.
“My poor old man l’” I cried.
“Thank God you're home at last!” he gulped,
and kept patting my shoulder with his hand.
“I’ve no good news for you, Jim ” said I.
“You ’ve come — that's the good news that I
want,” he replied. “O, how I’ve longed for you,
T_Oudon | * }
“I could n’t do what you wrote me,” I said,
lowering my voice. “The creditors have it all.
I could n’t do it.” - - -
“Ssh !” returned Jim. “I was crazy when I
wrote. I could never have looked Mamie in the
face if we 'd have done it. O, Loudon, what a
gift that woman is ' You think you know some-
thing of life: you just don't know anything. It’s
the goodness of the woman, it's a revelation | *
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 353
“That’s all right,” said I. “That’s how I
hoped to hear you, Jim.”
“And so the Flying Scud was a fraud,” he
resumed. “I did n’t quite understand your letter,
but I made out that.”
“Fraud is a mild term for it,” said I. “The
creditors will never believe what fools we were.
And that reminds me,” I continued, rejoicing in
the transition, “how about the bankruptcy P.”
“You were lucky to be out of that,” answered
Jim, shaking his head; “ you were lucky not to
see the papers. The Occidental called me a fifth-
rate Kerbstone broker with water on the brain;
another said I was a tree-frog that had got into
the same meadow with Longhurst, and had blown
myself out till I went pop. It was rough on a
man in his honeymoon; so was what they said
about my looks, and what I had on, and the way
I perspired. But I braced myself up with the
Flying Scud. How did it exactly figure out any-
way? I don’t seem to catch on to that story,
Loudon.” & -
“The devil you don't!” thinks I to my-
self; and then aloud: “You see we had neither
One of us good luck. I did n’t do much more
than cover current expenses; and you got
floored immediately. How did we come to go
so soon P”
“Well, we'll have to have a talk Over all this,”
said Jim with a sudden start. “I should be get-
ting to my books; and I guess you had better go
up right away to Mamie. She's at Speedy's. She
23
354 T H E W R E C K E R
expects you with impatience. She regards you in
the light of a favourite brother, Loudon.”
Any scheme was welcome which allowed me to
postpone the hour of explanation, and avoid (were
it only for a breathing space) the topic of the
Flying Scud. I hastened accordingly to Bush
Street. Mrs. Speedy, already rejoicing in the
return of a spouse, hailed me with acclamation.
“And it’s beautiful you're looking, Mr. Dodd,
my dear,” she was kind enough to say. “And a
miracle they naygur waheenies let ye lave the
oilands. I have my suspicions of Shpeedy,” she
added, roguishly. “Did ye see him after the
Inaygresses now P”
I gave Speedy an unblemished character.
“The one of ye will niver bethray the other,”
said the playful dame, and ushered me into a bare
room, where Mamie sat working a type-writer.
I was touched by the cordiality of her greeting.
With the prettiest gesture in the world she gave
me both her hands; wheeled forth a chair; and
produced, from a cupboard, a tin of my favourite
tobacco and a book of my exclusive cigarette
papers.
“There!” she cried, “you see, Mr. Loudon, we
were all prepared for you; the things were bought
the very day you sailed.”
I imagine she had always intended me a pleasant
welcome; but the certain fervour of sincerity,
which I could not help remarking, flowed from an
unexpected source. Captain Nares, with a kind-
ness for which I can never be sufficiently grateful,
T H E W R E C K E R 355
had stolen a moment from his occupations, driven
to call on Mamie, and drawn her a generous picture
of my prowess at the wreck. She was careful not
to breathe a word of this interview, till she had
led me on to tell my adventures for myself.
“Ah! Captain Nares was better,” she cried,
when I had done. “From your account, I have
Only learned one new thing, that you are modest
as well as brave.”
I cannot tell with what sort of disclamation I
sought to reply.
“It is of no use,” said Mamie. “I know a hero.
And when I heard of you working all day like a
common labourer, with your hands bleeding and
your nails broken — and how you told the captain
to ‘crack on ' (I think he said) in the storm, when
he was terrified himself — and the danger of that
horrid mutiny '' – (Nares had been obligingly
dipping his brush in earthquake and eclipse) —
“ and how it was all done, in part at least, for
Jim and me — I felt we could never say how we
admired and thanked you.”
“ Mamie,” I cried, “don’t talk of thanks; it is
not a word to be used between friends. Jim and
I have been prosperous together; now we shall be
poor together. We’ve done our best, and that 's
all that need be said. The next thing is for me to
find a situation, and send you and Jim up country
for a long holiday in the redwoods — for a holiday
Jim has got to have.”
“Jim can't take your money, Mr. Loudon,” said
Mamie.
356 T H E W R E C K E R
“Jim P” cried I. “He’s got to. Did n’t I take
his P’’
Presently after, Jim himself arrived, and before
he had yet done mopping his brow, he was at me
with the accursed subject. “Now, Loudon,” said
he, “here we are all together, the day's work done
and the evening before us; just start in with the
whole story.”
“One word on business first,” said I, speaking
from the lips outward, and meanwhile (in the pri-
vate apartments of my brain) trying for the thou-
sandth time to find some plausible arrangement of
my story. “I want to have a notion how we stand
about the bankruptcy.”
“O, that's ancient history,” cried Jim. “We
paid seven cents, and a wonder we did as well. The
receiver — ” (methought a spasm seized him at
the name of this official, and he broke off). “But
it's all past and done with anyway; and what I
want to get at is the facts about the wreck. I don’t
seem to understand it; appears to me like as there
was something underneath.”
“There was nothing in it anyway,” I said, with
a forced laugh. --
“That’s what I want to judge of,” returned Jim.
“How the mischief is it I can never keep you to
that bankruptcy P. It looks as if you avoided it,”
said I — for a man in my situation, with unpar-
donable folly.
“Don’t it look a little as if you were trying to
avoid the wreck?” asked Jim.
It was my own doing; there was no retreat.
T H E W R E C K E R 357
“My dear fellow, if you make a point of it, here
goes ' " said I, and launched with spurious gaiety
into the current of my tale. I told it with point
and spirit; described the island and the wreck,
mimicked Anderson and the Chinese, maintained
the suspense. . . . My pen has stumbled on the
fatal word. I maintained the suspense so well that
it was never relieved; and when I stopped — I
dare not say concluded, where there was no con-
clusion — I found Jim and Mamie regarding me
with surprise.
“Well?” said Jim.
“Well, that's all,” said I.
“But how do you explain it?” he asked.
“I can’t explain it,” said I.
Mamie wagged her head ominously.
“But, great Caesar's ghost ! the money was
offered ” cried Jim. “It won’t do, Loudon; it’s
nonsense, on the face of it! I don’t say but what
you and Nares did your best; I’m sure, of course,
you did ; but I do say, you got fooled. I say the
stuff is in that ship to-day, and I say I mean to
get it.”
“There is nothing in the ship, I tell you, but old
wood and iron l’” said I. *
“You’ll see,” said Jim. “ Next time I go my-
self. I’ll take Mamie for the trip; Longhurst
won’t refuse me the expense of a schooner. You
wait till I get the searching of her.”
“But you can’t search her l’’ cried I. “She’s
burned.”
“Burned ” cried Mamie, starting a little from
358 T H E W R E C K E R
the attitude of quiescent capacity in which she
had hitherto sat to hear me, her hands folded in
her lap.
There was an appreciable pause.
“I beg your pardon, Loudon,” began Jim at last,
“but why in snakes did you burn her ?”
“It was an idea of Nares's,” said I.
“This is certainly the strangest circumstance
of all,” observed Mamie.
“I must say, Loudon, it does seem kind of unex-
pected,” added Jim. “It seems kind of crazy even.
What did you — what did Nares expect to gain by
burning her ?”
“I don’t know ; it did n’t seem to matter; we
had got all there was to get,” said I.
“That’s the very point,” cried Jim. “It was
quite plain you had n't.”
“What made you so sure?” asked Mamie.
“How can I tell you?” I cried. “We had been
all through her. We were sure; that's all that I
can say.” g
“I begin to think you were,’
a significant emphasis.
Jim hurriedly intervened. “What I don’t quite
make out, Loudon, is that you don’t seem to appre-
ciate the peculiarities of the thing,” said he. “It
does n’t seem to have struck you same as it does
me.”
“Pshaw why go on with this?” cried Mamie,
suddenly rising. “Mr. Dodd is not telling us either
what he thinks or what he knows.”
“Mamie!” cried Jim.
5
she returned, with
T H E W R.E. C K E R 359
“You need not be concerned for his feelings,
James; he is not concerned for yours,” returned
the lady. “He dare not deny it, besides. And
this is not the first time he has practised reticence.
Have you forgotten that he knew the address, and
did not tell it you until that man had escaped?”
Jim turned to me pleadingly; we were all on Our
feet. “Loudon,” he said, “ you see Mamie has
some fancy; and I must say there's just a sort of
a shadow of an excuse; for it is bewildering —
even to me, Loudon, with my trained business
intelligence. For God’s sake, clear it up.”
“This serves me right,” said I. “I should not
have tried to keep you in the dark; I should have
told you at first that I was pledged to secrecy; I
should have asked you to trust me in the begin-
ning. It is all I can do now. There is more of the
story, but it concerns none of us, and my tongue is
tied. I have given my word of honour. You must
trust me and try to forgive me.” º
“I dare say I am very stupid, Mr. Dodd,” be-,
gun Mamie, with an alarming sweetness, “but I
thought you went upon this trip as my husband’s
representative and with my husband’s money?
You tell us now that you are pledged, but I should
have thought you were pledged first of all to
James. You say it does not concern us; we are
poor people, and my husband is sick, and it con-
cerns us a great deal to understand how we come
to have lost our money, and why our representa-
tive comes back to us with nothing. You ask that
we should trust you; you do not seem to under-
36o T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
stand; the question we are asking ourselves is
whether we have not trusted you too much.”
“I do not ask you to trust me,” I replied. “I
ask Jim. He knows me.”
“You think you can do what you please with
James; you trust to his affection, do you not?
And me, I suppose, you do not consider,” said
Mamie. “But it was perhaps an unfortunate day
for you when we were married, for I at least am
not blind. The crew run away, the ship is sold for
a great deal of money, you know that man's address
and you conceal it, you do not find what you were
sent to look for, and yet you burn the ship; and
now, when we ask explanations, you are pledged
to secrecy! But I am pledged to no such thing;
I will not stand by in silence and see my sick and
ruined husband betrayed by his condescending
friend. I will give you the truth for once. Mr.
Dodd, you have been bought and sold.”
. “Mamie,” cried Jim, “no more of this! It’s
me you're striking; it’s only me you hurt. You
don’t know, you cannot understand these things.
Why, to-day, if it had n’t been for Loudon, I
could n’t have looked you in the face. He saved
ny honesty.”
“I have heard plenty of this talk before,” she
replied. “You are a sweet-hearted fool, and I
love you for it. But I am a clear-headed woman ;
my eyes are open, and I understand this man’s
hypocrisy. Did he not come here to-day and pre-
tend he would take a situation — pretend he would
share his hard-earned wages with us until you were
T H E W R E C K E R 361
well? Pretend It makes me furious ! His wages'
a share of his wages That would have been your
pittance, that would have been your share of the
Flying Scud — you who worked and toiled for him
when he was a beggar in the streets of Paris. But
we do not want your charity; thank God, I can
work for my own husband 1 See what it is to have
obliged a gentleman. He would let you pick him
up when he was begging; he would stand and look
on, and let you black his shoes, and sneer at you.
For you were always sneering at my James; you
always looked down upon him in your heart, you
know it!” She turned back to Jim. “And now
when he is rich,” she began, and then swooped
again on me. “For you are rich, I dare you to
deny it; I defy you to look me in the face and try
to deny that you are rich — rich with our money
— my husband's money — ”
Heaven knows to what a height she might have
risen, being, by this time, bodily whirled away in
her own hurricane of words. Heart-sickness, a
black depression, a treacherous sympathy with my
assailant, pity unutterable for poor Jim, already
filled, divided, and abashed my spirit. Flight
seemed the only remedy; and making a private
sign to Jim, as if to ask permission, I slunk from
the unequal field.
I was but a little way down the street, when I
was arrested by the sound of some one running,
and Jim's voice calling me by name. He had fol-
lowed me with a letter which had been long await-
ing my return.
362 T H E W R E C K E R
I took it in a dream. “ This has been a devil of
a business,” said I.
“Don’t think hard of Mamie,” he pleaded.
“It’s the way she's made; it’s her high-toned
loyalty. And of course I know it’s all right. I
know your sterling character; but you did n’t,
Somehow, make out to give us the thing straight,
Loudon. Anybody might have — I mean it —
I mean 3 3
“Never mind what you mean, my poor Jim,”
said I. “She’s a gallant little woman and a loyal
wife: and I thought her splendid. My story was
as fishy as the devil. I’ll never think the less of
either her or you.”
“It’11 blow over, it must blow Over,” said he.
“It never can,” I returned, sighing: “ and don’t
you try to make it! Don’t name me, unless it’s
with an oath. And get home to her right away.
Good-bye, my best of friends. Good-bye, and God
bless you. We shall never meet again.”
“O Loudon, that we should live to say such
words ! ” he cried. &
I had no views on life, beyond an occasional
impulse to commit suicide, or to get drunk, and
drifted down the street, semi-conscious, walking
apparently on air, in the light-headedness of grief.
I had money in my pocket, whether mine or my
creditors' I had no means of guessing; and, the
Poodle Dog lying in my path, I went mechanically
in and took a table. A waiter attended me, and I
suppose I gave my orders; for presently I found
myself, with a sudden return of consciousness, be-
y
T H E W R E C K E R 363
ginning dinner. On the white cloth at my elbow
lay the letter, addressed in a clerk's hand, and bear-
ing an English stamp and the Edinburgh postmark.
A bowl of bouillon and a glass of wine awakened
in One corner of my brain (where all the rest was
in mourning, the blinds down as for a funeral) a
faint stir of curiosity; and while I waited the next
course, wondering the while what I had ordered,
I opened and began to read the epoch-making
document.
“DEAR SIR: I am charged with the melancholy duty of
announcing to you the death of your excellent grandfather,
Mr. Alexander Loudon, on the 17th ult. On Sunday the
I3th, he went to church as usual in the forenoon, and stopped
on his way home, at the corner of Princes Street, in one of
our seasonable east winds, to talk with an old friend. The
same evening acute bronchitis declared itself; from the first,
Dr. M'Combie anticipated a fatal result, and the old gentle-
man appeared to have no illusion as to his own state. He
repeatedly assured me it was “by” with him now; ‘and high
time, too,” he once added with characteristic asperity. He
was not in the least changed on the approach of death : only
(what I am sure must be very grateful to your feelings) he
seemed to think and speak even more kindly than usual of
yourself: referring to you as ‘Jeannie's yin,’ with strong ex-
pressions of regard. ‘He was the only one I ever liket of
the hale jing-bang,’ was one of his expressions ; and you will
be glad to know that he dwelt particularly on the dutiful
respect you had always displayed in your relations. The
small codicil, by which he bequeaths you his Molesworth and
other professional works, was added (you will observe) on the
day before his death; so that you were in his thoughts until
the end. I should say that, though rather a trying patient,
he was most tenderly nursed by your uncle, and your cousin,
Miss Euphemia. I enclose a copy of the testament, by which
you will see that you share equally with Mr. Adam, and that
364 T H E W R E C K E R
I hold at your disposal a sum nearly approaching seventeen
thousand pounds. I beg to congratulate you on this con-
siderable acquisition, and expect your orders, to which I shall
hasten to give my best attention. Thinking that you might
desire to return at once to this country, and not knowing how
you may be placed, I enclose a credit for six hundred pounds.
Please sign the accompanying slip, and let me have it at your
earliest convenience.
“I am, dear sir, yours truly,
“W. RUTHERFORD GREGG.”
“God bless the old gentleman l’ I thought;
“ and for that matter God bless Uncle Adam and
my cousin Euphemial and Mr. Gregg l’’ I had a
vision of that grey old life now brought to an
end — “ and high time too " — a vision of those
Sabbath streets alternately vacant and filled with
silent people; of the babel of the bells, the long-
drawn psalmody, the shrewd sting of the east
wind, the hollow, echoing, dreary house to which
“Ecky" had returned with the hand of death
already on his shoulder; a vision, too, of the
long, rough country lad, perhaps a serious courtier
of the lasses in the hawthorn den, perhaps a rustic
dancer on the green, who had first earned and
answered to that harsh diminutive. And I asked
myself if, on the whole, poor Ecky had succeeded
in life; if the last state of that man were not on
the whole worse than the first; and the house in
Randolph Crescent a less admirable dwelling than
the hamlet where he saw the day and grew to
Imanhood. Here was a consolatory thought for
one who was himself a failure.
Yes, I declare the word came in my mind; and
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 365
all the while, in another partition of the brain,
I was glowing and singing for my new-found
opulence. The pile of gold — four thousand two
hundred and fifty double eagles, seventeen thou-
sand ugly sovereigns, twenty-one thousand two
hundred and fifty Napoleons — danced, and rang
and ran molten, and lit up life with their efful-
gence, in the eye of fancy. Here were all things
made plain to me: Paradise — Paris, I mean —
Regained, Carthew protected, Jim restored, the
creditors . . .
“The creditors!” I repeated, and sank back
benumbed. It was all theirs to the last farthing:
my grandfather had died too soon to save me.
I must have somewhere a rare vein of decision.
In that revolutionary moment, I found myself pre-
pared for all extremes except the one: ready to
do anything, or to go anywhere, SO long as I
might save my money. At the worst, there was
flight, flight to some of those blest countries where
the serpent, extradition, has not yet entered in.
On, no condition is extradition
Allowed in Callao
— the old lawless words haunted me; and I saw
myself hugging my gold in the company of such
men as had once made and sung them, in the
rude and bloody wharf-side drinking-shops of Chili
and Peru. The run of my ill-luck, the breach of
my old friendship, this bubble fortune flaunted for
a moment in my eyes and Snatched again, had
made me desperate and (in the expressive vul-
366 T H E W R E C K E R
garism) ugly. To drink vile spirits among vile
companions by the flare of a pine-torch; to go
burthened with my furtive treasure in a belt; to
fight for it knife in hand, rolling on a clay floor;
to flee perpetually in fresh ships and to be chased
through the sea from isle to isle, seemed, in my
then frame of mind, a welcome series of events.
That was for the worst; but it began to dawn
slowly on my mind that there was yet a possible
better. Once escaped, once safe in Callao, I might
approach my creditors with a good grace; and
properly handled by a cunning agent, it was just
possible they might accept some easy composition.
The hope recalled me to the bankruptcy. It was
strange, I reflected: often as I had questioned
Jim, he had never obliged me with an answer.
In his haste for news about the wreck, my own
no less legitimate curiosity had gone disappointed.
Hateful as the thought was to me, I must return
at once and find out where I stood. •
I left my dinner still unfinished, paying for the
whole of course, and tossing the waiter a gold
piece. I was reckless; I knew not what was
mine and cared not: I must take what I could
get and give as I was able; to rob and to squan-
der seemed the complementary parts of my new
destiny. I walked up Bush Street, whistling,
brazening myself to confront Mamie in the first
place, and the world at large and a certain vision-
ary judge upon a bench in the Second. Just out-
side, I stopped and lighted a cigar to give me
greater countenance; and puffing this and wear-
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 367
ing what (I am sure), was a wretched assump-
tion of braggadocio, I reappeared on the scene
of my disgrace.
My friend and his wife were finishing a poor
meal — rags of old mutton, the remainder cakes
from breakfast eaten cold, and a starveling pot
of coffee.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Pinkerton,” said I.
“Sorry to inflict my presence where it cannot be
desired; but there is a piece of business neces-
sary to be discussed.”
“Pray do not consider me,” said Mamie, rising,
and she sailed into the adjoining bedroom.
Jim watched her go and shook his head; he
looked miserably old and ill.
“What is it, now P’’ he asked.
“Perhaps you remember you answered none of
my questions,” said I.
“Your questions?” faltered Jim.
“Even so, Jim. My questions,” I repeated. “I
put questions as well as yourself; and however
little I may have satisfied Mamie with my an-
Swers, I beg to remind you that you gave me
Inone at all.”
“You mean about the bankruptcy P’’ asked Jim.
I nodded.
He writhed in his chair. “The straight truth
is, I was ashamed,” he said. “I was trying to
dodge you. I’ve been playing fast and loose with
you, Loudon; I’ve deceived you from the first,
I blush to own it. And here you came home and
put the very question I was fearing. Why did
3
368 T H E W R E C K E R
we bust so soon P Your keen business eye had
not deceived you. That's the point, that's my
shame; that 's what killed me this afternoon when
Mamie was treating you So, and my conscience
was telling me all the time, Thou art the man.”
“What was it, Jim?” I asked.
“What I had been at all the time, Loudon,”
he wailed; “and I don’t know how I’m to look
you in the face and say it, after my duplicity. It
was stocks,” he added in a whisper.
“And you were afraid to tell me that!” I cried,
“You poor, old, cheerless dreamer what would
it matter what you did or did n’t? Can’t you see
we're doomed P And anyway, that 's not my point.
It 's how I stand that I want to know. There is
a particular reason. Am I clear? Have I a cer–
tificate, or what have I to do to get one? And
when will it be dated P You can’t think what
hangs by it!” -
“That’s the worst of all,” said Jim, like a
man in a dream, “I can’t see how to tell him l’’
“What do you mean P” I cried, a small pang
of terror at my heart.
“I’m afraid I sacrificed you, Loudon,” he said,
looking at me pitifully. -
“Sacrificed me?” I repeated. “How P What
do you mean by sacrifice?”
“I know it’ll shock your delicate self-respect,”
he said; “but what was I to do? Things looked
SO bad. The receiver — ” (as usual, the name
stuck in his throat, and he began afresh). “There
was a lot of talk; the reporters were after me
T H E. W. R. E. C. K. E. R. 369
already; there was the trouble and all about the
Mexican business; and I got scared right out,
and I guess I lost my head. You were n’t there,
you See, and that was my temptation.”
I did not know how long he might thus beat
about the bush with dreadful hintings, and I was
already beside myself with terror. . What had he
done? I saw he had been tempted; I knew from
his letters that he was in no condition to resist.
How had he sacrificed the absent?
“Jim,” I said, “you must speak right out. I’ve
got all that I can carry.”
“Well,” he said — “I know it was a liberty —
I made it out you were no business man, only a
stone-broke painter; that half the time you did n’t
know anything anyway, particularly money and
accounts. I said you never could be got to un-
derstand whose was whose. I had to say that
because of some entries in the books 5 3
“For God’s sake,” I cried, “put me out of this
agony | What did you accuse me of P”
“Accused you of P” repeated Jim. “Of what
I’m telling you. And there being no deed of
partnership, I made out you were only a kind of
clerk that I called a partner just to give you taffy;
and so I got you ranked a creditor on the estate
for your wages and the money you had lent.
And 33
I believe I reeled. “A creditor l’” I roared ; “a
creditorſ I’m not in the bankruptcy at all?”
“No,” said Jim. “I know it was a lib-
erty 35
24
37O. T H E W R E C K E R
“O damn your liberty! read that,” I cried,
dashing the letter before him on the table, “and
call in your wife, and be done with eating this
truck ’’— as I spoke, I slung the cold mutton in
the empty grate — “ and let's all go and have a
champagne Supper. I’ve dined — I’m sure I don’t
remember what I had ; I'd dine again ten scores
of times upon a night like this. Read it, you
blaying ass! I’m not insane. Here, Mamie,” I
continued, opening the bedroom door, “ come out
and make it up with me, and go and kiss your
husband; and I’ll tell you what, after the supper,
let's go to some place where there 's a band, and
I’ll waltz with you till sunrise.”
“What does it all mean?” cried Jim.
“It means we have a champagne supper to-
night, and all go to Napa Valley or to Monterey
to-morrow,” said I. “Mamie, go and get your
things on ; and you, Jim, sit down right where
you are, take a sheet of paper, and tell Franklin
Dodge to go to Texas. Mamie, you were right,
my dear; I was rich all the time, and did n’t
know it.”
CHAPTER XIX
TRAVELS WITH A SHYSTER
TVHE absorbing and disastrous adventure of
the Flying Scud was now quite ended;
fºL we had dashed into these deep waters
and we had escaped again to starve, we had been
ruined and were saved, had quarrelled and made
up; there remained nothing but to sing Te Deum,
draw a line, and begin on a fresh page of my
unwritten diary. I do not pretend that I recov-
ered all I had lost with Mamie ; it would have
been more than I had merited; and I had cer-
tainly been more uncommunicative than became
either the partner or the friend. But she ac-
cepted the position handsomely; and during the
week that I now passed with them, both she and
Jim had the grace to spare me questions. It was
to Calistoga that we went; there was some rumour
of a Napa land-boom at the moment, the possibil-
ity of stir attracted Jim, and he informed me he
would find a certain joy in looking on, much as
Napoleon on St. Helena took a pleasure to read
military works. The field of his ambition was
quite closed; he was done with action; and
looked forward to a ranch in a mountain dingle,
a patch of corn, a pair of kine, a leisurely and

372 T H E W R E C K E R
contemplative age in the green shade of forests.
“Just let me get down on my back in a hay-
field,” said he, “and you 'll find there 's no more
snap to me than that much putty.”
And for two days the perfervid being actually
rested. The third, he was observed in consulta-
tion with the local editor, and owned he was in
two minds about purchasing the press and paper.
“It’s a kind of a hold for an idle man,” he said,
pleadingly; “ and if the section was to open up
the way it ought to, there might be dollars in the
thing.” On the fourth day he was gone till
dinner-time alone; on the fifth we made a long
picnic drive to the fresh field of enterprise; and
the sixth was passed entirely in the preparation
of prospectuses. The pioneer of McBride City
was already upright and self-reliant as of yore;
the fire rekindled in his eye, the ring restored to
his voice; a charger sniffing battle and saying
ha-ha, among the spears. On the seventh morn-
ing we signed a deed of partnership, for Jim
would not accept a dollar of my money other-
wise; and having once more engaged myself —
or that mortal part of me, my purse — among
the wheels of his machinery, I returned alone to
San Francisco and took quarters in the Palace
Hotel.
The same night I had Nares to dinner. His
Sunburnt face, his queer and personal strain of
talk, recalled days that were scarce over and that
seemed already distant. Through the music of
the band outside, and the chink and clatter of the
T H E W R E C K E R 373
dining-room, it seemed to me as if I heard the
foaming of the surf and the voices of the Sea-
birds about Midway Island. The bruises on Our
hands were not yet healed; and there we Sat,
waited on by elaborate darkies, eating pompino
and drinking iced champagne.
“Think of our dinners on the Norah, Captain,
and then oblige me by looking round the room
for contrast.”
He took the scene in slowly. “Yes, it is like
a dream,” he said: “like as if the darkies were
really about as big as dimes; and a great big
scuttle might open up there, and Johnson Stick in
a great big head and shoulders, and cry, Eight
bells ' ' — and the whole thing vanish.” -
“Well, it’s the other thing that has done that,”
I replied. “It’s all bygone now, all dead and
buried. Amen say I.”
“I don’t know that, Mr. Dodd; and to tell you
the fact, I don’t believe it,” said Nares. “There 's
more Flying Scud in the oven; and the baker's
name, I take it, is Bellairs. He tackled me the
day we came in : sort of a razee of poor old
humanity — jury clothes — full new suit of pim-
ples: knew him at once from your description.
I let him pump me till I saw his game. He
knows a good deal that we don’t know, a good
deal that we do, and suspects the balance. There 's
trouble brewing for somebody.”
I was surprised I had not thought of this be-
fore. Bellairs had been behind the scenes; he
had known Dickson; he knew the flight of the
374 T H E W R E C K E R
crew; it was hardly possible but what he should
suspect; it was certain if he suspected, that he
would seek to trade on the suspicion. And sure
enough, I was not yet dressed the next morning
ere the lawyer was knocking at my door. I let
him in, for I was curious; and he, after some am-
biguous prolegomena, roundly proposed I should
go shares with him.
“Shares in what?” I inquired.
“If you will allow me to clothe my idea in a
Somewhat vulgar form,” said he, “I might ask
you, did you go to Midway for your health P’’.
“I don’t know that I did,” I replied.
“Similarly, Mr. Dodd, you may be sure I would
never have taken the present step without influen-
tial grounds,” pursued the lawyer. “Intrusion is
foreign to my character. But you and I, sir, are
engaged on the same ends. If we can continue to
work the thing in company, I place at your disposal
my knowledge of the law and a considerable prac-
tice in delicate negotiations similar to this. Should
you refuse to consent, you might find in me a for-
midable and ” — he hesitated — “ and to my own
regret, perhaps a dangerous competitor.”
“Did you get this by heart?” I asked, genially.
“I advise you to !” he said, with a sudden
sparkle of temper and menace, instantly gone, in-
stantly succeeded by fresh cringing. “I assure
you, sir, I arrive in the character of a friend; and
I believe you underestimate my information. If
I may instance an example, I am acquainted to the
last dime with what you made (or rather lost),
T H E W R E C K E R 375
and I know you have since cashed a considerable
draft on London.” - -
“What do you infer?” I asked.
“I know where that draft came from,” he cried,
wincing back like one who has greatly dared, and
instantly regrets the venture.
“SOP '' Said I.
“You forget I was Mr. Dickson's confidential
agent,” he explained. “You had his address, Mr.
Dodd. We were the only two that he communi-
cated with in San Francisco. You see my deduc-
tions are quite obvious: you see how open and
frank I deal with you; as I should wish to do with
any gentleman with whom I was conjoined in
business. You see how much I know ; and it can
Scarcely escape your strong common-sense, how
much better it would be if I knew all. You cannot
hope to get rid of me at this time of day, I have
my place in the affair, I cannot be shaken off;
I am, if you will excuse a rather technical pleas-
antry, an encumbrance on the estate. The actual
harm I can do, I leave you to valuate for yourself.
But without going so far, Mr. Dodd, and without
in any way inconveniencing myself, I could make
things very uncomfortable. For instance, Mr.
Pinkerton's liquidation. You and I know, Sir –
and you better than I — on what a large fund you
draw. Is Mr. Pinkerton in the thing at all? It
was you only who knew the address, and you were
concealing it. Suppose I should communicate with
Mr. Pinkerton 3 y
“Look here!” I interrupted, “communicate
376 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
with him (if you will permit me to clothe my idea
in a vulgar shape) till you are blue in the face.
There is only one person with whom I refuse to
allow you to communicate farther, and that is
myself. Good-morning.” e -
He could not conceal his rage, disappointment,
and surprise; and in the passage (I have no doubt)
was shaken by St. Vitus.
I was disgusted by this interview; it struck me
hard to be suspected on all hands, and to hear
again from this trafficker what I had heard already
from Jim's wife; and yet my strongest impression
was different and might rather be described as an
impersonal fear. There was something against
nature in the man's craven impudence; it was as
though a lamb had butted me; such daring at the
hands of such a dastard, implied unchangeable
resolve, a great pressure of necessity, and powerful
means. I thought of the unknown Carthew, and
it sickened me to see this ferret on his trail.
Upon inquiry I found the lawyer was but just
disbarred for some malpractice; and the discovery
added excessively to my disquiet. Here was a
rascal without money or the means of making it,
thrust out of the doors of his own trade, publicly
shamed, and doubtless in a deuce of a bad temper
with the universe. Here, on the other hand, was
a man with a secret; rich, terrified, practically in
hiding; who had been willing to pay ten thousand
pounds for the bones of the Flying Scud. I slipped
insensibly into a mental alliance with the victim;
the business weighed on me; all day long, I was
T H E W R E C K E R 377
wondering how much the lawyer knew, how much
ine guessed, and when he would open his attack.
Some of these problems are unsolved to this
day; others were soon made clear. Where he got
Carthew’s name is still a mystery; perhaps some
sailor on the Tempest, perhaps my own sea-lawyer
served him for a tool; but I was actually at his
elbow when he learned the address. It fell so.
One evening, when I had an engagement and was
killing time until the hour, I chanced to walk in
the court of the hotel while the band played. The
place was bright as day with the electric light; and
I recognised, at Some distance among the loiterers,
the person of Bellairs in talk with, a gentleman,
whose face appeared familiar. It was certainly
some one I had seen, and seen recently; but who
or where, I knew not. A porter standing hard by,
gave me the necessary hint. The stranger was an
English navy man, invalided home from Honolulu,
where he had left his ship; indeed it was only from
the change of clothes and the effects of sickness,
that I had not immediately recognised my friend
and correspondent, Lieutenant Sebright.
The conjunction of these planets seeming omi-
nous, I drew near ; but it seemed Bellairs had
done his business; he vanished in the crowd, and
I found my officer alone. #
“Do you know whom you have been talking to,
Mr. Sebright?” I began. -
“No,” said he. “I don’t know him from Adam.
Anything wrong?”
“He is a disreputable lawyer, recently dis-
378 T H E W R E C K E R
barred,” said I. “I wish I had seen you in time.
I trust you told him nothing about Carthew P”
He flushed to his ears. “I’m awfully sorry,”
he said. “He seemed civil, and I wanted to get
rid of him. It was only the address he asked.”
“And you gave it?” I cried. -
“I’m really awfully sorry,” said Sebright.
“I’m afraid I did.”
“God forgive you!” was my only comment,
and I turned my back upon the blunderer.
The fat was in the fire now : Bellairs had the
address, and I was the more deceived or Carthew
would have news of him. So strong was this im-
pression, and so painful, that the next morning
I had the curiosity to pay the lawyer's den a visit.
An old woman was scrubbing the stair, and the
board was down. -
“Lawyer Bellairs?” said the old woman.
“Gone East this morning. There 's Lawyer
Dean next block up.” - -
I did not trouble Lawyer Dean, but walked
slowly back to my hotel, ruminating as I went.
The image of the old woman washing that dese-
crated stair had struck my fancy; it seemed that all
the water-supply of the city and all the soap in the
State would scarce suffice to cleanse it, it had been
so long a clearing-house of dingy Secrets and a
factory of sordid fraud. And now the corner was
untenanted; some judge, like a careful housewife,
had knocked down the web, and the bloated spider
was scuttling elsewhere after new victims. I had
of late (as I have said) insensibly taken sides with
T H E W R E C K E R 3.79
Carthew; now when his enemy was at his heels,
my interest grew more warm; and I began to
wonder if I could not help. The drama of the
Flying Scud was entering on a new phase. It had
been singular from the first: it promised an ex-
traordinary conclusion; and I who had paid SO
much to learn the beginning, might pay a little
more and see the end. I lingered in San Francisco,
indemnifying myself after the hardships of the
cruise, spending money, regretting it, continually
promising departure for the morrow. Why not
go indeed, and keep a watch upon Bellairs? If I
missed him, there was no harm done, I was the
nearer Paris. If I found and kept his trail, it was
hard if I could not put some stick in his machinery,
and at the worst I could promise myself interesting
scenes and revelations.
In such a mixed humour, I made up what it .
pleases me to call my mind, and once more involved
myself in the story of Carthew and the Flying
Scud. The same night I wrote a letter of farewell
to Jim, and one of anxious warning to Dr. Urquart
begging him to set Carthew on his guard; the
morrow saw me in the ferry-boat; and ten days
later, I was walking the hurricane deck on the City
of Denver. By that time my mind was pretty much
made down again, its natural condition: I told
myself that I was bound for Paris or Fontainebleau
to resume the study of the arts; and I thought no
more of Carthew or Bellairs, or only to smile at
my own fondness. The one I could not serve, even
if I wanted; the other I had no means of finding,
38o T H E W R E C K E R
even if I could have at all influenced him after he
was found.
And for all that, I was close on the heels of an
absurd adventure. My neighbour at table that
evening was a 'Frisco man whom I knew slightly.
I found he had crossed the plains two days in front
of me, and this was the first steamer that had left
New York for Europe since his arrival. Two days
before me, meant a day before Bellairs; and dinner
was scarce done before I was closeted with the
purser.
“Bellairs?” he repeated. “Not in the saloon,
I am sure. He may be in the second class. The
lists are not made out, but — Hullo! ‘Harry D.
Bellairs ºf That the name? He's there right
enough.”
And the next morning I saw him on the forward
deck, sitting in a chair, a book in his hand, a shabby
puma skin rug about his knees: the picture of re-
spectable decay. Off and on, I kept him in my eye.
He read a good deal, he stood and looked upon the
sea, he talked occasionally with his neighbours,
and once when a child fell he picked it up and
soothed it. I damned him in my heart; the book,
which I was sure he did not read — the sea, to
which I was ready to take oath he was indifferent
— the child, whom I was certain he would as lieve
have tossed overboard — all seemed to me ele-
ments in a theatrical performance; and I made
no doubt he was already nosing after the secrets of
his fellow-passengers. I took no pains to conceal
myself, my scorn for the creature being as strong
T H E W R E C K E R 38 I
as my disgust. But he never looked my way, and
it was night before I learned he had observed me.
I was smoking by the engine-room door, for the
air was a little sharp, when a voice rose close
beside me in the darkness.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodd?” it said.
“That you, Bellairs?” I replied.
“A single word, sir. Your presence on this
ship has no connection with our interview P” he
asked. “You have no idea, Mr. Dodd, of return-
ing upon your determination P’’
“None,” said I; and then, seeing he still lin-
gered, I was polite enough to add “Good-even-
ing; ” at which he sighed and went away.
The next day, he was there again with the chair
and the puma skin; read his book and looked at
the Sea with the same constancy; and though
there was no child to be picked up, I observed
him to attend repeatedly on a sick woman. Noth-
ing fosters suspicion like the act of watching; a
man spied upon can hardly blow his nose but
we accuse him of designs; and I took an early
opportunity to go forward and see the woman for
myself. She was poor, elderly, and painfully
plain; I stood abashed at the sight, felt I owed
Bellairs amends for the injustice of my thoughts,
and seeing him standing" by the rail in his usual
attitude of contemplation, walked up and addressed
him by name. *
“You seem very fond of the sea,” said I.
“I may really call it a passion, Mr. Dodd,” he
replied. “And the tall cataract haunted me like
382 T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R.
a passion,” he quoted. “I never weary of the sea,
sir. This is my first Ocean voyage. I find it a
glorious experience.” And Once more my dis-
barred lawyer dropped into poetry: “Roll on, thou
deep and dark blue ocean, roll!”
Though I had learned the piece in my reading-
book at school, I came into the world a little too
late on the one hand — and I dare say a little too
early on the other — to think much of Byron;
and the sonorous verse, prodigiously well deliv-
ered, struck me with surprise.
“You are fond of poetry, too?” I asked.
“I am a great reader,” he replied. “At one
time I had begun to amass quite a small but well-
selected library; and when that was scattered, I
still managed to preserve a few volumes — chiefly
of pieces designed for recitation — which have
been my travelling companions.” &
“Is that one of them?” I asked, pointing to the
volume in his hand.
“No, sir,” he replied, showing me a translation
of the Sorrows of Werther, “that is a novel I
picked up some time ago. It has afforded me
great pleasure, though immoral.”
“O, immorall” cried I, indignant as usual at
any implication of art and ethics.
“Surely you cannot “deny that, sir — if you
know the book,” he said. “The passion is illicit,
although certainly drawn with a good deal of
pathos. It is not a work one could possibly put
into the hands of a lady; which is to be regretted
On all accounts, for I do not know how it may
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R 383
strike you; but it seems to me — as a depiction,
if I make myself clear — to rise high above its
compeers, even famous compeers. Even in Scott,
Dickens, Thackeray, or Hawthorne, the Sentiment
of love appears to me to be frequently done less
justice to.” º:
“You are expressing a very general Opinion,”
said I. -
“Is that so, indeed, sir?” he exclaimed, with un-
mistakable excitement. “Is the book well known 2
and who was Go-eath? I am interested in that,
because upon the title-page the usual initials are
onnitted, and it runs simply ‘ by Go-eath.' Was
he an author of distinction ? Has he written other
Works P’’
Such was our first interview, the first of many;
and in all he showed the same attractive quali-
ties and defects. His taste for literature was native
and unaffected; his sentimentality, although ex-
treme and a thought ridiculous, was plainly genu-
ine. I wondered at my own innocent wonder. I
knew that Homer nodded, that Caesar had com-
piled a jest-book, that Turner lived by preference
the life of Puggy Booth, that Shelley made paper
boats, and Wordsworth wore green spectacles' and
with all this mass of evidence before me, I had
expected Bellairs to be entirely of one piece, sub-
dued to what he worked in, a spy all through.
As I abominated the man's trade, so I had ex-
pected to detest the man himself; and behold, I
liked him. Poor devil! he was essentially a man
on wires, all sensibility and tremor, brimful of
384 T H E W R E C K E R
a cheap poetry, not without parts, quite without
courage. His boldness was despair; the gulf be-
hind him thrust him on ; he was one of those
who might commit a murder rather than confess
the theft of a postage-stamp. I was sure that his
coming interview with Carthew rode his imagina-
tion like a nightmare; when the thought crossed
his mind, I used to think I knew of it, and that
the qualm appeared in his face visibly. Yet he
would never flinch: necessity stalking at his back,
famine (his old pursuer) talking in his ear; and
I used to wonder whether I most admired, or
most despised, this quivering heroism for evil.
The image that occurred to me after his visit
was just; I had been butted by a lamb; and the
phase of life that I was now studying might be
called the Revolt of a Sheep.
It could be said of him that he had learned in
Sorrow what he taught in Song — or wrong; and
his life was that of one of his victims. He was
born in the back parts of the State of New York;
his father a farmer, who became subsequently
bankrupt and went West. The lawyer and money-
1ender who had ruined this poor family seems to
have conceived in the end a feeling of remorse;
be turned the father out indeed, but he offered,
in compensation, to charge himself with one of
the sons: and Harry, the fifth child and already
sickly, was chosen to be left behind. He made
himself useful in the Office; picked up the scat-
tered rudiments of an education; read right and
left; attended and debated at the Young Men's
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 385
Christian Association; and in all his early years,
was the model for a good story-book. His land-
lady’s daughter was his bane. He showed me her
photograph; she was a big, handsome, dashing,
dressy, vulgar hussy, without character, without
tenderness, without mind, and (as the result
proved) without virtue. The sickly and timid boy
was in the house; he was handy; when she was
otherwise unoccupied, she used and played with
him: Romeo and Cressida; till in that dreary
life of a poor boy in a country town, she grew
to be the light of his days and the subject of his
dreams. He worked hard, like Jacob, for a wife;
he surpassed his patron in sharp practice; he was
made head clerk; and the same night, encouraged
by a hundred freedoms, depressed by the sense
of his youth and his infirmities, he offered mar-
riage and was received with laughter. Not a year
had passed, before his master, conscious of grow-
ing infirmities, took him for a partner; he pro-
posed again; he was accepted; led two years of
troubled married life; and awoke one morning to
find his wife had run away with a dashing drum-
mer, and had left him heavily in debt. The debt,
and not the drummer, was supposed to be the
cause of the hegira ; she had concealed her lia-
bilities, they were on the point of bursting forth,
she was weary of Bellairs; and she took the drum-
Imer as she might have taken a cab. The blow
disabled her husband; his partner was dead; he
was now alone in the business, for which he was
no longer fit; the debts hampered him; bank-
- 25
386 T H E W R E C K E R
ruptcy followed; and he fled from city to city,
falling daily into lower practice. It is to be con-
sidered that he had been taught, and had learned
as a delightful duty, a kind of business whose
highest merit is to escape the commentaries of the
bench : that of the usurious lawyer in a county
town. With this training, he was now shot, a
penniless stranger, into the deeper gulfs of cities;
and the result is scarce a thing to be surprised at.
“Have you heard of your wife again?” I asked.
He displayed a pitiful agitation. “I am afraid
you will think ill of me,” he said.
“Have you taken her back P” I asked.
“No, sir. I trust I have too much self-respect,”
he answered, “and, at least, I was never tempted.
She won't come, she dislikes, she seems to have
conceived a positive distaste for me, and yet I
was considered an indulgent husband.”
“You are still in relations, then P” I asked.
“I place myself in your hands, Mr. Dodd,” he
replied. “The world is very hard; I have found
it bitter hard myself — bitter hard to live. How
much worse for a woman, and one who has placed
herself (by her own misconduct, I am far from
denying that) in so unfortunate a position l’’
“In short, you support her?” I suggested.
“I cannot deny it. I practically do,” he ad-
mitted. “It has been a mill-stone round my neck.
But I think she is grateful. . You can see for
yourself.” •
He handed me a letter in a sprawling, ignorant
hand, but written with violet ink on fine, pink
T H E W R E C K E R 387
paper with a monogram. It was very foolishly
expressed, and I thought (except for a few ob-
vious cajoleries) very heartless and greedy in
meaning. The writer said she had been sick,
which I disbelieved; declared the last remittance
was all gone in doctor's bills, for which I took
the liberty of substituting dress, drink, and mono-
grams; and prayed for an increase, which I could
only hope had been denied her.
“I think she is really grateful ?” he asked, with
Some eagerness, as I returned it.
“I dare say,” said I. “Has she any claim on
you?”
“O, no, sir. I divorced her,” he replied. “I
have a very strong sense of self-respect in such
matters, and I divorced her immediately.”
“What sort of life is she leading now P’’ I
asked.
“I will not deceive you, Mr. Dodd. I do not
know, I make a point of not knowing; it appears
more dignified. I have been very harshly criti-
cised,” he added, sighing. w
It will be seen that I had fallen into an igno-
minious intimacy with the man I had gone out
to thwart. My pity for the creature, his admira–
tion for myself, his pleasure in my society, which
was clearly unassumed, were the bonds with which
I was fettered ; perhaps I should add, in honesty,
my own ill-regulated interest in the phases of life
and human character. The fact is (at least) that
we spent hours together daily, and that I was
nearly as much on the forward deck as in the
388 T H E W R E C K E R
saloon. Yet all the while I could never forget
he was a shabby trickster, embarked that very
moment in a dirty enterprise. I used to tell my-
self at first that our acquaintance was a stroke
of art, and that I was somehow fortifying Car-
thew. I told myself, I say; but I was no such
fool as to believe it, even then. In these circum-
stances I displayed the two chief qualities of my
character on the largest scale — my helplessness
and my instinctive love of procrastination — and
fell upon a course of action so ridiculous that I
blush when I recall it. -
We reached Liverpool one forenoon, the rain
falling thickly and insidiously on the filthy town.
I had no plans, beyond a sensible unwillingness
to let my rascal escape; and I ended by going to
the same inn with him, dining with him, walking
with him in the wet streets, and hearing with him
in a penny gaff that venerable piece, The Ticket-
of-Leave Man. It was one of his first visits to
a theatre, against which places of entertainment
he had a strong prejudice; and his innocent,
pompous talk, innocent Old quotations, and inno-
cent reverence for the character of Hawkshaw
delighted me beyond relief. In charity to myself,
I dwell upon and perhaps exaggerate my pleas-
11res. I have need of all conceivable excuses,
when I confess that I went to bed without one
word upon the matter of Carthew, but not with-
out having covenanted with my rascal for a visit
to Chester the next day. At Chester we did the
cathedral, walked on the walls, discussed Shake-
T H E w R EC K E R 389
speare and the musical glasses — and made a fresh
engagement for the morrow. I do not know, and
I am glad to have forgotten, how long these
travels were continued. We visited at least, by
singular zigzags, Stratford, Warwick, Coventry,
Gloucester, Bristol, Bath, and Wells. At each
stage we spoke dutifully of the scene and its as-
sociations; I sketched, the shyster spouted poetry
and copied epitaphs. Who could doubt we were
the usual Americans, travelling with a design Of
self-improvement? Who was to guess that One
was a blackmailer, trembling to approach the
scene of action — the other a helpless, amateur
detective, waiting on events. -
It is unnecessary to remark that none occurred,
or none the least suitable with my design of pro-
tecting Carthew. Two trifles, indeed, completed
though they scarcely changed my conception of the
shyster. The first was observed in Gloucester,
where we spent Sunday, and I proposed we should
hear service in the cathedral. To my surprise,
the creature had an ism of his own, to which he
was loyal ; and he left me to go alone to the
cathedral — or perhaps not to go at all — and
stole off down a deserted alley to some Bethel
or Ebenezer of the proper shade. When we met
again at lunch, I rallied him, and he grew restive.
“You need employ no circumlocutions with me,
Mr. Dodd,” he said, suddenly. “You regard my
behaviour from an unfavourable point of view:
you regard me, I much fear, as hypocritical.”
I was somewhat confused by the attack. “You
390 T H E W R E C K E R
know what I think of your trade,” I replied, lamely
and coarsely.
“Excuse me, if I seem to press the subject,”
he continued, “but if you think my life erroneous,
would you have me neglect the means of grace?
Because you consider me in the wrong on One
point, would you have me place myself on the
wrong in all? Surely, sir, the church is for the
sinner.”
“Did you ask a blessing on your present en-
terprise?” I sneered.
He had a bad attack of St. Vitus, his face was
changed, and his eyes flashed. “I will tell you
what I did ” he cried. “I prayed for an un-
fortunate man and a wretched woman whom he
tries to support.” -
I cannot pretend that I found any repartee.
The second incident was at Bristol, where I
lost sight of my gentleman some hours. From
this eclipse, he returned to me with thick speech,
wandering footsteps, and a back all whitened with
plaster. I had half expected, yet I could have
wept to see it. All disabilities were piled on that
weak back — domestic misfortune, nervous dis-
ease, a displeasing exterior, empty pockets, and
the slavery of vice.
I will never deny that our prolonged conjunction
was the result of double cowardice. Each was
afraid to leave the other, each was afraid to
speak, or knew not what to say. Save for my
ill-judged allusion at Gloucester, the subject upper-
most in both our minds was buried. Carthew, Stall-
T H E W R E C K E R 39 I
bridge-le-Carthew, Stallbridge-Minster—which we
had long since (and severally) identified to be the
nearest station — even the name of Dorsetshire
was studiously avoided. And yet we were mak-
ing progress all the time, tacking across broad
England like an unweatherly vessel on a wind;
approaching Our destination, not openly, but by a
Sort of flying Sap. And at length, I can Scarce
tell how, we were set down by a dilatory butt-
end of local train on the untenanted platform of
Stallbridge-Minster. -
The town was ancient and compact: a domino
of tiled houses and walled gardens, dwarfed by
the disproportionate bigness of the church. From
the midst of the thoroughfare which divided it
in half, fields and trees were visible at either end;
and through the sally-port of every street, there
flowed in from the country a silent invasion of
green grass. Bees and birds appeared to make
the majority of the inhabitants; every garden had
its row of hives, the eaves of every house were
plastered with the nests of swallows, and the pin-
nacles of the church were flickered about all day
long by a multitude of wings. The town was of
Roman foundation; and as I looked out that
afternoon from the low windows of the inn, I
should scarce have been surprised to see a cen-
turion coming up the street with a fatigue draft
of legionaries. In short, Stallbridge-Minster was
One of those towns which appear to be main-
tained by England for the instruction and delight
of the American rambler; to which he seems
392. "T H E W R E C K E R
guided by an instinct not less surprising than the
setter's; and which he visits and quits with equal
enthusiasm.
I was not at all in the humour of the tourist.
I had wasted weeks of time and accomplished
nothing; we were on the eve of the engagement,
and I had neither plans nor allies; I had thrust
myself into the trade of private providence and
amateur detective; I was spending money and
I was reaping disgrace. All the time, I kept tell-
ing myself that I must at least speak; that this
ignominious silence should have been broken long
ago, and must be broken now. I should have
broken it when he first proposed to come to
Stallbridge-Minster; I should have broken it in
the train; I should break it there and then, on
the inn doorstep, as the omnibus rolled off. I
turned toward him at the thought; he seemed
to wince, the words died on my lips, and I pro-
posed instead that we should visit the Minster.
While we were engaged upon this duty, it came
on to rain in a manner worthy of the tropics.
The vault reverberated; every gargoyle instantly
poured its full discharge; we waded back to the
inn, ankle deep in impromptu brooks; and the
rest of the afternoon sat weatherbound, hearken-
ing to the Sonorous deluge. For two hours I
talked of indifferent matters, laboriously feeding
the conversation; for two hours my mind was
quite made up to do my duty instantly — and at
each particular instant I postponed it till the next.
To screw up my faltering courage, I called at
T H E W R E C K E R 393
dinner for some sparkling wine. It proved when
it came to be detestable; I could not put it to
my lips; and Bellairs, who had as much palate as
a weevil, was left to finish it himself. Doubtless
the wine flushed him; doubtless he may have ob-
Served my embarrassment of the afternoon; doubt-
less he was conscious that we were approaching
a crisis, and that that evening, if I did not join
with him, I must declare myself an open enemy.
At least he fled. Dinner was done; this was the
time when I had bound myself to break my si-
lence; no more delays were to be allowed, no
more excuses received. I went up-stairs after some
tobacco; which I felt to be a mere necessity in
the circumstances; and when I returned, the man
was gone. The waiter told me he had left the
house.
The rain still plumped, like a vast shower-bath,
over the deserted town. The night was dark and
windless: the street lit glimmeringly from end to
end, lamps, house windows, and the reflections in
the rain-pools all contributing. From a public-
house on the other side of the way, I heard a
harp twang and a doleful voice upraised in the
“Larboard Watch,” “The Anchor 's Weighed,”
and other naval ditties. Where had my shyster
wandered? In all likelihood to that lyrical tavern;
there was no choice of diversion; in comparison
with Stallbridge-Minster on a rainy night, a sheep-
fold would seem gay.
Again I passed in review the points of my
interview, on which I was always constantly
394 T H E W R E C K E R
resolved so long as my adversary was absent from
the Scene: and again they struck me as inade-
quate. From this dispiriting exercise I turned
to the native amusements of the inn coffee-room,
and studied for some time the mezzotints that
frowned upon the wall. The railway guide, after
showing me how soon I could leave Stallbridge
and how quickly I could reach Paris, failed to
hold my attention. An illustrated advertisement
book of hotels brought me very low indeed; and
when it came to the local paper, I could have
wept. At this point, I found a passing solace
in a copy of Whittaker’s Almanac, and obtained
in fifty minutes more information than I have
yet been able to use.
Then a fresh apprehension assailed me. Sup-
pose Bellairs had given me the slip P suppose he
was now rolling on the road to Stallbridge-le-
Carthew P or perhaps there already and laying be-
fore a very white-faced auditor his threats and
propositions? A hasty person might have in-
stantly pursued. Whatever I am, I am not hasty,
and I was aware of three grave objections. In
the first place, I could not be certain that Bel-
lairs was gone. In the second, I had no taste
whatever for a long drive at that hour of the
night and in so merciless a rain. In the third,
I had no idea how I was to get admitted if I
went, and no idea what I should say if I got
admitted. “In short,” I concluded, “the whole
situation is the merest farce. You have thrust
yourself in where you had no business and have
T H E W R E C K E R 395
no power. You would be quite as useful in San
Francisco; far happier in Paris; and being (by
the wrath of God) at Stallbridge-Minster, the
wisest thing is to go quietly to bed.” On the
way to my room, I saw (in a flash) that which
I Ought to have done long ago, and which
it was now too late to think of — written to
Carthew, I mean, detailing the facts and de-
scribing Bellairs, letting him defend himself if
he were able, and giving him time to flee if
he were not. It was the last blow to my self-
respect; and I flung myself into my bed with
Contumely.
I have no guess what hour it was, when I was
wakened by the entrance of Bellairs carrying a
candle. He had been drunk, for he was bedaubed
with mire from head to foot; but he was now
Sober and under the empire of some violent
emotion which he controlled with difficulty. He
trembled visibly; and more than once, during the
interview which followed, tears suddenly and si-
lently overflowed his cheeks.
“I have to ask your pardon, sir, for this un-
timely visit,” he said. “I make no defence, I
have no excuse, I have disgraced myself, I am
properly punished ; I appear before you to ap-
peal to you in mercy for the most trifling aid
or, God help me! I fear I may go mad.”
“What on earth is wrong?” I asked.
“I have been robbed,” he said. “I have no
defence to offer; it was of my own fault, I am
properly punished.”
396 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
“But, gracious goodness me!” I cried, “who
is there to rob you in a place like this?”
“I can form' no opinion,” he replied. “I have
no idea. I was lying in a ditch inanimate. This
is a degrading confession, sir; I can only say in
self-defence that perhaps (in your good-nature)
you have made yourself partly responsible for my
shame. I am not used to these rich wines.”
“In what form was your money? Perhaps it
may be traced,” I suggested.
“It was in English sovereigns. I changed it
in New York; I got very good exchange,” he
said, and then, with a momentary outbreak, “God
in heaven, how I toiled for it !” he cried.
“That does n’t sound encouraging,” said I.
“It may be worth while to apply to the police,
but it does n’t sound a hopeful case.”
“And I have no hope in that direction,” said
Bellairs. “My hopes, Mr. Dodd, are all fixed
upon yourself. I could easily convince you that
a small, a very small advance, would be in the
nature of an excellent investment; but I prefer
to rely on your humanity. Our acquaintance began
on an unusual footing ; but you have now known
me for some time, we have been some time — I
was going to say we had been almost intimate.
Under the impulse of instinctive sympathy, I have
bared my heart to you, Mr. Dodd, as I have done
to few ; and I believe — I trust — I may say that
I feel sure — you heard me with a kindly sentiment.
This is what brings me to your side at this most
inexcusable hour. But put yourself in my place
T H E W R E C K E R 397
— how could I sleep — how could I dream of
sleeping, in this blackness of remorse and despair?
There was a friend at hand — so I ventured to
think of you; it was instinctive; I fled to your side,
as the drowning man clutches at a straw. These
expressions are not exaggerated, they Scarcely
serve to express the agitation of my mind. And
think, sir, how easily you can restore me to hope
and, I may say, to reason. A small loan, which
shall be faithfully repaid. Five hundred dollars
would be ample.” He watched me with burn-
ing eyes. “Four hundred would do. I believe,
Mr. Dodd, that I could manage with economy
on two.”
“And then you will repay me out of Carthew’s
pocket?” I said. “I am much obliged. But I
will tell you what I will do: I will see you on board
a steamer, pay your fare through to San Francisco,
and place fifty dollars in the purser's hands, to
be given you in New York.” te
He drank in my words; his face represented an
ecstasy of cunning thought. I could read there,
plain as print, that he but thought to overreach
111C.
“And what am I to do in 'Frisco P” he asked.
“I am disbarred, I have no trade, I cannot dig,
to beg — ” he paused in the citation. “And you
know that I am not alone,” he added, “ others
depend upon me.”
“I will write to Pinkerton,” I returned. “I
feel sure he can help you to some employment,
and in the meantime, and for three months after
398 T H E W R E C K E R
your arrival, he shall pay to yourself person-
ally, on the first and the fifteenth, twenty-five
dollars.”
“Mr. Dodd, I scarce believe you can be serious
in this offer,” he replied. “Have you forgotten
the circumstances of the case? Do you know these
people are the magnates of the section ? They
were spoken of to-night in the saloon; their wealth
must amount to many millions of dollars in real
estate alone; their house is one of the sights of
the locality, and you offer me a bribe of a few
hundred ” -
“I offer you no bribe, Mr. Bellairs, I give you
alms,” I returned. “I will do nothing to forward
you in your hateful business; yet I would not will-
ingly have you starve.”
“Give me a hundred dollars then, and be done
with it,” he cried.
“I will do what I have said, and neither more
nor less,” said I.
“Take care,” he cried. “You are playing a
fool's game; you are making an enemy for noth-
ing; you will gain nothing by this, I warn you of
it!” And then with one of his changes, “Seventy
dollars — only seventy — in mercy, Mr. Dodd,
in common charity. Don't dash the bowl from
my lips' You have a kindly heart. Think of
my position, remember my unhappy wife.”
“You should have thought of her before,” said
I. “I have made my offer, and I wish to
sleep.”
“Is that your last word, sir? Pray consider;
5
T H E W R E C K E R 399
pray weigh both sides: my misery, your Own
danger. I warn you — I beseech you; measure
it well before you answer,” so he half pleaded,
half threatened me, with clasped hands.
“My first word, and my last,” said I.
The change upon the man was shocking. In
the storm of anger that now shook him, the lees
of his intoxication rose again to the surface; his
face was deformed, his words insane with fury;
his pantomime, excessive in itself, was distorted
by an access of St. Vitus.
“You will perhaps allow me to inform you of
my cold opinion,” he began, apparently self-pos-
sessed, truly bursting with rage: “when I am a
glorified saint, I shall see you howling for a drop
of water and exult to see you. That your last
word ' Take it in your face, you spy, you false
friend, you fat hypocrite! I defy, I defy and
despise and spit upon you ! I’m on the trail, his
trail or yours, I smell blood, I’ll follow it on my
hands and knees, I’ll starve to follow it! I'll
hunt you down, hunt you, hunt you down If
I were strong, I'd tear your vitals out, here in
this room — tear them out — I'd tear them out!
Damn, damn, damn ! You think me weak P I
can bite, bite to the blood, bite you, hurt you,
disgrace you . . . .”
He was thus incoherently raging, when the
scene was interrupted by the arrival of the land-
lord and inn servants in various degrees of desha-
bille, and to them I gave my temporary lunatic in
charge.
4OO T H E W R E C K E R
“Take him to his room,” I said, “he’s only
drunk.”
These were my words; but I knew better. After
all my study of Mr. Bellairs, one discovery had
been reserved for the last moment: that of his
latent and essential madness.
CHAPTER XX
STALLBRIDGE_LE_CARTHEW
ONG before I was awake, the shyster had
disappeared, leaving his bill unpaid. I did
A 4 not need to inquire where he was gone,
I knew too well, I knew there was nothing left me
but to follow ; and about ten in the morning, set
forth in a gig for Stallbridge-le-Carthew.
The road, for the first quarter of the way, de-
serts the valley of the river, and crosses the summit
Of a chalk-down, grazed over by flocks of sheep
and haunted by innumerable larks. It was a pleas-
ant but a vacant scene, arousing but not holding
the attention; and my mind returned to the violent
passage of the night before. My thought of the
man I was pursuing had been greatly changed. I
conceived of him, somewhere in front of me, upon
his dangerous errand, not to be turned aside, not to
be stopped, by either fear or reason. I had called
him a ferret; I conceived him now as a mad dog.
Methought he would run, not walk; methought, as
he ran, that he would bark and froth at the lips;
methought, if the great wall of China were to rise
across his path, he would attack it with his nails.
Presently the road left the down, returned by
a precipitous descent into the valley of the Stall,


26
4O2 T. H. E. W. R. E. C. K. E. R.
and ran thenceforward among enclosed fields and
under the continuous shade of trees. I was told
we had now entered on the Carthew property. By
and by, a battlemented wall appeared on the left
hand, and a little after I had my first glimpse of
the mansion. It stood in the hollow of a bosky
park, crowded to a degree that surprised and even
displeased me, with huge timber and dense shrub-
beries of laurel and rhododendron. Even from
this low station and the thronging neighbourhood
of the trees, the pile rose conspicuous like a cathe-
dral. Behind, as we continued to skirt the park
wall, I began to make out a straggling town of
offices which became conjoined to the rear with
those of the home farm. On the left was an
Ornamental water sailed in by many swans. On
the right extended a flower garden, laid in the old
manner, and at this season of the year, as brilliant
as stained glass. The front of the house presented
a façade of more than sixty windows, surmounted
by a formal pediment and raised upon a terrace.
A wide avenue, part in gravel, part in turf, and
bordered by triple alleys, ran to the great double
gateways. It was impossible to look without sur-
prise on a place that had been prepared through so
many generations, had cost so many tons of minted
gold, and was maintained in order by so great a
company of emulous servants. And yet of these
there was no sign but the perfection of their work.
The whole domain was drawn to the line and
weeded like the front plot of some suburban
amateur; and I looked in vain for any belated
T H E W R E. C K E R 4O3
gardener, and listened in vain for any sounds of
labour. Some lowing of cattle and much calling
of birds alone disturbed the stillness, and even
the little hamlet, which clustered at the gates, ap-
peared to hold its breath in awe of its great neigh-
bour, like a troop of children who should have
Strayed into a king's anteroom.
The Carthew Arms, the small but very comfort-
able inn, was a mere appendage and Outpost of
the family whose name it bore. Engraved por-
traits of by-gone Carthews adorned the walls;
Fielding Carthew, Recorder of the city of London;
Major-General John Carthew in uniform, com-
manding some military operations; the Right Hon-
ourable Bailley Carthew, Member of Parliament
for Stallbridge, standing by a table and brandish-
ing a document; Singleton Carthew, Esquire, rep-
resented in the foreground of a herd of cattle —
doubtless at the desire of his tenantry who had
made him a compliment of this work of art; and
the Venerable Archdeacon Carthew, D.D., LL.D.,
A.M., laying his hand on the head of a little child
in a manner highly frigid and ridiculous. So far
as my memory serves me, there were no other
pictures in this exclusive hostelry; and I was not
surprised to learn that the landlord was an ex-
butler, the landlady an ex-lady's-maid, from the
great house; and that the bar-parlour was a sort
of perquisite of former servants.
To an American, the sense of the domination
of this family over so considerable tract of earth
was even oppressive; and as I considered their
4O4. T H E W R E C K E R
simple annals, gathered from the legends of the
engravings, surprise began to mingle with my
disgust. “Mr. Recorder ’’ doubtless occupies an
honourable post; but I thought that, in the course
of so many generations, one Carthew might have
clambered higher. The soldier had stuck at
Major-General; the churchmen bloomed unre-
marked in an archdiaconate: and though the Right
Honourable Bailley seemed to have sneaked into
the privy council, I have still to learn what he did
when he had got there. Such vast means, So long
a start, and such a modest standard of achieve-
ment, struck in me a strong sense of the dulness
of that race.
I found that to come to the hamlet and not visit
the Hall, would be regarded as a slight. To feed
the Swans, to see the peacocks and the Raphaels
— for these commonplace people actually possessed
two Raphaels — to risk life and limb among
a famous breed of cattle called the Carthew Chil-
linghams, and to do homage to the sire (still
living) of Donibristle, a renowned winner of the
Oaks: these, it seemed, were the inevitable sta-
tions of the pilgrimage. I was not so foolish as
to resist, for I might have need before I was done
of general good-will; and two pieces of news fell
in which changed my resignation to alacrity. It
appeared in the first place, that Mr. Norris was
from home “travelling ”; in the second, that a
visitor had been before me and already made the
tour of the Carthew curiosities. I thought I knew
who this must be; I was anxious to learn what he
T H E W R E C K E R 405
had done and seen; and fortune so far favoured
me that the under-gardener singled out to be my
guide had already performed the same function
for my predecessor.
“Yes, sir,” he said, “an American gentleman
right enough. At least, I don’t think he was quite
a gentleman, but a very civil person.”
The person, it seems, had been civil enough to
be delighted with the Carthew Chillinghams, to
perform the whole pilgrimage with rising admira–
tion, and to have almost prostrated himself before
the shrine of Donibristle's sire.
“He told me, sir,” continued the gratified un-
der-gardener, “that he had often read of ‘the
stately 'omes of England, but ours was the first
he had the chance to see. When he came to the
'ead of the long alley, he fetched his breath. ‘This
is indeed a lordly domain l’ he cries. And it was
natural he should be interested in the place, for
it seems Mr. Carthew had been kind to him in the
States. In fact, he seemed a grateful kind of per-
son, and wonderful taken up with flowers.”
I heard this story with amazement. The phrases
quoted told their own tale; they were plainly from
the shyster's mint. A few hours back I had seen
him a mere bedlamite and fit for a strait-waist-
coat; he was penniless in a strange country; it
was highly probable he had gone without, break-
fast; the absence of Norris must have been a
crushing blow ; the man (by all reason) should
have been despairing. And now I heard of
him, clothed and in his right mind, deliberate,
4O6 T H E W R E C K E R
insinuating, admiring vistas, Smelling flowers, and
talking like a book. The strength of character
implied amazed and daunted me.
“This is curious,” I said to the under-gardener.
“I have had the pleasure of Some acquaintance
with Mr. Carthew myself; and I believe none of
our western friends ever were in England. Who
can this person be? He could n’t — no, that 's
impossible, he could never have had the impu-
dence. His name was not Bellairs?”
“I did n’t 'ear the name, sir. Do you know
anything against him P’’ cried my guide.
“Well,” said I, “he is certainly not the person
Carthew would like to have here in his absence.”
“Good gracious me!” exclaimed the gardener.
“He was so pleasant spoken, too; I thought he
was some form of a schoolmaster. Perhaps, sir,
you would n’t mind going right up to Mr. Denman P
I recommended him to Mr. Denman, when he had
done the grounds. Mr. Denman is our butler, sir,”
he added.
The proposal was welcome, particularly as
affording me a graceful retreat from the neigh-
bourhood of the Carthew Chillinghams; and, giv-
ing up our projected circuit, we took a short cut
through the shrubbery and across the bowling
green to the back quarters of the Hall.
The bowling green was surrounded by a great
hedge of yew, and entered by an archway in the
quick. As we were issuing from this passage, my
conductor arrested me.
“The Honourable Lady Ann Carthew,” he said,
T H E W R E C K E R 407
in an august whisper. And looking Over his
shoulder, I was aware of an old lady with a Stick,
hobbling somewhat briskly along the garden path.
She must have been extremely handsome in her
youth ; and even the limp with which she walked
could not deprive her of an unusual and almost
menacing dignity of bearing. Melancholy was
impressed besides on every feature, and her eyes,
as she looked straight before her, seemed to con-
template misfortune. -
“She seems sad,” said I, when she had hobbled
past and we had resumed our walk.
“She enjoy rather poor spirits, sir,” responded
the under-gardener. “Mr. Carthew — the old
gentleman, I mean — died less than a year ago;
Lord Tillibody, her ladyship's brother, two months
after ; and then there was the sad business about
the young gentleman. Killed in the 'unting-field,
sir; and her ladyship's favourite. The present Mr.
Norris has never been so equally.”
“So I have understood,” said I, persistently,
and (I think) gracefully pursuing my inquiries
and fortifying my position as a family friend.
“Dear, dear, how sad ' And has this change —-
poor Carthew’s return, and all — has this not
mended matters P.”
“Well, no, sir, not a sign of it,” was the reply.
“Worse, we think, than ever.”
“Dear, dear!” said I, again.
“When Mr. Norris arrived, she did seem glad
to see him,” he pursued; “and we were all pleased,
I’m sure; for no one knows the young gentleman
5
408 T H E W R E C K E R
but what likes him. Ah, sir, it did n’t last long !
That very night they had a talk, and fell out or
Something; her ladyship took on most painful; it
was like old days, but worse. And the next morn-
ing Mr. Norris was off again upon his travels.
* Denman,’ he said to Mr. Denman, Denman, I’ll
never come back, he said, and shook him by the
‘and. I would n’t be saying all this to a stranger,
sir,” added my informant, overcome with a Sud-
den fear lest he had gone too far.
He had indeed told me much, and much that
was unsuspected by himself. On that stormy
night of his return, Carthew had told his story;
the old lady had more upon her mind than mere
bereavements; and among the mental pictures
on which she looked, as she walked staring down
the path, was one of Midway Island and the
Flying Scud.
Mr. Denman heard my inquiries with discom-
posure, but informed me the shyster was already
gone.
“Gone?” cried I. “Then what can he have
come for P One thing I can tell you; it was not
to see the house.”
“I don’t see it could have been anything else,”
replied the butler. -
“You may depend upon it it was,” said T.
“And whatever it was, he has got it. By the
way, where is Mr. Carthew at present? I was
sorry to find he was from home.”
“He is engaged in travelling, sir,’
butler, drily.
5
replied the
T H E W R E C K E R 4O9
“Ah, bravo!” cried I. “I laid a trap for you
there, Mr. Denman. Now I need not ask you; I
am Sure you did not tell this prying stranger.”
“To be sure not, sir,” said the butler.
I went through the form of “shaking him by
the 'and ’’ — like Mr. Norris — not, however,
with genuine enthusiasm. For I had failed in-
gloriously to get the address for myself; and I
felt a sure conviction that Bellairs had done better,
Or he had still been here and still cultivating Mr.
Denman.
I had escaped the grounds and the cattle; I
could not escape the house. A lady with silver
hair, a slender silver voice, and a stream of insig-
nificant information not to be diverted, led me
through the picture gallery, the music-room, the
great dining-room, the long drawing-room, the
Indian room, the theatre, and every corner (as I
thought) of that interminable mansion. There
was but one place reserved ; the garden-room,
whither Lady Ann had now retired. I paused a
Imoment on the outside of the door, and smiled
to myself. The situation was indeed strange, and
these thin boards divided the secret of the Flying
Scud.
All the while, as I went to and fro, I was con-
sidering the visit and departure of Bellairs. That
he had got the address, I was quite certain : that
he had not got it by direct questioning, I was con-
vinced; some ingenuity, Some lucky accident, had
served him. A similar chance, an equal ingenuity,
was required; or I was left helpless, the ferret
416 T H E W R E C K E R
must run down his prey, the great oaks fall, the
Raphaels be scattered, the house let to some stock-
broker suddenly made rich, and the name which
Inow filled the mouths of five or six parishes
dwindle to a memory. Strange that such great
matters, so old a mansion, a family SO ancient and
so dull, should come to depend for perpetuity upon
the intelligence, the discretion, and the cunning
of a Latin-Quarter student | What Bellairs had
done, I must do likewise. Chance or ingenuity,
ingenuity or chance — so I continued to ring the
changes as I walked away down the avenue, cast-
ing back Occasional glances at the red brick façade
and the twinkling windows of the house. How
was I to command chance? where was I to find
the ingenuity ? -
These reflections brought me to the door of the
inn. And here, pursuant to my policy of keeping
well with all men, I immediately smoothed my
brow, and accepted (being the only guest in the
house) an invitation to dine with the family in
the bar-parlour. I sat down accordingly with Mr.
Higgs the ex-butler, Mrs. Higgs the ex-lady's-
Imaid, and Miss Agnes Higgs, their frowsy-headed
little girl, the least promising and (as the event
showed) the most useful of the lot. The talk ran
endlessly on the great house and the great family;
the roast beef, the Yorkshire pudding, the jam-
roll, and the cheddar cheese came and went, and
still the stream flowed on; near four generations
Of Carthews were touched upon without eliciting
One point of interest; and we had killed Mr. Henry
T H E W R E C K E R 4 II
in “the 'unting field,” with a vast elaboration of
painful circumstance, and buried him in the midst
of a whole Sorrowing county, before I could so
much as manage to bring upon the stage my
intimate friend, Mr. Norris. At the name, the
ex-butler grew diplomatic, and the ex-lady's-maid
tender. He was the only person of the whole
featureless Series who seemed to have accom-
plished anything worth mention; and his achieve-
ments, poor dog, seemed to have been confined
to going to the devil and leaving some regrets.
He had been the image of the Right Honourable
Bailley, one of the lights of that dim house, and
a career of distinction had been predicted of him
in consequence almost from the cradle. But before
he was out of long clothes, the cloven foot began
to show ; he proved to be no Carthew, developed
a taste for low pleasures and bad company, went
birds-nesting with a stable-boy before he was
eleven, and when he was near twenty, and might
have been expected to display at least some rudi-
ments of the family gravity, rambled the county
Over with a knapsack, making sketches and keep-
ing company in wayside inns. He had no pride
about him, I was told ; he would sit down with
any man; and it was somewhat woundingly im-
plied that I was indebted to this peculiarity for
my own acquaintance with the hero. Unhappily,
Mr. Norris was not only eccentric, he was fast.
His debts were still remembered at the Univer-
sity; still more, it appeared, the highly humour-
ous circumstances attending his expulsion. “ He
4. I 2 T H E W R E C K E R
was always fond of his jest,” commented Mrs.
Higgs.
“That he were ! ” Observed her lord.
But it was after he went into the diplomatic
Service that the real trouble began.
“It seems, sir, that he went the pace extraordi-
nary,” said the ex-butler, with a solemn gusto.
“His debts were somethink awful,” said the
lady's-maid. “And as nice a young gentleman
all the time as you would wish to see l’’
“When word came to Mr. Carthew’s ears, the
turn up was 'orrible,” continued Mr. Higgs. “I
remember it as if it was yesterday. The bell was
rung after her la'ship was gone, which I answered
it myself, supposing it were the coffee. There
was Mr. Carthew on his feet. ‘’Iggs,’ he says,
pointing with his stick, for he had a turn of the
gout, order the dog-cart instantly for this son
of mine which has disgraced hisself.” Mr. Norris
say nothink: he sit there with his 'ead down,
making belief to be looking at a walnut. You
might have bowled me over with a straw,” said
Mr. Higgs.
“Had he done anything very bad?” I asked.
“Not he, Mr. Dodsley !” cried the lady – it
was so she had conceived my name. “He never
did anythink to all really wrong in his poor life.
The 'ole affair was a disgrace. It was all rank
favouritising.” -
“Mrs. 'Iggs' Mrs. 'Iggs!” cried the butler,
warningly.
“Well, what do I care?” retorted the lady,
T H E W R E C K E R 4 IS
shaking her ringlets. “You know it was your-
self, Mr. 'Iggs, and so did every member of the
Staff.”
While I was getting these facts and opinions,
I by no means neglected the child. She was not
attractive; but fortunately she had reached the
corrupt age of seven, when half a crown appears
about as large as a saucer and is fully as rare as
the dodo. For a shilling down, sixpence in her
money-box, and an American gold dollar which
I happened to find in my pocket, I bought the
creature soul and body. She declared her inten-
tion to accompany me to the ends of the earth;
and had to be chidden by her sire for drawing
comparisons between myself and her uncle Wil-
liam, highly damaging to the latter.
Dinner was scarce done, the cloth was not yet
removed, when Miss Agnes must needs climb into
my lap with her stamp album, a relic of the gen-
erosity of Uncle William. There are few things
I despise more than old stamps, unless perhaps it
be crests; for cattle (from the Carthew Chilling-
hams down to the old gate-keeper's milk cow in
the lane) contempt is far from being my first
sentiment. But it seemed I was doomed to pass
that day in viewing curiosities, and smothering a
yawn, I devoted myself once more to tread the
well-known round. I fancy Uncle William must
have begun the collection himself and tired of it,
for the book (to my surprise) was quite respecta-
bly filled. There were the varying shades of the
English penny, Russians with the coloured heart,
4 I4 T H E W R E C K E R
old undecipherable Thurn-und-Taxis, obsolete tri-
angular Cape of Good Hopes, Swan Rivers with
the Swan, and Guianas with the sailing ship.
Upon all these I looked with the eyes of a fish
and the Spirit of a sheep; I think indeed I was
at times asleep; and it was probably in one of
these moments that I capsized the album, and there
fell from the end of it, upon the floor, a consid—
erable number of what I believe to be called
“exchanges.” *
Here, against all probability, my chance had
come to me; for as I gallantly picked them up,
I was struck with the disproportionate amount of
five-sous French stamps. Some one, I reasoned,
must write very regularly from France to the
Ineighbourhood of Stallbridge-le-Carthew. Could
it be Norris P. On one stamp I made out an
initial C; upon a second I got as far as C. H.;
beyond which point, the postmark used was in
every instance undecipherable. C H., when you
consider that about a quarter of the towns in
France begin with “chateau,” was an insufficient
clue; and I promptly annexed the plainest of the
collection in order to consult the post-office.
The wretched infant took me in the fact.
“Naughty man, to 'teal my 'tamp !” she cried;
and when I would have brazened it off with a
denial, recovered and displayed the stolen article.
My position was now highly false: and I be-
lieve it was in mere pity that Mrs. Higgs came
to my rescue with a welcome proposition. If the
gentleman was really interested in stamps, she
T H E W R E C K E R 4. T 5
said, probably supposing me a monomaniac on the
point, he should see Mr. Denman's album. Mr.
Denman had been collecting forty years, and his
collection was said to be worth a mint of money.
“Agnes,” she went on, “if you were a kind little
girl, you would run over to the 'All, tell Mr.
Denman there 's a connaisseer in the 'ouse, and
ask him if one of the young gentlemen might
bring the album down.”
“I should like to see his exchanges too,” I
cried, rising to the occasion. “I may have Some
of mine in my pocket-book and we might trade.”
Half an hour later, Mr. Denman arrived him-
self with a most unconscionable volume under his
arm. “Ah, sir,” he cried, “when I 'eard you
was a collector, I dropped all. It 's a Saying of
mine, Mr. Dodsley, that collecting stamps makes
all collectors kin. It 's a bond, sir; it creates a
bond.” -
Upon the truth of this, I cannot say; but there
is no doubt that the attempt to pass yourself off
for a collector falsely creates a precarious situation.
“Ah, here's the second issue !” I would say,
after consulting the legend at the side. “The
pink — no, I mean the mauve – yes, that 's the
beauty of this lot. Though of course, as you
say,” I would hasten to add, “this yellow on the
thin paper is more rare.”
Indeed I must certainly have been detected, had
I not plied Mr. Denman in self-defence with his
favourite liquor — a port so excellent that it could
never have ripened in the cellar of the Carthew
416 T H E W R. E. C. K. ER
Arms, but must have been transported, under cloud
of night, from the neighbouring vaults of the great
house. At each threat of exposure, and in par-
ticular whenever I was directly challenged for an
opinion, I made haste to fill the butler's glass,
and by the time we had got to the exchanges, he
was in a condition in which no stamp collector
need be seriously feared. God forbid I should
hint that he was drunk; he seemed incapable of
the necessary liveliness; but the man’s eyes were
set, and so long as he was suffered to talk with-
out interruption, he seemed careless of my heed-
ing him.
In Mr. Denman's exchanges, as in those of little
Agnes, the same peculiarity was to be remarked,
an undue preponderance of that despicably com-
mon stamp, the French twenty-five centimes. And
bere joining them in stealthy review, I found the
C and the C H ; then something of an A just
following; and then a terminal Y. Here was al-
most the whole name spelled out to me; it seemed
familiar, too; and yet for some time I could not
bridge the imperfection. Then I came upon an-
other stamp, in which an L was legible before
the Y, and in a moment the word leaped up com-
plete. Chailly, that was the name; Chailly-en-
Bière, the post town of Barbizon — ah, there was
the very place for any man to hide himself —
there was the very place for Mr. Norris, who had
rambled over England making sketches — the very
place for Goddedaal, who had left a palette knife
On board the Flying Scud. Singular, indeed, that
T H E W R E C K E R 417
while I was drifting over England with the
shyster, the man we were in quest of awaited
me at my own ultimate destination.
Whether Mr. Denman had shown his album
to Bellairs, whether, indeed, Bellairs could have
caught (as I did) this hint from an obliterated
postmark, I shall never know, and it mattered not.
We were equal now ; my task at Stallbridge-le-
Carthew was accomplished; my interest in postage-
stamps died shamelessly away; the astonished
Denman was bowed out; and ordering the horse
to be put in, I plunged into the study of the
time-table.
27
CHAPTER XXI
FACE TO FACE
FELL from the skies on Barbizon about two
o'clock of a September afternoon. It is the
R. dead hour of the day; all the workers have
gone painting, all the idlers strolling, in the forest
or the plain; the winding causeway street is Soli-
tary, and the inn deserted. I was the more pleased
to find one of my old companions in the dining-
room; his town clothes marked him for a man
in the act of departure; and indeed his portman-
teau lay beside him on the floor.
“Why, Stennis,” I cried, “you ’re the last man
I expected to find here.” -
“You won’t find me here long,” he replied.
“ King Pandion he is dead; all his friends are
lapped in lead. For men of our antiquity, the
poor old shop is played out.”
“I have had playmates, I have had companions,”
I quoted in return. We were both moved, I think,
to meet again in this scene of our old pleasure
parties SO unexpectedly, after so long an interval,
and both already so much altered.
“That is the sentiment,” he replied. “All, all
are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been here
a week, and the only living creature who seemed

T H E W R E C K E R 4 IQ
to recollect me was the Pharaon. Bar the Sirons,
of course, and the perennial Bodmer.”
“Is there no survivor P’’ I inquired.
“Of our geological epoch P not one,” he replied.
“This is the city of Petra in Edom.”
“And what sort of Bedouins encamp among
the ruins?” I asked.
“Youth, Dodd, youth ; blooming, conscious
youth,” he returned. “Such a gang, such rep-
tiles! to think we were like that I wonder Siron
did n’t sweep us from his premises.”
“Perhaps we were n’t so bad,” I suggested.
“Don’t let me depress you,” said he. “We
were both Anglo-Saxons, anyway, and the only
redeeming feature to-day is another.”
The thought of my quest, a moment driven out
by this rencounter, revived in my mind. “Who
is he P” I cried. “Tell me about him.”
“What, the Redeeming Feature? " said he.
“Well, he 's a very pleasing creature, rather dim,
and dull, and genteel, but really pleasing. He
is very British, though, the artless Briton | Per-
haps you’ll find him too much so for the trans-
atlantic nerves. Come to think of it, on the other
hand, you ought to get on famously. He is an
admirer of your great republic in one of its (ex-
cuse me) shoddiest features; he takes in and
Sedulously reads a lot of American papers. I
warned you he was artless.”
“What papers are they P” cried I.
“San Francisco papers,” said he. “He gets a
bale of them about twice a week, and studies them
426 T H E w RE C K E R
like the Bible. That’s one of his weaknesses; .
another is to be incalculably rich. He has taken
Masson's old studio — you remember F — at the
corner of the road; he has furnished it regardless
of expense, and lives there surrounded with wins
fins and works of art. When the youth of to-day
goes up to the Caverne des Brigands to make
punch — they do all that we did, like some nau-
Seous form of ape (I never appreciated before what
a creature of tradition mankind is) — this Mad-
den follows with a basket of champagne. I told
them he was wrong, and the punch tasted better;
but he thought the boys liked the style of the
thing, and I suppose they do. He is a very good-
natured Soul, and very melancholy, and rather a
helpless. O, and he has a third weakness which
I came near forgetting. He paints. He has never
been taught, and he 's past thirty, and he paints.”
“How P’’ I asked. - -
“Rather well, I think,” was the reply. “That’s
the annoying part of it. See for yourself. That
panel is his.” * * -
I stepped toward the window. It was the old
familiar room, with the tables set like a Greek P,
and the sideboard, and the aphasiac piano, and
the panels on the wall. There were Romeo and
Juliet, Antwerp from the river, Enfield’s ships.
among the ice, and the huge huntsman winding
a huge horn; mingled with them a few new ones,
the thin crop of a succeeding generation, not better
and not worse. It was to one of these I was di-
rected; a thing coarsely and wittily handled, mostly
T H E W R E C K E R 4.2. I
with the palette knife, the colour in some parts
excellent, the canvas in others loaded with mere
clay. But it was the scene, and not the art or
want of it, that riveted my notice. The fore-
ground was of sand and scrub and wreckwood ;
in the middle distance the many-hued and smooth
expanse of a lagoon, enclosed by a wall of break-
ers; beyond, a blue strip of Ocean. The sky was
cloudless, and I could hear the surf break. For
the place was Midway Island; the point of view
the very spot at which I had landed with the cap-
tain for the first time, and from which I had re-
embarked the day before we sailed. I had already
been gazing for some seconds, before my attention
was arrested by a blur on the sea-line; and stoop-
ing to look, I recognised the smoke of a steamer.
“Yes,” said I, turning towards Stennis, “it has
nerit. What is it?”
“A fancy piece,” he returned. “That’s what
pleased me. So few of the fellows in our time
had the imagination of a garden snail.”
“Madden, you say his name is P” I pursued.
“Madden,” he repeated.
“Has he travelled much P” I inquired.
“I have nºt an idea. He is one of the 1east
autobiographical of men. He sits, and Smokes,
and giggles, and sometimes he makes Small jests;
but his contributions to the art of pleasing are
generally confined to looking like a gentleman
and being one. No,” added Stennis, “he’ll never
suit you, Dodd; you like more head on your liquor.
You ’11 find him as dull as ditch water.”
422 T H E W R E C K E R
“Has he big blond side-whiskers like tusks?”
I asked, mindful of the photograph of Goddedaal.
“Certainly not: why should he?” was the
reply. -
“Does he write many letters?” I continued.
“God knows,” says Stennis. “What is wrong
with you? I never saw you taken this way
before.”
“The fact is, I think I know the man,” said I.
“I think I'm looking for him. I rather think he
is my long-lost brother.”
“Not twins, anyway,” returned Stennis.
And about the same time, a carriage driving
up to the inn, he took his departure.
I walked till dinner-time in the plain, keeping
to the fields; for I instinctively shunned observa-
tion, and was racked by many incongruous and
impatient feelings. Here was a man whose voice
I had once heard, whose doings had filled so many
days of my life with interest and distress, whom
I had lain awake to dream of like a lover; and now
his hand was on the door; now we were to meet;
now I was to learn at last the mystery of the sub-
stituted crew. The sun went down over the plain
of the Angelus, and as the hour approached, my
courage lessened. I let the laggard peasants pass
me on the homeward way. The lamps were lit,
the soup was served, the company were all at table,
and the room sounded already with multitudi-
nous talk before I entered. I took my place and
found I was opposite to Madden. Over six feet
high and well set up, the hair dark and streaked
T H E W R E C K E R 423
with silver, the eyes dark and kindly, the mouth
very good-natured, the teeth admirable; linen and
hands exquisite; English clothes, an English voice,
an English bearing : the man stood out conspicu-
Ous from the company. Yet he had made himself
at home, and seemed to enjoy a certain quiet pop-
ularity among the noisy boys of the table d'hôte.
He had an odd, silver giggle of a laugh, that
Sounded nervous even when he was really amused,
and accorded ill with his big stature and manly,
melancholy face. This laugh fell in continually
all through dinner like the note of the triangle
in a piece of modern French music; and he had
at times a kind of pleasantry, rather of manner
than of words, with which he started or main-
tained the merriment. He took his share in these
diversions, not so much like a man in high spirits,
but like one of an approved good-nature, habit-
ually self-forgetful, accustomed to please and to
follow others. I have remarked in old soldiers
much the same smiling sadness and Sociable Self-
effacement. -
I feared to look at him, lest my glances should
betray my deep excitement, and chance served me
so well that the soup was scarce removed before
we were naturally introduced. My first sip of
Château Siron, a vintage from which I had been
long estranged, startled me into speech.
“O, this '11 never do!” I cried, in English.
“Dreadful stuff, is n’t it?” said Madden, in the
same language. “Do let me ask you to share my
bottle. They call it Chambertin, which it is n’t;
424. T H E W R E C K E R
but it’s fairly palatable, and there's nothing in
this house that a man can drink at all.”
I accepted ; anything would do that paved the
way to better knowledge.
“Your name is Madden, I think,” said I. “My
old friend Stennis told me about you when I
came.” -
“Yes: I am sorry he went; I feel such a Grand-
father William, alone among all these lads,” he
replied. &
“My name is Dodd,” I resumed.
“Yes,” said he, “ so Madame Siron told me.”
“Dodd, of San Francisco,” I continued. “Late
of Pinkerton and Dodd.”
“Montana Block? I think,” said he.
“The same,” said I. º
Neither of us looked at the other; but I could
see his hand deliberately making bread pills.
“That’s a nice thing of yours,” I pursued,
“that panel. The foreground is a little clayey,
perhaps, but the lagoon is excellent.”
“You ought to know,” said he.
“Yes,” returned I, “I’m rather a good judge
of − that panel.” -
There was a considerable pause.
“You know a man by the name of Bellairs,
don’t you?” he resumed. -
“Ah!” cried I, “you have heard from Dr.
Urquart?” -
“This very morning,” he replied.
“Well, there is no hurry about Bellairs,” said
I. “It’s rather a long story and rather a silly
T H E W R E C K E R 4.25
one. But I think we have a good deal to tell each
other, and perhaps we had better wait till we are
more alone.”
“I think so,” said he. “Not that any of these
fellows know English, but we’ll be more com-
fortable over at my place. Your health, Dodd.”
And we took wine together across the table.
Thus had this singular introduction passed un-
perceived in the midst of more than thirty persons,
art students, ladies in dressing-gowns and cov-
ered with rice powder, six foot of Siron whisking
dishes over our head, and his noisy sons clattering
in and out with fresh relays.
“One question more,” said I. “Did you recog-
nise my voice?”
“Your voice?” he repeated. “How should
I? I had never heard it — we have never met.”
“And yet, we have been in conversation before
now,” said I, “ and I asked you a question which
you never answered, and which I have since
had many thousand better reasons for putting to
myself.” *
He turned suddenly white. “Good God!” he
cried, “are you the man in the telephone?”
I nodded.
“Well, well!” said he. “It would take a good
deal of magnanimity to forgive you that. What
nights I have passed ! That little whisper has
whistled in my ear ever since, like the wind in a
keyhole. Who could it be? What could it mean?
I suppose I have had more real, Solid misery out
of that . . . .” He paused, and looked troubled.
426 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
“Though I had more to bother me, or ought to
have,” he added, and slowly emptied his glass.
“It seems we were born to drive each other
crazy with conundrums,” said I. “I have often
thought my head would split.”
Carthew burst into his foolish laugh. “And
yet neither you nor I had the worst of the puzzle,”
he cried. “ There were others deeper in.”
“And who were they P” I asked.
“The underwriters,” said he.
“Why, to be sure,” cried I. “I never thought
of that. What could they make of it?”
“Nothing,” replied Carthew. “It could n’t be
explained. They were a crowd of small dealers
at Lloyd's who took it up in syndicate; one of them
has a carriage now ; and people say he is a deuce
of a deep fellow, and has the makings of a great
financier. Another furnished a small villa on the
profits. But they're all hopelessly muddled; and
when they meet each other, they don’t know where
to look, like the Augurs.”
Dinner was no sooner at an end, than he carried
me across the road to Masson’s old studio. It
was strangely changed. On the walls were tap-
estry, a few good etchings, and some amazing
pictures — a Rousseau, a Corot, a really superb
old Crome, a Whistler, and a piece which my host
claimed (and I believe) to be a Titian. The
room was furnished with comfortable English
smoking-room chairs, Some American rockers, and
an elaborate business table; spirits and Soda-water
(with the mark of Schweppe, no less) stood ready
T H E W R E C K E R 427
on a butler's tray, and in one corner, behind a
half-drawn curtain, I spied a camp-bed and a ca-
pacious tub. Such a room in Barbizon astonished
the beholder, like the glories of the cave of Monte
Cristo.
“Now,” said he, “we are quiet. Sit down, if
you don’t mind, and tell me your story all
through.”
I did as he asked, beginning with the day when
Jim showed me the passage in the Daily Occi-
dental, and winding up with the stamp album
and the Chailly postmark. It was a long busi-
iness; and Carthew made it longer, for he was
insatiable of details; and it had struck midnight
on the old eight-day clock in the corner, before
I had made an end. -
“And now,” said he, “turn about: I must tell
you my side, much as I hate it. Mine is a beastly
story. You ’11 wonder how I can sleep. I’ve
told it once before, Mr. Dodd.”
“To Lady Ann?” I asked.
“As you suppose,” he answered ; “ and to say
the truth, I had sworn never to tell it again.
Only, you seem somehow entitled to the thing;
you have paid dear enough, God knows; and God
knows I hope you may like it, now you've got it!”
With that he began his yarn. A new day had
dawned, the cocks crew in the village and the early
woodmen were afoot, when he concluded.
CHAPTER XXII
THE REMITTANCE MAN
Norris, was heavily built and feebly vital-
ised, sensitive as a musician, dull as a
sheep, and conscientious as a dog. He took his
position with seriousness, even with pomp; the
long rooms, the silent servants, seemed in his eyes
like the observances of some religion of which he
was the mortal god. He had the stupid man’s
intolerance of stupidity in others; the vain man’s
exquisite alarm lest it should be detected in him-
self. And on both sides Norris irritated and
offended him. He thought his son a fool, and
he suspected that his son returned the compliment
with interest. The history of their relation was
simple; they met seldom, they quarrelled often.
To his mother, a fiery, pungent, practical woman,
already disappointed in her husband and her
elder son, Norris was only a fresh disappoint-
ment. s -
Yet the lad's faults were no great matter; he
was diffident, placable, passive, unambitious, un-
enterprising; life did not much attract him; he
watched it like a curious and dull exhibition, not
much amused, and not tempted in the least to
Sº CARTHEW, the father of
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 429
take a part. He beheld his father ponderously
grinding sand, his mother fierily breaking butter-
flies, his brother labouring at the pleasures of the
Hawbuck with the ardour of a soldier in a doubt-
ful battle; and the vital sceptic looked on won-
dering. They were careful and troubled about
many things; for him there seemed not even one
thing needful. He was born disenchanted, the
world’s promises awoke no echo in his bosom,
the world’s activities and the world’s distinctions
seemed to him equally without a base in fact. He
liked the open air; he liked comradeship, it mat-
tered not with whom, his comrades were only
a remedy for solitude. And he had a taste for
painted art. An array of fine pictures looked
upon his childhood and from these roods of jew-
elled canvas he received an indelible impression.
The gallery at Stallbridge betokened generations
of picture lovers; Norris was perhaps the first of
his race to hold the pencil. The taste was gen-
uine, it grew and strengthened with his growth :
and yet he suffered it to be suppressed with scarce
a struggle. Time came for him to go to Oxford,
and he resisted faintly. He was stupid, he said ;
it was no good to put him through the mill; he
wished to be a painter. The words fell on his
father like a thunderbolt, and Norris made haste
to give way. “It did n’t really matter, don't you
know P’’ said he. “And it seemed an awful shame
to vex the old boy.” s
To Oxford he went obediently, hopelessly; and
at Oxford became the hero of a certain circle.
43O T H E W R E C K E R
He was active and adroit; when he was in the
humour, he excelled in many sports; and his singu-
lar melancholy detachment gave him a place apart.
He set a fashion in his clique; envious under-
graduates sought to parody his unaffected lack
of zeal and fear; it was a kind of new Byronism
more composed and dignified. “ Nothing really
mattered ‘’; among other things, this formula em-
braced the dons; and though he always meant to
be civil, the effect on the college authorities was
one of startling rudeness. His indifference cut
like insolence; and in some outbreak of his con-
stitutional levity (the complement of his melan-
choly) he was “sent down '' in the middle of the
Second year.
The event was new in the annals of the Car-
thews, and Singleton was prepared to make the
most of it. It had been long his practice to
prophesy for his second son a career of ruin and
disgrace. There is an advantage in this artless
parental habit. Doubtless the father is interested
in his son ; but doubtless also the prophet grows
to be interested in his prophecies. If the one goes
wrong, the others come true. Old Carthew drew
from this source esoteric consolations; he dwelt
at length on his own foresight; he produced vari-
ations hitherto unheard from the old theme “I
told you so,” coupled his son's name with the
gallows and the hulks, and spoke of his small
handful of college debts as though he must raise
money on a mortgage to discharge them.
“I don’t think that is fair, sir,” said Norris.
T H E W R E C K E R 43 I
“I lived at college exactly as you told me. I am
Sorry I was sent down, and you have a perfect
right to blame me for that; but you have no right
to pitch into me about these debts.”
The effect upon a stupid man not unjustly in-
censed need scarcely be described. For awhile
Singleton raved.
“I’ll tell you what, father,” said Norris at last,
“I don’t think this is going to do. I think you
had better let me take to painting. It’s the only
thing I take a spark of interest in. I shall never
be steady as long as I’m at anything else.”
“When you stand here, sir, to the neck in dis-
grace,” said the father, “I should have hoped you
would have had more good taste than to repeat
this levity.” •
The hint was taken; the levity was nevermore
obtruded on the father’s notice, and Norris was
inexorably launched upon a backward voyage.
He went abroad to study foreign languages, which
he learned, at a very expensive rate; and a fresh
crop of debts fell soon to be paid, with similar
lamentations, which were in this case perfectly
justified, and to which Norris paid no regard.
He had been unfairly treated over the Oxford
affair; and with a spice of malice very surprising
in one so placable, and an obstinacy remarkable in
one so weak, refused from that day forward to
exercise the least captaincy on his expenses. He
wasted what he would ; he allowed his servants
to despoil him at their pleasure; he sowed in-
solvency; and when the crop was ripe, notified
432 T H E W R E C K E R
his father with exasperating calm. His own
capital was put in his hands, he was planted in
the diplomatic service and told he must depend
upon himself.
He did so till he was twenty-five; by which
time he had spent his money, laid in a handsome
choice of debts, and acquired (like so many other
melancholic and uninterested persons) a habit
of gambling. An Austrian colonel — the same
who afterwards hanged himself at Monte Carlo —
gave him a lesson which lasted two-and-twenty
hours, and left him wrecked and helpless. Old
Singleton once more repurchased the honour of
his name, this time at a fancy figure; and Norris
was set afloat again on stern conditions. An
allowance of three hundred pounds in the year
was to be paid to him quarterly by a lawyer in
Sydney, New South Wales. He was not to write.
Should he fail on any quarter-day to be in Sydney,
he was to be held for dead and the allowance tacitly
withdrawn. Should he return to Europe, an ad-
vertisement publicly disowning him was to appear
in every paper of repute.
It was one of his most annoying features as a
son, that he was always polite, always just, and
in whatever whirlwind of domestic anger, always
calm. He expected trouble; when trouble came,
he was unmoved : he might have said with Single-
ton “I told you so *; he was content with thinking
“just as I earpected.” On the fall of these last
thunderbolts, he bore himself like a person only
distantly interested in the event; pocketed the
T H E W R E C K E R 433
money and the reproaches, obeyed orders punc-
tually; took ship and came to Sydney. Some
men are still lads at twenty-five; and so it was
with Norris. Eighteen days after he landed, his
quarter’s allowance was all gone; and with the
light-hearted hopefulness of strangers in what is
called a new country, he began to besiege offices
and apply for all manner of incongruous situations.
Everywhere and last of all from his lodgings, he
was bowed out; and found himself reduced, in a
very elegant suit of summer tweeds, to herd and
camp with the degraded outcasts of the city.
In this strait, he had recourse to the lawyer
who paid him his allowance.
“Try to remember that my time is valuable,
Mr. Carthew,” said the lawyer. “It is quite un-
necessary you should enlarge on the peculiar posi-
tion in which you stand. Remittance men, as we
call them here, are not so rare in my experience;
and in such cases I act upon a system. I make
you a present of a sovereign; here it is. Every day
you choose to call, my clerk will advance you a
shilling; on Saturday, since my office is closed
On Sunday, he will advance you half a crown.
My conditions are these: that you do not come to
me, but to my clerk; that you do not come here
the worse of liquor; and you go away the moment
you are paid and have signed a receipt. I wish
you a good-morning.”
“I have to thank you, I suppose,” said Carthew.
“My position is so wretched that I cannot even
refuse this starvation allowance.”
28
434 T H E W R E C K E R
“Starvation l’” said the lawyer, smiling. “No
man will starve here on a shilling a day. I have
had on my hands another young gentleman, who
remained continuously intoxicated for six years on
the same allowance.” And he once more busied
himself with his papers.
In the time that followed, the image of the
smiling lawyer haunted Carthew’s memory. “That
three minutes' talk was all the education I ever
had worth talking of,” says he. “It was all life
in a nut-shell. Confound it! I thought, have I
got to the point of envying that ancient fossil P’’
Every morning for the next two or three weeks,
the stroke of ten found Norris, unkempt and hag-
gard, at the lawyer's door. The long day and
longer night he spent in the Domain, now on a
bench, now on the grass under a Norfolk Island
pine, the companion of perhaps the lowest class
on earth, the Larrikins of Sydney. Morning after
morning, the dawn behind the lighthouse recalled
him from slumber; and he would stand and gaze
upon the changing east, the fading lenses, the
smokeless city, and the many-armed and many- .
masted harbour growing slowly clear under his
eyes. His bed-fellows (so to call them) were less
active; they lay sprawled upon the grass and
benches, the dingy men, the frowsy women, pro-
longing their late repose; and Carthew wandered
among the sleeping bodies alone, and cursed the
incurable stupidity of his behaviour. Day brought
a new society of nursery-maids and children, and
fresh-dressed and (I am Sorry to say) tight-laced
T H E W R E C K E R 435
maidens, and gay people in rich traps; upon the
skirts of which Carthew and “ the other black-
guards " — his own bitter phrase — skulked, and
chewed grass, and looked on. Day passed, the
light died, the green and leafy precinct sparkled
with lamps or lay in shadow, and the round of
the night began again, the loitering women, the
lurking men, the sudden outburst of screams, the
sound of flying feet. “You may n’t believe it,”
says Carthew, “but I got to that pitch that I
did n't care a hang. I have been wakened out of
my sleep to hear a woman Screaming, and I have
only turned upon my other side. Yes, it's a queer
place, where the dowagers and the kids walk all
day, and at night you can hear people bawling for
help as if it was the Forest of Bondy, with the
lights of a great town all round, and parties spin-
ning through in cabs from Government House
and dinner with my lord l’’
It was Norris's diversion, having none other, to
Scrape acquaintance, where, how, and with whom
he could. Many a long dull talk he held upon the
benches or the grass; many a strange waif he
came to know ; many strange things he heard,
and saw some that were abominable. It was to one
of these last that he owed his deliverance from
the Domain. For some time the rain had been
merciless; one night after another he had been
obliged to squander fourpence on a bed and re-
duce his board to the remaining eightpence: and
he sat one morning near the Macquarrie Street
entrance, hungry, for he had gone without break-
436 T H E W R E C K E R
fast, and wet, as he had already been for several
days, when the cries of an animal in distress at-
tracted his attention. Some fifty yards away, in
the extreme angle of the grass, a party of the
chronically unemployed had got hold of a dog,
whom they were torturing in a manner not to be
described. The heart of Norris, which had grown
indifferent to the cries of human anger or distress,
woke at the appeal of the dumb creature. He ran
amongst the Larrikins, scattered them, rescued the
dog, and stood at bay. They were six in number,
shambling gallowsbirds; but for once the proverb
was right, cruelty was coupled with cowardice, and
the wretches cursed him and made off. It chanced
this act of prowess had not passed unwitnessed.
On a bench near by there was seated a shopkeeper’s
assistant out of employ, a diminutive, cheerful,
red-headed creature by the name of Hemstead.
He was the last man to have interfered himself,
for his discretion more than equalled his valour;
but he made haste to congratulate Carthew, and
to warn him he might not always be so fortunate,
“They 're a dyngerous lot of people about this
park. My word it does n’t do to ply with them l’’
he observed, in that rycy Austrylian English, which
(as it has received the imprimatur of Mr. Froude)
we should all make haste to imitate.
“Why, I'm one of that lot myself,” returned
Carthew.
Hemstead laughed and remarked that he knew
a gentleman when he saw one.
“For all that, I am simply one of the unem-
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 437
ployed,” said Carthew, seating himself beside his .
new acquaintance, as he had sat (since this ex-
perience began) beside so many dozen others.
“I am out of a plyce myself,” said Hemstead.
“You beat me all the way and back,” says
Carthew. “My trouble is that I have never been
in one.”
“I suppose you ’ve no tryde P” asked Hemstead.
“I know how to spend money,” replied Carthew,
“ and I really do know something of horses and
something of the sea. But the unions head me
off; if it were n’t for them, I might have had a
dozen berths.”
“My word l’’ cried the sympathetic listener.
“Ever try the mounted police?” he inquired.
“I did, and was bowled out,” was the reply;
“could n’t pass the doctors.”
“Well, what do you think of the ryleways,
then P’’ asked Hemstead.
“What do you think of them, if you come to
that P' asked Carthew.
“O, I don’t think of them; I don't go in for
manual labour,” said the little man, proudly. “But
if a man don't mind that, he 's pretty sure of a
job there.” +.
“By George, you tell me where to go!” cried
Carthew, rising.
The heavy rains continued, the country was
already overrun with floods; the railway system
daily required more hands, daily the superintend-
ent advertised; but “the unemployed '' preferred
the resources of charity and rapine, and a navvy,
4.38 T H E W R E C K E R
even an amateur navvy, commanded money in the
market. The same night, after a tedious journey,
and a change of trains to pass a landslip, Norris
found himself in a muddy cutting behind South
Clifton, attacking his first shift of manual labour.
For weeks the rain scarce relented. The whole
front of the mountain slipped seaward from above,
avalanches of clay, rock, and uprooted forest
spewed over the cliffs and fell upon the beach or in
the breakers. Houses were carried bodily away
and smashed like nuts; others were menaced and
deserted, the door locked, the chimney cold, the
dwellers fled elsewhere for safety. Night and day
the fire blazed in the encampment; night and day
hot coffee was served to the overdriven toilers in
the shift; night and day the engineer of the sec-
tion made his rounds with words of encourage-
ment, hearty and rough and well suited to his men.
Night and day, too, the telegraph clicked with
disastrous news and anxious inquiry. Along the
terraced line of rail, rare trains came creeping and
signalling; and paused at the threatened corner,
like living things conscious of peril. The com-
mandant of the post would hastily review his
labours, make (with a dry throat) the signal to
advance; and the whole squad line the way and
look on in a choking silence, or burst into a brief
cheer as the train cleared the point of danger and
shot on, perhaps through the thin sunshine between
squalls, perhaps with blinking lamps into the gath-
ering, rainy twilight.
One such scene Carthew will remember till he
T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R. 439
dies. It blew great guns from the seaward ; a huge
surf bombarded, five hundred feet below him, the
steep mountain's foot; close in was a vessel in
distress, firing shots from a fowling-piece, if any
help might come. So he saw and heard her the
moment before the train appeared and paused,
throwing up a Babylonian tower of smoke into the
rain and oppressing men's hearts with the Scream
of her whistle. The engineer was there himself;
he paled as he made the signal: the engine came
at a foot's pace; but the whole bulk of mountain
shook and seemed to nod seaward, and the watch-
ing navvies instinctively clutched at shrubs and
trees: vain precautions, vain as the shots from the
poor sailors. Once again fear was disappointed;
the train passed unscathed; and Norris, drawing
a long breath, remembered the labouring ship and
glanced below. She was gone.
So the days and the nights passed : Homeric
labour in Homeric circumstance. Carthew was
sick with sleeplessness and coffee; his hands, soft-
ened by the wet, were cut to ribbons; yet he en-
joyed a peace of mind and health of body hitherto
unknown. Plenty of open air, plenty of physical
exertion, a continual instancy of toil, here was
what had been hitherto lacking in that misdirected
life, and the true cure of vital scepticism. To get
the train through : there was the recurrent prob-
lem; no time remained to ask if it were necessary.
Carthew, the idler, the spendthrift, the drifting
dilettante, was soon remarked, praised, and ad-
vanced. The engineer swore by him and pointed
44O T H E w RE C K E R
him out for an example. “I’ve a new chum, up
here,” Norris overheard him saying, “a young
swell. He 's worth any two in the squad.” The
words fell on the ears of the discarded son
like music; and from that moment, he not only
found an interest, he took a pride, in his plebeian
tasks.
The press of work was still at its highest when
quarter-day approached. Norris was now raised
to a position of Some trust; at his discretion, trains
were stopped or forwarded at the dangerous cor-
nice near North Clifton; and he found in this
responsibility both terror and delight. The thought
of the seventy-five pounds that would soon await
him at the lawyer's, and of his own obligation
to be present every quarter-day in Sydney, filled
him for a little with divided councils. Then he
made up his mind, walked in a slack moment to
the inn at Clifton, ordered a sheet of paper and a
bottle of beer, and wrote, explaining that he held
a good appointment which he would lose if he came
to Sydney, and asking the lawyer to accept this
letter as an evidence of his presence in the colony
and retain the money till next quarter-day. The
answer came in course of post, and was not merely
favourable but cordial. “Although what you pro-
pose is contrary to the terms of my instructions,”
it ran, “I willingly accept the responsibility of
granting your request. I should say I am agree-
ably disappointed in your behaviour. My experi-
ence has not led me to found much expectations on
gentlemen in your position.”
T H E w RE C K E R 44. I
The rains abated, and the temporary labour was
discharged; not Norris, to whom the engineer
clung as to found money; not Norris, who found
himself a ganger on the line in the regular staff
of navvies. His camp was pitched in a grey wil-
derness of rock and forest, far from any house;
as he sat with his mates about the evening fire, the
trains passing on the track were their next and
indeed their only neighbours, except the wild things
of the wood. Lovely weather, light and monoto-
nous employment, long hours of somnolent camp-
fire talk, long sleepless nights, when he reviewed
his foolish and fruitless career as he rose and
walked in the moonlit forest, an occasional paper
of which he would read all, the advertisements
with as much relish as the text: such was the tenor
of an existence which soon began to weary and
harass him. He lacked and regretted the fatigue,
the furious hurry, the suspense, the fires, the mid-
night coffee, the rude and mud-bespattered poetry
of the first toilful weeks. In the quietness of his
new surroundings, a voice summoned him from
this exorbital part of life, and about the middle of
October he threw up his situation and bade fare-
well to the camp of tents and the shoulder of Bald
Mountain.
Clad in his rough clothes, with a bundle on his
shoulder and his accumulated wages in his pocket,
he entered Sydney for the second time, and walked
with pleasure and some bewilderment in the cheer-
ful streets, like a man landed from a voyage. The
sight of the people led him on. He forgot his
442 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
necessary errands, he forgot to eat. He wandered
in moving multitudes like a stick upon a river.
Last he came to the Domain and strolled there, and
remembered his shame and sufferings, and looked
with poignant curiosity at his successors. Hem-
Stead, not much shabbier and no less cheerful than
before, he recognised and addressed like an old
family friend. -
“That was a good turn you did me,” said he.
“That railway was the making of me. I hope
you ’ve had luck yourself.”
“My word, no!” replied the little man. “I just
sit here and read the Dead Bird. It’s the depres-
sion in tryde, you see. There's no positions goin'
that a man like me would care to look at.” And
he showed Norris his certificates and written char-
acters, one from a grocer in Wooloomooloo, one
from an ironmonger, and a third from a billiard
saloon. “Yes,” he said, “I tried bein’ a billiard
marker. It's no account; these lyte hours are no
use for a man’s health. I won’t be no man’s slyve,”
he added firmly.
On the principle that he who is too proud to be
a slave is usually not too modest to become a pen-
sioner, Carthew gave him half a sovereign, and
departed, being suddenly struck with hunger, in
the direction of the Paris House. When he came
to that quarter of the city, the barristers were
trotting in the streets in wig and gown, and he
stood to observe them with his bundle on his shoul-
der, and his mind full of curious recollections of
the past.
T H E W R E C K E R 443
|
“By George l’’ cried a voice, “it’s Mr. Car-
thew ” -
And turning about, he found himself face to face
with a handsome sunburnt youth, somewhat fatted,
arrayed in the finest of fine raiment, and sporting
about a sovereign's worth of flowers in his button-
hole. Norris had met him during his first days in
Sydney at a farewell supper; had even escorted
him on board a schooner full of cockroaches and
black-boy sailors in which he was bound for six
months among the islands; and had kept him ever
since in entertained remembrance. Tom Hadden
(known to the bulk of Sydney folk as Tommy)
was heir to a considerable property, which a pro-
phetic father had placed in the hands of rigorous
trustees. The income supported Mr. Hadden in
splendour for about three months out of twelve;
the rest of the year he passed in retreat among the
islands. He was now about a week returned from
his eclipse, pervading Sydney in hansom cabs and
airing the first bloom of six new suits of clothes;
and yet the unaffected creature hailed Carthew in
his working jeans and with the damning bundle
on his shoulder, as he might have claimed acquaint-
ance with a duke.
“Come and have a drink!” was his cheerful cry.
“I’m just going to have lunch at the Paris
House,” returned Carthew. “It’s a long time
since I have had a decent meal.”
“Splendid scheme!” said Hadden. “I’ve only
had breakfast half an hour ago; but we’ll have
a private room, and I’ll manage to pick Something.
**
444 T H E W R E C K E R
It'll brace me up. I was on an awful tear last
Inight, and I’ve met no end of fellows this morn-
ing.” To meet a fellow, and to stand and share
a drink, were with Tom synonymous terms.
They were soon at table in the corner room up-
stairs, and paying due attention to the best fare
in Sydney. The Odd similarity of their positions
drew them together, and they began soon to ex-
change confidences. Carthew related his privations
in the Domain and his toils as a navvy; Hadden
gave his experience as an amateur copra merchant
in the South Seas, and drew a humourous picture
of life in a coral island. Of the two plans of retire-
ment, Carthew gathered that his own had been
vastly the more lucrative; but Hadden's trading
outfit had consisted largely of bottled stout and
brown sherry for his own consumption.
“I had champagne too,” said Hadden, “but I
kept that in case of sickness, until I did n’t seem to
be going to be sick, and then I opened a pint every
Sunday. Used to sleep all morning, then breakfast
with my pint of fizz, and lie in a hammock and read
Hallam's Middle Ages. Have you read that? I
always take something solid to the islands. There's
no doubt I did the thing in rather a fine style; but
if it was gone about a little cheaper, or there were
two of us to bear the expense, it ought to pay hand
over fist. I’ve got the influence, you see. I’m a
chief now, and sit in the speak-house under my
own strip of roof. I’d like to see them taboo me!
They dare n’t try it; I’ve a strong party, I can tell
you. Why, I’ve had upwards of thirty cow-
T H E W R E C K E R 445
tops sitting in my front veranda eating tins of
salmon.” -
“Cowtops?” asked Carthew, “what are they?”
“That’s what Hallam would call feudal re-
tainers,” explained Hadden, not without vainglory.
“They're My Followers. They belong to My
Family. I tell you, they come expensive, though ;
you can’t fill up all these retainers on tinned salmon
for nothing; but whenever I could get it, I would
give 'em squid. Squid 's good for natives, but I
don’t care for it, do you? — or shark either. It’s
like the working classes at home. With copra at
the price it is, they ought to be willing to bear their
share of the loss; and so I’ve told them again and
again. I think it’s a man's duty to open their
minds, and I try to, but you can’t get political
economy into them; it does n’t seem to reach their
intelligence.”
There was an expression still sticking in Car-
thew's memory, and he returned upon it with a
smile. “Talking of political economy,” said he,
“you said if there were two of us to bear the
expense, the profits would increase. How do you
make out that?”
“I’ll show you ! I’ll figure it out for you
cried Hadden, and with a pencil on the back of the
bill of fare, proceeded to perform miracles. He
was a man, or let us rather say a lad, of unusual
projective power. Give him the faintest hint of
any speculation, and the figures flowed from him
by the page. A lively imagination and a ready
though inaccurate memory supplied his data; he
| 2.
446 T H E W R E C K E R
delivered himself with an inimitable heat that
made him seem the picture of pugnacity; lavished
contradiction; had a form of words, with or with-
out significance, for every form of criticism ; and
the looker-on alternately smiled at his simplicity
and fervour, or was amazed by his unexpected
Shrewdness. He was a kind of Pinkerton in play.
I have called Jim's the romance of business; this
was its Arabian tale. -
“Have you any idea what this would cost?” he
asked, pausing at an item.
“ Not I,” said Carthew.
“Ten pounds ought to be ample,” concluded the
projector. -
“O, nonsense!” cried Carthew. “Fifty at the
very least.” -
“You told me yourself this moment you knew
nothing about it!” cried Tommy. “How can I
make a calculation, if you blow hot and cold P You
don’t seem able to be serious !” -
But he consented to raise his estimate to twenty;
and a little after, the calculation coming out with
a deficit, cut it down again to five pound ten, with
the remark, “I told you it was nonsense. This
sort of thing has to be done strictly, or where 's
the use P’’
Some of these processes struck Carthew as un-
Sound ; and he was at times altogether thrown out
by the capricious startings of the prophet's mind.
These plunges seemed to be gone into for exercise
and by the way, like the curvets of a willing horse.
Gradually the thing took shape; the glittering if
T H E W R E C K E R 447
baseless edifice arose; and the hare still ran on the
mountains, but the Soup was already served in sil-
ver plate. Carthew in a few days could command
a hundred and fifty pounds; Hadden was ready
with five hundred; why should they not recruit
a fellow or two more, charter an old ship, and go
cruising on their own account? Carthew was an
experienced yachtsman; Hadden professed him-
self able to “work an approximate sight.” Money
was undoubtedly to be made, or why should so
many vessels cruise about the islands? they, who
worked their own ship, were sure of a still higher
profit.
“And whatever else comes of it, you see,” cried
Hadden, “we get our keep for nothing. Come,
buy some togs, that 's the first thing you have to
do of course; and then we'll take a hansom and go
to the Currency Lass.” º
“I’m going to stick to the togs I have,’
Norris.
“Are you?” cried Hadden. “Well, I must say
I admire you. You ’re a regular sage. It’s what
you call Pythagoreanism, is n’t it? if I have n’t
forgotten my philosophy.”
“Well, I call it economy,” returned Carthew.
“If we are going to try this thing on, I shall want
every sixpence.”
“You’ll see if we’re going to try it!” cried
Tommy, rising radiant from table. “Only, mark
you, Carthew, it must be all in your name. I have
capital, you see; but you’re all right. You can
play vacuus viator, if the thing goes wrong.”
5
y
said
448 T H E w R E C K E R
“I thought we had just proved it was quite
safe,” said Carthew.
“There 's nothing safe in business, my boy,”
replied the sage; “not even bookmaking.”
The public house and tea garden called the Cur-
rency Lass represented a moderate fortune gained
by its proprietor, Captain Bostock, during a long,
active, and occasionally historic career among the
islands. Anywhere from Tonga to the Admiralty
Isles, he knew the ropes and could lie in the native
dialect. He had seen the end of Sandal wood, the
end of oil, and the beginning of copra ; and he was
himself a commercial pioneer, the first that ever
carried human teeth into the Gilberts. He was
tried for his life in Fiji in Sir Arthur Gordon's
time; and if ever he prayed at all, the name of
Sir Arthur was certainly not forgotten. He was
speared in seven places in New Ireland — the same
time his mate was killed — the famous “outrage
on the brig Jolly Roger'; but the treacherous Sav-
ages made little by their wickedness, and Bostock,
in spite of their teeth, got seventy-five head of vol-
unteer labour on board, of whom not more than a
dozen died of injuries. He had a hand, besides,
in the amiable pleasantry which cost the life of
Patteson; and when the sham bishop landed,
prayed, and gave his benediction to the natives,
Bostock, arrayed in a female chemise out of the
traderoom, had stood at his right hand and boomed
amens. This, when he was sure he was among good
fellows, was his favourite yarn. “Two hundred
head of labour for a hatful of amens,” he used to
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 44-9
name the tale; and its sequel, the death of the real
bishop, struck him as a circumstance of extraor-
dinary humour.
Many of these details were communicated in the
hansom, to the surprise of Carthew.
“Why do we want to visit this old ruffian P’’ he
asked. -
“You wait till you hear him,'
“That man knows everything.” -
On descending from the hansom at the Currency
Lass, Hadden was struck with the appearance of
the cabman, a gross, Salt-looking man, red-faced,
blue-eyed, short-handed and short-winded, perhaps
nearing forty.
“Surely I know you?” said he. “Have you
driven me before P’’
“Many 's the time, Mr. Hadden,” returned the
driver. “The last time you was back from the
islands, it was me that drove you to the races,
Sir.”
“All right: jump down and have a drink then,”
said Tom, and he turned and led the way into the
garden.
Captain Bostock met the party: he was a slow,
Sour old man, with fishy eyes; greeted Tommy
offhand, and (as was afterwards remembered)
exchanged winks with the driver.
“A bottle of beer for the cabman there at that
table,” said Tom. “Whatever you please from
shandygaff to champagne at this one here; and
you sit down with us. Let me make you ac-
quainted with my friend, Mr. Carthew. I’ve come
y
replied Tommy.
2
29
4-5C T H E W R E C K E R
On business, Billy; I want to consult you as a
friend ; I’m going into the island trade upon my
own account.”
Doubtless the captain was a mine of counsel,
but opportunity was denied him. He could not
venture on a statement, he was scarce allowed to
finish a phrase, before Hadden swept him from
the field with a volley of protest and correction.
That projector, his face blazing with inspiration,
first laid before him at inordinate length a ques-
tion, and as Soon as he attempted to reply, leaped
at his throat, called his facts in question, derided
his policy, and at times thundered on him from
the heights of moral indignation.
“I beg your pardon,” he said once. “I am a
gentleman, Mr. Carthew here is a gentleman, and
we don’t mean to do that class of business. Can't
you see who you ’re talking to? Can't you talk
sense? Can't you give us ‘a dead bird ' for a
good traderoom?”
“No, I don’t suppose I can,” returned old
Bostock; “ not when I can’t hear my own voice
for two seconds together. It was gin and guns
I did it with.”
“Take your gin and guns to Putney!” cried
Hadden. “It was the thing in your times, that's
right enough ; but you ’re old now, and the game's
up. I’ll tell you what's wanted nowadays, Bill
Bostock,” said he ; and did, and took ten minutes
to it.
Carthew could not refrain from smiling. He
began to think less seriously of the scheme, Had-
T H E W R E C K E R 4s.
den appearing too irresponsible a guide; but on
the other hand, he enjoyed himself amazingly. It
was far from being the same with Captain Bostock.
“You know a sight, don’t you?” remarked that
gentleman, bitterly, when Tommy paused.
“I know a sight more than you, if that 's what
you mean,” retorted Tom. “It stands to reason
I do. You're not a man of any education; you ºve
been all your life at sea or in the islands; you
don't suppose you can give points to a man like
me?”
“Here’s your health, Tommy,” returned BOS-
tock. “You 'll make an A. I bake in the New
Hebrides.”
“That’s what I call talking,” cried Tom, not
perhaps grasping the spirit of this doubtful com-
pliment. “Now you give me your attention. We
have the money and the enterprise, and I have the
experience: what we want is a cheap, Smart boat,
a good captain, and an introduction to Some house
that will give us credit for the trade.”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Captain Bostock.
“I seen men like you baked and eaten, and com-
plained of afterwards. Some was tough, and
Some had n’t no flaviour,” he added grimly.
“What do you mean by that?” cried Tom.
“I mean I don’t care,” said Bostock. “It ain’t
any of my interests. I have n’t underwrote your
life. Only I’m blest if I’m not sorry for the
cannibal as tries to eat your head. And what
I recommend is a cheap, smart coffin and a good
undertaker. See if you can find a house to give
452 T H E W R E C K E R
you credit for a coffin' Look at your friend
there; he 's got Some Sense; he 's laughing at you
So as he can’t stand.”
The exact degree of ill-feeling in Mr. Bostock's
mind was difficult to gauge; perhaps there was
Inot much, perhaps he regarded his remarks as a
form of courtly badinage. But there is little doubt
that Hadden resented them. He had even risen
from his place, and the conference was on the
point of breaking up, when a new voice joined
suddenly in the conversation. #
The cabman sat with his back turned upon the
party, Smoking a meerSchaum pipe. Not a word
of Tommy's eloquence had missed him, and he
Inow faced suddenly about with these amazing
words:
“Excuse me, gentlemen; if you ’11 buy me
the ship I want, I’ll get you the trade on
credit.”
There was a pause.
“Well, what do you mean?” gasped Tommy.
“Better tell 'em who I am, Billy,” said the
cabman.
“Think it safe, Joe?” inquired Mr. Bostock.
“I’ll take my risk of it,” returned the cabman.
“Gentlemen,” said Bostock, rising solemnly,
“let me make you acquainted with Captain Wicks
of the Grace Darling.”
“Yes, gentlemen, that is what I am,” said the
cabman. “You know I’ve been in trouble; and
I don’t deny but what I struck the blow, and
where was I to get evidence of my provocation ?
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 453
So I turned to and took a cab, and I’ve driven
one for three year now and nobody the wiser.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Carthew, joining
almost for the first time; “I am a new chum.
What was the charge?”
“ Murder,” said Captain Wicks, “ and I don’t
deny but what I struck the blow. And there 's
no sense in my trying to deny I was afraid to go
to trial, or why would I be here? But it's a fact
it was flat mutiny. Ask Billy here. He knows
how it was.”
Carthew breathed long; he had a strange, half-
pleasurable sense of wading deeper in the tide of
life. “Well?” said he, “you were going on to
say P” ~!
“I was going on to say this,” said the captain,
sturdily. “I’ve overheard what Mr. Hadden has
been saying, and I think he talks good sense. I
like some of his ideas first chop. He 's sound on
traderooms; he 's all there on the traderoom ; and
I see that he and I would pull together. Then
you're both gentlemen, and I like that,” observed
Captain Wicks. “And then I’ll tell you I'm tired
of this cabbing cruise, and I want to get to work
again. Now here's my offer. I’ve a little money
I can stake up, — all of a hundred anyway. Then
my old firm will give me trade, and jump at the
chance; they never lost by me; they know what
I’m worth as supercargo. And last of all, you
want a good captain to sail your ship for you.
Well, here I am. I’ve sailed schooners for ten
years. Ask Billy if I can handle a schooner.”
y
454 T H E W R E C K E R.
“No man better,” said Billy. -
“And as for my character as a shipmate,” con-
cluded Wicks, “go and ask my old firm.”
“But look here ! ” cried Hadden. “How do
you mean to manage? You can whisk round in
a hansom, and no questions asked. But if you
try to come on a quarter-deck, my boy, you 'll get
nabbed.”
“I’ll have to keep back till the last,” replied
Wicks, “ and take another name.”
“But how about clearing P what other name?”
asked Tommy, a little bewildered.
“I don’t know yet,” returned the captain, with
a grin. “I’ll see what the name is on my new
certificate, and that 'll be good enough for me.
If I can’t get one to buy, though I never heard
of such a thing, there 's old Kirkup, he ’s turned
some sort of farmer down Bondy way; he'll hire
Ime his.”
“You seemed to speak as if you had a ship in
view,” said Carthew.
“So I have, too,” said Captain Wicks, “and a
beauty. Schooner yacht Dream; got lines you
never saw the beat of ; and a witch to go. She
passed me once off Thursday Island, doing two
knots to my one and laying a point and a half
better; and the Grace Darling was a ship that
I was proud of. I took and tore my hair. The
Dream 's been my dream ever since. That was
in her old days, when she carried a blue ens'n.
Grant Sanderson was the party as owned her; he
was rich and mad, and got a fever at last some-
T H E W R E C K E R 45.5
where about the Fly River, and took and died.
The captain brought the body back to Sydney,
and paid off. Well, it turned out Grant Sander-
Son had left any quantity of wills and any quan-
tity of widows, and no fellow could make out which
was the genuine article. All the widows brought
lawsuits against all the rest, and every will had
a firm of lawyers on the quarter-deck as long as
your arm. They tell me it was one of the big-
gest turns—to that ever was seen, bar Tichborne;
the Lord Chamberlain himself was floored, and
So was the Lord Chancellor; and all that time
the Dream lay rotting up by Glebe Point. Well,
it's done now ; they 've picked out a widow and
a will; tossed up for it, as like as not; and the
Dream 's for sale. She'll go cheap; she's had a
long turn-to at rotting.”
“What size is she P’’ *
“Well, big enough. We don’t want her big-
ger. A hundred and ninety, going two hundred,”
replied the captain. “She’s fully big for us three;
it would be all the better if we had another hand,
though it 's a pity too, when you can pick up na-
tives for half nothing. Then we must have a cook.
I can fix raw sailor-men, but there 's no going to
Sea with a new-chum cook. I can lay hands on
the man we want for that: a Highway boy, an old
shipmate of mine, of the name of Amalu. Cooks
first-rate, and it's always better to have a native;
he ain’t fly, you can turn him to as you please, and
he don't know enough to stand out for his rights.”
From the moment that Captain Wicks joined in
456 T H E W R E C K E R
the conversation, Carthew recovered interest and
confidence; the man (whatever he might have
done) was plainly good-natured, and plainly ca-
pable; if he thought well of the enterprise, offered
to contribute money, brought experience, and could
thus solve at a word the problem of the trade,
Carthew was content to go ahead. As for Had-
den, his cup was full; he and Bostock forgave
each other in champagne; toast followed toast; it
was proposed and carried amid acclamation to
change the name of the schooner (when she should
be bought) to the Currency Lass; and the Cur-
fency Lass Island Trading Company was practi-
cally founded before dusk.
Three days later, Carthew stood before the
lawyer, still in his jean suit, received his hun-
dred and fifty pounds, and proceeded rather timidly
to ask for more indulgence.
“I have a chance to get on in the world,” he
said. “By to-morrow evening I expect to be
part owner of a ship.”
“Dangerous property, Mr. Carthew,” said the
lawyer.
“Not if the partners work her themselves and
stand to go down along with her,” was the reply.
“I conceive it possible you might make some-
thing of it that way,” returned the other. “But
are you a Seaman 2 I thought you had been in
the diplomatic service.”
“I am an old yachtsman,” said Norris. “And
I must do the best I can. A fellow can’t live in
New South Wales upon diplomacy. But the point
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 4-57
I wish to prepare you for is this. It will be im-
possible I should present myself here next quarter-
day; we expect to make a six-months' cruise of
it among the islands.”
“Sorry, Mr. Carthew : I can’t hear of that,”
replied the lawyer. -
“I mean upon the same conditions as the last,”
said Carthew.
“The conditions are exactly opposite,” said the
lawyer. “Last time I had reason to know you
were in the colony; and even then I stretched a
point. This time, by your Own Confession, you
are contemplating a breach of the agreement; and
I give you warning if you carry it out and I re-
ceive proof of it (for I will agree to regard this
conversation as confidential) I shall have no choice
but to do my duty. Be here on quarter-day, or
your allowance ceases.”
“This is very hard and, I think, rather silly,”
returned Carthew. 3
“It is not of my doing. I have my instruc-
tions,” said the lawyer.
“And you so read these instructions, that I am
to be prohibited from making an honest liveli-
hood P’’ asked Carthew.
“Let us be frank,” said the lawyer. “I find
nothing in these instructions about an honest live-
lihood. I have no reason to suppose my clients
care anything about that. I have reason to sup-
pose only one thing, — that they mean you shall
stay in this colony, and to guess another, Mr.
Carthew. And to guess another.” -
y
f
458 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Norris.
“I mean that I imagine, on very strong grounds,
that your family desire to see no more of you,”
said the lawyer. “O, they may be very wrong;
but that is the impression conveyed, that is what
I suppose I am paid to bring about, and I have
no choice but to try and earn my hire.”
“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Norris,
with a strong flush, “you have guessed rightly.
My family refuse to see me; but I am not going
to England, I am going to the islands. How does
that affect the islands P”
“Ah, but I don’t know that you are going to
the islands,” said the lawyer, looking down, and
spearing the blotting-paper with a pencil.
“I beg your pardon. I have the pleasure of
informing you,” said Norris.
“I am afraid, Mr. Carthew, that I cannot re-
gard that communication as official,” was the
slow reply. f
“I am not accustomed to have my word
doubted l’ cried Norris.
“ Hush | I allow no one to raise his voice in
my office,” said the lawyer. “And for that mat-
ter — you seem to be a young gentleman of Sense
— consider what I know of you. You are a dis-
carded son; your family pays money to be shut
of you. What have you done? I don’t know.
But do you not see how foolish I should be, if I
exposed my business reputation on the safeguard
of the honour of a gentleman of whom I know
just so much and no more? This interview is
T H E W R E CK E. R. 4.59
very disagreeable. Why prolong it? Write home,
get my instructions changed, and I will change my
behaviour. Not otherwise.”
“I am very fond of three hundred a year,” said
Norris, “but I cannot pay the price required. I
shall not have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
“You must please yourself,” said the lawyer.
“Fail to be here next quarter-day, and the thing
stops. But I warn you, and I mean the warning
in a friendly spirit. Three months later you will
be here begging, and I shall have no choice but
to show you in the street.”
“I wish you a good-evening,” said Norris.
“The same to you, Mr. Carthew,” retorted the
lawyer, and rang for his clerk.
So it befell that Norris, during what remained
to him of arduous days in Sydney, saw not again
the face of his legal adviser; and he was already
at sea, and land was out of sight, when Hadden
brought him a Sydney paper, over which he had
been dozing in the shadow of the galley, and
showed him an advertisement.
“Mr. Norris Carthew is earnestly entreated to
call without delay at the office of Mr. , where
important intelligence awaits him.”
“It must manage to wait for me six months,”
said Norris, lightly enough, but yet conscious of
a pang of curiosity.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE BUDGET OF THE • CURRENCY LASS ’’
YEFORE noon on the 26th November, there
is cleared from the port of Sydney the
P schooner, Currency Lass. The owner,
Norris Carthew, was on board in the somewhat
unusual position of mate; the master's name
purported to be William Kirkup; the cook was a
Hawaiian boy, Joseph Amalu ; and there were
two hands before the mast, Thomas Hadden and
Richard Hemstead, the latter chosen partly because
of his humble character, partly because he had
an odd-job-man's handiness with tools. The Cur-
fency Lass was bound for the South Sea Islands,
and first of all for Butaritari in the Gilberts, on
a register; but it was understood about the har-
bour that her cruise was more than half a pleas-
ure trip. A friend of the late Grant Sanderson
(of Auchentroon and Kilclarty) might have rec-
ognised in that tall-masted ship, the transformed
and rechristened Dream; and a Lloyd's surveyor,
had the services of such an one been called in
requisition, must have found abundant subject of
remark.
For time, during her three years' inaction, had
eaten deep into the Dream and her fittings; she
º
fº 'º -
a .


T H E W R E C K E R 46 I
had sold in consequence a shade above her value
as old junk; and the three adventurers had scarce
been able to afford even the most vital repairs.
The rigging, indeed, had been partly renewed, and
the rest set up; all Grant Sanderson’s old can-
was had been patched together into one decently
serviceable suit of sails; Grant Sanderson’s masts
still stood, and might have wondered at them-
selves. “I have n’t the heart to tap them,” Cap-
tain Wicks used to observe, as he squinted up
their height or patted their rotundity; and “as
rotten as our foremast ’’ was an accepted meta-
phor in the ship's company. The sequel rather
Suggests it may have been sounder than was
thought; but no one knew for certain, just as
no one except the captain appreciated the dan-
gers of the cruise. The captain, indeed, saw with
clear eyes and spoke his mind aloud; and though
a man of an astonishing hot-blooded courage, fol-
lowing life and taking its dangers in the spirit of
a hound upon the slot, he had made a point of a
big whale-boat. “Take your choice,” he had said;
“either new masts and rigging or that boat. I
simply ain’t going to sea without the one or the
other. Chicken coops are good enough, no doubt,
and so is a dinghy; but they ain’t for Joe.” And
his partners had been forced to consent, and saw
six and thirty pounds of their small capital vanish
in the turn of a hand.
All four had toiled the best part of six weeks
getting ready; and though Captain Wicks was of
course not seen or heard of, a fifth was there to
462 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
help them, a fellow in a bushy red beard, which
he would sometimes lay aside when he was below,
and who strikingly resembled Captain Wicks in
voice and character. As for Captain Kirkup, he
did not appear till the last moment, when he
proved to be a burly mariner, bearded like Abou
Ben Adhem. All the way down the harbour and
through the Heads, his milk-white whiskers blew
in the wind and were conspicuous from shore; but
the Currency Lass had no sooner turned her back
upon the lighthouse, than he went below for the
inside of five seconds and reappeared clean shaven.
So many doublings and devices were required to
get to sea with an unseaworthy ship and a captain
that was “wanted.” Nor might even these have
sufficed, but for the fact that Hadden was a public
character, and the whole cruise regarded with an
eye of indulgence as one of Tom's engaging eccen-
tricities. The ship, besides, had been a yacht be-
fore; and it came the more natural to allow her
still some of the dangerous liberties of her old
employment. -
A strange ship they had made of it, her lofty
spars disfigured with patched canvas, her panelled
cabin fitted for a traderoom with rude shelves.
And the life they led in that anomalous schooner
was no less curious than herself. Amalu alone
loerthed forward; the rest occupied staterooms,
camped upon the Satin divans, and sat down in
Grant Sanderson’s parquetry smoking-room to
meals of junk and potatoes, bad of their kind
and often Scant in quantity. Hemstead grunnbled;
T H E W R E C K E R 463
Tommy had occasional moments of revolt and
increased the ordinary by a few haphazard tins
or a bottle of his own brown sherry. But Hem-
stead grumbled from habit, Tommy revolted only
for the moment, and there was underneath a real
and general acquiescence in these hardships. For
besides onions and potatoes, the Currency Lass may
be said to have gone to sea without stores. She
carried two thousand pounds’ worth of assorted
trade, advanced on credit, their whole hope and
fortune. It was upon this that they subsisted —
mice in their own granary. They dified upon their
future profits; and every scanty meal was So much
in the savings bank. -
Republican as were their manners, there was
no practical, at least no dangerous, lack of disci-
pline. Wicks was the only sailor on board, there
was none to criticise; and besides, he was so
easy-going, and so merry-minded, that none could
bear to disappoint him. Carthew did his best,
partly for the love of doing it, partly for love of
the captain ; Amalu was a willing drudge, and
even Hemstead and Hadden turned to upon occa-
sion with a will. Tommy's department was the
trade and traderoom; he would work down in
the hold or Over the shelves of the cabin, till the
Sydney dandy was unrecognisable; come up at
last, draw a bucket of sea-water, bathe, change,
and lie down on deck over a big sheaf of Sydney
Heralds and Dead Birds, or perhaps with a vol-
ume of Buckle's History of Civilisation, the stand-
ard work selected for that cruise. In the latter
464 T H E W R E C K E R
case, a smile went round the ship, for Buckle
almost invariably laid his student Out, and when
Tom awoke again he was almost always in the
humour for brown sherry. The connection was
so well established that “a glass of Buckle '' or
“a bottle of civilisation * became current pleas-
antries on board the Currency Lass.
Hemstead’s province was that of the repairs,
and he had his hands full. Nothing on board
but was decayed in a proportion; the lamps leaked ;
so did the decks; door-knobs came off in the
hand, mouldings parted company with the panels,
the pump declined to suck, and the defective bath-
room came near to Swamp the ship. Wicks in-
sisted that all the nails were long ago consumed,
and that she was only glued together by the
rust. “You should n’t make me laugh so much,
Tommy,” he would say. “I’m afraid I’ll shake
the sternpost out of her.” And, as Hemstead
went to and fro with his tool basket on an end-
less round of tinkering, Wicks lost no opportu-
nity of chaffing him upon his duties. “If you ’d
turn to at Sailoring or washing paint or something
useful, now,” he would say, “I could see the fun
of it. But to be mending things that have n’t
no insides to them, appears to me the height of
foolishness.” And doubtless these continual pleas-
antries helped to reassure the landsmen, who went
to and fro unmoved, under circumstances that
might have daunted Nelson. -
The weather was from the outset splendid, and
the wind fair and steady. The ship sailed like a
T H E W R E C K E R 465
witch. “This Currency Lass is a powerful old
girl, and has more complaints than . I would care
to put a name on,” the captain would say, as he
pricked the chart; “but she could show her bloom-
ing heels to anything of her size in the Western
Pacific.” To wash decks, relieve the wheel, do
the day’s work after dinner on the smoking-room
table, and take in kites at night — such was the
easy routine of their life. In the evening — above
all, if Tommy had produced some of his civilisa-
tion — yarns and music were the rule. Amalu
had a Sweet Hawaiian voice; and Hemstead, a
great hand upon the banjo, accompanied his Own
quavering tenor with effect. There was a sense
in which the little man could sing. . It was great
to hear him deliver My Boy Tammie in Austry-
lian ; and the words (some of the worst of the
ruffian Macneil's) were hailed in his version with
inextinguishable mirth.
Where hye ye been a’ dye P
he would ask, and answer himself:
I’ve been by burn and flowery brye
Meadow green an’ mountain grye,
Courtin’ o’ this young thing,
Just come frye her mammie.
It was the accepted jest for all hands to greet the
conclusion of this Song with the simultaneous cry:
“My word ' ' thus winging the arrow of ridicule
with a feather from the singer's wing. But he
had his revenge with Home, Sweet Home, and
3O
466 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
Where is my Wandering Boy To-night 2 – ditties
into which he threw the most intolerable pathos.
It appeared he had no home, nor had ever had
one, nor yet any vestige of a family, except a
tructulent uncle, a baker in Newcastle, N. S. W.
His domestic sentiment was therefore wholly in
the air, and expressed an unrealised ideal. Or
perhaps, of all his experiences, this of the Cur-
fency Lass, with its kindly, playful, and tolerant
Society, approached it the most nearly.
It is perhaps because I know the sequel, but I
can never think upon this voyage without a pro-
found sense of pity and mystery; of the ship
(once the whim of a rich blackguard) faring with
her battered fineries and upon her homely errand,
across the plains of Ocean, and past the gorgeous
scenery of dawn and sunset; and the ship's com-
pany, so strangely assembled, so Britishly chuckle-
headed, filling their days with chaff in place of
conversation; no human book on board with them
except Hadden’s Buckle, and not a creature fit
either to read or to understand it; and the One
mark of any civilised interest, being when Car-
thew filled in his spare hours with the pencil and
the brush : the whole unconscious crew of them
posting in the meanwhile towards so tragic a
disaster. -
Twenty-eight days out of Sydney, on Christmas
eve, they fetched up to the entrance of the lagoon,
and plied all that night outside, keeping their po-
sition by the lights of fishers on the reef and the
outlines of the palms against the cloudy sky. With
T H E W R E C K E R 4.67
the break of day, the schooner was hove to, and the
Signal for a pilot shown. But it was plain her
lights must have been observed in the darkness
by the native fishermen, and word carried to the
Settlement, for a boat was already under way. She
came towards them across the lagoon under a great
press of Sail, lying dangerously down, so that at
times, in the heavier puffs, they thought she would
turn turtle; covered the distance in fine style,
luffed up Smartly alongside, and emitted a haggard
looking white man in pajamas.
“Good-mornin', Cap'n,” said he, when he had
made good his entrance. “I was taking you for a
Fiji man-of-war, what with your flush decks and
them spars. Well, gen’lemen all, here's wishing
you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,”
he added, and lurched against a stay. º
“Why, you're never the pilot?” exclaimed
Wicks, studying him with a profound disfavour.
“You ’ve never taken a ship in — don’t tell
me!”
“Well, I should guess I have,” returned the
pilot. “I’m Captain Dobbs, I am ; and when I
take charge, the captain of that ship can go below
and shave.”
“But, man alive! you're drunk, man l’’ cried
the captain.
“Drunk l’’ repeated Dobbs. “You can’t have
seen much life if you call me drunk. I'm only just
beginning. Come night, I won’t say; I guess I’ll
be properly full by then. But now I’m the soberest
man in all Big Muggin.”
468 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
“It won't do,” retorted Wicks. “Not for Jo-
Seph, Sir. I can’t have you piling up my Schooner.”
“All right,” said Dobbs, “lay and rot where
you are, or take and go in and pile her up for your-
self like the captain of the Leslie. That’s business,
I guess; grudged me twenty dollars' pilotage, and
lost twenty thousand in trade and a brand new
Schooner; ripped the keel right off of her, and she
went down in the inside of four minutes, and lies
in twenty fathom, trade and all.”
“What's all this P’’ cried Wicks. “Trade 2
What vessel was this Leslie, anyhow P”
“Consigned—to Cohen and Co., from 'Frisco,”
returned the pilot, “ and badly wanted. There 's
a barque inside filling up for Hamburg — you See
her spars over there; and there's two more ships
due, all the way from Germany, one in two months,
they say, and one in three; and Cohen and Co.'s
agent (that 's Mr. Topelius) has taken and lain
down with the jaundice on the strength of it. I
guess most people would, in his shoes; no trade,
Ino copra, and twenty hundred ton of shipping due.
If you ’ve any copra on board, Cap'n, here 's your
chance. Topelius will buy, gold down, and give
three cents. It's all found money to him, the way
it is, whatever he pays for it. And that 's what
come of going back on the pilot.”
“Excuse me one moment, Captain Dobbs. I
wish to speak with my mate,” said the captain,
whose face had begun to shine and his eyes to
sparkle.
“Please yourself,” replied the pilot. “You
T H E W R E C K E R 469
could n’t think of offering a man a nip, could you?
just to brace him up. This kind of thing looks
damned inhospitable, and gives a Schooner a bad
name.”
“I’ll talk about that after the anchor 's down,”
returned Wicks, and he drew Carthew forward.
“I say,” he whispered, “here's a fortune.”
“How much do you call that?” asked Carthew.
“I can’t put a figure on it yet — I dare n't!”
said the captain. “We might cruise twenty years
and not find the match of it. And suppose another
ship came in to-night? Everything 's possible!
And the difficulty is this Dobbs. He 's as drunk
as a marine. How can we trust him P. We ain’t
insured, worse luck! ” - * -
“Suppose you took him aloft and got him to
point out the channel?” suggested Carthew. “If
he tallied at all with the chart, and did n’t fall out
of the rigging, perhaps we might risk it.”
“Well, all’s risk here,” returned the captain.
“Take the wheel yourself, and stand by. Mind,
if there 's two orders, follow mine, not his. Set
the cook for’ard with the heads'1s, and the two
others at the main sheet, and see they don't sit on
it.” With that he called the pilot; they swarmed
aloft in the fore rigging, and presently after there
was bawled down the welcome order to ease sheets
and fill away. --
At a quarter before nine o’clock on Christmas
morning, the anchor was let go.
The first cruise of the Currency Lass had thus
ended in a stroke of fortune almost beyond hope.
47O T H E W R E C K E R
She had brought two thousand pounds' worth of
trade, Straight as a homing pigeon, to the place
where it was most required. And Captain Wicks
(or, rather, Captain Kirkup) showed himself the
man to make the best of his advantage. For hard
upon two days he walked a veranda with Topelius;
for hard upon two days his partners watched from
the neighbouring public house the field of battle;
and the lamps were not yet lighted on the evening
of the second before the enemy surrendered. Wicks
came across to the Sans Souci, as the saloon was
called, his face nigh black, his eyes almost closed
and all bloodshot, and yet bright as lighted
matches.
“Come out here, boys,” he said; and when they
were some way off among the palms, “I hold
twenty-four,” he added, in a voice scarce recognis-
able, and doubtless referring to the venerable game
of cribbage.
“What do you mean?” asked Tommy.
“I’ve sold the trade,” answered Wicks; “Or,
rather, I’ve sold only some of it, for I kept back
all the mess beef and half the flour and biscuit;
and, by God, we’re still provisioned for four .
months By God, it’s as good as stolen l’’
“My word l’ cried Hemstead.
“But what have you sold it for P” gasped Car-
thew, the captain's almost insane excitement shak-
ing his nerve.
“Let me tell it my own way,” cried Wicks, loos-
ening his neck. “Let me get at it gradual, or I'll
explode. I’ve not only sold it, boys, I’ve wrung
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 47 I
out a charter on my own terms to 'Frisco and back;
On my own terms. I made a point of it. I fooled
him first by making believe I wanted copra, which
of course I knew he would n’t hear of — could n’t,
in fact; and whenever he showed fight, I trotted out
the copra, and that man dived I would take noth-
ing but copra, you See; and so I’ve got the bloom-
ing lot in specie — all but two short bills on 'Frisco.
And the sum ? Well, this whole adventure, includ-
ing two thousand pounds of credit, cost us two
thousand seven hundred and some odd. That’s all
paid back; in thirty days' cruise we’ve paid for the
Schooner and the trade. Heard ever any man the
match Of that? And it ’s not all ! For besides
that,” said the captain, hammering his words,
“we’ve got Thirteen Blooming Hundred Pounds
of profit to divide. I bled him in four Thou.' " he
cried, in a voice that broke like a schoolboy's.
For a moment the partners looked upon their
chief with stupefaction, incredulous surprise their
Only feeling. Tommy was the first to grasp the
consequences.
“Here!” he said, in a hard, business tone.
“Come back to that saloon. I’ve got to get
drunk.”
“You must please excuse me, boys,” said the
captain, earnestly. “I dare n’t taste nothing. If
I was to drink one glass of beer, it’s my belief I’d
have the apoplexy. The last scrimmage, and the
blooming triumph, pretty nigh hand done me.”
“Well, then, three cheers for the captain l’ pro-
posed Tommy.
472 T H E W R E C K E R
But Wicks held up a shaking hand. “Not that
either, boys,” he pleaded. “Thin. Of the other
buffer, and let him down easy. If I’m like this,
just fancy what Topelius is If he heard us sing-
ing out, he 'd have the staggers.” &
As a matter of fact, Topelius accepted his defeat
with a good grace; but the crew of the wrecked
Leslie, who were in the same employment and loyal
to their firm, took the thing more bitterly. Rough
words and ugly looks were common. Once even
they hooted Captain Wicks from the saloon ve-
randa; the Currency-Lasses drew out on the other
side; for some minutes there had like to have been
a battle in Butaritari; and though the occasion
passed off without blows, it left on either side an
increase of ill-feeling.
No such small matter could affect the happiness
of the successful traders. Five days more the ship
lay in the lagoon, with little employment for any
One but Tommy and the captain — for Topelius's
natives discharged cargo and brought ballast; the
time passed like a pleasant dream; the adventurers
sat up half the night debating and praising their
good fortune, or strayed by day in the narrow isle,
gaping like Cockney tourists; and on the first of
the new year, the Currency Lass weighed anchor
for the second time and set sail for 'Frisco, at-
tended by the same fine weather and good luck.
She crossed the doldrums with but small delay; on
a wind and in ballast of broken coral, she outdid
expectations; and what added to the happiness
of the ship's company, the small amount of work
T H E W R E C K E R 473
that fell on them to do, was now lessened by the
presence of another hand. This was the boatswain
of the Leslie, he had been on bad terms with his
own captain, had already spent his wages in the
Saloons of Butaritari, had wearied of the place, and
while all his shipmates coldly refused to set foot
On board the Currency Lass, he had offered to work
his passage to the coast. He was a north of Ireland
man, between Scotch and Irish, rough, loud, hu-
mourotis, and emotional, not without sterling qual-
ities, and an expert and careful sailor. His frame
of mind was different indeed from that of his new
shipmates; instead of making an unexpected for-
tune, he had lost a berth; and he was besides
disgusted with the rations, and really appalled at
the condition of the schooner. A stateroom door
had stuck, the first day at sea, and Mac (as they
called him) laid his strength to it and plucked it
from the hinges.
“Glory !” said he, “this ship 's rotten.”
“I believe you, my boy,” said Captain Wicks.
The next day the sailor was observed with his
nose aloft.
“Don’t you get looking at these sticks,” the cap-
tain said, “ or you’ll have a fit and fall overboard.”
Mac turned towards the speaker with rather a
wild eye. “Why, I see what looks like a patch
of dry rot up yonder, that I bet I could stick my
fist into,” said he.
“Looks as if a fellow could stick his head into
it, don’t it?” returned Wicks. “But there 's no
good prying into things that can't be mended.”
474 T H E W R E C K E R
“I think I was a Currency Ass to come on board
of her | * reflected Mac.
“Well, I never said she was seaworthy,” replied
the captain: “I Only said she could show her
blooming heels to anything afloat. And besides, I
don't know that it’s dry rot; I kind of sometimes
hope it is n’t. Here; turn to and heave the log;
that 'll cheer you up.”
“Well, there's no denying it, you’re a holy
captain,” said Mac.
And from that day on, he made but the one
reference to the ship's condition; and that was
whenever Tommy drew upon his cellar. “Here’s
to the junk trade l’’ he would say, as he held out
his can of sherry.
“Why do you always say that?” asked Tommy.
“I had an uncle in the business,” replied Mac,
and launched at once into a yarn, in which an in-
credible number of the characters were “laid Out
as nice as you would want to see,” and the oaths
made up about two-fifths of every conversation.
Only once he gave them a taste of his violence;
he talked of it, indeed, often ; “I’m rather a voi-
lent man,” he would say, not without pride; but
this was the only specimen. Of a sudden, he turned
on Hemstead in the ship's waist, knocked him
against the foresail boom, then knocked him under
it, and had set him up and knocked him down once
more, before any one had drawn a breath.
“Here! Belay that l” roared Wicks, leaping to
lmis feet. “I won’t have none of this.”
Mac turned to the captain with ready civility.
T H E W R E C K E R 475
“I only want to learn him manners,” said he. “He
took and called me Irishman.”
“Did he?” said Wicks. “O, that’s a different
story ! What made you do it, you tomfool? You
ain’t big enough to call any man that.”
“I did n’t call him it,” spluttered Hemstead,
through his blood and tears. “I only mentioned-
like he was.”
“Well, let's have no more of it,” said Wicks.
“But you are Irish, ain’t you?” Carthew asked
of his new shipmate shortly after.
“I may be,” replied Mac, “but I’ll allow no
Sydney duck to call me so. No,” he added, with
a sudden heated countenance, “nor any Brit-
isher that walks | Why, look here,” he went on,
“you ’re a young swell, are n't you? Suppose I
called you that! “I’ll show you,' you would say,
and turn to and take it out of me straight.”
On the 28th of January, when in lat. 27° 20' N.,
long. I 77° W., the wind chopped suddenly into the
west, not very strong, but puffy and with flaws of
rain. The captain, eager for easting, made a fair
wind of it and guyed the booms out wing and
wing. It was Tommy's trick at the wheel, and
as it was within half an hour of the relief (seven
thirty in the morning), the captain judged it not
worth while to change him.
The puffs were heavy but short; there was
Inothing to be called a squall, no danger to the
ship, and scarce more than usual to the doubtful
spars. All hands were on deck in their oilskins,
expecting breakfast; the galley Smoked, the ship
476 T H E W R E C K E R
smelt of coffee, all were in good-humour to be
speeding eastward a full nine; when the rotten
foresail tore suddenly between two cloths and then
split to either hand. It was for all the world as
though some archangel with a huge Sword had
slashed it with the figure of a cross; all hands
ran to secure the slatting canvas; and in the Sud-
den uproar and alert, Tommy Hadden lost his
head. Many of his days have been passed since
then in explaining how the thing happened; Of
these explanations it will be sufficient to say that
they were all different and none satisfactory; and
the gross fact remains that the main boom gybed,
carried away the tackle, broke the mainmast Some
three feet above the deck and whipped it over-
board. For near a minute the Suspected foremast
gallantly resisted; then followed its companion;
and by the time the wreck was cleared, of the
whole beautiful fabric that enabled them to skim
the seas, two ragged stumps remained.
In these vast and Solitary waters, to be dis-
masted is perhaps the worst calamity. Let the
ship turn turtle and go down, and at least the
pang is over. But men chained on a hulk may
pass months scanning the empty Sea-line and
counting the steps of death’s invisible approach.
There is no help but in the boats, and what a
help is that! There heaved the Currency Lass, for
instance, a wingless lump, and the nearest human
coast (that of Kauai in the Sandwiches) lay about
a thousand miles to south and east of her. Over
the way there, to men contemplating that passage
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 477
in an open boat, all kinds of misery, and the fear
of death and of madness, brooded.
A Serious company sat down to breakfast; but
the captain helped his neighbours with a Smile.
“Now, boys,” he said, after a pull at the hot
coffee, “we’re done with this Currency Lass, and
no mistake. One good job : we made her pay
while she lasted, and she paid first-rate; and if
We care to try Our hand again, we can try in
style. Another good job : we have a fine, stiff,
roomy boat, and you know who you have to
thank for that. We 've got six lives to save, and
a pot of money; and the point is, where are we
to take 'em P ‘’
“It’s all two thousand miles to the nearest of
the Sandwiches, I fancy,” observed Mac.
“No, not so bad as that,” returned the cap-
tain. “But it’s bad enough : rather better ºn a
thousand.”
“I know a man who once did twelve hundred
in a boat,” said Mac, “ and he had all he wanted.
He fetched ashore in the Marquesas, and never
set a foot on anything floating from that day to
this. He said he would rather put a pistol to his
head and knock his brains out.”
“Ay, ay!” said Wicks. “Well I remember a
boat's crew that made this very island of Kauai,
and from just about where we lie, or a bit fur-
ther. When they got up with the land, they were
clean crazy. There was an iron-bound coast and
an Old Bob Ridley of a surf on. The natives
hailed 'em from fishing-boats, and sung out it
478 T H E W R E C K E R
could n’t be done at the money. Much they cared
there was the land, that was all they knew ; and
they turned to and drove the boat slap ashore
in the thick of it, and was all drowned but one.
No ; boat trips are my eye,” concluded the cap-
tain, gloomily.
The tone was surprising in a man of his in-
domitable temper. “Come, Captain,” said Car-
thew, “ you have something else up your sleeve;
Out with it.” -
“It’s a fact,” admitted Wicks. “You see
there's a raft of little bally reefs about here, kind
of chicken-pox on the chart. Well, I looked 'em
all up, and there 's one — Midway or Brooks they
call it, not forty mile from our assigned position
— that I got news of. It turns out it's a coaling-
station of the Pacific Mail,” he said, simply.
“Well, and I know it ain’t no such a thing,”
said Mac. “I been quartermaster in that line
myself.” -
“All right,” returned Wicks. “There's the
book. Read what Hoyt says — read it aloud and
1et the Others hear.”
Hoyt's falsehood (as readers know) was ex-
plicit; incredulity was impossible, and the news
itself delightful beyond hope. Each saw in his
mind's eye the boat draw in to a trim island with
a wharf, coal-sheds, gardens, the Stars and Stripes
and the white cottage of the keeper; saw them-
selves idle a few weeks in tolerable quarters, and
then step on board the China mail, romantic waifs,
and yet with pocketsful of money, calling for
T H E W R E C K E R 479
champagne and waited on by troops of Stewards.
Breakfast, that had begun SO dully, ended amid
sober jubilation, and all hands turned immediately
to prepare the boat.
Now that all spars were gone, it was no easy
job to get her launched. Some of the necessary
cargo was first stowed on board ; the Specie, in
particular, being packed in a strong chest and
secured with lashings to the afterthwart in case
of a capsize. Then a piece of the bulwark was
razed to the level of the deck, and the boat
swung thwart-ship, made fast with a slack-line to
either stump, and successfully run out. For a
voyage of forty miles to hospitable quarters, not
much food or water was required ; but they took
both in superfluity. Amalu and Mac, both in-
grained sailor-men, had chests, which were the
headquarters of their lives; two more chests with
hand-bags, oilskins, and blankets Supplied the
others; Hadden, amid general applause, added
the last case of the brown sherry; the captain
brought the log, instruments, and chronometer;
nor did Hemstead forget the banjo or a pinned
handkerchief of B11taritari shells.
It was about three P. M. when they pushed off,
and (the wind being still westerly) fell to the
oars. “Well, we've got the guts out of you ! ”
was the captain's nodded farewell to the hulk of
the Currency Lass, which presently shrank and
faded in the sea. A little after a calm succeeded
with much rain; and the first meal was eaten,
and the watch below lay down to their uneasy
48O T H E W R E C K E R
slumber on the bilge under a roaring shower-
bath. The twenty-ninth dawned overhead from
out of ragged clouds; there is no moment when
a boat at Sea appears So trenchantly black and
so conspicuously little; and the crew looked about
them at the sky and water with a thrill of loneli-
ness and fear. With sunrise the trade set in,
lusty and true to the point; Sail was made; the
boat flew ; and by about four of the afternoon,
they were well up with the closed part of the
reef, and the captain standing on the thwart, and
holding by the mast, was studying the island
through the binoculars.
“Well, and where 's your station ?” cried Mac.
“I don’t someway pick it up,” replied the
captain.
“No, nor never will !” retorted Mac, with a
clang of despair and triumph in his tones.
The truth was soon plain to all. No buoys, no
beacons, no lights, no coal, no station; the cast-
aways pulled through a lagoon and landed on an
isle, where was no mark of man but wreckwood,
and no sound but of the sea. For the sea-fowl
that harboured and lived there at the epoch of my
visit were then scattered into the uttermost parts
of the Ocean, and had left no traces of their so-
journ besides dropped feathers and addled eggs.
It was to this they had been sent, for this they
had stooped all night over the dripping oars,
hourly moving further from relief. The boat, for
as small as it was, was yet eloquent of the hands
of men, a thing alone indeed upon the sea but yet
T H E W R E C K E R 48T
in itself all human, and the isle, for which they
had exchanged it, was ingloriously Savage, a place
of distress, solitude, and hunger unrelieved. There
was a strong glare and shadow of the evening
Over all; in which they sat or lay, not speaking,
careless even to eat, men swindled out of life and
riches by a lying book. In the great good-nature
of the whole party, no word of reproach had been
addressed to Hadden, the author of these disas–
ters. But the new blow was less magnanimously
borne, and many angry glances rested on the
Captain.
Yet it was himself who roused them from their
lethargy. Grudgingly they obeyed, drew the boat .
beyond tide-mark, and followed him to the top
of the miserable islet, whence a view was com-
manded of the whole wheel Of the horizon, then
part darkened under the coming night, part dyed
with the hues of the sunset and populous with
the sunset clouds. Here the camp was pitched
and a tent run up with the oars, Sails, and mast.
And here Amalu, at no man's bidding, from the
mere instinct of habitual service, built a fire and
cooked a meal. Night was come, and the stars
and the silver sickle of the new moon beamed
Overhead before the meal was ready. The cold
sea shone about them, and the fire glowed in their
faces, as they ate. Tommy had opened his case,
and the brown sherry went the round; but it was
long before they came to conversation.
“Well, is it to be Kauai after all?” asked Mac
suddenly.
3I
482 T H E W R E C K E R
“This is bad enough for me,” said Tommy.
“Let’s stick it out where we are.”
“Well, I can tell ye one thing,” said Mac, “if
ye care to hear it. When I was in the China mail,
we once made this island. It 's in the course from
Honolulu.”
“ Deuce it is ’’ cried Carthew. “That settles
it, then. Let’s stay. We must keep good fires
going; and there 's plenty wreck.”
“Lashings of wreck!” said the Irishman.
“There's nothing here but wreck and coffin
boards.”
“But we’ll have to make a proper blyze,” ob-
jected Hemstead. “You can’t see a fire like this,
not any wye awye, I mean.”
“Can't you?” said Carthew. “Look round.”
They did, and saw the hollow of the night, the
bare bright face of the sea, and the stars regard-
ing them; and the voices died in their bosoms
at the spectacle. In that huge isolation, it seemed
they must be visible from China on the one hand
and California on the other.
“My God, it’s dreary !” whispered Hemstead.
“Dreary P” cried Mac, and fell suddenly silent.
“It’s better than a boat, anyway,” said Hadden.
“I’ve had my bellyful of boat.”
“What kills me is that specie!” the captain
broke out. “ Think of all that riches, – fouí
thousand in gold, bad silver, and short bills —
all found money, too! — and no more use than
that much dung!”
“I’ll tell you one thing,
35
said Tommy. “I
T H E W R F C K E R 483
don’t like it being in the boat — I don't care to
have it so far away.”
“Why, who 's to take it?” cried Mac, with a
guffaw of evil laughter.
But this was not at all the feeling of the part-
ners, who rose, clambered down the isle, brought
back the inestimable treasure-chest slung upon two
oars, and set it conspicuous in the shining Of the
fire.
“There's my beauty l’ cried Wicks, viewing
it with a cocked head. “That’s better than a
bonfire. What! we have a chest here, and bills
for close upon two thousand pounds; there 's no
show to that, — it would go in your vest pocket,
— but the rest! upwards of forty pounds avoir-
dupois of coined gold, and close on two hundred-
weight of Chile silver ! What! ain't that good
enough to fetch a fleet? Do you mean to say
that won’t affect a ship's compass? Do you mean
to tell me the look-out won’t turn to and smell
it?” he cried.
Mac, who had no part nor lot in the bills, the
forty pounds of gold, or the two hundredweight
of silver, heard this with impatience, and fell into
a bitter, choking laughter. “You’ll see!” he
said, harshly. “You’ll be glad to feed them bills
into the fire before you're through with ut!” And
he turned, passed by himself out of the ring of
the firelight, and stood gazing seaward.
His speech and his departure extinguished in-
stantly those sparks of better humour kindled by
the dinner and the chest. The group fell again
484 T H E W R E C K E R
to an ill-favoured silence, and Hemstead began to
touch the banjo, as was his habit of an evening.
His repertory was small: the chords of Home,
Sweet Home fell under his fingers; and when
he had played the symphony, he instinctively
raised up his voice. “Be it never so 'umble,
there 's no plyce like 'ome,” he sang. The last
word was still upon his lips, when the instrument
was snatched from him and dashed into the fire;
and he turned with a cry to look into the furious
countenance of Mac.
“I’ll be damned if I stand this ’’ cried the
captain, leaping up belligerent.
“I told ye I was a voilent man,” said Mac, with
a movement of deprecation very surprising in one
of his character. “Why don’t he give me a chance,
then P Have n’t we enough to bear the way we
are?” And to the wonder and dismay of all, the
Iman choked upon a sob. “It’s ashamed of meself
I am,” he said presently, his Irish accent twenty-
fold increased. “I ask all your pardons for me
voilence; and especially the little man's, who is
a harmless crayture, and here 's me hand to 'm, if
he '11 condescind to take me by 't.”
So this scene of barbarity and sentimentalism
passed off, leaving behind strange and incongruous
impressions. True, every one was perhaps glad
when silence succeeded that all too appropriate
music; true, Mac's apology and subsequent be-
haviour rather raised him in the opinion of his
fellow-castaways. But the discordant note had
been struck, and its harmonics tingled in the brain.
T H E W R E C K E R 485
In that savage, houseless isle, the passions of man
had sounded, if only for the moment, and all men
trembled at the possibilities of horror.
It was determined to stand watch and watch in
case of passing vessels; and Tommy, on fire with
an idea, volunteered to stand the first. The rest
crawled under the tent, and were soon enjoying
that comfortable gift of sleep, which comes every-
where and to all men, quenching anxieties and
Speeding time. And no sooner were all settled, no
Sooner had the drone of many snorers begun to
mingle with and overcome the surf, than Tommy
stole from his post with the case of sherry, and
dropped it in a quiet cove in a fathom of water.
But the stormy inconstancy of Mac’s behaviour
had no connection with a gill or two of wine; his
passions, angry and otherwise, were on a different
Sail plan from his neighbours'; and there were
possibilities of good and evil in that hybrid Celt
beyond their prophecy.
About two in the morning, the starry sky — or so
it seemed, for the drowsy watchman had not ob-
served the approach of any cloud — brimmed over
in a deluge; and for three days it rained without
remission. The islet was a sponge, the castaways
Sops; the view all gone, even the reef concealed
behind the curtain of the falling water. The fire
was soon drowned out; after a couple of boxes
of matches had been scratched in vain, it was
decided to wait for better weather; and the party
lived in wretchedness on raw tins and a ration of
hard bread. t
4.86 T H E W R E C K E R
By the 2d February, in the dark hours of the
morning watch, the clouds were all blown by ; the
Sun rose glorious; and Once more the castaways sat
by a quick fire, and drank hot coffee with the greed
of brutes and sufferers. Thenceforward their
affairs moved in a routine. A fire was constantly
maintained; and this occupied one hand continu-
Ously, and the others for an hour or so in the day.
Twice a day, all hands bathed in the lagoon, their
chief, almost their only pleasure. Often they fished
in the lagoon with good success. And the rest was
passed in lolling, strolling, yarns, and disputation.
The time of the China steamers was calculated to
a nicety; which done, the thought was rejected
and ignored. It was one that would not bear con-
sideration. The boat voyage having been tacitly
set aside, the desperate part chosen to wait there
for the coming of help or of starvation, no man had
courage left to look his bargain in the face, far less
to discuss it with his neighbours. But the un-
uttered terror haunted them; in every hour of idle-
iness, at every moment of silence, it returned, and
breathed a chill about the circle, and carried men's
eyes to the horizon. Then, in a panic of self-
defence, they would rally to some other subject.
And, in that lone spot, what else was to be found
to speak of but the treasure?
That was indeed the chief singularity, the one
thing conspicuous in their island life; the presence
of that chest of bills and specie dominated the mind
like a cathedral; and there were besides connected
with it, certain irking problems well fitted to occupy
T H E W R E C K E R 487
the idle. Two thousand pounds were due to the
Sydney firm : two thousand pounds were clear
profit, and fell to be divided in varying proportions
among five. It had been agreed how the partners
were to range; every pound of capital Subscribed,
every pound that fell due in wages, was to count
for one “lay.” Of these, Tommy could claim five
hundred and ten, Carthew one hundred and sev-
enty, Wicks one hundred and forty, and Hemstead
and Amalu ten apiece: eight hundred and forty
“lays '' in all. What was the value of a lay ? This
was at first debated in the air and chiefly by the
strength of Tommy's lungs. Then followed a
series of incorrect calculations; from which they
issued, arithmetically foiled, but agreed from
weariness upon an approximate value of £2 7s.
7%d. The figures were admittedly incorrect; the
sum of the shares came not to £2OOO, but to £1996
6s. : £3 14s, being thus left unclaimed. But it was
the nearest they had yet found, and the highest as
well, so that the partners were made the less criti-
cal by the contemplation of their splendid divi-
dends. Wicks put in £IOO and stood to draw
captain's wages for two months; his taking was
£333 3s. 63%d. Carthew had put in £150 : he was
to take out £401 18s. 6%d. Tommy's £500 had
grown to be £1213 12s. 9%d. ; and Amalu and
Hemstead, ranking for wages only, had £22 I6s.
O%d., each. -
From talking and brooding on these figures, it
was but a step to opening the chest; and once the
chest open, the glamour of the cash was irresistible.
488 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
Each felt that he must see his treasure separate
with the eye of flesh, handle it in the hard coin,
mark it for his own, and stand forth to himself the
approved Owner. And here an insurmountable
difficulty barred the way. There were some seven-
teen shillings in English silver: the rest was Chile;
and the Chile dollar, which had been taken at the
rate of six to the pound Sterling, was practically
their smallest coin. It was decided, therefore, to
divide the pounds only, and to throw the shillings,
pence, and fractions in a common fund. This,
with the three pound fourteen already in the heel,
made a total of seven pounds one shilling.
“I’ll tell you,” said Wicks. “Let Carthew and
Tommy and me take one pound apiece, and Hem-
stead and Amalu split the other four, and toss up
for the Odd bob.”
“O, rot!” said Carthew. “Tommy and I are
bursting already. We can take half a sov’ each,
and let the other three have forty shillings.”
“I’ll tell you now — it’s not worth splitting,”
broke in Mac. “I’ve cards in my chest. Why
don’t you play for the slump sum ?”
In that idle place, the proposal was accepted with
delight. Mac, as the owner of the cards, was given
a stake; the sum was played for in five games of
cribbage; and when Amalu, the last survivor in
the tournament, was beaten by Mac, it was found
the dinner hour was past. After a hasty meal, they
fell again immediately to cards, this time (on Car-
thew’s proposal) to Van John. It was then prob-
ably two P.M. of the 9th February; and they played
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 489
with varying chances for twelve hours, slept
heavily, and rose late on the morrow to resume
the game. All day of the IOth, with grudging
intervals for food, and with one long absence on
the part of Tommy from which he returned drip-
ping with the case of sherry, they continued to deal
and stake. Night fell: they drew the closer to the
fire. It was maybe two in the morning, and
Tommy was selling his deal by auction, as usual
with that timid player; when Carthew, who did n’t
intend to bid, had a moment of leisure and looked
round him. He beheld the moonlight on the sea,
the money piled and scattered in that incongruous
place, the perturbed faces of the players; he felt
in his own breast the familiar tumult; and it
seemed as if there rose in his ears a sound of music,
and the moon seemed still to shine upon a Sea,
but the sea was changed, and the Casino towered
from among lamplit gardens, and the money
clinked on the green board. “Good God!” he
thought, “am I gambling again?” He looked the
more curiously about the sandy table. He and
Mac had played and won like gamblers; the
mingled gold and silver lay by their places in the
heap. Amalu and Hemstead had each more than
held their own : but Tommy was cruel far to lee-
ward, and the captain was reduced to perhaps
fifty pounds.
“I say, let’s knock off,” said Carthew.
“Give that man a glass of Buckle,” said some
one, and a fresh bottle was opened, and the game
went inexorably on.
4.90 T H E W R. E. C. K. E. R.
Carthew was himself too heavy a winner to
withdraw or to say more; and all the rest of the
night he must look on at the progress of this folly,
and make gallant attempts to lose with the not
uncommon consequence of winning more. The
first dawn of the IIth February found him well-
nigh desperate. It chanced he was then dealer,
and still winning. He had just dealt a round of
many tens; every one had staked heavily; the cap-
tain had put up all that remained to him, twelve
pounds in gold and a few dollars; and Carthew,
looking privately at his cards before he showed
them, found he held a natural.
“See here, you fellows,” he broke out, “this
is a sickening business, and I’m done with it for
one.” So saying, he showed his cards, tore them
across, and rose from the ground.
The company stared and murmured in mere
amazement; but Mac stepped gallantly to his
Support.
“We’ve had enough of it, I do believe,” said
he. “But of course it was all fun, and here 's
my counters back. All counters in, boys!” and
he began to pour his winnings into the chest,
which stood fortunately near him.
Carthew stepped across and wrung him by the
hand. “I’ll never forget this,” he said.
“And what are ye going to do with the High-
way boy and the plumber?” inquired Mac, in
a low tone of voice. “ They 've both wan, ye
see.”
“That's true!” said Carthew aloud. “Amalu
T H E W R E C K E R 49 I
and Hemstead, count your winnings; Tommy and
I pay that.”
It was carried without speech: the pair glad
enough to receive their winnings, it mattered not
from whence; and Tommy, who had lost about
five hundred pounds, delighted with the com-
promise.
“And how about MacP’’ asked Hemstead. “Is
he to lose all P’’
“I beg your pardon, plumber. I’m sure ye
mean well,” returned the Irishman, “but you ’d
better shut your face, for I’m not that kind of
a man. If I tought I had wan that money fair,
there's never a soul here could get it from me.
But I tought it was in fun; that was my mistake,
ye See; and there 's no man big enough upon this
island to give a present to my mother's son. So
there’s my opinion to ye, plumber, and you can
put it in your pockut till required.”
“Well, I will say, Mac, you’re a gentleman,”
said Carthew, as he helped him to shovel back his
winnings into the treasure chest.
“ Divil a fear of it, sir! a drunken sailor-man,”
said Mac.
The captain had sat somewhile with his face
in his hands: now he rose mechanically, shaking
and stumbling like a drunkard after a debauch.
But as he rose, his face was altered, and his voice
rang out over the isle, “Sail, ho!”
All turned at the cry, and there, in the wild
light of the morning, heading straight for Midway
Reef, was the brig Flying Scud of Hull.
CHAPTER XXIV
A HARD BARGAIN
TV HE ship which thus appeared before the
castaways had long “tramped” the Ocean,
&:"... wandering from One port to another as
freights offered. She was two years out from
London, by the Cape of Good Hope, India, and
the Archipelago; and was now bound for San
Francisco in the hope of working homeward
round the Horn. Her captain was one Jacob
Trent. He had retired some five years before
to a suburban cottage, a patch of cabbages, a gig,
and the conduct of what he called a Bank. The
name appears to have been misleading. Bor-
rowers were accustomed to choose works of art
and utility in the front shop; loaves of sugar and
bolts of broadcloth were deposited in pledge; and
it was a part of the manager's duty to dash in
his gig on Saturday evenings from one small re-
tailer’s to another, and to annex in each the bulk
of the week's takings. His was thus an active
life, and to a man of the type of a rat, filled with
recondite joys. An unexpected loss, a law suit,
and the unintelligent commentary of the judge
upon the bench, combined to disgust him of the
business. I was so extraordinarily fortunate as to


T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 493
find, in an old newspaper, a report of the proceed-
ings in Lyall v. The Cardiff Mutual Accommoda-
tion Banking Co. “I confess I fail entirely to
understand the nature of the business,” the judge
had remarked, while Trent was being examined in
chief; a little after, on fuller information — “ They
call it a bank,” he had opined, “but it seems to me
to be an unlicensed pawnshop '; and he wound up
with this appalling allocution: “Mr. Trefit, I must
put you on your guard; you must be very careful,
or we shall see you here again.” In the inside
of a week the captain disposed of the bank, the
Cottage, and the gig and horse; and to Sea again in
the Flying Scud, where he did well and gave high
satisfaction to his owners. But the glory clung
to him; he was a plain sailor-man, he said, but
he could never long allow you to forget that he had
been a banker. -
His mate, Elias Goddedaal, was a huge viking
of a man, six feet three and of proportionate
mass, Strong, Sober, industrious, musical, and sen-
timental. He ran continually over into Swedish
melodies, chiefly in the minor. He had paid nine
dollars to hear Patti; to hear Nilsson, he had
deserted a ship and two months' wages; and he
was ready at any time to walk ten miles for a
good concert or seven to a reasonable play. On
board he had three treasures: a canary bird, a
concertina, and a blinding copy of the works of
Shakespeare. He had a gift, peculiarly Scandi-
navian, of making friends at sight: an elemental
innocence Commended him ; he was without fear,
494. T H E W R E C K E R
without reproach, and without money or the hope
of making it. -
Holdorsen was second mate, and berthed aft,
but messed usually with the hands.
Of One more of the crew, some image lives.
This was a foremost hand out of the Clyde, of the
name of Brown. A small, dark, thickset creature,
with dog's eyes, of a disposition incomparably mild
and harmless, he knocked about seas and cities,
the uncomplaining whiptop of one vice. “The
drink is my trouble, ye see,” he said to Carthew
shyly; “ and it’s the more shame to me because
I’m come of very good people at Bowling down
the wa’er.” The letter that so much affected
Nares, in case the reader should remember it, was
addressed to this man Brown.
Such was the ship that now carried joy into
the bosoms of the castaways. After the fatigue
and the bestial emotions of their night of play, the
approach of salvation shook them from all self-
control. Their hands trembled, their eyes shone,
they laughed and shouted like children as they
cleared their camp: and some one beginning to
whistle Marching through Georgia, the remain-
der of the packing was conducted, amidst a thou-
sand interruptions, to these martial strains. But
the strong head of Wicks was only partly turned.
“Boys,” he said, “easy all! We’re going
aboard of a ship of which we don’t know nothing ;
we've got a chest of Specie, and seeing the weight,
we can’t turn to and deny it. Now, stippose she
was fishy; suppose it was some kind of a Bully
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 495
Hayes business! It’s my opinion we’d better be
on hand with the pistols.”
Every man of the party but Hemstead had some
kind of a revolver; these were accordingly loaded
and disposed about the persons of the castaways,
and the packing was resumed and finished in the
same rapturous spirit as it was begun. The Sun
was not yet ten degrees above the eastern sea, but
the brig was already close in and hove to, be-
fore they had launched the boat and sped, shout-
ing at the Oars, towards the passage.
It was blowing fresh outside with a strong
send of sea. The spray flew in the oarsmen’s
faces. They saw the union jack blow abroad
from the Flying Scud, the men clustered at the
rail, the cook in the galley door, the captain on the
quarter-deck with a pith helmet and binoculars.
And the whole familiar business, the comfort,
company, and safety of a ship, heaving nearer at
each stroke, maddened them with joy.
Wicks was the first to catch the line, and swam
on board, helping hands grabbing him as he came
and hauling him across the rail.
“Captain, sir, I suppose?” he said, turning to
the hard old man in the pith helmet.
“Captain Trent, sir,” returned the old gentle-
111211.
“Well, I’m Captain Kirkup, and this is the
crew of the Sydney schooner, Currency Lass, dis-
masted at sea January 28th.”
“Ay, ay,” said Trent. “Well, you're all right
now. Lucky for you I saw your signal. I did n’t
496 T H E W R E C K E R
know I was so near this beastly island, there must
be a drift to the south’ard here; and when I came
on deck this morning at eight bells, I thought it
was a ship afire.”
It had been agreed that, while Wicks was to
board the ship and do the civil, the rest were to
remain in the whale-boat and see the treasure safe.
A tackle was passed down to them; to this they
made fast the invaluable chest, and gave the word
to heave. But the unexpected weight brought the
hand at the tackle to a stand ; two others ran to
tail on and help him; and the thing caught the
eye of Trent.
“’Vast heaving !” he cried sharply; and then
to Wicks: “What's that? I don’t ever remember
to have seen a chest weigh like that.”
“It’s money,” said Wicks.
“It’s what?” cried Trent. -
“Specie,” said Wicks; “saved from the wreck.”
Trent looked at him sharply. “Here, let go
that chest again, Mr. Goddedaal,” he commanded,
“shove the boat off, and stream her with a line
astern.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” from Goddedaal.
“What the devil's wrong?” asked Wicks.
“Nothing, I dare say,” returned Trent. “But
you'll allow it’s a queer thing when a boat turns
up in mid-ocean with half a ton of specie, –
and everybody armed,” he added, pointing to
Wicks's pocket. “Your boat will lay comfort-
ably astern, while you come below and make
yourself satisfactory.”
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 497
“O, if that’s all!” said Wicks. “My log and
Tapers are as right as the mail; nothing fishy
about us.” And he hailed his friends in the boat,
bidding them have patience, and turned to follow
Captain Trent.
“This way, Captain Kirkup,” said the latter,
“And don’t blame a man for too much caution;
no offence intended ; and these China rivers shake
a fellow’s nerve. All I want is just to see you 're
what you say you are; it's only my duty, sir, and
what you would do yourself in the circumstances.
I’ve not always been a ship-captain : I was a
banker once, and I tell you that's the trade to
learn caution in. You have to keep your weather-
eye lifting Saturday nights.” And with a dry,
businesslike cordiality, he produced a bottle of
gin.
The captains pledged each other; the papers
were overhauled ; the tale of Topelius and the
trade was told in appreciative ears and cemented
their acquaintance. Trent’s suspicions, thus finally
disposed of, were succeeded by a fit of profound
thought, during which he sat lethargic and stern,
looking at and drumming on the table.
“Anything more?” asked Wicks.
“What sort of a place is it inside?” inquired
Trent, Sudden as though Wicks had touched a
spring.
“It’s a good enough lagoon — a few horses'
heads, but nothing to mention,” answered Wicks.
“I’ve a good mind to go in,” said Trent. “I
was new rigged in China; it’s given very bad,
32
498 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
and I’m getting frightened for my sticks. We
could set it up as good as new in a day. For I
dare say your lot would turn to and give us a
hand P’’ º
“You see if we don't!” said Wicks.
“So be it then,” concluded Trent. “A Stitch
in time saves nine.”
They returned on deck; Wicks cried the news
to the Currency-Lasses; the foretopsail was filled
again, and the brig ran into the lagoon lively, the
whale-boat dancing in her wake, and came to single
anchor off Middle Brooks Island before eight.
She was boarded by the castaways, breakfast was
served, the baggage slung on board and piled in
the waist, and all hands turned to upon the rig-
ging. All day the work contintied, the two crews
rivalling each other in expense of strength. Din-
ner was served on deck, the officers messing aft
under the slack of the spanker, the men fraternis-
ing forward. Trent appeared in excellent spirits,
served out grog to all hands, opened a bottle of
Cape wine for the after-table, and obliged his guests
with many details of the life of a financier in Car-
diff. He had been forty years at sea, had five
times suffered shipwreck, was once nine months
the prisoner of a pepper rajah, and had seen service
under fire in Chinese rivers; but the only thing he
cared to talk of, the only thing of which he was
vain, or with which he thought it possible to in-
terest a stranger, was his career as a money-lender
in the slums of a seaport town.
The afternoon spell told cruelly on the Cur-
T H E w RE C K E R 499
rency-Lasses. Already exhausted as they were
with sleeplessness and excitement, they did the
last hours of this violent employment on bare
nerves; and when Trent was at last satisfied with
the condition of his rigging, expected eagerly the
word to put to sea. But the captain seemed in no
hurry. He went and walked by himself Softly,
like a man in thought. Presently he hailed
Wicks. *
“You ’re a kind of company, ain't you, Cap-
tain Kirkup 2 º’ he inquired.
“Yes, we're all on board on lays,” was the
reply.
“Well, then, you won’t mind if I ask the lot
of you down to tea in the cabin P” asked Trent.
Wicks was amazed, but he naturally ventured
no remark; and a little after, the six Currency-
Lasses sat down with Trent and Goddedaal to
a spread of marmalade, butter, toast, Sardines,
tinned tongue, and steaming tea. The food was
inot very good, and I have no doubt Nares would
have reviled it, but it was manna to the castaways.
Goddedaal waited on them with a kindness far
before courtesy, a kindness like that of some old,
honest countrywoman in her farm. It was remem-
bered afterwards that Trent took 11ttle share in
these attentions, but sat much absorbed in thought,
and seemed to remember and forget the presence
of his guests alternately.
Presently he addressed the Chinaman.
“Clear out !” said he, and watched him till
he had disappeared in the stair. “Now, gentle-
5OO T H E W R E C K E R
men,” he went on, “I understand you ’re a joint-
stock sort of crew, and that 's why I’ve had you
all down; for there 's a point I want made clear.
You see what sort of a ship this is — a good ship,
though I say it, and you see what the rations are
— good enough for sailor-men.”
There was a hurried murmur of approval, but
curiosity for what was coming next prevented an
articulate reply.
“Well,” continued Trent, making bread pills
and looking hard at the middle of the table, “I’m
glad of course to be able to give you a passage
to 'Frisco; one sailor-man should help another,
that 's my motto. But when you want a thing in
this world, you generally always have to pay for
it.” He laughed a brief, joyless laugh. “I have
Ino idea of losing by my kindness.”
“We have no idea you should, Captain,” said
Wicks.
“We are ready to pay anything in reason,”
added Carthew.
At the words, Goddedaal, who sat next to him,
touched him with his elbow, and the two mates
exchanged a significant look. The character of
Captain Trent was given and taken in that silent
second.
“In reason P” repeated the captain of the brig.
“I was waiting for that. Reason 's between two.
people, and there 's only one here. I’m the judge;
I’m reason. If you want an advance you have to
pay for it’” — he hastily corrected himself — “If
you want a passage in my ship, you have to pay
T H E W R E C K E R 5OI
my price,” he substituted. “That’s business, I
believe. I don’t want you; you want me.”
“Well, sir,” said Carthew, “ and what is your
price?”
The captain made bread pills. “If I were like
you,” he said, “when you got hold of that mer-
chant in the Gilberts, I might surprise you. You
had your chance then ; seems to me it 's mine now.
Turn about ’s fair play. What kind of mercy did
you have on that Gilbert merchant?” he cried,
with a sudden stridency. “ Not that I blame you.
All 's fair in love and business,” and he laughed
again, a little frosty giggle.
“Well, sir?” said Carthew, gravely.
“Well, this ship 's mine, I think?” he asked
sharply.
“Well, I’m of that way of thinking meself,”
observed Mac. -
“I say it’s mine, sir!” reiterated Trent, like
a man trying to be angry. “And I tell you all,
if I was a driver like what you are, I would take
the lot. But there 's two thousand pounds there
that don’t belong to you, and I’m an honest man.
Give me the two thousand that's yours, and I'll
give you a passage to the coast, and land every
man-jack of you in 'Frisco with fifteen pounds
in his pocket, and the captain here with twenty-
five.”
Goddedaal laid down his head on the table like
a man ashamed. *
“You’re joking,” cried Wicks, purple in the
face. -
go2 T H E W R E C K E R
“Am I?’” said Trent. “Please yourselves.
You ’re under no compulsion. This ship 's mine,
but there 's that Brooks Island don’t belong to
me, and you can lay there till you die for what I
care.” t
“It’s more than your blooming brig's worth !”
cried Wicks.
“It’s my price anyway,” returned Trent.
“And do you mean to say you would land us
there to starve?” cried Tommy.
Captain Trent laughed the third time. “Starve?
I defy you to,” said he. “I’ll sell you all the
provisions you want at a fair profit.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mac, “but my
case is by itself. I’m working me passage; I got
no share in that two thousand pounds nor nothing
in my pockut; and I’ll be glad to know what you
have to say to me?”
“I ain’t a hard man,” said Trent. “That shall
make no difference. I’ll take you with the rest,
Only of course you get no fifteen pound.”
The impudence was so extreme and startling,
that all breathed deep, and Goddedaal raised up
his face and looked his superior sternly in the
eye.
But Mac was more articulate. “And you're
what ye call a British sayman, I suppose? the
sorrow in your guts ’’ he cried.
“One more such word, and I clap you in
irons !” said Trent, rising gleefully at the face
of Opposition.
“And where would I be while you were doin'
T H E W R E C K E R 5O3
11th '' asked Mac. “After you and your rigging,
too ! Ye Ould puggy, ye have n’t the civility of
a bug, and I’ll learn ye some.”
His voice did not even rise as he uttered the
threat; no man present, Trent least of all, ex-
pected that which followed. The Irishman's hand
rose suddenly from below the table, an open clasp-
knife balanced on the palm ; there was a move—
ment swift as conjuring; Trent started half to his
feet, turning a little as he rose so as to escape the
table, and the movement was his bane. The mis-
sile struck him in the jugular; he fell forward,
and his blood flowed among the dishes on the
cloth.
The suddenness of the attack and the catas-
trophe, the instant change from peace to war and
from life to death, held all men spellbound. Yet
a moment they sat about the table staring open-
mouthed upon the prostrate captain and the flow-
ing blood. The next, Goddedaal had leaped to
his feet, caught up the stool on which he had
been sitting, and swung it high in air, a man
transfigured, roaring (as he stood) so that men's
ears were stunned with it. There was no thought
of battle in the Currency-Lasses; none drew his
weapon; all huddled helplessly from before the
face of the baresark Scandinavian. His first blow
sent Mac to ground with a broken arm. His
second dashed out the brains of Hemstead. He
turned from one to another, menacing and trum-
peting like a wounded elephant, exulting in his
rage. But there was no council, no light of reason,
504 T H E W R E C K E R
in that ecstasy of battle; and he shied from the
pursuit of victory to hail fresh blows upon the
Supine Hemstead, so that the stool was shattered
and the cabin rang with their violence. The sight
of that post-mortem cruelty recalled Carthew to the
life of instinct, and his revolver was in hand and
he had aimed and fired before he knew. The
ear-bursting sound of the report was accompanied
by a yell of pain; the colossus paused, swayed,
tottered, and fell headlong on the body of his
victim.
In the instant silence that succeeded, the sound
of feet pounding on the deck and in the companion
leaped into hearing; and a face, that of the sailor
Holdorsen, appeared below the bulkheads in the
cabin doorway. Carthew shattered it with a second
shot, for he was a marksman.
“Pistols' " he cried, and charged at the com-
panion, Wicks at his heels, Tommy and Amalu
following. They trod the body of Holdorsen
underfoot, and flew up-stairs and forth into the
dusky blaze of a sunset red as blood. The numbers
were still equal, but the Flying-Scuds dreamed not
of defence, and fled with one accord for the fore-
castle scuttle. Brown was first in flight; he dis-
appeared below unscathed; the Chinaman followed
head-foremost with a ball in his side; and the
others shinned into the rigging.
A fierce composure settled upon Wicks and
Carthew, their fighting second wind. They
posted Tommy at the fore and Amalt1 at the
main to guard the masts and shrouds, and going
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 5O5
themselves into the waist, poured out a box of
cartridges on deck and filled the chambers. The
poor devils aloft bleated aloud for mercy. But the
hour of any mercy was gone by ; the cup was
brewed and must be drunken to the dregs; since SO
many had fallen, all must fall. The light was bad,
the cheap revolvers fouled and carried wild, the
screaming wretches were swift to flatten them-
selves against the masts and yards or find a mo-
mentary refuge in the hanging sails. The fell
business took long, but it was done at last.
Hardy the Londoner was shot on the foreroyal
yard, and hung horribly suspended in the brails.
Wallen, the other, had his jaw broken on the
main topgallant cross-trees, and exposed himself,
shrieking, till a second shot dropped him on the
deck.
This had been bad enough, but worse remained
behind. There was still Brown in the forepeak.
Tommy, with a sudden clamour of weeping, begged
for his life. “One man can’t hurt us,” he sobbed.
“We can’t go on with this. I spoke to him at
dinner. He 's an awful decent little cad. It can’t
be done. Nobody can go into that place and mur-
der him. It's too damned wicked.”
The sound of his supplications was perhaps
audible to the unfortunate below.
“One left, and we all hang,” said Wicks.
“Brown must go the same road.” The big man
was deadly white and trembled like an aspen; and
he had no sooner finished speaking, than he went
to the ship's side and vomited.
506 T H E W R E C K E R
“We can never do it if we wait,” said Carthew.
“Now or never,” and he marched towards the
scuttle.
“No, no, no!” wailed Tommy, clutching at his
jacket.
But Carthew flung him off, and stepped down
the ladder, his heart rising with disgust and
shame. The Chinaman lay on the floor, still
groaning; the place was pitch dark.
“ Brown l’’ cried Carthew, “ Brown, where are
you?”
His heart smote him for the treacherous apos-
trophe, but no answer came.
He groped in the bunks: they were all empty.
Then he moved towards the forepeak, which was
hampered with coils of rope and spare chandlery
in general.
“Brown l’’ he said again.
“Here, sir,” answered a shaking voice; and the
poor invisible caitiff called on him by name, and
poured forth out of the darkness an endless, gar-
rulous appeal for mercy. A sense of danger, of
daring, had alone nerved Carthew to enter the
forecastle; and here was the enemy crying and
pleading like a frightened child. His obsequious
“Here, sir,” his horrid fluency of obtestation,
made the murder tenfold more revolting. Twice
Carthew raised the pistol, once he pressed the
trigger (or thought he did) with all his might,
but no explosion followed; and with that the lees
of his courage ran quite out, and he turned and
fled from before his victim.
T H E W R E C K E R 5O7
Wicks sat on the fore hatch, raised the face of
a man of seventy, and looked a wordless question.
Carthew shook his head. With such composure
as a man displays marching towards the gallows,
Wicks arose, walked to the scuttle, and went down.
Brown thought it was Carthew returning, and dis-
covered himself, half crawling from his shelter,
with another incoherent burst of pleading. Wicks
emptied his revolver at the voice, which broke into
mouse-like whimperings and groans. Silence suc-
ceeded, and the murderer ran on deck like one
possessed.
The other three were now all gathered on the
fore hatch, and Wicks took his place beside them
without question asked or answered. They sat
close, like children in the dark, and shook each
other with their shaking. The dusk continued to
fall; and there was no sound but the beating of
the surf and the occasional hiccup of a Sob from
Tommy Hadden.
“God, if there was another ship
thew of a sudden.
Wicks started and looked aloft with the trick
of all seamen, and shuddered as he saw the hang-
ing figure on the royal yard.
“If I went aloft, I’d fall,” he said simply.
“I’m done up.”
It was Amalu who volunteered, climbed to the
very truck, swept the fading horizon, and an-
nounced nothing within sight.
“No odds,” said Wicks. “We can’t sleep . . .”
“Sleep!” echoed Carthew ; and it seemed as
| 2:
cried Car-
508 T H E W R E. C.K. E. R.
if the whole of Shakespeare's Macbeth thundered
at the gallop through his mind.
“Well, then, we can’t sit and chitter here,” said
Wicks, “till we’ve cleaned ship; and I can’t turn
to till I’ve had gin, and the gin 's in the cabin,
and who 's to fetch it?”
“I will,” said Carthew, “if any one has
matches.”
Amalu passed him a box, and he went aft and
down the companion and into the cabin, stumbling
upon bodies. Then he struck a match, and his
looks fell upon two living eyes.
“Well?” asked Mac, for it was he who still
survived in that shambles of a cabin.
“It’s done; they're all dead,” answered Car-
thew.
“Christ!” said the Irishman, and fainted.
The gin was found in the dead captain's cabin;
it was brought on deck, and all hands had a
dram, and attacked their farther task. The night
was come, the moon would not be up for hours;
a lamp was set on the main hatch to light Amalu
as he washed down decks; and the galley lantern
was taken to guide the others in their grave-
yard business. Holdorsen, Hemstead, Trent, and
Goddedaal were first disposed of, the last still
breathing as he went over the side; Wallen fol-
lowed; and then Wicks, steadied by the gin, went
aloft with a boathook and succeeded in dislodging
Hardy. The Chinaman was their last task; he
seemed to be light-headed, talked aloud in his un-
known language as they brought him up, and it
y
T H E w RE C K E R 5O9
was only with the splash of his sinking body that
the gibberish ceased. Brown, by common Con-
sent, was left alone. Flesh and blood could go
no farther.
All this time they had been drinking undiluted
gin like water; three bottles stood broached in
different quarters; and none passed without a
gulp. Tommy collapsed against the mainmast;
Wicks fell on his face on the poop ladder and
moved no more; Amalu had vanished unobserved.
Carthew was the last afoot: he stood swaying at
the break of the poop, and the lantern, which he
still carried, swung with his movement. His head
hummed; it swarmed with broken thoughts; mem–
ory of that day’s abominations flared up and died
down within him, like the light of a lamp in a
strong draught. And then he had a drunkard’s
inspiration.
“There must be no more of this,” he thought,
and stumbled once more below.
The absence of Holdorsen’s body brought him
to a stand. He stood and stared at the empty
floor, and then remembered and smiled. From
the captain's room he took the open case with
one dozen and three bottles of gin, put the lantern
inside, and walked precariously forth. Mac was
once more conscious; his eyes haggard, his face
drawn with pain and flushed with fever; and
Carthew remembered he had never been seen to,
had lain there helpless, and was so to lie all night,
injured, perhaps dying. But it was now too late;
reason had now fled from that silent ship. If
5 IO T H E W R E C K E R
Carthew could get on deck again, it was as much
as he could hope; and casting on the unfortunate
a glance of pity, the tragic drunkard shouldered
his way up the companion, dropped the case over-
board, and fell in the scuppers helpless.
CHAPTER XXV
A BAD BARGAIN
Y ITH the first colour in the east, Carthew
awoke and sat up. Awhile he gazed
... Yº at the scroll of the morning bank and
the spars and hanging canvas of the brig, like a
man who wakes in a strange bed, with a child's
simplicity of wonder. He wondered above all
what ailed him, what he had lost, what disfavour
had been done him, which he knew he should
resent, yet had forgotten. And then, like a river
bursting through a dam, the truth rolled on him
its instantaneous volume: his memory teemed
with speech and pictures that he should never
again forget; and he sprang to his feet, stood a
moment hand to brow, and began to walk vio-
lently to and fro by the companion. As he walked,
he wrung his hands. “God — God — God,” he
kept saying, with no thought of prayer, uttering
a mere voice of agony.
The time may have been long or short, it was
perhaps minutes, perhaps only seconds, ere he
awoke to find himself observed, and saw the cap-
tain sitting up and watching him over the break
Of the poop, a strange blindness as of fever in
his eyes, a haggard knot of corrugations on his
:
:
.
º
:
#
tº
•.
:
&
O
&
y
:

5 I 2 T H E W R E C K E R
brow. Cain saw himself in a mirror. For a
flash they looked upon each other, and then
glanced guiltily aside; and Carthew fled from the
eye of his accomplice, and stood leaning On the
taffrail.
An hour went by, while the day came brighter,
and the sun rose and drank up the clouds: an
hour of silence in the ship, an hour of agony be-
yond narration for the sufferers. Brown's gab-
bling prayers, the cries of the sailors in the rigging,
“strains of the dead Hemstead’s minstrelsy, ran
together in Carthew’s mind, with sickening itera-
tion. He neither acquitted nor condemned him-
self: he did not think, he suffered. In the bright
water into which he stared, the pictures changed
and were repeated: the baresark rage of Godde-
daal; the blood-red light of the sunset into which
they had run forth; the face of the babbling
Chinaman as they cast him over; the face of the
captain, seen a moment since, as he awoke from
drunkenness into remorse. And time passed, and
the sun swam higher, and his torment was not
abated.
Then were fulfilled many sayings, and the weak-
est of these condemned brought relief and healing
to the others. Amalu the drudge awoke (like
the rest) to sickness of body and distress of mind;
but the habit of obedience ruled in that simple
spirit, and appalled to be so late, he went direct
into the galley, kindled the fire, and began to
get breakfast. At the rattle of dishes, the snap-
ping of the fire, and the thin smoke that went
;
:
:
.
:
:
:
T H E W R E C K E R 5 I 3
up straight into the air, the spell was lifted. The
condemned felt once more the good dry land of
habit underfoot; they touched again the familiar
guide-ropes of sanity; they were restored to a
sense of the blessed revolution and return of all
things earthly. The captain drew a bucket of
water and began to bathe. Tommy sat up, watched
him awhile, and slowly followed his example;
and Carthew, remembering his last thoughts of
the night before, hastened to the cabin.
Mac was awake; perhaps had not slept. Over
his head Goddedaal's canary twittered shrilly from
its cage.
“How are you?” asked Carthew.
“Me arrum 's broke,” returned Mac; “but I can
stand that. It’s this place I can’t abide. I was
coming on deck anyway.”
“Stay where you are, though,” said Carthew.
“It’s deadly hot above, and there's no wind. I’ll
wash out this — ” and he paused, seeking a word
and not finding one for the grisly foulness of the
cabin.
“Faith, I’ll be obliged to ye, then,” replied the
Irishman. He spoke mild and meek, like a sick
child with its mother. There was now no violence
in the violent man; and as Carthew fetched a
bucket and swab and the steward's Sponge, and
began to cleanse the field of battle, he alternately
watched him or shut his eyes and sighed like a
man near fainting. “I have to ask all your par-
dons,” he began again presently, “ and the more
shame to me as I got ye into the trouble and
33
$14 T H E W R E C K E R
could n’t do nothing when it came. Ye saved me
life, sir; ye’re a clane shot.”
“For God’s sake, don’t talk of it!” cried Car-
thew. “It can’t be talked of; you don’t know
what it was. It was nothing down here; they
fought. On deck — O, my God!” And Carthew,
with the bloody sponge pressed to his face, strug-
gled a moment with hysteria.
“ Kape cool, Mr. Cart’ew. It's done now,” said
Mac; “ and ye may bless God ye ’re not in pain
and helpless in the bargain.”
There was no more said by one or other, and
the cabin was pretty well cleansed when a stroke
on the ship's bell summoned Carthew to break-
fast. Tommy had been busy in the meanwhile;
he had hauled the whale-boat close aboard, and
already lowered into it a small keg of beef that he
found ready broached beside the galley door; it
was plain he had but the one idea — to escape.
“We have a shipful of stores to draw upon,”
he said. “Well, what are we staying for P Let’s
get off at once for Hawaii. I’ve begun preparing
already.”
“ Mac has his arm broken,” observed Carthew ;
“how would he stand the voyage?”
“A broken arm P” repeated the captain. “That
all? I’ll set it after breakfast. I thought he
was dead like the rest. That madman hit out
like — ” and there, at the evocation of the battle,
his voice ceased and the talk died with it.
After breakfast, the three white men went down
into the cabin. *
5
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 5 I 5
5
“I’ve come to set your arm,” said the captain.
“I beg your pardon, Captain,” replied Mac;
“but the firrst thing ye got to do is to get this
ship to sea. We’ll talk of me arrum after that.”
“O, there's no such blooming hurry,” returned
Wicks.
“When the next ship sails in, ye ’11 tell me
stories ' ' retorted Mac. -
“But there's nothing so unlikely in the world,”
objected Carthew.
“Don’t be deceivin' yourself,” said Mac. “If
ye want a ship, divil a one 'll look near ye in six
year; but if ye don’t, ye may take my word for
ut, we'll have a squadron layin’ here.”
“That's what I say,” cried Tommy; “that's
what I call sense ! Let’s stock that whale-boat and
be Off.”
“And what will Captain Wicks be thinking of
the whale-boat?” asked the Irishman.
“I don’t think of it at all,” said Wicks. “We’ve
a smart-looking brig underfoot; that 's all the
whale-boat I want.”
“Excuse me!” cried Tommy. “That’s child-
ish talk. You ’ve got a brig, to be sure, and what
use is she? You dare n’t go anywhere in her.
What port are you to sail for P”
“For the port of Davy Jones's Locker, my
Son,” replied the captain. “This brig's going to
be lost at sea. I’ll tell you where, too, and that 's
about forty miles to windward of Kauai. We’re
going to Stay by her till she 's down; and once
the masts are under, she's the Flying Scud no
516 T H E W R E C K E R
more, and we never heard of such a brig; and it’s
the crew of the Schooner Currency Lass that comes
ashore in the boat, and takes the first chance to
Sydney.”
“Captain dear, that 's the first Christian word
I’ve heard of ut!” cried Mac. “And now, just
let me arrum be, jewel, and get the brig outside.”
“I’m as anxious as yourself, Mac,” returned
Wicks; “but there's not wind enough to swear
by. So let's see your arm, and no more talk.”
The arm was set and splinted; the body of
Brown fetched from the forepeak, where it lay
stiff and cold, and committed to the waters of the
lagoon; and the washing of the cabin rudely fin-
ished. All these were done ere midday; and it
was past three when the first cat's-paw ruffled the
lagoon, and the wind came in a dry squall, which
presently sobered to a steady breeze.
The interval was passed by all in feverish im-
patience, and by one of the party in secret and
extreme concern of mind. Captain Wicks was
a fore-and-aft sailor; he could take a schooner
through a Scotch reel, felt her mouth and divined
lmer temper like a rider with a horse; she, on her
side, recognising her master and following his
wishes like a dog. But by a not very unusual
train of circumstance, the man’s dexterity was
partial and circumscribed. On a schooner’s deck
he was Rembrandt or (at the least) Mr. Whistler;
on board a brig he was Pierre Grassou. Again
and again in the course of the morning, he had
reasoned out his policy and rehearsed his orders;
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 5 I 7
and ever with the same depression and weariness.
It was guess-work; it was chance; the ship might
behave as he expected, and might not; Suppose
she failed him, he stood there helpless, beggared
of all the proved resources of experience. Had
not all hands been so weary, had he not feared to
communicate his own misgivings, he could have
towed her. Out. But these reasons sufficed, and
the most he could do was to take all possible
precautions. Accordingly he had Carthew aft, ex-
plained what was to be done with anxious patience,
and visited along with him the various sheets and
braces.
“I hope I.’ll remember,” said Carthew. “It
seems awfully muddled.”
“It’s the roffenest kind of rig,” the captain
admitted ; “all blooming pocket-handkerchiefs'
And not one sailor-man on deck! Ah, if she’d
only been a brigantine, now ! But it's lucky the
Passage is SO plain; there 's no manoeuvring to
mention. We get under way before the wind,
and run right so till we begin to get foul of the
island; then we haul our wind and lie as near
South-east as may be till we’re on that line; 'bout
ship there and stand straight out on the port tack.
Catch the idea P”
“Yes, I see the idea,” replied Carthew rather
dismally, and the two incompetents studied for
a long time in silence the complicated gear above
their heads.
But the time came when these rehearsals must
be put in practice. The sails were lowered, and
518 T H E W R E C K E R
all hands heaved the anchor short. The whale-boat
was then cut adrift, the upper topsails and the
spanker set, the yards braced up, and the Spanker
sheet hauled out to starboard.
“Heave away on your anchor, Mr. Carthew.”
“Anchor 's gone, sir.”
“Set jibs.” -
It was done, and the brig still hung enchanted.
Wicks, his head full of a schooner's mainsail,
turned his mind to the spanker. First he hauled
in the sheet, and then he hauled it out, with no
result.
“Brail the damned thing up !” he bawled at last,
with a red face. “There ain't no sense in it.”
It was the last stroke of bewilderment for the
poor captain, that he had no sooner brailed up the
spanker, than the brig came before the wind. The
laws of nature seemed to him to be suspended; he
was like a man in a world of pantomime tricks;
the cause of any result, and the probable result of
any action, equally concealed from him. He was
the more careful not to shake the nerve of his
amateur assistants. He stood there with a face
like a torch; but he gave his orders with aplomb;
and indeed, now the ship was under way, supposed
his difficulties over.
The lower topsails and courses were then set,
and the brig began to walk the water like a thing
of life, her forefoot discoursing music, the birds
flying and crying over her spars. Bit by bit the
passage began to open and the blue sea to show
between the flanking breakers on the reef; bit by
T H E W R E C K E R 519
bit, on the starboard bow, the low land of the
islet began to heave closer aboard. The yards were
braced up, the spanker sheet hauled aft again;
the brig was close hauled, lay down to her work
like a thing in earnest, and had soon drawn near
to the point of advantage, where she might stay
and lie Out of the lagoon in a single tack.
Wicks took the wheel himself, swelling with
success. He kept the brig full to give her heels,
and began to bark his orders: “Ready about.
Helm 's a-lee. Tacks and sheets. Mainsail haul.”
And then the fatal words: “That’ll do your
main-sail; jump forrard and haul round your
foreyards.”
TO stay a square-rigged ship is an affair of
knowledge and swift sight; and a man used to the
Succinct evolutions of a schooner will always tend
to be too hasty with a brig. It was so now. The
Order came too soon; the topsails set flat aback;
the ship was in irons. Even yet, had the helm been
reversed, they might have saved her. But to think
of a stern-board at all, far more to think of
profiting by one, were foreign to the schooner-
sailor's mind. Wicks made haste instead to wear
ship, a manoeuvre for which room was wanting,
and the Flying Scud took ground on a bank of
sand and coral about twenty minutes before five.
Wicks was no hand with a square-rigger, and
he had shown it. But he was a sailor and a born
captain of men for all homely purposes, where
intellect is not required and an eye in a man’s
head and a heart under his jacket will suffice.
52O T H E W R E C K E R
Before the others had time to understand the mis-
fortune, he was bawling fresh orders, and had the
Sails clewed up, and took soundings round the
ship.
“She lies lovely,” he remarked, and ordered
Out a boat with the starboard anchor.
“Here! steady!” cried Tommy. “You ain’t
going to turn us to, to warp her off?”
“I am though,” replied Wicks. º
“I won’t set a hand to such tomfoolery for
one,” replied Tommy. “I’m dead beat.” He
went and sat down doggedly on the main hatch.
“You got us on ; get us off again,” he added.
Carthew and Wicks turned to each other.
“Perhaps you don’t know how tired we are,”
said Carthew.
“The tide's flowing !” cried the captain. “You
would n’t have me miss a rising tide?”
“O gammon there 's tides to-morrow !” re-
torted Toriirily. *
“And I’ll tell you what,” added Carthew, “the
breeze is failing fast, and the sun will soon be
down. We may get into all kinds of fresh mess
in the dark and with nothing but light airs.”
“I don’t deny it,” answered Wicks, and stood
awhile as if in thought. “But what I can’t make
out,” he began again, with agitation, “what I
can’t make out is what you’re made of ! To stay
in this place is beyond me. There’s the bloody
sun going down — and to stay here is beyond
me.”
The others looked upon him with horrified sur-
T H E W R E C K E R 521
prise. This fall of their chief pillar — this irra-
tional passion in the practical man, Suddenly barred
out of his true sphere, the sphere of action —
shocked and daunted them. But it gave to an–
other and unseen hearer the chance for which he
had been waiting. Mac, on the Striking of the
brig, had crawled up the companion, and he now
showed himself and spoke up.
“Captain Wicks,” he said, “it’s me that
brought this trouble on the lot of ye. I’m sorry
for ut, I ask all your pardons, and if there's any
one can say “I forgive ye,’ it’ll make my soul the
lighter.” -
Wicks stared upon the man in amaze; then his
self-control returned to him. “We’re all in glass
houses here,” he said; “we ain’t going to turn to
and throw stones. I forgive you, sure enough ;
and much good may it do you ! ”
The others spoke to the same purpose.
“I thank ye for ut, and ’t is done like gentle-
Imen,” said Mac. “But there 's another thing I
have upon my mind. I hope we're all Prodes-
tan’s here?” -
It appeared they were; it seemed a small thing
for the Protestant religion to rejoice in
“Well, that 's as it should be,” continued Mac.
“And why should n’t we say the Lord’s Prayer?
There can’t be no hurt in ut.”
He had the same quiet, pleading, childlike
way with him as in the morning; and the others
accepted his proposal, and knelt down without a
word.
522 T H E W R E C K E R
“Knale if ye like l’’ said he. “I stand.” And
he covered his eyes.
So the prayer was said to the accompaniment
Of the surf and sea-birds, and all rose refreshed
and felt lightened of a load. Up to then, they
had cherished their guilty memories in private,
or only referred to them in the heat of a mo-
ment and fallen immediately silent. Now they had
faced their remorse in company, and the worst
seemed over. Nor was it only that. But the
petition “Forgive us our trespasses,” falling in
so apposite after they had themselves forgiven
the immediate author of their miseries, sounded
like an absolution. -
Tea was taken on deck in the time of the sun-
set, and not long after the five castaways — cast-
aways once more — lay down to sleep.
Day dawned windless and hot. Their slumbers
had been too profound to be refreshing, and they
woke listless, and sat up, and stared about them
with dull eyes. Only Wicks, smelling a hard
day’s work, ahead, was more alert. He went first
to the well, sounded it once and then a second time,
and stood awhile with a grim look, so that all
could see he was dissatisfied. Then he shook
himself, stripped to the buff, clambered on the
rail, drew himself up and raised his arms to plunge.
The dive was never taken. He stood instead
transfixed, his eyes on the horizon.
“Hand up that glass,” he said.
In a trice they were all swarming aloft, the
nude captain leading with the glass.
T H E W R E C K E R 523
On the northern horizon was a finger of grey
smoke, straight in the windless air like a point
of admiration.
“What do you make it?” they asked of Wicks.
“She’s truck down,” he replied; “no telling
yet. By the way the smoke builds, she must be
heading right here.”
“What can she be?”
“She might be the China mail,” returned Wicks,
“ and she might be a blooming man-of-war, come
to look for castaways. Here! This ain’t the time
to stand staring. On deck, boys!”
He was the first on deck, as he had been the
first aloft, handed down the ensign, bent it again
to the signal halliards, and ran it up union down.
“Now hear me,” he said, jumping into his
trousers, “ and everything I say you grip on to.
If that 's a man-of-war, she 'll be in a tearing
hurry; all these ships are what don’t do nothing
and have their expenses paid. That’s our chance;
for we’ll go with them, and they won’t take
the time to look twice or to ask a question.
I’m Captain Trent; Carthew, you're Goddedaal;
Tommy, you ’re Hardy; Mac’s Brown; Amalu —
Hold hard ' we can’t make a Chinaman of him
Ah Wing must have deserted; Amalu stowed
away; and I turned him to as cook, and was never
at the bother to sign him. Catch the idea? Say
your names.”
And that pale company recited their lesson
earnestly.
“What were the names Of the Other two P '' he
524 T H E W R E C K E R
asked. “Him Carthew shot in the companion,
and the One I caught in the jaw on the main
topgallant?”
“Holdorsen and Wallen,” said some One.
“Well, they're drowned,” continued Wicks;
“ drowned alongside trying to lower a boat. We
had a bit of a squall last night: that's how we
got ashore.” He ran and squinted at the com-
pass. “Squall out of nor’-nor’-west-half-west;
blew hard; every one in a mess, falls jammed,
and Holdorsen and Wallen spilt overboard. See?
Clear your blooming heads !” He was in his jacket
now, and spoke with a feverish impatience and
contention that rang like anger.
“But is it safe?” asked Tommy.
“Safe?” bellowed the captain. “We’re stand-
ing on the drop, you moon-calf If that ship ’s
bound for China (which she don’t look to be),
we're lost as soon as we arrive; if she's bound
the other way, she comes from China, don’t she?
Well, if there 's a man on board of her that ever
clapped eyes on Trent or any blooming hand out
of this brig, we'll all be in irons in two hours.
Safe! no, it ain’t safe; it's a beggarly last chance
to shave the gallows, and that's what it is.”
At this convincing picture, fear took hold on all.
“Had n’t we a hundred times better stay by
the brig P’’ cried Carthew. “They would give us
a hand to float her off.”
“You’ll make me waste this holy day in chat-
tering !” cried Wicks. “Look here, when I
sounded the well this morning, there was two
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 52.5
foot of water there against eight inches last night.
What’s wrong? I don’t know ; might be nothing;
might be the worst kind of Smash. And then,
there we are in for a thousand miles in an open
boat, if that's your taste!”
“But it may be nothing, and anyway their car-
penters are bound to help us repair her,” argued
Carthew.
“Moses Murphy l’ cried the captain. “How
did she strike? Bows On, I believe. And she 's
down by the head now. If any carpenter comes
tinkering here, where 11 he go first? Down in
the forepeak, I suppose ! And then, how about
all that blood among the chandlery P You would
think you were a lot of members of Parliament
discussing Plimsoll; and you ’re just a pack of
murderers with the halter round your neck. Any
other ass got any time to waste? No? Thank
God for that! Now, all hands ! I’m going below,
and I leave you here on deck. You get the boat
cover off that boat; then you turn to and open
the specie chest. There are five of us; get five
chests, and divide the specie equal among the five
— put it at the bottom — and go at it like
tigers. Get blankets, or canvas, or clothes, so it
won’t rattle. It’ll make five pretty heavy chests,
but we can’t help that. You, Carthew — dash
me! — You Mr. Goddedaal, come below. We've
Our share before us.”
And he cast another glance at the smoke, and
hurried below with Carthew at his heels.
The logs were found in the main cabin behind
526 T H E W R E C K E R
the canary’s cage; two of them, one kept by Trent,
one by Goddedaal. Wicks looked first at one, then
at the other, and his lips stuck out.
“Can you forge hand of write?” he asked.
“No,” said Carthew.
“There's luck for you — no more can Iſ '' cried
the captain. “ Hullo! here's worse yet, here's this
Goddedaal up to date; he must have filled it in
before supper. See for yourself: ‘Smoke ob-
served. – Captain Kirkup and five hands of the
schooner Currency Lass.’ Ah! this is better,” he
added, turning to the other log. “The old man
ain’t written anything for a clear fortnight. We’ll
dispose of your log altogether, Mr. Goddedaal, and
stick to the old man’s — to mine, I mean; only I
ain't going to write it up, for reasons of my own.
You are. You're going to sit down right here
and fill it in the way I tell you.”
“How to explain the loss of mine?” asked Car-
thew. -
“You never kept one,” replied the captain.
“Gross neglect of duty. You ’11 catch it.”
“And the change of writing?” resumed Car-
thew. “You began; why do you stop and why do
I come in And you’ll have to sign anyway.”
“O ! I’ve met with an accident and can’t write,”
replied Wicks. -
“An accident?” repeated Carthew. “It don’t
sound natural. What kind of an accident?”
Wicks spread his hand face-up on the table, and
drove a knife through his palm.
“That kind of an accident,” said he. “ There 's
T H E W R E C K E R 527
a way to draw to windward of most difficulties, if
you’ve a head on your shoulders.” He began to
bind up his hand with a handkerchief, glancing the
while over Goddedaal's log. “Hullo!” he said,
“ this '11 never do for us — this is an impossible
kind of a yarn. Here, to begin with, is this Cap-
tain Trent trying some fancy course, leastways he 's
a thousand miles to south'ard of the great circle.
And here, it seems, he was close up with this island
on the sixth, sails all these days, and is close up
with it again by daylight on the eleventh.”
“Goddedaal said they had the deuce's luck,”
said Carthew.
“Well, it don’t look like real life — that 's all
I can say,” returned Wicks.
“It’s the way it was, though,” argued Carthew.
“So it is ; and what the better are we for that,
if it don’t look so P” cried the captain, sounding
unwonted depths of art criticism. “Here! try and
see if you can’t tie this bandage; I’m bleeding like
a pig.”
As Carthew sought to adjust the handkerchief,
his patient seemed sunk in a deep muse, his eye
veiled, his mouth partly open. The job was yet
scarce done, when he sprang to his feet.
“I have it,” he broke out, and ran on deck.
“Here, boys!” he cried, “we did n’t come here
on the eleventh ; we came in here on the evening
of the sixth, and lay here ever since becalmed.
As soon as you're done with these chests,” he
added, “you can turn to and roll out beef
and water breakers; it'll look more shipshape
528 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
— like as if we were getting ready for the boat
voyage.”
And he was back again in a moment, cooking
the new log. Goddedaal's was then carefully
destroyed, and a hunt began for the ship's papers.
Of all the agonies of that breathless morning, this
was perhaps the most poignant. Here and there
the two men searched, cursing, cannoning together,
streaming with heat, freezing with terror. News
was bawled down to them that the ship was indeed
a man-of-war, that she was close up, that she was
lowering a boat; and still they sought in vain. By
what accident they missed the iron box with the
money and accounts, is hard to fancy; but they
did. And the vital documents were found at last
in the pocket of Trent's shore-going coat, where
he had left them when last he came on board.
Wicks smiled for the first time that morning.
“None too soon,” said he. “And now for it!
Take these others for me; I’m afraid I’ll get them
mixed if I keep both.”
“What are they?” Carthew asked. --
“They ’re the Kirkup and Currency Lass pa-
pers,” he replied. “Pray God we need 'em
again l’’ &
“Boat’s inside the lagoon, sir,” hailed down
Mac, who sat by the skylight doing Sentry while
the Others worked.
“Time we were on deck, then, Mr. Goddedaal,”
said Wicks.
As they turned to leave the cabin, the canary
burst into piercing Song.
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 529
“My God!” cried Carthew, with a gulp, “we
can’t leave that wretched bird to starve. It was’
poor Goddedaal's.”
“Bring the bally thing along !” cried the captain.
And they went on deck.
An ugly brute of a modern man-of-war lay just
without the reef, now quite inert, now giving a
flap or two with her propeller. Nearer hand, and
just within, a big white boat came skimming to the
stroke of many oars, her ensign blowing at the
Stern.
“One word more,” said Wicks, after he had
taken in the scene. “Mac, you've been in China
ports? All right; then you can speak for yourself.
The rest of you I kept on board all the time we
were in Hong Kong, hoping you would desert; but
you fooled me and stuck to the brig. That’ll
make your lying come easier.”
The boat was now close at hand; a boy in the
stern sheets was the only officer, and a poor one
plainly, for the men were talking as they pulled.
“Thank God, they've only sent a kind of a
middy!” ejaculated Wicks. “Here you, Hardy,
stand for’ard I’ll have no deck hands on my
quarter-deck,” he cried, and the reproof braced the
whole crew like a cold douche.
The boat came alongside with perfect neatness,
and the boy officer stepped on board, where he was
respectfully greeted by Wicks.
“You the master of this ship?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Wicks. “Trent is my name,
and this is the Flying Scud of Hull.”
34
53O T H E W R E C K E R
“You seem to have got into a mess,” said the
officer. -
“If you’ll step aft with me here, I’ll tell you
all there is of it,” said Wicks. -
“Why, man, you’re shaking !” cried the Officer.
“So would you, perhaps, if you had been in the
same berth,” returned Wicks; and he told the
whole story of the rotten water, the long calm,
the Squall, the seamen drowned; glibly and hotly;
talking, with his head in the lion's mouth, like one
pleading in the dock. I heard the same tale from
the same narrator in the saloon in San Francisco;
and even then his bearing filled me with suspicion.
But the Officer was no observer.
“Well, the captain is in no end of a hurry,” said
he; “but I was instructed to give you all the
assistance in my power, and signal back for another
boat if more hands were necessary. What can I
do for you?”
“O, we won't keep you no time,” replied Wicks,
cheerily. “We’re all ready, bless you — men's
chests, chronometer, papers and all.”
“Do you mean to leave her?” cried the officer.
“She seems to me to lie nicely; can’t we get your
ship off?”
“So we could, and no mistake; but how we're
to keep her afloat's another question. Her bows is
stove in,” replied Wicks.
The officer coloured to the eyes. He was incom-
petent and knew he was ; thought he was already
detected, and feared to expose himself again.
There was nothing further from his mind than that
T H E W R E. C. K. E. R. 53 I
the captain should deceive him; if the captain was
pleased, why, so was he. “All right,” he said.
“Tell your men to get their chests aboard.”
“Mr. Goddedaal, turn the hands to to get the
chests aboard,” said Wicks. -
The four Currency-Lasses had waited the while
on tenter-hooks. This welcome news broke upon
them like the sun at midnight; and Hadden burst
into a storm of tears, sobbing aloud as he heaved
upon the tackle. But the work went none the less
briskly forward; chests, men, and bundles were
got over the side with alacrity; the boat was shoved
off; it moved out of the long shadow of the Flying
Scud, and its bows were pointed at the passage.
So much, then, was accomplished. The sham
wreck had passed muster; they were clear of her,
they were safe away; and the water widened
between them and her damning evidences. On the
other hand, they were drawing nearer to the ship
of war, which might very well prove to be their
prison and a hangman’s cart to bear them to the
gallows — of which they had not yet learned either
whence she came or whither she was bound; and
the doubt weighed upon their heart like mountains.
It was Wicks who did the talking. The sound
was small in Carthew’s ears, like the voices of men
miles away, but the meaning of each word struck
home to him like a bullet. “What did you say
your ship was P’ inquired Wicks. -
“Tempest, don’t you know?” returned the
Officer.
Don't you know? What could that mean? Per-
532 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
haps nothing: perhaps that the ships had met
already. Wicks took his courage in both hands.
“Where is she bound?” he asked.
“O, we're just looking in at all these miserable
islands here,” said the officer. “Then we bear up
for San Francisco.” -
“O, yes, you're from China ways, like us?”
pursued Wicks.
“Hong Kong,” said the officer, and spat over the
side.
Hong Kong. Then the game was up ; as soon
as they set foot on board, they would be seized; the
wreck would be examined, the blood found, the
lagoon perhaps dredged, and the bodies of the dead
would reappear to testify. An impulse almost in-
controllable bade Carthew rise from the thwart,
shriek out aloud, and leap Overboard; it seemed
so vain a thing to dissemble longer, to dally with
the inevitable, to spin out some hundred seconds
more of agonised suspense, with shame and death
thus visibly approaching. But the indomitable
Wicks persevered. His face was like a skull, his
voice scarce recognisable; the dullest of men and
officers (it seemed) must have remarked that tell-
tale countenance and broken utterance. And still
he persevered, bent upon certitude.
“Nice place, Hong Kong P” he said.
“I’m sure I don't know,” said the officer.
“Only a day and a half there; called for orders
and came straight on here. Never heard of such
a beastly cruise.” And he went on describing and
lamenting the untoward fortunes of the Tempest.
T H E W R E C K E R 533
But Wicks and Carthew heeded him no longer.
They lay back on the gunnel, breathing deep, sunk
in a stupor of the body: the mind within still
nimbly and agreeably at work, measuring the past
danger, exulting in the present relief, numbering
with ecstasy their ultimate chances of escape. For
the voyage in the man-of-war they were now Safe;
yet a few more days of peril, activity, and presence
of mind in San Francisco, and the whole horrid
tale was blotted out; and Wicks again became
Kirkup, and Goddedaal became Carthew — men
beyond all shot of possible suspicion, men who had
never heard of the Flying Scud, who had never
been in sight of Midway Reef.
So they came alongside, under many craning
heads of seamen and projecting mouths of guns;
so they climbed on board Somnambulous, and
looked blindly about them at the tall spars, the
white decks, and the crowding ship's company, and
heard men as from far away, and answered them at
random.
And then a hand fell softly on Carthew's
shoulder.
“Why, Norrie, old chappie, where have you
dropped from ? All the world's been looking for
you. Don't you know you ’ve come into your
kingdom?”
He turned, beheld the face of his old schoolmate
Sebright, and fell unconscious at his feet.
The doctor was attending him, awhile later, in
Lieutenant Sebright’s cabin, when he came to him-
self. He opened his eyes, looked hard in the
534 T H E W R E C K E R
Strange face, and spoke with a kind of solemn
vigour. -
“Brown must go the same road,” he said; “ now
or never.” And then paused, and his reason com-
ing to him with more clearness, spoke again:
“What was I saying? Where am I? Who are
you?”
“I am the doctor of the Tempest,” was the reply.
“You are in Lieutenant Sebright’s berth, and you
may dismiss all concern from your mind. Your
troubles are over, Mr. Carthew.”
“Why do you call me that?” he asked.
“Ah, I remember — Sebright knew me! O!”
and he groaned and shook. “Send down Wicks
to me; I must see Wicks at Once ’’ he cried,
and seized the doctor's wrist with unconscious
violence.
“All right,” said the doctor. “Let’s make a
bargain. You Swallow down this draught, and
I’ll go and fetch Wicks.” *
And he gave the wretched man an opiate that
laid him out within ten minutes and in all likeli-
hood preserved his reason.
It was the doctor’s next business to attend to
Mac; and he found Occasion, while engaged upon
his arm, to make the man repeat the names of the
rescued crew. It was now the turn of the captain,
and there is no doubt he was no longer the man
that we have seen ; sudden relief, the sense of
perfect safety, a square meal and a good glass of
grog, had all combined to relax his vigilance and
depress his energy.
T H E W R E C K E R 535
“When was this done?” asked the doctor, look-
ing at the wound.
“More than a week ago,'
ing singly of his log.
“Hey?” cried the doctor, and he raised his
head and looked the captain in the eyes.
“I don’t remember exactly,” faltered Wicks.
And at this remarkable falsehood, the suspicions
of the doctor were at once quadrupled.
“By the way, which of you is called Wicks?”
he asked easily.
“What’s that?” snapped the captain, falling
white as paper.
“Wicks,” repeated the doctor; “which of you
is he? that's surely a plain question.”
Wicks stared upon his questioner in silence.
“Which is Brown, then P’’ pursued the doctor.
“What are you talking of P what do you mean
by this?” cried Wicks, snatching his half-bandaged
hand away, so that the blood sprinkled in the
Surgeon's face.
He did not trouble to remove it. Looking
Straight at his victim, he pursued his questions.
“Why must Brown go the same way ?” he asked.
Wicks fell trembling on a locker. “Carthew 's
told you,” he cried. -
“No,” replied the doctor, “he has not. But he
and you between you have set me thinking, and
I think there's something wrong.”
“Give me some grog,” said Wicks. “I’d
rather tell than have you find out. I’m damned
if it 's half as bad as what any one would think.”
2
replied Wicks, think-
536 T H E W R E C K E R
And with the help of a couple of strong grogs,
the tragedy of the Flying Scud was told for the
first time. º
It was a fortunate series of accidents tha
brought the story to the doctor. He understood
and pitied the position of these wretched men, and
came whole-heartedly to their assistance. He and
Wicks and Carthew (so soon as he was recovered)
held a hundred councils and prepared a policy for
San Francisco. It was he who certified “Godde-
daal * unfit to be moved and smuggled Carthew
ashore under cloud of night; it was he who kept
Wicks's wound open that he might sign with his
left hand; he who took all their Chile silver and
(in the course of the first day) got it converted
for them into portable gold. He used his influ-
ence in the wardroom to keep the tongues of the
young officers in order, so that Carthew’s identi-
fication was kept out of the papers. And he ren-
dered another service yet more important. He
had a friend in San Francisco, a millionaire; to
this man he privately presented Carthew as a
young gentleman come newly into a huge estate,
but troubled with Jew debts which he was trying
to settle on the quiet. The millionaire came readily
to help ; and it was with his money that the wrecker
gang was to be fought. What was his name, out
of a thousand guesses? It was Douglas Longhurst.
As long as the Currency-Lasses could all dis-
appear under fresh names, it did not greatly matter
if the brig were bought, or any small discrepan-
cies should be discovered in the wrecking. The
T H E W R E C K E R 537
identification of one of their number had changed
all that. The smallest scandal must now direct
attention to the movements of Norris. It would
be asked how he, who had sailed in a schooner
from Sydney, had turned up so shortly after in
a brig out of Hong Kong; and from One ques-
tion to another all his original shipmates were
pretty sure to be involved. Hence arose naturally
the idea of preventing danger, profiting by Car-
thew’s new-found wealth, and buying the brig
under an alias; and it was put in hand with
equal energy and caution. Carthew took lodgings
alone under a false name, picked up Bellairs at
random, and commissioned him to buy the wreck.
“What figure, if you please?” the lawyer asked.
“I want it bought,” replied Carthew. “I don’t
mind about the price.”
“Any price is no price,’
name upon it.”
“Call it ten thousand pounds then, if you likel ”
said Carthew.
In the meanwhile, the captain had to walk the
streets, appear in the consulate, be cross-examined
by Lloyd’s agent, be badgered about his lost ac-
counts, sign papers with his left hand, and repeat
his lies to every skipper in San Francisco: not
knowing at what moment he might run into the
arms of some old friend who should hail him by
the name of Wicks, or some new enemy who
should be in a position to deny him that of Trent.
And the latter incident did actually befall him,
but was transformed by his stout countenance into
said Bellairs. “Put a
538 T H E W R E C K E R
an element of strength. It was in the consulate
(of all untoward places) that he suddenly heard a
big voice inquiring for Captain Trent. He turned
with the customary sinking at his heart.
“You ain't Captain Trent!” said the stranger,
falling back. “Why, what’s all this? They tell
me you ’re passing off as Captain Trent — Captain
Jacob Trent — a man I knew since I was that
high.” *
“O, you're thinking of my uncle as had the
bank in Cardiff,” replied Wicks, with desperate
aplomb.
“I declare I never knew he had a nevvy.' " said
the stranger.
“Well, you see he has 1” says Wicks.
“And how is the old man?” asked the other.
“Fit as a fiddle,” answered Wicks, and was op-
portunely summoned by the clerk.
This alert was the only one until the morning
of the sale, “when he was once more alarmed by
his interview with Jim ; and it was with some
anxiety that he attended the sale, knowing only
that Carthew was to be represented, but neither
who was to represent him nor what were the in-
Structions given. I suppose Captain Wicks is a
good life. In spite of his personal appearance and
his own known uneasiness, I suppose he is secure
from apoplexy, or it must have struck him there
and then, as he looked on at the stages of that
insane sale and saw the old brig and her not very
valuable cargo knocked down at last to a total
Stranger for ten thousand pounds.
THE W R E. C. K. E. R. 539
It had been agreed that he was to avoid Car-
thew, and above all Carthew's lodging, SO that no
connection might be traced between the crew and
the pseudonymous purchaser. But the hour for
caution was gone by, and he caught a tram and
made all speed to Mission Street.
Carthew met him in the door.
“Come away, come away from here,” said Car-
thew ; and when they were clear of the house,
“All 's up !” he added.
“O, you've heard of the sale then P’’ said Wicks.
“The sale !” cried Carthew. “I declare I had
forgotten it.” And he told of the voice in the
telephone, and the maddening question: Why did
you want to buy the Flying Scud:”
This circumstance, coming on the back of the
monstrous improbabilities of the sale, was enough
to have shaken the reason of Immanuel Kant. The
earth seemed banded together to defeat them; the
stones and the boys on the street appeared to be
in possession of their guilty secret. Flight was
their one thought. The treasure of the Currency
Lass they packed in waist-belts, expressed their
chests to an imaginary address in British Columbia,
and left San Francisco the same afternobn, booked
for Los Angeles.
The next day they pursued their retreat by the
Southern Pacific route, which Carthew followed
on his way to England; but the other three
branched off for Mexico.
EPILOGUE
TO WILL H. LOW
N EAR LOW: The other day (at Manihiki
of all places) I had the pleasure to meet
El_A^ Dodd. We sat some two hours in the
neat, little, toy-like church, set with pews after the
manner of Europe, and inlaid with mother-Of-
pearl in the style (I suppose) of the New Jeru-
salem. The natives, who are decidedly the most
attractive inhabitants of this planet, crowded round
us in the pew, and fawned upon and patted us;
and here it was I put my questions, and Dodd
answered me.
I first carried him back to the night in Barbizon
when Carthew told his story, and asked him what
was done about Bellairs. It seemed he had put
the matter to his friend at once, and that Carthew
took it with an inimitable lightness. “He’s poor,
and I’m rich,” he had said. “I can afford to
Smile at him. I go somewhere else, that 's all —
Somewhere that 's far away and dear to get to.
Persia would be found to answer, I fancy. No
end of a place, Persia. Why not come with me?”
And they had left the next afternoon for Con-
stantinople, on their way to Teheran. Of the
Shyster, it is only known (by a newspaper para-

T H E W R E C K E R 541
graph) that he returned somehow to San Fran-
cisco and died in the hospital. *
“Now there's another point,” said I. “There
you are off to Persia with a millionaire, and rich
yourself. How come you here in the South Seas,
running a trader P’’
He said, with a smile, that I had not yet heard
of Jim's last bankruptcy. “I was about cleaned
out once more,” he said ; “ and then it was that
Carthew had this schooner built, and put me in as
supercargo. It's his yacht and it 's my trader;
and as nearly all the expenses go to the yacht, I
do pretty well. As for Jim, he 's right again: One
of the best businesses, they say, in the West, fruit,
cereals, and real estate; and he has a Tartar of a
partner now — Nares, no less. Nares will keep
him straight, Nares has a big head. They have
their country-places next door at Saucelito, and I
stayed with them time about, the last time I was
on the coast. Jim has a paper of his own — I
think he has a notion of being senator one of
these days — and he wanted me to throw up the
schooner and come and write his editorials. He
holds strong views on the State Constitution, and
so does Mamie.”
“And what became of the other three Currency-
Lasses after they left Carthew P” I inquired.
“Well, it seems they had a huge spree in the
city of Mexico,” said Dodd; “and then Hadden
and the Irishman took a turn at the gold fields in
Venezuela, and Wicks went on alone to Valparaiso.
There's a Kirkup in the Chilean navy to this day,
542 T H E W R E C K E R
I saw the name in the papers about the Balmaceda
war. Hadden soon wearied of the mines, and I
met him the other day in Sydney. The last news
he had from Venezuela, Mac had been knocked
over in an attack on the gold train. So there 's
only the three of them left, for Amalu scarcely
counts. He lives on his own land in Maui, at
the side of Hale-a-ka-la, where he keeps Godde-.
daal's canary; and they say he sticks to his dol-
lars, which is a wonder in a Kanaka. He had a
considerable pile to start with, for not only Hem-
stead's share but Carthew’s was divided equally
among the other four — Mac being counted.”
“What did that make for him altogether?” I
could not help asking, for I had been diverted by
the number of calculations in his narrative.
“One hundred and twenty-eight pounds nine-
teen shillings and eleven pence halfpenny,” he re-
plied with composure. “That's leaving out what
little he won at Van John. It’s something for a
Kanaka, you know.”
And about that time we were at last obliged to
yield to the solicitations of our native admirers,
and go to the pastor's house to drink green cocoa-
nuts. The ship I was in was sailing the same
night, for Dodd had been beforehand and got all
the shell in the island; and though he pressed
me to desert and return with him to Auckland
(whither he was now bound to pick up Carthew)
I was firm in my refusal.
The truth is, since I have been mixed up with
Havens and Dodd in the design to publish the
T H E W R E C K E R 543
latter's narrative, I seem to feel no want for
Carthew’s Society. Of course I am wholly modern
in Sentiment, and think nothing more noble than
to publish people's private affairs at so much a
line. They like it, and if they don’t, they ought
to. But a still Small voice keeps telling me they
will not like it always, and perhaps not always
stand it. Memory besides supplies me with the
face of a pressman (in the sacred phrase) who
proved altogether too modern for one of his
neighbours, and
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
as it were, marshalling us our way. I am in no
haste to
— nos praecedens —
be that man’s successor. Carthew has a record as
“ a clane shot,” and for some years Samoa will be
good enough for me. e
We agreed to separate, accordingly; but he
took me on board in his own boat with the hard-
wood fittings, and entertained me on the way with
an account of his late visit to Butaritari, whither
he had gone on an errand for Carthew, to see how
Topelius was getting along, and, if necessary, to
give him a helping hand. But Topelius was in
great force, and had patronised and — well — out-
manoeuvred him.
... “Carthew will be pleased,” said Dodd; “ for
there 's no doubt they oppressed the man abom-
544 T H E W R E. C. K. E. R.
inably when they were in the Currency Lass. It’s
diamond cut diamond now.”
This, I think, was the most of the news I got
from my friend Loudon; and I hope I was well
inspired, and have put all the questions to which
you would be curious to hear an answer.
But there is one more that I dare say you are
burning to put to myself; and that is, what your
Own name is doing in this place, cropping up (as
it were uncalled for) on the stern of our poor
ship P If you were not born in Arcadia, you linger
in fancy on its margin; your thoughts are busy.
with the flutes of antiquity, with daffodils, and
the classic poplar, and the footsteps of the nymphs,
and the elegant and moving aridity of ancient art.
Why dedicate to you a tale of a caste so modern ;
— full of details of our barbaric manners and un-
stable morals; — full of the need and the lust of
money, so that there is scarce a page in which the
dollars do not jingle; — full of the unrest and
movement of our century, so that the reader is
hurried from place to place and sea to sea, and
the book is less a romance than a panorama; —
in the end, as blood-bespattered as an epic?
Well, you are a man interested in all problems of
art, even the most vulgar; and it may amuse you
to hear the genesis and growth of The Wrecker.
On board the schooner Equator, almost within sight
of the Johnstone Islands (if anybody knows where
these are) and on a moonlit night when it was
a joy to be alive, the authors were amused with
T H E W R E C K E R 545
several stories of the sale of wrecks. The subject
tempted them; and they sat apart in the alley-
way to discuss its possibilities. “What a tangle
it would make,” suggested one, “if the wrong
crew were aboard. But how to get the wrong
crew there?” – “I have it!” cried the other; “the
so-and-so affairl '' For not so many months be-
fore, and not so many hundred miles from where
we were then sailing, a proposition almost tanta-
mount to that of Captain Trent had been made
by a British skipper to some British castaways.
Before we turned in, the scaffolding of the tale
had been put together. But the question of treat-
ment was as usual more obscure. We had long
been at once attracted and repelled by that very
modern form of the police novel or mystery story,
which consists in beginning your yarn anywhere
but at the beginning, and finishing it anywhere but
at the end ; attracted by its peculiar interest when
done, and the peculiar difficulties that attend its
execution; repelled by that appearance of insin-
cerity and shallowness of tone, which seems its
inevitable drawback. For the mind of the reader,
always bent to pick up clews, receives no impres–
Sion of reality or life, rather of an airless, elabo-
rate mechanism; and the book remains enthralling,
but insignificant, like a game of chess, not a work
of human art. It seemed the cause might lie
partly in the abrupt attack; and that if the tale
were gradually approached, some of the characters
introduced (as it were) beforehand, and the book
Started in the tone of a novel of manners and
35
546 T H E W R E C K E R
experience briefly treated, this defect might be
lessened and Our mystery seem to inhere in life.
The tone of the age, its movement, the mingling
of races and classes in the dollar hunt, the fiery
and not quite unromantic struggle for existence
with its changing trades and Scenery, and two
types in particular, that of the American handy-
man of business and that of the Yankee merchant
Sailor — we agreed to dwell upon at some length,
and make the woof to our not very precious warp.
Hence Dodd's father, and Pinkerton, and Nares,
and the Dromedary picnics, and the railway work
in New South Wales — the last an unsolicited tes-
timonial from the powers that be, for the tale was
half written before I saw Carthew’s squad toil in
the rainy cutting at South Clifton, or heard from
the engineer of his “ young swell.” After we had
invented at some expense of time this method of
approaching and fortifying our police novel, it Oc-
curred to us it had been invented previously by
Some one else, and was in fact — however pain-
fully different the results may seem — the method
of Charles Dickens in his later work.
I see you staring. Here, you will say, is a
prodigious quantity of theory to Our halfpenny
worth of police novel; and withal not a shadow
of an answer to your question.
Well, some of us like theory. After so long a
piece of practice, these may be indulged for a few
pages. And the answer is at hand. It was plainly
desirable, from every point of view of convenience
and contrast, that our hero and narrator should
T H E W R E C K E R 547
partly stand aside from those with whom he min-
gles, and be but a pressed-man in the dollar hunt.
Thus it was that Loudon Dodd became a student
of the plastic arts, and that our globe-trotting Story
came to visit Paris and look in at Barbizon. And
thus, it is, dear Low, that your name appears in
the address of this epilogue.
For sure, if any person can here appreciate and
read between the lines, it must be you — and One
other, our friend. All the dominos will be trans-
parent to your better knowledge; the statuary con-
tract will be to you a piece of ancient history;
and you will not have now heard for the first time
of the dangers of Roussillon. Dead leaves from
the Bas Breau, echoes from Lavenue's and the
Rue Racine, memories of a common past, let these
be your bookmarkers as you read. And if you
care for naught else in the story, be a little pleased
to breathe once more for a moment the airs of our
youth.
*
T ~ • - . . . .
. . Y ... . . . . . ...sº
- •. - - - - > * - * -
- . . . . . . . -- - - - .
– - “… . . . . . > < *. -- T-----———--_: **-------, -
- - -
* . . . . ~ * *.*, - - -
. . . *. ... -
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN -
III
a bois 55735";
-
-
... • ...-a, -": - : *
• * * : * : *.
. * -
*
**> |
* .
---
- - . . • * *. • *
… . . . * : * ' ' , , , ,
----> * , ººzººl's "...º.º. .
- - is . if ****-***
- - *...*.*- : = x:
“, ... . . . :***** * *-i- - -
• sº. ------- 3:?
º - 7


* > . ; tºº tºº. ºº
* * * * * * * ºr º ſº.º. º. * * * ** * * * * *
* -- " . . . . . . . . . . . . … . . . . . . .
v . . . . . Q__
º -
. . . . . . . .
* * * 3's C º
º 3 * ~ * * * § tº
* * * * * * * * * tº
º: * * * & ſº * :
, , * :
º
º º:
© . . . .