Moran of the Lady Letty
IV. MORAN
Meanwhile Charlie had brought the "Bertha Millner" up to within hailingdistance of the bark, and had hove her to. Kitchell ordered Wilbur toreturn to the schooner and bring over a couple of axes.
"We'll have to knock holes all through the house, and break in theskylights and let the gas escape before we can do anything. Take the kidover and give him whiskey; then come along back and bear a hand."
Wilbur had considerable difficulty in getting into the dory from thedeck of the plunging derelict with his dazed and almost helpless charge.Even as he slid down the rope into the little boat and helped the girlto follow, he was aware of two dull, brownish-green shadows moving justbeneath the water's surface not ten feet away, and he knew that he wasbeing stealthily watched. The Chinamen at the oars of the dory, withthat extraordinary absence of curiosity which is the mark of the race,did not glance a second time at the survivor of the "Lady Letty's"misadventure. To them it was evident she was but a for'mast hand.However, Wilbur examined her with extraordinary interest as she sat inthe sternsheets, sullen, half-defiant, half-bewildered, and bereft ofspeech.
She was not pretty--she was too tall for that--quite as tall as Wilburhimself, and her skeleton was too massive. Her face was red, and theglint of blue ice was in her eyes. Her eyelashes and eyebrows, as wellas the almost imperceptible down that edged her cheek when she turnedagainst the light, were blond almost to whiteness. What beauty she hadwas of the fine, hardy Norse type. Her hands were red and hard, and evenbeneath the coarse sleeve of the oilskin coat one could infer that thebiceps and deltoids were large and powerful. She was coarse-fibred, nodoubt, mentally as well as physically, but her coarseness, so Wilburguessed, would prove to be the coarseness of a primitive rather than ofa degenerate character.
One thing he saw clearly during the few moments of the dory's tripbetween bark and schooner--the fact that his charge was a woman mustbe kept from Captain Kitchell. Wilbur knew his man by now. It could bedone. Kitchell and he would take the "Lady Letty" into the nearest portas soon as possible. The deception would have to be maintained only fora day or two.
He left the girl on board the schooner and returned to the derelict withthe axes. He found Kitchell on the house, just returned from a hastysurvey of the prize.
"She's a daisy," vociferated the Captain, as Wilbur came aboard."I've been havin' a look 'round. She's brand-new. See the date on thecapst'n-head? Christiania is her hailin' port--built there; but it's herpapers I'm after. Then we'll know where we're at. How's the kid?"
"She's all right," answered Wilbur, before he could collect histhoughts. But the Captain thought he had reference to the "Bertha."
"I mean the kid we found in the wheel-box. He doesn't count in oursalvage. The bark's been abandoned as plain as paint. If I thought hestood in our way," and Kitchell's jaw grew salient. "I'd shut him inthe cabin with the old man a spell, till he'd copped off. Now then, son,first thing to do is to chop vents in this yere house."
"Hold up--we can do better than that," said Wilbur, restrainingKitchell's fury of impatience. "Slide the big skylight off--it's loosealready."
A couple of the schooner's hands were ordered aboard the "Lady Letty,"and the skylight removed. At first the pour of gas was terrific, but bydegrees it abated, and at the end of half an hour Kitchell could keepback no longer.
"Come on!" he cried, catching up an axe; "rot the difference." Allthe plundering instincts of the man were aroused and clamoring. He hadbecome a very wolf within scent of its prey--a veritable hyena nuzzlingabout its carrion.
"Lord!" he gasped, "t' think that everything we see, everything we find,is ours!"
Wilbur himself was not far behind him in eagerness. Somewhere deep downin the heart of every Anglo-Saxon lies the predatory instinct of hisViking ancestors--an instinct that a thousand years of respectabilityand taxpaying have not quite succeeded in eliminating.
A flight of six steps, brass-bound and bearing the double L of thebark's monogram, led them down into a sort of vestibule. From thevestibule a door opened directly into the main cabin. They entered.
The cabin was some twenty feet long and unusually spacious. Fresh fromhis recollection of the grime and reek of the schooner, it struck Wilburas particularly dainty. It was painted white with stripes of blue, goldand pea-green. On either side three doors opened off into staterooms andprivate cabins, and with each roll of the derelict these doors bangedlike an irregular discharge of revolvers. In the centre was thedining-table, covered with a red cloth, very much awry. On each side ofthe table were four arm chairs, screwed to the deck, one somewhat largerat the head. Overhead, in swinging racks, were glasses and decanters ofwhiskey and some kind of white wine. But for one feature the sight ofthe "Letty's" cabin was charming. However, on the floor by the slidingdoor in the forward bulkhead lay a body, face upward.
The body was that of a middle-aged, fine-looking man, his head coveredwith the fur, ear-lapped cap that Norwegians affect, even in thetropics. The eyes were wide open, the face discolored. In the last gaspof suffocation the set of false teeth had been forced half-way outof his mouth, distorting the countenance with a hideous simian grin.Instantly Kitchell's eye was caught by the glint of the gold in whichthese teeth were set.
"Here's about $100 to begin with," he exclaimed, and picking up theteeth, dropped them into his pocket with a wink at Wilbur. The body ofthe dead Captain was passed up through the skylight and slid out on thedeck, and Wilbur and Kitchell turned their attention to what had beenhis stateroom.
The Captain's room was the largest one of the six staterooms openingfrom the main cabin.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Kitchell as he and Wilbur entered. "The oldman's room, and no mistake."
Besides the bunk, the stateroom was fitted up with a lounge of red plushscrewed to the bulkhead. A roll of charts leaned in one corner, an alarmclock, stopped at 1:15, stood on a shelf in the company of some dozenpaper-covered novels and a drinking-glass full of cigars. Over thelounge, however, was the rack of instruments, sextant, barometer,chronometer, glass, and the like, securely screwed down, while againstthe wall, in front of a swivel leather chair that was ironed to thedeck, was the locked secretary.
"Look at 'em, just look at 'em, will you!" said Kitchell, running hisfingers lovingly over the polished brass of the instruments. "There'sa thousand dollars of stuff right here. The chronometer's worth fivehundred alone, Bennett & Sons' own make." He turned to the secretary.
"Now!" he exclaimed with a long breath.
What followed thrilled Wilbur with alternate excitement, curiosity, anda vivid sense of desecration and sacrilege. For the life of him hecould not make the thing seem right or legal in his eyes, and yet he hadneither the wish nor the power to stay his hand or interfere with whatKitchell was doing.
The Captain put the blade of the axe in the chink of the secretary'sdoor and wrenched it free. It opened down to form a sort of desk, anddisclosed an array of cubby-holes and two small doors, both locked.These latter Kitchell smashed in with the axe-head. Then he seatedhimself in the swivel chair and began to rifle their contentssystematically, Wilbur leaning over his shoulder.
The heat from the coal below them was almost unbearable. In the cabinthe six doors kept up a continuous ear-shocking fusillade, as thoughhalf a dozen men were fighting with revolvers; from without, down theopen skylight, came the sing-song talk of the Chinamen and the washand ripple of the two vessels, now side by side. The air, foul beyondexpression, tasted of brass, their heads swam and ached to bursting, butabsorbed in their work they had no thought of the lapse of time nor thediscomfort of their surroundings. Twice during the examination of thebark's papers, Kitchell sent Wilbur out into the cabin for the whiskeydecanter in the swinging racks.
"Here's the charter papers," said Kitchell, unfolding and spreading themout one by one; "and here's the clearing papers from Blyth in England.This yere's the insoorance, and here, this is--rot that, nothin' but thearticles for the crew--no use to us."
In a se
parate envelope, carefully sealed and bound, they came upon theCaptain's private papers. A marriage certificate setting forth the unionbetween Eilert Sternersen, of Fruholmen, Norway, and Sarah Moran, ofsome seaport town (the name was indecipherable) of the North ofEngland. Next came a birth certificate of a daughter named Moran, datedtwenty-two years back, and a bill of sale of the bark "Lady Letty,"whereby a two-thirds interest was conveyed from the previous owners (ashipbuilding firm of Christiania) to Capt. Eilert Sternersen.
"The old man was his own boss," commented Kitchell. "Hello!" heremarked, "look here"; a yellowed photograph was in his hand the pictureof a stout, fair-haired woman of about forty, wearing enormous pendantearrings in the style of the early sixties. Below was written: "S. MoranSternersen, ob. 1867."
"Old woman copped off," said Kitchell, "so much the better for us; noheirs to put in their gab; an'--hold hard--steady all--here's the will,s'help me."
The only items of importance in the will were the confirmation of thewife's death and the expressly stated bequest of "the bark known asand sailing under the name of the 'Lady Letty' to my only and beloveddaughter, Moran."
"Well," said Wilbur.
The Captain sucked his mustache, then furiously, striking the desk withhis fist:
"The bark's ours!" there was a certain ring of defiance in his voice."Damn the will! I ain't so cock-sure about the law, but I'll make sure."
"As how?" said Wilbur.
Kitchell slung the will out of the open port into the sea.
"That's how," he remarked. "I'm the heir. I found the bark; mine she is,an' mine she stays--yours an' mine, that is."
But Wilbur had not even time to thoroughly enjoy the satisfaction thatthe Captain's words conveyed, before an idea suddenly presenteditself to him. The girl he had found on board of the bark, the ruddy,fair-haired girl of the fine and hardy Norse type--that was thedaughter, of course; that was "Moran." Instantly the situation adjusteditself in his imagination. The two inseparables father and daughter,sailors both, their lives passed together on ship board, and the "LadyLetty" their dream, their ambition, a vessel that at last they couldcall their own.
Then this disastrous voyage--perhaps the first in their new craft--thecombustion in the coal--the panic terror of the crew and their desertionof the bark, and the sturdy resolution of the father and daughter tobring the "Letty" in--to work her into port alone. They had failed; thefather had died from gas; the girl, at least for the moment, was crazedfrom its effects. But the bark had not been abandoned. The owner was onboard. Kitchell was wrong; she was no derelict; not one penny could theygain by her salvage.
For an instant a wave of bitterest disappointment passed over Wilburas he saw his $30,000 dwindling to nothing. Then the instincts ofhabit reasserted themselves. The taxpayer in him was stronger than thefreebooter, after all. He felt that it was his duty to see to itthat the girl had her rights. Kitchell must be made aware of thesituation--must be told that Moran, the daughter, the Captain's heir,was on board the schooner; that the "kid" found in the wheel-box was agirl. But on second thought that would never do. Above all things, thebrute Kitchell must not be shown that a girl was aboard the schooner onwhich he had absolute command, nor, setting the question of Moran's sexaside, must Kitchell know her even as the dead Captain's heir. There wasa difference in the men here, and Wilbur appreciated it. Kitchell, thelaw-abiding taxpayer, was a weakling in comparison with Kitchell, thefree-booter and beach-comber in sight of his prize.
"Son," said the Captain, making a bundle of all the papers, "take theseover to my bunk and hide 'em under the donkey's breakfast. Stop a bit,"he added, as Wilbur started away. "I'll go with you. We'll have to burythe old man."
Throughout all the afternoon the Captain had been drinking the whiskeyfrom the decanter found in the cabin; now he stood up unsteadily, and,raising his glass, exclaimed:
"Sonny, here's to Kitchell, Wilbur & Co., beach-combers, unlimited. Whatdo you say, hey?"
"I only want to be sure that we've a right to the bark," answeredWilbur.
"Right to her--ri-hight to 'er," hiccoughed the Captain. "Strike meblind, I'd like to see any one try'n take her away from Alvinza Kitchellnow," and he thrust out his chin at Wilbur.
"Well, so much the better, then," said Wilbur, pocketing the papers. Thepair ascended to the deck.
The burial of Captain Sternersen was a dreadful business. Kitchell, fargone in whiskey, stood on the house issuing his orders, drinking fromone of the decanters he had brought up with him. He had already rifledthe dead man's pockets, and had even taken away the boots and fur-linedcap. Cloths were cut from the spanker and rolled around the body. ThenKitchell ordered the peak halyards unrove and used as lashings to tiethe canvas around the corpse. The red and white flags (the distresssignals) were still bound on the halyards.
"Leave 'em on. Leave 'em on," commanded Kitchell. "Use 'm as a shrou'.All ready now, stan' by to let her go."
Wilbur looked over at the schooner and noted with immense relief thatMoran was not in sight. Suddenly an abrupt reaction took place in theCaptain's addled brain.
"Can't bury 'um 'ithout 'is teeth," he gabbled solemnly. He laid backthe canvas and replaced the set. "Ole man'd ha'nt me 'f I kep' 's teeth.Strike! look a' that, I put 'em in upside down. Nev' min', upsi' down,downsi' up, whaz odds, all same with ole Bill, hey, ole Bill, all samewith you, hey?" Suddenly he began to howl with laughter "T' think abein' buried with y'r teeth upsi' down. Oh, mee, but that's a goodgrind. Stan' by to heave ole Uncle Bill over--ready, heave, an' away shegoes." He ran to the side, waving his hat and looking over. "Goo'-by,ole Bill, by-by. There you go, an' the signal o' distress roun' you, H.B. 'I'm in need of assistance.' Lord, here comes the sharks--look! look!look at um fight! look at um takin' ole Bill! I'm in need of assistance.I sh'd say you were, ole Bill."
Wilbur looked once over the side in the churning, lashing water, thendrew back, sick to vomiting. But in less than thirty seconds the waterwas quiet. Not a shark was in sight.
"Get over t' the 'Bertha' with those papers, son," ordered Kitchell;"I'll bide here and dig up sh' mor' loot. I'll gut this ole pill-boxfrom stern to stem-post 'fore I'll leave. I won't leave a copper rivetin 'er, notta co'er rivet, dyhear?" he shouted, his face purple withunnecessary rage.
Wilbur returned to the schooner with the two Chinamen, leaving Kitchellalone on the bark. He found the girl sitting by the rudderhead almost ashe had left her, looking about her with vague, unseeing eyes.
"Your name is Moran, isn't it?" he asked. "Moran Sternersen."
"Yes," she said, after a pause, then looked curiously at a bit of tarredrope on the deck. Nothing more could be got out of her. Wilbur talkedto her at length, and tried to make her understand the situation, but itwas evident she did not follow. However, at each mention of her name shewould answer:
"Yes, yes, I'm Moran."
Wilbur turned away from her, biting his nether lip in perplexity.
"Now, what am I going to do?" he muttered. "What a situation! If I tellthe Captain, it's all up with the girl. If he didn't kill her, he'd doworse--might do both. If I don't tell him, there goes her birthright,$60,000, and she alone in the world. It's begun to go already," headded, listening to the sounds that came from the bark. Kitchell wasraging to and fro in the cabin in a frenzy of drink, axe in hand,smashing glassware, hacking into the wood-work, singing the while at thetop of his voice:
"As through the drop I go, drop I go, As through the drop I go, drop I go, As through the drop I go, Down to hell that yawns below, Twenty stiffs all in a row Damn your eyes"
"That's the kind of man I have to deal with," muttered Wilbur. "It'sencouraging, and there's no one to talk to. Not much help in a Chinamanand a crazy girl in a man's oilskins. It's about the biggest situationyou ever faced, Ross Wilbur, and you're all alone. What the devil areyou going to do?"
He acknowledged with considerable humiliation that he could not get thebetter of Kitchell, either physically or mentally. Kitchel
l was a morepowerful man than he, and cleverer. The Captain was in his element now,and he was the commander. On shore it would have been vastly different.The city-bred fellow, with a policeman always in call, would have knownhow to act.
"I simply can't stand by and see that hog plundering everything she'sgot. What's to be done?"
And suddenly, while the words were yet in his mouth, the sun was wipedfrom the sky like writing from a slate, the horizon blackened, vanished,a long white line of froth whipped across the sea and came on hissing. Ahollow note boomed out, boomed, swelled, and grew rapidly to a roar.
An icy chill stabbed the air. Then the squall swooped and struck, andthe sky shut down over the troubled ocean like a pot-lid over a boilingpot. The schooner's fore and main sheets, that had not been made fast,unrove at the first gust and began to slat wildly in the wind. TheChinamen cowered to the decks, grasping at cleats, stays, and masts.They were helpless--paralyzed with fear. Charlie clung to a stay, onearm over his head, as though dodging a blow. Wilbur gripped the railwith his hands where he stood, his teeth set, his eyes wide, waitingfor the foundering of the schooner, his only thought being that the endcould not be far. He had heard of the suddenness of tropical squalls,but this had come with the abruptness of a scene-shift at a play. Theschooner veered broad-on to the waves. It was the beginning of theend--another roll to the leeward like the last and the Pacific wouldcome aboard.
"And you call yourselves sailor men! Are you going to drown like ratson a plank?" A voice that Wilbur did not know went ringing through thathorrid shouting of wind and sea like the call of a bugle. He turnedto see Moran, the girl of the "Lady Letty," standing erect upon thequarterdeck, holding down the schooner's wheel. The confusion of thatdreadful moment, that had paralyzed the crew's senses, had brought backhers. She was herself again, savage, splendid, dominant, superb, in herwrath at their weakness, their cowardice.
Her heavy brows were knotted over her flaming eyes, her hat was gone,and her thick bands of yellow hair whipped across her face and streamedout in the wind like streamers of the northern lights. As she shouted,gesturing furiously to the men, the loose sleeve of the oilskin coatfell back, and showed her forearm, strong, round, and white as scud,the hand and wrist so tanned as to look almost like a glove. And all thewhile she shouted aloud, furious with indignation, raging against thesupineness of the "Bertha's" crew.
"Stand by, men! stand by! Look alive, now! Make fast the stays'lhalyards to the dory's warp! Now, then, unreeve y'r halyards! all clearthere! pass the end for'd outside the rigging! outside! you fools! Makefast to the bits for'ard--let go y'r line--that'll do. Soh--soh. There,she's coming up."
The dory had been towing astern, and the seas combing over her hadswamped her. Moran had been inspired to use the swamped boat as asea-anchor, fastening her to the schooner's bow instead of to the stern.The "Bertha's" bow, answering to the drag, veered around. The "Bertha"stood head to the seas, riding out the squall. It was a masterpiece ofseamanship, conceived and executed in the very thick of peril, and itsaved the schooner.
But there was little time to think of themselves. On board the bark thesails were still set. The squall struck the "Lady Letty" squarely aback.She heeled over upon the instant; then as the top hamper carried awaywith a crash, eased back a moment upon an even keel. But her cargo hadshifted. The bark was doomed. Through the flying spray and scud and rainWilbur had a momentary glimpse of Kitchell, hacking at the lanyards withhis axe. Then the "Lady Letty" capsized, going over till her mastswere flat with the water, and in another second rolled bottom up. Fora moment her keel and red iron bottom were visible through the mist ofdriving spoon-drift. Suddenly they sank from sight. She was gone.
And then, like the rolling up of a scroll, the squall passed, the sunreturned, the sky burned back to blue, the ruggedness was smoothedfrom the ocean, and the warmth of the tropics closed around the "BerthaMillner," once more rolling easily on the swell of the ocean.
Of the "Lady Letty" and the drunken beach-combing Captain not a traceremained. Kitchell had gone down with his prize. The "Bertha Millner's"Chinese crew huddled forward, talking wildly, pointing and looking in abewildered fashion over the sides.
Wilbur and Moran were left alone on the open Pacific.