The Cruise of the Jasper B.

  CHAPTER X

  IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP

  At seven o'clock that morning five big-bodied automobile trucks rolledup in a thundering procession. As they hove in sight on the starboardquarter and dropped anchor near the Jasper B., Cleggett recalled thatthis was the day which Cap'n Abernethy had set for getting the sticksand sails into the vessel. In the hurry and excitement of recentevents aboard the ship he had almost forgotten it.

  A score of men scrambled from the trucks and began to haul out of themall the essentials of a shipyard. Wheel, rudder, masts, spars,bowsprit, quantities of rope and cable followed--in fact, everyconceivable thing necessary to convert the Jasper B. from a hulk into aproperly rigged schooner. Cleggett, with a pith and brevitycharacteristic of the man, had given his order in one sentence.

  "Make arrangements to get the sails and masts into her in one day," hehad told Captain Abernethy.

  It was in the same large and simple spirit that a Russian Czar oncelaid a ruler across the map of his empire and, drawing a straight linefrom Moscow to Petersburg, commanded his engineers: "Build me arailroad to run like that." Genius has winged conceptions; it seesthings as a completed whole from the first; it is only mediocrity whichpermits itself to be lost in details.

  Cleggett was like the Romanoffs in his ability to go straight to thepoint, but he had none of the Romanoff cruelty.

  Captain Abernethy had made his arrangements accordingly. If it pleasedCleggett to have a small manufacturing plant brought to the Jasper B.instead of having the Jasper B. towed to a shipyard, it was Abernethy'sbusiness as his chief executive officer to see that this was done. TheCaptain had let the contract to an enterprising and businesslikefellow, Watkins by name, who had at once looked the vessel over, takenthe necessary measurements, and named a good round sum for the job.With several times the usual number of skilled workmen employed atdouble the usual rate of pay, he guaranteed to do in ten hours whatmight ordinarily have taken a week.

  Under the leadership of this capable Watkins, the workmen rushed at thevessel with the dash and vim of a gang of circus employees engaged inputting up a big tent and making ready for a show. To a casualobserver it might have seemed a scene of confusion. But in reality thework jumped forward with order and precision, for the position of everybolt, chain, nail, cord, piece of iron and bit of wood had beencalculated beforehand to a nicety; there was not a wasted movement ofsaw, adze, or hammer. The Jasper B., in short, had been measuredaccurately for a suit of clothes, the clothes had been made; they werenow merely being put on.

  Refreshed by the first sound sleep she had been able to obtain forseveral nights, Lady Agatha joined Cleggett at an eight-o'clockbreakfast. It was the first of May, and warm and bright; in a simplemorning dress of pink linen Lady Agatha stirred in Cleggett a vaguerecollection of one of Tennyson's earlier poems. The exact phraseseluded him; perhaps, indeed, it was the underlying sentiment of nearlyALL of Tennyson's earlier poems of which she reminded him--those lyricswhich are at once so romantic and so irreproachable morally.

  "We must give you Americans credit for imagination at any rate," shesaid smilingly, making her Pomeranian sit up on his hind legs and begfor a morsel of crisp bacon. "I awake in a boatyard after having goneto sleep in a dismantled barge."

  "Barge!" The word "barge" struck Cleggett unexpectedly; he was notaware that he had given a start and frowned.

  "Mercy!" exclaimed Lady Agatha, "how the dear man glares! What shouldI call it? Scow?"

  "Scow?" said Cleggett. He had scarcely recovered from the word"barge"; it is not to be denied that "scow" jarred upon him even morethan "barge" had done.

  "I beg your pardon," said Lady Agatha, "but what IS the Jasper B., Mr.Cleggett?"

  "The Jasper B. is a schooner," said Cleggett. He tried to say itcasually, but he was conscious as he spoke that there was a trace ofhurt surprise in his voice. The most generous and chivalrous soulalive, Cleggett would have gone to the stake for Lady Agatha; and yetso unaccountable is that vain thing, the human soul (especially atbreakfast time), that he felt angry at her for misunderstanding theJasper B.

  "You aren't going to be horrid about it, are you?" she said. "Because,you know, I never said I knew anything about ships."

  She picked up the little dog and stood it on the table, making theanimal extend its paws as if pleading. "Help me to beg Mr. Cleggett'spardon," she said, "he's going to be cross with us about his old boat."

  If Lady Agatha had been just an inch taller or just a few poundsheavier the playful mood itself would have jarred upon the fastidiousCleggett; indeed, as she was, if she had been just a thought moreplayful, it would have jarred. But Lady Agatha, it has been remarkedbefore, never went too far in any direction.

  Even as she smiled and held out the dog's paws Cleggett was aware ofsomething in her eyes that was certainly not a tear, but was just ascertainly a film of moisture that might be a tear in another minute.Then Cleggett cursed himself inwardly for a brute--it rushed over himhow difficult to Lady Agatha her position on board the Jasper B. mustseem. She must regard herself as practically a pensioner on hisbounty. And he had been churl enough to show a spark of temper--andthat, too, after she had repeatedly expressed her gratitude to him.

  "I am deeply sorry, Lady Agatha," he began, blushing painfully, "if----"

  "Silly!" She interrupted him by reaching across the table and laying aforgiving hand upon his arm. "Don't be so stiff and formal. Eat youregg before it gets cold and don't say another word. Of course I knowyou're not REALLY going to be cross." And she attacked her breakfast,giving him such a look that he forthwith forgave himself and forgotthat he had had anything to forgive in her.

  "There's going to be a frightful racket around here today," he saidpresently. "Maybe you'd like to get away from it for a while. How'dyou like to go for a row?"

  "I'd love it!" she said.

  "George will be glad to take you, I'm sure."

  "George? And you?" He thought he detected a note of disappointment inher voice; he had not thought to disappoint her, but when he found herdisappointed he got a certain thrill out of it.

  "I am going over to Morris's this morning," he said.

  "To Morris's? Alone?"

  "Why, yes."

  "But--but isn't it dangerous?"

  Cleggett smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

  "Promise me that you will not go over there alone," she demanded.

  "I am sorry. I cannot."

  "But it is rash--it is mad!"

  "There is no real danger."

  "Then I am going with you."

  "I think that would hardly be advisable."

  "I'm going with you," she repeated, rising with determination.

  "But you're not," said Cleggett. "I couldn't think of allowing it."

  "Then there IS danger," she said.

  He tried to evade the point. "I shouldn't have mentioned it," hemurmured.

  She ran into the stateroom and was back in an instant with her hat,which she pinned on as she spoke.

  "I'm ready to start," she said.

  "But you're not going."

  "After what you've done for me I insist upon my right to share whateverdanger there may be." She spoke heatedly.

  In her heat and impulsiveness and generous bravery Cleggett thought heradorable, although he began to get really angry with her, too. At thesame time he was aware that her gratitude to him was such that she wason fire to give him some positive and early proof of it. It had not somuch as occurred to her to enjoy immunity on account of her sex; it hadnot entered her mind, apparently, that her sex was an obstacle in theway of participating in whatever dangerous enterprise he had planned.She was, in fact, behaving like a chivalric but obstinate boy; she hadnot been a militant suffragette for nothing. And yet, somehow, thisattitude only served to enhance her essential femininity.Nevertheless, Cleggett was inflexible.

  "You would scarcely forbid me to go to Morris's today, or anywhere elseI may choose," she said hotly, wi
th a spot of red on either cheek bone,and a dangerous dilatation of her eyes.

  "That is exactly what I intend to do," said Cleggett, with an intensityequal to her own, "FORBID you."

  "You are curiously presumptuous," she said.

  It was a real quarrel before they were done with it, will opposed tonaked will. And oddly enough Cleggett found his admiration grow as hisdetermination to gain his point increased. For she fought fair,disdaining the facile weapon of tears, and when she yielded she did itsuddenly and merrily.

  "You've the temper of a sultan, Mr. Cleggett," she said with a laugh,which was her signal of capitulation. And then she added maliciously:"You've a devil of a temper--for a little man!"

  "Little!" Cleggett felt the blood rush into his face again and wasvexed at himself. "I'm taller than you are!" he cried, and the nextinstant could have bitten his tongue off for the childish vanity of thespeech.

  "You're not!" she cried, her whole face alive with laughter. "Measureand see!"

  And pulling off her hat she caught up a table knife and made him standwith his back to hers. "You're cheating," said Cleggett, laughing nowin spite of himself, as she laid the knife across their heads. But hisvoice broke and trembled on the next words, for he was suddenlythrilled with her delicious nearness. "You're standing on your tiptoes,and your hair's piled on top of your head."

  "Maybe you are an inch taller," she admitted, with mock reluctance.And then she said, with a ripple of mirth: "You are taller than Iam--I give up; I won't go to Morris's."

  Cleggett, to tell the truth, was a bit relieved at the measurement. Hewas of the middle height; she was slightly taller than the averagewoman; he had really thought she might prove taller than he. He couldscarcely have told why he considered the point important.

  But after the quarrel she looked at Cleggett with a new and moreapproving gaze. Neither of them quite realized it, but she hadchallenged his ability to dominate her, and she had been worsted; hehad unconsciously met and satisfied in her that subtle inherent cravingfor domination which all women possess and so few will admit thepossession of.

  Cleggett started across the sands toward Morris's with an automaticpistol slung in a shoulder holster under his left arm and a sword canein his hand. He paused a moment by the scene of the explosion of thenight before, but daylight told him nothing that lantern light hadfailed to reveal. He had no very definite plan, although he thought itpossible that he might gain some information. The more he reflected onthe attitude of Morris's, the more it irritated him, and he yearned tomake this irritation known.

  Perhaps there was more than a little of the spirit of bravado in thecall he proposed to pay. He planned, the next day, to sail the JasperB. out into the bay and up and down the coast for a few miles, to givehimself and his men a bit of practice in navigation before setting outfor the China Seas. And he could not bear to think that the hostiledenizens of Morris's should think that he had moved the Jasper B. fromher position through any fear of them. He reasoned that the mostpointed way of showing his opinion of them would be to walk casuallyinto Morris's barroom and order a drink or two. If Cleggett had afault as a commander it lay in these occasional foolhardy impulseswhich he found it difficult to control. Julius Caesar had the samesort of pride, which, in Caesar's case, amounted to positive vanity.In fact, the character of Caesar and the character of Cleggett had manypoints in common, although Cleggett possessed a nicer sense of honorthan Caesar.

  The main entrance to Morris's was on the west side. From the westverandah one could enter directly either the main dining-room, at thenorth side of the building, the office, or the barroom. The barroom,which was large, ran the whole length of the south side of the place.Doors also led into the barroom, from the south verandah, which wasbuilt over the water, and from the east verandah, which was visiblefrom the Jasper B.--and onto the roof of which Cleggett had seen Logetumble the limp body of his victim, Heinrich. That had been only theday before, but so much had happened since that Cleggett could scarcelyrealize that so little time had elapsed.

  Cleggett strolled into the barroom and took a seat at a table in thesoutheast corner of it, with his back to the angle of the walls. Hethus commanded a view of the bar itself; a door which led, as heconjectured, into the kitchen; the door communicating with the office,and a door which gave upon the west verandah--all this easily, andwithout turning his head. By turning his head ever so slightly to hisright, he could command a view of the door leading to the eastverandah. Unless the ceiling suddenly opened above him, or the floorbeneath, it would be impossible to surprise him. Cleggett took thisposition less through any positive fear of attack than because hepossessed the instinct of the born strategist. Cleggett was likeRobert E. Lee in his quick grasp of a situation and, indeed, in otherrespects--although Cleggett would never under any circumstances havecountenanced human slavery.

  There were only two men in the place when Cleggett took his seat, thebartender and a fellow who was evidently a waiter. He had entered thewest door and walked across the room without looking at them,withholding his gaze purposely. When he looked towards the bar, afterseating himself, the waiter, with his back towards Cleggett's corner,was talking in a low tone to the bartender. But they had both seen him;Cleggett perceived they both knew him.

  "See what the gentleman wants, Pierre," said the bartender in a voicetoo elaborately casual to hide his surprise at seeing Cleggett.

  The waiter turned and came towards him, and Cleggett saw the man's facefor the first time. It was a face that Cleggett never forgot.Cleggett judged the man to be a Frenchman; he was dark and sallow, withnervous, black eyebrows, and a smirk that came and went quickly. Butthe unforgettable feature was a mole that grew on his upper lip, on theright side, near the base of his flaring nostril. Many moles havehairs in them; Pierre's mole had not merely half a dozen hairs, but awhole crop. They grew thick and long; and, with a perversion of vanityalmost inconceivable in a sane person, Pierre had twisted these hairstogether, as a man twists a mustache, and had trained them to growobliquely across his cheek bone. He was a big fellow, for a Frenchman,and, as he walked towards Cleggett with a mincing elasticity of gait,he smirked and caressed this whimsical adornment. Cleggett,fascinated, stared at it as the fellow paused before him. Pierre,evidently gratified at the sensation he was creating, continued tosmirk and twist, and then, seeing that he held his audience, he tookfrom his waistcoat pocket a little piece of cosmetic and, as a finaltouch of Gallic grotesquerie, waxed the thing. It was all done withthat air of quiet histrionicism, and with that sense ofself-appreciation, which only the French can achieve in its perfection."You ordered, M'sieur?" Pierre, having produced his effect, like theartist (though debased) that he was, did not linger over it.

  "Er--a Scotch highball," said Cleggett, recovering himself. "And witha piece of lemon peeling in it, please."

  Pierre served him deftly. Cleggett stirred his drink and sipped itslowly, gazing at the bartender, who elaborately avoided watching him.But after a moment a little noise at his right attracted his attention.Pierre, with his hand cupped, had dashed it along a window pane andcaught a big stupid fly, abroad thus early in the year. With a senseof almost intolerable disgust, Cleggett saw the man, with a rapt smileon his face, tear the insect's legs from it, and turn it loose. Ifever a creature rejoiced in wickedness for its own sake, and as if itspractice were an art in itself, Pierre was that person, Cleggettconcluded. Knowing Pierre, one could almost understand those cafes ofParis where the silly poets of degradation ostentatiously affect theworship of all manner of devils.

  An instant later, Pierre, as if he had been doing something quitecharming, looked at Cleggett with a grin; a grin that assumed thatthere was some kind of an understanding between them concerning thisdelightful pastime. It was too much. Cleggett, with an oath--andnever stopping to reflect that it was perhaps just the sort of actionwhich Pierre hoped to provoke--grasped his cane with the intention oflaying it across the fellow's shoulders half a dozen t
imes, come whatmight, and leaving the place.

  But at that instant the door from the office opened and the man whomhe knew only as Loge entered the room.

  Loge paused at the right of Cleggett, and then marched directly acrossthe room and sat down opposite the commander of the Jasper B. at thesame table. He was wearing the cutaway frock coat, and as he swung hisbig frame into the seat one of his coat tails caught in the chair backand was lifted.

  Cleggett saw the steel butt of an army revolver. Loge perceived by hisface that he had seen it, and laughed.

  "I've been wanting to talk to you," he said, leaning across the tableand showing his yellow teeth in a smile which he perhaps intended to beingratiating. Cleggett, looking Loge fixedly in the eye, withdrew hisright hand from beneath his coat, and laid his magazine pistol on thetable under his hand.

  "I am at your service," he said, steadily, giving back unwavering gazefor gaze. "I am looking for some information myself, and I am inexactly the humor for a little comfortable chat."