CHAPTER XV
OLD BURR OF THE FERRY
It was in late November and while the coal carrier _Pontiac_, on whichhe was serving as lookout, was in Lake Superior that Alan first heardof Jim Burr. The name spoken among some other names in casualconversation by a member of the crew, stirred and excited him; the nameJames Burr, occurring on Benjamin Corvet's list, had borne opposite itthe legend "All disappeared; no trace," and Alan, whose investigationshad accounted for all others whom the list contained, had been ableregarding Burr only to verify the fact that at the address given no oneof this name was to be found.
He questioned the oiler who had mentioned Burr. The man had met Burrone night in Manitowoc with other men, and something about the old manhad impressed both his name and image on him; he knew no more thanthat. At Manitowoc!--the place from which Captain Stafford's watch hadbeen sent to Constance Sherrill and where Alan had sought for, but hadfailed to find, the sender! Had Alan stumbled by chance upon the onewhom Benjamin Corvet had been unable to trace? Had Corvet, after hisdisappearance, found Burr? Had Burr been the sender, under Corvet'sdirection, of those things? Alan speculated upon this. The man mightwell, of course, be some other Jim Burr; there were probably many menby that name. Yet the James Burr of Corvet's list must have been sucha one as the oiler described--a white haired old man.
Alan could not leave the _Pontiac_ and go at once to Manitowoc to seekfor Burr; for he was needed where he was. The season of navigation onLake Superior was near its close. In Duluth skippers were clamoringfor cargoes; ships were lading in haste for a last trip before iceclosed the lake's outlet at the Soo against all ships. It was fully aweek later and after the Pontiac had been laden again and had repassedthe length of Lake Superior that Alan left the vessel at Sault Ste.Marie and took the train for Manitowoc.
The little lake port of Manitowoc, which he reached in the lateafternoon, was turbulent with the lake season's approaching close.Long lines of bulk freighters, loaded and tied up to wait for spring,filled the river; their released crews rioted through the town. Alaninquired for the seamen's drinking place, where his informant had metJim Burr; following the directions he received he made his way alongthe river bank until he found it. The place was neat, immaculate; ascore of lakemen sat talking at little tables or leaned against thebar. Alan inquired of the proprietor for Jim Burr.
The proprietor knew old Jim Burr--yes. Burr was a wheelsman onCarferry Number 25. He was a lakeman, experienced and capable; thatfact, some months before, had served as introduction for him to thefrequenters of this place. When the ferry was in harbor and his dutiesleft him idle, Burr came up and waited there, occupying always the samechair. He never drank; he never spoke to others unless they spokefirst to him, but then he talked freely about old days on the lakes,about ships which had been lost and about men long dead.
Alan decided that there could be no better place to interview old Burrthan here; he waited therefore, and in the early evening the old mancame in.
Alan watched him curiously as, without speaking to any one, he went tothe chair recognized as his and sat down. He was a slender butmuscularly built man seeming about sixty-five, but he might beconsiderably younger or older than that. His hair was completelywhite; his nose was thin and sensitive; his face was smoothly placid,emotionless, contented; his eyes were queerly clouded, deepset andintent.
Those whose names Alan had found on Corvet's list had been of all ages,young and old; but Burr might well have been a contemporary of Corveton the lakes. Alan moved over and took a seat beside the old man.
"You're from No. 25?" he asked, to draw him into conversation.
"Yes."
"I've been working on the carrier _Pontiac_ as lookout. She's on herway to tie up at Cleveland, so I left her and came on here. You don'tknow whether there's a chance for me to get a place through the winteron No. 25?"
Old Burr reflected. "One of our boys has been talking of leaving. Idon't know when he expects to go. You might ask."
"Thank you; I will. My name's Conrad--Alan Conrad."
He saw no recognition of the name in Burr's reception of it; but he hadnot expected that. None of those on Benjamin Corvet's list had had anyknowledge of Alan Conrad or had heard the name before.
Alan was silent, watching the old man; Burr, silent too, seemedlistening to the conversation which came to them from the tables nearby, where men were talking of cargoes, and of ships and of men whoworked and sailed upon them.
"How long have you been on the lakes?" Alan inquired.
"All my life." The question awakened reminiscence in the old man. "Myfather had a farm. I didn't like farming. The schooners--they werealmost all schooners in those days--came in to load with lumber. WhenI was nine years old, I ran away and got on board a schooner. I'vebeen at it, sail or steam, ever since."
"Do you remember the _Miwaka_?"
"The _Miwaka_?"
Old Burr turned abruptly and studied Alan with a slow scrutiny whichseemed to look him through and through; yet while his eyes remainedfixed on Alan suddenly they grew blank. He was not thinking now ofAlan, but had turned his thoughts within himself.
"I remember her--yes. She was lost in '95," he said. "In '95," herepeated.
"You lost a nephew with her, didn't you?"
"A nephew--no. That is a mistake. I lost a brother."
"Where were you living then?"
"In Emmet County, Michigan."
"When did you move to Point Corbay, Ontario?"
"I never lived at Point Corbay."
"Did any of your family live there?"
"No." Old Burr looked away from Alan, and the queer cloudiness of hiseyes became more evident.
"Why, do you ask all this?" he said irritably. "What have they beentelling you about me? I told you about myself; our farm was in EmmetCounty, but we had a liking for the lake. One of my brothers was lostin '95 with the _Miwaka_ and another in '99 with the _Susan Hart_."
"Did you know Benjamin Corvet?" Alan asked.
Old Burr stared at him uncertainly. "I know who he is, of course."
"You never met him?"
"No."
"Did you receive a communication from him some time this year?"
"From him? From Benjamin Corvet? No." Old Burr's uneasiness seemedto increase. "What sort of communication?"
"A request to send some things to Miss Constance Sherrill at HarborPoint."
"I never heard of Miss Constance Sherrill. To send what things?"
"Several things--among them a watch which had belonged to CaptainStafford of the _Miwaka_."
Old Burr got up suddenly and stood gazing down at Alan. "A watch ofCaptain Stafford's?--no," he said agitatedly. "No!"
He moved away and left the place; and Alan sprang up and followed him.
He was not, it seemed probable to Alan now, the James Burr of Corvet'slist; at least Alan could not see how he could be that one. Among thenames of the crew of the _Miwaka_ Alan had found that of a Frank Burr,and his inquiries had informed him that this man was a nephew of theJames Burr who had lived near Port Corbay and had "disappeared" withall his family. Old Burr had not lived at Port Corbay--at least, heclaimed not to have lived there; he gave another address and assignedto himself quite different connections. For every member of the crewof the _Miwaka_ there had been a corresponding, but different name uponCorvet's list--the name of a close relative. If old Burr was notrelated to the Burr on Corvet's list, what connection could he havewith the _Miwaka_, and why should Alan's questions have agitated himso? Alan would not lose sight of old Burr until he had learned thereason for that.
He followed, as the old man crossed the bridge and turned to his leftamong the buildings on the river front. Burr's figure, vague in thedusk, crossed the railroad yards and made its way to where a huge blackbulk, which Alan recognized as the ferry, loomed at the waterside. Hedisappeared aboard it. Alan, following him, gazed about.
A long, broad, black boat the ferry
was, almost four hundred feet tothe tall, bluff bow. Seen from the stem, the ship seemed only anunusually rugged and powerful steam freighter; viewed from the beam,the vessel appeared slightly short for its freeboard; only whenobserved from the stern did its distinguishing peculiarity becomeplain; for a few feet only above the water line, the stern was all cutaway, and the long, low cavern of the deck gleamed with rails uponwhich the electric lights glinted. Save for the supports of thesuperstructure and where the funnels and ventilator pipes passed upfrom below, that whole strata of the ship was a vast car shed; itstracks, running to the edge of the stern, touched tracks on the dock.A freight engine was backing loaded cars from a train of sixteen carsupon the rails on the starboard side; another train of sixteen big boxcars waited to go aboard on the tracks to the port of the centerstanchions. When the two trains were aboard, the great vessel--"No.25," in big white stencil upon her black sides were her distinguishingmarks--would thrust out into the ice and gale for the Michigan shorenearly eighty miles away.
Alan thrilled a little at his inspection of the ferry. He had not seenclose at hand before one of these great craft which, throughout thewinter, brave ice and storm after all--or nearly all--other lake boatsare tied up. He had not meant to apply there when he questioned oldBurr about a berth on the ferry; he had used that merely as a means ofgetting into conversation with the old man. But now he meant to apply;for it would enable him to find out more about old Burr.
He went forward between the tracks upon the deck to the companionway,and ascended and found the skipper and presented his credentials. Noberth on the ferry was vacant yet but one soon would be, and Alan wasaccepted in lieu of the man who was about to leave; his wages would notbegin until the other man left, but in the meantime he could remainaboard the ferry if he wished. Alan elected to remain aboard. Theskipper called a man to assign quarters to Alan, and Alan, going withthe man, questioned him about Burr.
All that was known definitely about old Burr on the ferry, it appeared,was that he had joined the vessel in the early spring. Beforethat--they did not know; he might be an old lakeman who, after spendingyears ashore, had returned to the lakes for a livelihood. He hadrepresented himself as experienced and trained upon the lakes, and hehad been able to demonstrate his fitness; in spite of his age he wasone of the most capable of the crew.
The next morning, Alan approached old Burr in the crew's quarters andtried to draw him into conversation again about himself; but Burr onlystared at him with his intent and oddly introspective eyes and wouldnot talk upon this subject. A week passed; Alan, established as alookout now on No. 25 and carrying on his duties, saw Burr daily andalmost every hour; his watch coincided with Burr's watch at thewheel--they went on duty and were relieved together. Yet betteracquaintance did not make the old man more communicative; a score oftimes Alan attempted to get him to tell more about himself, but heevaded Alan's questions and, if Alan persisted, he avoided him. Then,on an evening bitter cold with the coming of winter, clear and filledwith stars, Alan, just relieved from watch, stood by the pilothouse asBurr also was relieved. The old man paused beside him, looking to thewest.
"Have you ever been in Sturgeon's Bay?" he asked.
"In Wisconsin? No."
"There is a small house there--and a child; born," he seemed figuringthe date, "Feb. 12, 1914."
"A relative of yours?"
"Yes."
"One of your brothers' children or grandchildren?"
"I had no brothers," old Burr said quietly.
Alan stared at him, amazed. "But you told me about your brothers andabout their being lost in wrecks on the lake; and about your home inEmmet County!"
"I never lived in Emmet County," old Burr replied. "Some one else musthave told you that about me. I come from Canada--of French-Canadiandescent. My family were of the Hudson Bay people. I was a guide andhunter until recently. Only a few years ago I came onto the lakes, butmy cousin came here before I did. It is his child."
Old Burr moved away and Alan turned to the mate.
"What do you make of old Burr?" he asked.
"He's a romancer. We get 'em that way once in a while--old liars!He'll give you twenty different accounts of himself--twenty differentlives. None of them is true. I don't know who he is or where he camefrom, but it's sure he isn't any of the things he says he is."
Alan turned away, chill with disappointment. It was only that,then--old Burr was a romancer after the manner of some old seamen. Heconstructed for his own amusement these "lives." He was not only notthe Burr of Corvet's list; he was some one not any way connected withthe _Miwaka_ or with Corvet. Yet Alan, upon reflection, could notbelieve that it was only this. Burr, if he had wished to do that,might perhaps merely have simulated agitation when Alan questioned himabout the _Miwaka_; but why should he have wished to simulate it? Alancould conceive of no condition which by any possibility could havesuggested such simulation to the old man.
He ceased now, however, to question Burr since questioning either hadno result at all or led the old man to weaving fictions; in responsethe old man became by degrees more communicative. He told Alan, atdifferent times, a number of other "lives" which he claimed as his own.In only a few of these lives had he been, by his account, a seaman; hehad been a multitude of other things--in some a farmer, in others alumberjack or a fisherman; he had been born, he told, in a half-dozendifferent places and came of as many different sorts of people.
On deck, one night, listening while old Burr related his sixth orseventh life, excitement suddenly seized Alan. Burr, in this lifewhich he was telling, claimed to be an Englishman born in Liverpool.He had been, he said, a seaman in the British navy; he had been presentat the shelling of Alexandria; later, because of some difficulty whichhe glossed over, he had deserted and had come to "the States"; he hadbeen first a deckhand then the mate of a tramp schooner on the lakes.Alan, gazing at the old man, felt exultation leaping and throbbingwithin him. He recognized this "life"; he knew in advance itsincidents. This life which old Burr was rehearsing to him as his own,was the actual life of Munro Burkhalter, one of the men on Corvet'slist regarding whom Alan had been able to obtain full information!
Alan sped below, when he was relieved from watch, and got out theclippings left by Corvet and the notes of what he himself had learnedin his visits to the homes of these people. His excitement grewgreater as he pored over them; he found that he could account, withtheir aid, for all that old Burr had told him. Old Burr's "lives" werenot, of course, his; yet neither were they fictions. They--theirincidents, at least--were actualities. They were woven from the livesof those upon Corvet's list! Alan felt his skin prickling and theblood beating fast in his temples. How could Burr have known theseincidents? Who could he be to know them all? To what man, but one,could all of them be known? Was old Burr ... Benjamin Corvet?
Alan could give no certain answer to that question. He could not findany definite resemblance in Burr's placid face to the picture of Corvetwhich Constance had shown him. Yet, as regarded his age and hisphysical characteristics, there was nothing to make his identity withBenjamin Corvet impossible. Sherrill or others who had known BenjaminCorvet well, might be able to find resemblances which Alan could not.And, whether Burr was or was not Corvet, he was undeniably some one towhom the particulars of Corvet's life were known.
Alan telegraphed that day to Sherrill; but when the message had gonedoubt seized him. He awaited eagerly the coming of whoever Sherrillmight send and the revelations regarding Corvet which might come then;but at the same time he shrunk from that revelation. He himself hadbecome, he knew, wholly of the lakes now; his life, whatever his futuremight be, would be concerned with them. Yet he was not of them in theway he would have wished to be; he was no more than a common seaman.
Benjamin Corvet, when he went away, had tried to leave his place andpower among lakemen to Alan; Alan, refusing to accept what Corvet hadleft until Corvet's reason should be known, had felt obliged also torefuse frien
dship with the Sherrills. When revelation came, would itmake possible Alan's acceptance of the place Corvet had prepared forhim, or would it leave him where he was? Would it bring him nearer toConstance Sherrill, or would it set him forever away from her?