"JIM PINKERTON."

There was yet one more postscript, yet one more outburst of self-pity
and pathetic adjuration; and a doctor's opinion, unpromising enough,
was besides 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 conscious 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 overwhelmed 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 remembrance of my
father, who had fallen in the same field unstained, the image of his
monument incongruously 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.

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, protesting. The business, they
declared, must be despatched 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 yesterday. 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 champagne, suffered the captain and myself to leave them
without further word.

I gave Nares the correspondence, and he skimmed it through.

"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 hadn'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 penitentiary, 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 well?"

"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 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, hasn't he? Stood by you, and all that? and
pulled you through for all he was worth?"


"That he has," I cried; "I could never begin telling you my debt to
him!"

"Well, and that's a consideration," said the captain. "As a matter of
principle, I wouldn'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. Remember, 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!"

"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
hadn't 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 without him."

"I don't see it!" said I. "You don't know Jim!"

"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'll 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 rummaging,
you come home, and you hand over ten thousand--or twenty, if you like--a
part of which 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 impudent 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 daresay 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'll 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 wouldn'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 COELUM! I never understood that old tag before to-night."

"I hope it isn't my business that decides you?" asked the captain.

"I'll never deny it was an element," said I. "I hope, I hope I'm not
cowardly; I hope I could steal for Jim myself; but when it comes to
dragging 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 suppose; 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--hadn'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 haven't got the brass to fire them now."

Indeed, I believe that was my only reason for entering upon a
transaction which was now outside my interest, but which (as it chanced)
repaid me fifty-fold in entertainment. Fowler and Sharpe were both
preternaturally sharp; they did me the honour in the beginning to
attribute to myself their proper vices; 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 essentials 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 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 pounds of drug, my smugglers exchanged
meaning glances, as who should say, "Here is a foeman worthy of our
steel!" But when I carelessly proposed 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 moonshine to me, gentlemen. Take it or want
it, and fill your glasses"--I had the indescribable gratification 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 whaleboat 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
consciousness of virtue. Alas, I had but the one 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.


In the early sunlight of the next day, we tossed 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 harbour. A good breeze, which
had risen with the sea, carried us triumphantly through the
intricacies 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 warship 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. Messieurs Sharpe and Fowler
had left the night before in the persuasion that I was a liar of the
first magnitude; the genial belief brought them aboard again with the
earliest opportunity, proffering help to one who had proved how little
he required it, and hospitality to so respectable a character. I had
business 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 and silk market under
the auspices of Sharpe; lunched with him in a private apartment at the
Hawaiian Hotel--for Sharpe was a teetotaler in public; and about four
in the afternoon was delivered into the hands of Fowler. This gentleman
owned a bungalow on the Waikiki beach; and there in company with
certain young bloods of Honolulu, I was entertained to a sea-bathe,
indiscriminate 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 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 children, 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 buffeted 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 companionship 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 warriors, 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 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 bankruptcy 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 excesses 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 abstracted 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 rattled without mercy; the breach of the
surf below contributed its increment of noise; and the fall of my foot
in the narrow verandah passed unheard by those within.

There were two on whom I thus entered unexpectedly: the look-out
man, with grizzled beard, keen seaman's eyes, and that brand on his
countenance 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 pleasantly welcome, and was soon listening with amusement to the
sea-lawyer.

"No, if I hadn't have been born an Englishman," 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 carried a banner with his own 'ands: 'Hooroar for Gladstone!' I
suppose, or 'Down with the Aristocracy!' 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 hadn'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 recovered himself; and with the
ready tact of his betters, paid me the usual British compliment on the
riposte. "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) 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
welcome 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 represent 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 entertainment; 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, wasn'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: "gen'lem'n in the white
schooner?"

"The same," said I.

My friend saluted, as though we were now, for the first time, formally
introduced.

"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.
Leastways, 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 didn't go in neither; only stood and looked
on; but it seems they was all badly scared and muddled, and didn'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."

"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 weren'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 he: ''Ullo, Norrie,
old chappie!' he says. The other was coming up, as bold as look at it;
didn'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
Judgment, 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. Sebright. ''Tis poor old
Norrie Carthew,' he says."

"And what--what sort of a gentleman was this Mr. Carthew?" 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 look at?" I corrected him.


"The same as you or me," was the uncompromising answer: "not much to
look at. I didn't know he was a gen'lem'n; but then, I never see him
cleaned up."

"How was that?" I cried. "O yes, I remember: he was sick all the way to
'Frisco, was he not?"

"Sick, or sorry, or something," returned my informant. "My belief, he
didn't hanker after showing up. He kep' close; the ward-room steward,
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, shipwrecked 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 daresay," said I. "But you saw more of the others?"

"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 native! I
liked that 'Ardy; he was a good-looking boy, too."

"Did they say much about the wreck?" I asked.

"There wasn't much to say, I reckon," replied the man-o'-war's man. "It
was all in the papers. '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?"

"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 immediate 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 Carthew's
inheritance; and in my gallery of illustrations to the history of the
wreck, one more picture hung; perhaps the most dramatic of the series.
It showed me the deck of a warship 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
loaded--conscience, and the reflection recalled to me the photograph
found on board the Flying Scud; just such a man, I reasoned, would be
capable of just such starts and crises, and I inclined to think that
Goddedaal (or Carthew) was the mainspring 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 verandahs 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, aw! 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 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?"

"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; diagnosed 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 to a conclusion. A moment later, he had fled,
leaving me with 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 distance. 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
impatience 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 general wish was expressed
that you would come and dine on board. It will give us all the greatest
pleasure to see you to-night, or in case you should be otherwise
engaged, to luncheon either to-morrow 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
mentioned 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 conveyed 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 me little
of the man, it was because they had not much to tell, and only felt an
interest in his recognition 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 gray,
and with a restless mouth and bushy eyebrows: he spoke seldom, but then
with gaiety; and his great, quaking, 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 sudden impulse) I burned my ships, and pleading indisposition,
requested to consult the doctor.

"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 gray 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? and how am I to stand to Mr. Carthew?"

"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 I. "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
unmistakable evidences of foul play. Conceive my position: I am ruined
through this man, whom I never saw; I might very well desire revenge
or compensation; 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?"

"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 forgo 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. "Suppose 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 certain 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 action,
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 conviction and judicial emphasis
of Dr. Urquart's speech. To those who did not hear him, it may appear as
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 communication. 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 excused, 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? or, like me, does he give it up?




CHAPTER XVIII. CROSS-QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS.


I have said hard words of San Francisco; they must scarce be literally
understood (one 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 button-holes 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 suggest recent conversion,
the watch-cry, "White Labour 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 pastures, now sat
staring on a column of accounts, idly chewing a pen, at times heavily
sighing, the picture of inefficiency and inattention. He was sunk deep
in a painful reverie; he neither saw nor heard me; and I stood and
watched him unobserved. I had a sudden vain relenting. Repentance
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 generous 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!" said I.

"Loudon!" 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!" 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, Loudon!"

"I couldn't do what you wrote me," I said, lowering my voice. "The
creditors have it all. I couldn't do it."

"Ssh!" returned Jim. "I was crazy when wrote. I could never have looked
Mamie in the face if we had done it. O, Loudon, what a gift that woman
is! You think you know something of life: you just don't know anything.
It's the GOODNESS of the woman, it's a revelation!"

"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 didn'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?"

"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 anyway? I don't seem to catch on to that
story, Loudon."

"The devil you don't!" thinks I to myself; and then aloud: "You see
we had neither one of us good luck. I didn't do much more than cover
current expenses; and you got floored immediately. How did we come to go
so soon?"

"Well, we'll have to have a talk over all this," said Jim with a sudden
start. "I should be getting to my books; and I guess you had better
go up right away to Mamie. She's at Speedy's. She 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 naygresses now?"

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 imagined 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 kindness for which
I can never be sufficiently grateful, 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.

"Jim?" cried I. "He's got to. Didn't I take his?"

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 private apartments of my brain) trying for the
thousandth 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? It
looks as if you avoided it," said I--for a man in my situation, with
unpardonable 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. "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 conclusion--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!" said
I.

"You'll see," said Jim. "Next time I go myself. 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!" cried I. "She's burned."

"Burned!" cried Mamie, starting a little from 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 unexpected," 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 didn'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 hadn'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."


"I begin to think you were," she returned, with a significant emphasis.

Jim hurriedly intervened. "What I don't quite make out, Loudon, is that
you don't seem to appreciate the peculiarities of the thing," said he.
"It doesn'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.

"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 beginning. 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."

"I daresay I am very stupid, Mr. Dodd," began 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 concerns us a great deal to understand how we
come to have lost our money, and why our representative comes back to
us with nothing. You ask that we should trust you; you do not seem to
understand; 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 hadn't been for Loudon, I couldn't have looked you in the
face. He saved my honesty."