the brigantine-rigged pelican was of but a hundred and fifty tons burden; yet her royal yard stood athwart the sky nearly ninety feet above the deck. she was not a pretty ship, despite her snowy cleanliness, but she was tall enough; in her 'midships stood the brick try-works, with two funnels, where blubber was rendered into oil; and she reeked of the whale-juice that had soaked her stout oaken timbers these forty years.
as she lay at anchor in vancouver harbour, well up toward the second narrows, there were several peculiar features about her—peculiar, that is, to the trained seaman's eye.
she was bound for sea; yet she was altogether too late to get the spring catch off the siberian coast; and if she went up into the arctic to fill her hogsheads, she would certainly be ice-bound that winter, and few whalers were taking chances on being ice-bound those days! then her crew had been all aboard for two days, and the majority of them were kanakas—both facts being unusual. why the pelican was still hanging about the harbour no one could say.
this old whaler had none too good a reputation, even among her kind; but this was chiefly because of her officers. manuel mendez, the black cape verde mate, was a strapping big man with a thin eagle-like profile exactly like that of the mummy of rameses—a great hooked nose, and air of gentle refinement, and delicate lips. manuel mendez played the flute beautifully and was said to be a killer of men.
the second officer was an old man, forty years a whaler. mr. leman wore a fringe of white hair and whisker, stood six feet two and was muscled like a bull moose; they said he had been known to take a man's arm in his two hands and break it like a rotten stick. his face was heavy and flat, the eyes small and bright and deeply set. his nose had been crushed and had a crooked twist
one of the boat-steerers, ericksen, was gone from the ship. the other, like the mate, was a cape verde man; his name was a portuguese one, but he was called corny. the brigantine had no cooper, for a wonder; her cook, like ericksen, was absent.
the steward was a vicious little cockney pickpocket who wanted to get out of canada before the draught caught him; the cabin-boy was a green farmer-lad named jerry, a moon-faced boy who had run off the farm a month previously. there was no one else aft.
in the forecastle were fifteen men. ten of these were kanakas—merry brown men who spoke their own guttural tongue and some broken english, and like all of their kind were noble seamen. the other five were broken-down white men, scum of the city, who were kept drunk and under hatches until the pelican should get to sea.
the ship was pervaded by a restless air—that is, in the after cabins. up forward the kanakas sang and worked light-heartedly, and the five bums snored in drunken repose. but aft all was different. restrained excitement, an air of suspense, much whispering and wild speculating; thus the atmosphere seemed electrically charged.
everyone knew that there was an invalid down below—a man in a wheeled chair, a man who could not speak a single word or move a finger. jerry affirmed he could eat, and could use his ears, but little more, as his eyes also were somewhat affected. then, the skipper's wife was aboard for the cruise; and when she came to the deck, men smartened up—not because they loved her, but because they feared and hated her. she was known to all aboard as the missus—that was her title.
it was five in the afternoon. two bells had just been struck on the brass ship's bell abaft the mizzenmast when the missus appeared on the quarter-deck. sea-watches had been set, and mr. leman had the deck, mrs. pontifex was a strapping big woman with iron-grey hair and a jaw like rock; her unchanging expression was indomitable and not too sweet.
"no sign of that boat, mr. leman?" she demanded in a raucous voice which held a distinct yankee twang.
"no, ma'am," meekly responded the second officer. "train must ha' been late. them trains often is, i'm told."
the missus espied a kanaka sprawled in the waist; half-leaning against the try-works, he was asleep in the westerning sun. she strode to him and aroused him with a sturdy kick in the ribs.
"do your sleepin' daown below, ye scouse!" she roared. "this is no berth-deck. yeou, corny! who went in mr. mendez' boat when he took the cap'n ashore?"
"six of the kanakas, ma'am," responded the black boat-steerer.
"hm! then they'll not run off. all ready for sea, mr. leman?"
"all ready, ma'am."
"the minute yeou sight that boat, break aout the signal for the tug. when the boat comes alongside, yeou tell the cap'n that we've been ordered to shift anchorage. that'll keep the girl and her fool husband quiet, i reckon!"
"yes, ma'am. and then?"
"cast off the tug aoutside the lion's gate an' lay a course for unalaska."
"but, ma'am—how about frenchy? we ain't got no cook 'cept him!" mr. leman rubbed his fringe of whiskers in evident perturbation over putting to sea without a cook. "you know, ma'am, boatswain joe wired about him gettin' left behind."
"never mind 'baout dumont." mrs. pontifex's lips set in a grim line. "he's got his orders, and i wired money to him. he'll go to unalaska by steamer and wait there until we put in."
"and who'll do the cookin' meantime?"
"i will. naow yeou get hove up on that hawser, so's yeou can jerk up the hook in a hurry."
mr. leman hastened forward, bawling orders as he went.
now, if there was one thing in particular for which tom dennis was not in the least prepared, it was for the reception which awaited him at vancouver. he had anticipated a seaman's cottage in the suburbs, a protracted stay at an hotel or boarding-house, and so forth.
instead of this, upon alighting from the train he found himself and florence shaking hands with captain pontifex to whom ericksen introduced them with much delight. the "skipper" was not, to the suspicious eye of dennis, prepossessing in appearance. his curled black moustache, his swarthy cavernous features, his alert dark eyes, were all well enough; but the moustache concealed a cruel and bitter mouth; the features were high-boned and sharp; and the eyes were of the heavy-lidded type—the eyes of a master of men, the eyes of a hindenburg.
first impressions were almost effaced, however, by the polished cordiality of pontifex. he was a man of education, of intense personality, and he was at some pains to make himself agreeable. florence's first question was for her father.
"we have taken him aboard the pelican, mrs. dennis; he seemed to miss the salt air, and the lease on our cottage was up," responded pontifex. "this way, please—i have a taxicab waiting! i have a cabin all ready for you aboard ship, and mrs. pontifex promised to have a bang-up dinner at six sharp; so we've just time to make the ship. if you'll let me have your trunk-checks, mr. dennis——"
"but captain, we can't impose upon your hospitality!" interrupted tom dennis. "it's mighty good of you, but——"
"nonsense, my dear chap!" pontifex laughed and seized his arm, impelling him, toward the cab. "it's a great pleasure, i assure you! of course you young married folks will be glad of solitude after you get settled down with the old cap'n, but—i suppose ericksen told you the business we had in hand?"
"ericksen told us nothing," returned dennis.
"good for the boatswain!" pontifex laughed again. "i warned him to keep a close tongue. well, suppose we pass up business for to-night, and in the morning we'll get together, eh? the directors of the company will be all aboard then; you'll be our guests for a time."
"what company?" interjected florence.
"ah, that's the secret!" pontifex bowed her into the cab, his white teeth showing in a smile. "a surprise for you, madam! it was odd, the way i happened to pick up your father—poor man, stuck away in a sailor's home, unable to tell so much as his name! you know, we were always pretty good friends, miles and i."
tom dennis found his suspicions fading, and his first dislike of pontifex was lulled to rest by the man's vivid personality. pontifex had character, plenty of it, and like all strong men could make himself greatly liked or greatly hated almost at will. he appeared to be a good-humoured, masterly sort of man, heartily loving a joke, and radiating an air of alert and genial manliness. dennis adjudged him a good friend but a bad enemy.
"we hope that the shock of seeing you, mrs. dennis, will restore your father's power of speech," went on pontifex. "for that reason we've not told him——"
"but how can he be so paralysed?" demanded florence quickly. "can he hear, and not speak? why——"
"my dear young lady, the best doctors in vancouver can't account for it!" pontifex shook his head with an air of paternal solicitude. "it's one of the freak cases of paralysis; but it's not at all an unusual case. he can move his eyelids slightly, his eyes perfectly; he can eat and drink fairly well; yet his vocal cords are entirely paralysed."
without opportunity for further converse they reached the water-front, and captain pontifex led the way toward the landing-stage. tom dennis had his own grip, a huge affair as large as a small trunk, and two bags belonging to florence; of these latter the skipper had assumed charge.
upon reaching the boat with its six merry kanaka rowers, manuel mendez was introduced by pontifex. mendez made up for his broken english by a wide grin, and assisted florence down into the stern-sheets of the boat, beside the skipper, who took charge of the long steering-oar. dennis climbed into the bow with mendez.
after a short wait ericksen appeared, a truckman helping him bear the one trunk which florence had brought; this was stowed in the boat. ericksen shook hands with mendez, flinging a laughing greeting to the men; the skipper, standing, flung an impatient word at ericksen, and the latter turned to dennis.
"i didn't see nothin' of that square suitcase, mr. dennis—the one you took out o' that other compartment."
tom dennis laughed unconcernedly. "oh, that! there was nothing in it i wanted, boatswain joe; i gave it to the porter the first night out."
ericksen dropped his pipe to the wharf and stooped for it, with a rumbling of low words which did not sound like blessings. captain pontifex changed countenance, then snapped a command at the boat steerer. his voice was suddenly metallic, piercing.
"hurry up, there, boatswain! we've no time to dally around."
boatswain joe, looking very much like a dog who is about to receive a sound thrashing, jumped down into the boat. the bowman shoved off. the oars flashed. the whaleboat swung out into the estuary.
tom dennis entertained an uneasy feeling that he had been bodily abducted—and laughed at himself for a simpleton. mendez pointed out the pelican as they approached her, and from the other direction a tug was crawling up to the brigantine. as the boat drew under the brown side of the ship, a flat white-whiskered face appeared above the ladder; mendez informed dennis that this was the second mate, mr. leman.
"ahoy, cap'n!" called leman in unexpectedly stentorian tones. "we've been ordered to shift our anchorage, sir—port authorities. tug comin' now!"
"very well, mr. leman," returned pontifex briskly. "pass a line from the forward bitts and stand ready to heave up the hook. mr. mendez, will you attend to this luggage? all ready, miss—pardon, mrs. dennis! may i assist you up the ladder?"
if florence entertained any shrinking from that steep approach, she concealed it well, and with the aid of pontifex was soon on the deck above being introduced to the missus. tom dennis followed. the missus gave him a mighty hand-grip, then turned to florence.
"supper's all ready," announced mrs. pontifex. "i suppose, poor dear, yeou'd sooner see your poor father first? then come with me—do. cap'n, yeou make that man ericksen wash his face and hands before he sits daown to table! and put a clean shirt on him."
boatswain joe was just then coming up the side, and heard the words.
"you hear?" snapped pontifex.
"yes sir," he responded meekly, and his freckled face looked rather white.
mrs. pontifex departed with florence, and tom dennis joined them at a glance from the latter. all three passed down the after companion.
in a wheeled chair set beside the stern windows of the cabin sat miles hathaway. he was not as tom dennis had seen him pictured, for his rocky and indomitable face was half-concealed by a growth of shaggy grey beard. his hair, too, had grown long and was streaked with grey. he sat motionless, hands in lap. his eyes, wide glowing brown eyes like those of florence, were fastened upon the three who entered.
the meeting was pitiful almost to tragedy. with a wordless cry florence ran to her father and knelt beside him, clasping him in her arms, her head against his broad and massive chest. the man sat there unstirring, helpless. his eyes seemed to lack the swift play of cheek-muscles and lids which gives expression; yet, as those eyes dwelt upon the upturned face of florence, they seemed to dilate with incredulous horror.
"we've brought your daughter, cap'n hathaway," announced mrs. pontifex stridently, "and her husband, mr. dennis."
the eyes of the helpless man turned to dennis and rested upon his gaze. the mouth of miles hathaway opened; he tried terribly and frightfully to stir himself, to break the invisible bonds which held him tied down—and he failed. he could not speak or move. yet his eyes, fastened upon the face of dennis, seemed filled with some awful and momentous message.
"i'm so glad we've found you, father dear!" said florence softly, tears on her cheeks. "tom and i are going to take care of you always, and if only mother were here—she never knew that you were alive."
again the mouth of miles hathaway opened spasmodically, but he could not speak his eyes were horrible to see, so dumbly eloquent were they of the useless will of the man. tom dennis could not bear the scene further, and touched the arm of mrs. pontifex.
"leave them—for a little while."
the woman nodded. they left father and daughter together. the missus led the way to the mess-cabin, where they found pontifex opening a bottle of wine. up above, feet were trampling the deck, and the brig was heeling a trifle.
"a real dinner!" exclaimed pontifex heartily. "a real wedding dinner, eh? mr. leman has the deck, my dear, and he's called all hands; so for once we'll have a quiet family meal, eh? where's mrs. dennis? oh, with her father, of course. a sad meeting for her!"
"yes. but for you, captain pontifex, there would have been none at all," said dennis warmly. "we owe you a good deal——"
"there, there, don't mention it!" pontifex gave his curled mustache a twirl, and his white teeth flashed out in a smile. "we'll have our pay, never fear, the missus and i. talk it over in the morning, eh? i suppose you're pretty familiar with your dumas, mr. dennis? well, well—a bother having to change our anchorage this way, but the port authorities know their business these war-times, of course. well, sit down."
the dinner was excellent—although, owing to the motion of the ship, the dishes joggled more than a little. captain pontifex made light of it, explaining that they might not reach their new anchorage until midnight.
with the coffee was served a liqueur, the most peculiar and biting tom dennis had ever tasted. the skipper stated that it was a queer distillation made from flour and molasses by a siberian eskimo—quite a rarity. perhaps it was this liqueur which made tom dennis most unaccountably sleepy; indeed, he could hardly stumble off to the mate's cabin which had been assigned him and florence. and as he retired, he could faintly hear the roaring bellow of boatswain joe, somewhere on deck:
"she was waiting for a fair wind to get under way,
a long time ago!"
the last vague thought of tom dennis was a mental query as to why captain pontifex had asked him if he were familiar with dumas. he was to remember it later, also.
