CHAPTER II
HAM TURNS OUT TO BE A PROPHET
“YASSUH! yassuh! Dat’s de story ’bout de Ghost ob Alligator Swamp,”declared Ham Mockus, solemnly.
It had been hard work to get the yarn out of the colored steward. Themeal was over, and the howling of the wind through the rigging of thesignal mast made a dismal sound that was enough to get on any timidperson’s nerves. But the electric lights were turned on brilliantlyin the cozy, snug little cabin of the “Restless.” All being light andwarmth there, and the four passengers being in merry mood, Ham hadgotten his courage together. As the two men lighted their cigars atthe end of the meal, after having secured the permission of the ladies,Mr. Tremaine had pushed the cigar box toward the steward, intimatingthat Ham might remain and indulge in a cigar if he would tell them,truthfully and without holding back any part, the story of the ghost inquestion.
“For you know, Ham,” Mr. Tremaine had explained, “I haven’t been nearmy place in these parts for three years, and I’ve heard only thefaintest rumors about the ghost. I want a real, true account.”
So Ham, with many mutterings under his breath, with many sharpindrawings of air and much rolling of his eyes, had told the startlingtale. Not all of it need be told here, as the Ghost of Alligator Swampwas destined to appear to all now on board. According to Ham Mockus thespectre could take the form of either man or woman, or even of any ofthe better-known beasts. Water was no barrier; it could travel at sea.Distance meant nothing to this grisly apparition, which, at need, couldtravel fifty miles in a second. Ham told tale after tale about theghost. The others listened mostly in amused silence; but the narrationcaused the hair of Ham himself to stand on end.
“Why, then, Ham,” suggested Mr. Tremaine, taking a few thoughtfulwhiffs of his cigar, “there’d be really nothing to prevent the ghostfrom coming on board here to-night in the midst of the storm, if wehave one.”
“Yassuh! yassuh! Dat ghost can done come, ef it wanter.”
“I wonder if it will?” asked Miss Silsbee, musingly.
“Don’ say dat, Missy! Don’, fo’ de lub ob hebben!” begged Ham, growingterror-stricken. “Many time dat ha’nt done go wheah it been asked tergo. Don’ ’vite it heah! Ole Marse Satan, he shuah ter ride in de galedis night, an’ ole Marse Satan, he am ernuff, fo’ shuah! ’Scuse me,now, ladies an’ gemmen. I gotter finish clearin’ offen de table.”
With that, the steward began to remove dishes and other things in ahurry, his feet sounding constantly in the passage forward of thecabin. Then, at last, he appeared to inquire:
“Is dat all fo’ me, now, ladies an’ gemmen?”
“Yes; we shan’t need you any more, Ham,” replied Mrs. Tremaine.
Ordinarily, Ham would have gone to the galley, where, with hot waterready, he would have cleaned up all the dishes.
“But Ah ain’t so shuah dere gwine ter _be_ any mawnin’,” he muttered tohimself, after he had bobbed his head up into the open for a long lookat the threatening sky overhead. So Ham came out on deck, to walk aboutas long as he could still find it safe to do so.
Following the early winter twilight an increasing darkness had settleddown over the waters. Every few minutes Captain Tom, once more at thewheel, turned on the electric searchlight, swinging it around in an arcof a circle before the boat, seeking to inform himself of any dangerthat might lie in their path. For the rest, the young skipper wascontent to steer through the darkness, having only the binnacle lightupon the compass for a guide, and carrying the chart memorized in hismind.
For the last hour the waves had been crested with white-caps. Every nowand then a mass of foam leaped over the bulwarks of the bridge deck,the water retreating through the scuppers. The wind was blowing atnearly twenty-five miles an hour. Yet, so far, there was nothing in theactual weather that could make a capable captain’s mind uneasy. Joe,after a look out into the black night, and after wetting his finger andholding it up in the breeze, had gone below, where he found his motorsworking satisfactorily. So he had turned into his bunk, hoping to catchan hour or two of sleep ere the call came for duty on deck all throughthe night.
The “Restless” was rolling and pitching considerably, but as yet themotion was no more than was agreeable to those who love the sea and itsmoods. As Ham came up on deck, however, he saw that the life-lines hadbeen stretched. That had been Joe Dawson’s last work before turning in.
“You’ll want to keep awake to-night, Ham,” called Tom, when he saw hisdark visage.
“Yassuh! yassuh!” came willingly from the colored man, who, however,could go to sleep standing up anywhere.
Though none of the passengers below was exactly afraid, none cared toturn in early that night. After the men had smoked as much as theycared to, the quartette in the cabin started a game of euchre.
Tom, who had last been relieved at seven o’clock, in order that hemight go below for supper, kept at the wheel alone, until eleveno’clock. Then, catching sight of the steward’s head through the doorwayof the motor room, he shouted the order to call Joe Dawson on deck.
Joe came with the promptness of a fireman responding to an alarm. Hetook a look about him at the weather, then faced his chum.
“Between Marquesas and Tortugas?” he asked.
“Yes. Look!”
At just that moment the red eye of the revolving light over on DryTortugas, some miles away, swung around toward them.
“I’m glad the gale has held off so long,” muttered Joe. “This is thenastiest part of the way. Half an hour more, if a squall doesn’t strikeus, and we’ll be where we’ll feel easier.”
“It’s queer weather, anyway,” said Skipper Tom musingly. “I figuredwe’d be in the thick of a souther by eight o’clock.”
“Maybe the storm has spent itself south of us,” ventured Joe Dawson,but Halstead shook his head.
“No; it’s going to catch us. No doubt about that. Hullo! Feel that?”
The first drops of rain struck the backs of their necks. Nodding,Dawson dived below, coming up soon in his oilskins and sou’wester. Hetook the wheel while Tom vanished briefly for similar clothing andheadgear.
Swish-sh-sh! Now, the rain began to drive down in great sheets,illumined by two faint flashes of winter lightning. Immediatelyafterward came a rush of wind from the south that sang loudly throughthe rigging on the signal mast.
“Now, we’ll soon be in for it in earnest,” muttered Tom Halstead,taking the wheel from his chum and casting an anxious look for thenext “red eye” from the revolving light over on Tortugas.
Voices sounded on the after deck. Henry Tremaine was calling to hiswife and ward to get on their rain coats and come up for a brief lookat the weather.
“Joe,” muttered the young skipper, sharply, “go back to those peopleand tell them the only place for them is going to be below. Tell Mr.Tremaine he’d be endangering the ladies to have ’em on deck, even for aminute or two. Push ’em below and lock the after companionway, if youhave to!”
Joe easily made his way aft ta carry out these instructions. Hardlyhad Dawson returned when another and greater gust of wind overtook the“Restless.” Her nose was buried deep in the water, as she pitched.Then, on the crest of the following wave, the little craft’s bow rosehigh. The full gale was upon them in five minutes more—a wind blowingfifty-five miles an hour. Running before the wind the cruiser steeredeasily enough. Tom could manage the wheel alone, though Joe stood by tolend a hand in case of accident or emergency.
Up onto deck stumbled Ham Mockus, clutching desperately at thedeck-house and life-lines.
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, dis shuah gwine finish us!” yelled the steward interror. He was so badly frightened, in fact, that both boys felt sorryfor him.
“Don’t you believe it,” Captain Tom bellowed at him. “We’ve been out ina heap sight worse gales than this.”
“In dis boat?” wailed Ham, hoarsely.
“Right in this boat, in one worse gale,” replied Halstead, thinking ofthe September northeast
er experienced on the other side of Florida, astold in “THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS.”
“But Ah reckon ole Marse Satan didn’t gwine ride on dat gale,”protested Ham Mockus.
“Nor on this gale, either,” rasped Halstead, sharply.
“Den yo’ don’ know,” retorted the steward, with an air of conviction.“Yo’s all right, Marse Tom, but yo’ ain’t raised on dis west coast likeAh wuz.”
“Get below,” counseled Joe Dawson. “You’ll drown up here, Ham.”
For, by now, the decks were awash, and there was a threat that, at anymoment, the great combers would be rolling fairly across the bulwarks.Dawson drove the black man below, forcing him to close the motor roomhatch.
Five minutes later, however, the hatch opened again, and Oliver Dixonappeared in rain coat and cap.
“I thought you might need an extra hand up here,” volunteered Dixon,speaking in a loud voice to make himself heard over the howling gale.“So I told the ladies I’d come on deck for a while.”
“No, we don’t need anyone, thank you,” Tom shouted back at him. “We’llsoon be past Tortugas, and then we’ll be in open waters for hours tocome.”
Yet Dixon showed no intention of returning below. Tom Halstead did notlike to order him below decks. Dixon, making his way to where he couldlean against the cabin deck-house, was not likely to be at all in theway.
“There’s no accounting for tastes,” muttered Joe, under his breath. “IfI were a passenger on this boat, and had a snug cabin to go to, thatwould be good enough for me. I wonder why I dislike this fellow so?”
By the time that they had the Tortugas light well astern Captain Tomjerked his head slightly, backward, then glanced meaningly at his chumbefore looking straight ahead.
“Yes; we’re in the open,” nodded Joe. “Good!”
Yet the gale, if anything, was increasing in severity. Staunch a craftas she was, the “Restless” creaked almost as though in agony. Timberswill act that way in any heavy sea.
“Take the wheel, Joe!” shouted Skipper Tom, presently. “My arms ache.”
And well they might, as Joe knew, for, with such a sea running, thewheel acted as though it were a thing of life as it fiercely resistedevery turn.
As Dawson stepped into place, bracing himself, and with both strongyoung hands resting on the spokes, Tom Halstead, holding lightly to oneof the life lines, started to step backward to the deck-house. Justthen a great, combing wave broke over the boat, from astern, racing thefull length with fearful force. Joe Dawson, hearing it come, partlyturned to meet it. Halstead was caught, lurching as he let go of thelife line to clutch at the deck-house. Dixon’s foot shot out, trippingthe young skipper. Losing his footing and deprived of grip at the sameinstant, Tom Halstead rose on the billow as it swept along.
Over the port side went the great mass of water. It would have carriedSkipper Tom with it, all in a flash, but Joe, dropping the wheel anddiving to hit the port bulwark, threw his hands upward, clutchingdesperately at his friend’s leg.
Then Dawson held on—how he gripped!
A moment more and the force of that invading billow was spent. Joe,panting under the strain of that fight against tons of water inmotion, drew Halstead to him in safety.
But the “Restless,” with no hand at the wheel, was lurching around intothe trough of the sea. The next wave might engulf her.
Sure that his friend was safe, Joe Dawson sprang to the wheel. While hewas still fighting with the steering gear, Tom Halstead stood at hisside. Between them, not without effort, they put the bobbing littlecork of a cruiser on her course, once more, on that seething, boilingstretch of waters.
“Can you hold her, Joe?” panted Tom, huskily, in his friend’s ear.
Dawson nodding, Tom stepped back to Dixon, who regarded the youngcaptain with curiously blazing eyes.
“I think you’d better go below, sir,” shouted Halstead.
“Why—why—do you mean——?”
“I mean nothing,” retorted Tom, dryly, “except that the deck is noplace for you in this weather. We can handle the yacht better if allpassengers are below.”
“But——”
Captain Tom’s eyes gleamed resolutely.
“Will you go below, sir, or shall I have to call the steward to help meput you below? I mean it, Mr. Dixon. I’m captain here!”
Gripping at the lines, Dixon sullenly made his way to the motor roomhatch. Halstead swung it open, gently but firmly aiding his passengerbelow.
“Did he trip you?” asked Joe, when the hatch had been closed and hischum stood beside him.
“It’s an awful thing to say, and I guess he didn’t, but I almostthought so,” Halstead shouted back.
“He’s bad, I think,” growled Joe, which was a good deal for that quietyoung engineer to say. “Yet I can’t see any earthly reason for histreating you like that.”
“Nor I, either,” admitted the youthful sailing master. “Oh, of coursehe didn’t mean to. The whole thing is too absurd!”
Ten minutes later, feeling that it would be better to go below and seehow the hull was standing the severe strain, Halstead called to Ham tostand by Joe on deck. Then Tom went below.
Once down there, it struck him to step through the passageway. Therewas a peep-hole slide in the door opening into the cabin. Halsteadstood there, shifting the slide so that he could look beyond.
“If the ladies are still up,” he told himself, “I can see how they arebearing the excitement. If they look very scared, I’ll go in and tryto put some courage into them.”
As Halstead looked through the small peep-hole, he saw Tremaine andthat gentleman’s wife and ward seated at the further end of the cabintable, bending over a book that Tremaine held open. At the sideboardstood young Dixon.
“Now, what’s he doing?” wondered Halstead, curiously.
With the water bottle in one hand, Oliver Dixon was pouring into it afew drops from the vial he had placed in his vest pocket in the lateafternoon.
In the meantime, up on the bridge deck, Joe Dawson at first waited forthe return of his chum without any feeling of curiosity. Yet, aftermany minutes had passed the young fleet engineer of the Motor Boat Clubbegan to wonder what his comrade was doing below.
“Ham,” ordered Joe, at last, “go below and find Captain Halstead. Seeif anything has happened.”
Glad enough to get away from the deck, where the billows were pouringover and threatening to carry him overboard, the colored steward madehis way, clutching at the life-lines, to the motor room door.
“Get that hatch shut!” roared Joe. “Don’t leave it open for a five-tonwave to get down in there at the motors!”
Ham shut the hatch with a bang, then ran through the passageway to thecabin door.
“’Scuse me, ladies an’ gemmen,” begged Ham, poking his head through thedoorway. “Any ob yo’ done seen Cap’n Halstead?”
“Why, no,” replied Mr. Tremaine, looking up. “He hasn’t been throughthis cabin—at least, not within the last hour. Isn’t he on deck?”
“No, sah. Marse Dawson, he-um up at de wheel. He gwine sent me heah tolook fo’ de cap’n.”
“You were forward, a while ago, Dixon,” spoke Mr. Tremaine. “Did yousee Halstead?”
“Not even a glimpse of him,” replied that young man.
“Is the captain lost?” demanded Mrs. Tremaine, a tremor in her tone.
“I’se spec he must be,” declared Ham, solemnly. “He-um ain’ forrard,an’ he-um ain’ on de bridge. He-um ain’ here, neider.”
“Don’t alarm the ladies, Ham,” spoke Mr. Tremaine, sharply. “If CaptainHalstead came below, then of course he didn’t go overboard. Lookforward. If you don’t find the captain promptly, come back for me, andI’ll help you.”
Ham departed, going back through the passageway. Then, emitting afrenzied yell, shaking in every limb, Ham half lurched, half totteredback into the cabin. His appearance of utter fright was such as tocause the ladies to rise, holding to the table f
or support while theboat rocked and dipped.
As for Ham, he fell against the sideboard, holding on there, his eyesrolling wildly, until little more than the scared whites of them couldbe seen.
“What do you mean, you black idiot?” roared Mr. Tremaine, darting atthe steward and clutching him, administering a sound shaking.
“Cap’n Halstead, he ain’ on board!” wailed Ham Mockus. Then, in agreater outburst of terror, he screamed hoarsely:
“Dat ain’ de worst! De Ghost ob Alligator Swamp _am_ on board—Ah doneseen it so close dat Ah s’pec it reach out an’ grab me!”
Though none of the passengers believed in ghosts, this information, atsuch a time, was enough to make them gasp.
“Wut Ah done tell yo’?” roared Ham, his voice deepening in the frenzyof his terror. “Ah tole yo’-all dat ole Marse Satan gwine ride on disgreat wind ter-night! He sho’ is doin’ dat. Oh, Lawdy!”
Slipping from the grasp of Henry Tremaine, Ham Mockus sank groveling tothe floor.
The Motor Boat Club in Florida; or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp Page 2
