Here is our second mate, too, squatted on a coil of rope just beside me — a boy a year or two younger than I am myself. I may as well state right here that Joe Herring is a mystery to me, and I’m the best and closest friend he has in all the world. He is long and lanky, a bit tall for his age and has muscles like steel. He moves slowly; he speaks slowly; he spends hours in silent meditation. Yet I have seen this boy in action when he moved swift as a lightning bolt — not striking at random, either, but with absolute intelligence.
Once Joe was our cabin boy, promoted to that station from a mere waif. Now he is second mate, with the full respect of Captain Steele, Ned Britton and the entire crew. He wears a common sailor suit, you’ll notice, with nothing to indicate his authority. When he is on duty things go like clockwork.
And now I shall probably startle you by the statement that Joe is the rich man, the financial autocrat, of all our little group. His bank account is something to contemplate with awe and reverence. He might own a dozen more expensive ships than the Seagull, yet I question if you could drive him away from her deck without making the lad absolutely miserable. Money counts for little with Joe; his associates and his simple if somewhat adventurous life completely satisfy him.
Reclining at my feet is a burly youth rejoicing in the name of Archibald Sumner Ackley. He isn’t a sailor; he isn’t a passenger even; Archie is just a friend and a chum of Joe’s and mine, and he happens to be aboard just because he won’t quit and go home to his anxious parents in Boston.
I fear that at the moment of this introduction Archie doesn’t show up to the best advantage. The boy is chubby and stout and not exactly handsome of feature. He wears a gaudy checked flannel shirt, no cravat, yellowish green knickerbockers, and a brown jacket so marvelously striped with green that it reminds one of a prison garb. I never can make out where Archie manages to find all his “striking” effects in raiment; I’m sure no other living being would wear such clothes. If any one ever asks: “Where’s Archie?” Uncle Naboth has a whimsical way of putting his hand to his ear and saying: “Hush; listen!”
With all this I’m mighty fond of Archie, and so are we all. Once on a time we had to get used to his peculiarities, for he is stubborn as a mule, denies any one’s right to dictate to him and is bent on having his own way, right or wrong. But the boy is true blue in any emergency; faithful to his friends, even to death; faces danger with manly courage and is a tower of strength in any encounter. He sails with the Seagull because he likes the life and can’t be happy, he claims, away from Joe and me.
And now you know all of us on the quarter deck, and I’ll just say a word about our two blacks, Nux and Bryonia. They are South Sea Islanders, picked up by Uncle Naboth years ago and devoted now to us all — especially to my humble self. We’ve been together in many adventures, these ebony skinned men and I, and more than once I have owed my life to their fidelity. Nux is cabin master and steward; he’s the stockiest of the big fellows. Bryonia is ship’s cook, and worthy the post of chef at Sherry’s. He can furnish the best meal from the least material of any one I’ve ever known, and with our ample supplies you may imagine we live like pigs in clover aboard the Seagull.
Our crew consists of a dozen picked and tested men, all but one having sailed with us ever since the ship was launched. We lost a man on the way back from China a while ago. and replaced him in San Francisco with a stalwart, brown-skinned Mexican, Pedro by name. He wasn’t one of the lazy, “greaser” sort, but an active fellow with an intelligent face and keen eyes. Captain Hildreth of the Anemone gave us the man, and said he had given good service on two long voyages. But Pedro had had enough of the frozen north by that time and when he heard we were short a man begged to join us, knowing we were headed south. Captain Hildreth, who is our good friend, let us have him, and my father is pleased with the way the Mexican does his work.
The Seagull was built for commerce and has been devoted mainly to commerce; yet we do not like the tedium of regular voyages between given ports and have been quite successful in undertaking “tramp” consignments of freight to be delivered in various far-off foreign lands. During these voyages we have been led more than once into dangerous “side” adventures, and on our last voyage Joe, Archie and I had barely escaped with our lives — and that by the merest chance — while engaged in one of these reckless undertakings. It was this incident that caused Uncle Naboth and my father to look grave and solemn whenever their eyes fell upon us three, and while we lay anchored in San Francisco harbor they announced to me their decision to avoid any such scrapes in the future by undertaking to cover a regular route between Cuba and Key West, engaging in the tobacco and cigar trade.
I did not fancy this arrangement very much, but was obliged to submit to my partners and superiors. Archie growled that he would “quit us cold” at the first Atlantic port, but intended to accompany us around the Horn, where there might be a “little excitement” if bad weather caught us. Joe merely shrugged his shoulders and refrained from comment. And so we started from the Golden Gate en route for Cuba, laden only with our necessary stores for ballast, although our bunkers were full of excellent Alaska coal.
The stop in Magdalena Bay would be our last one for some time; so, being at anchor, with no duties of routine confronting us, we sat on deck enjoying the beautiful tropical evening and chatting comfortably while the sailors grouped around the forecastle and smoked their pipes with unalloyed and unaccustomed indolence.
The lights of the near-by torpedo fleet were beginning to glimmer in the gathering dusk when a small boat boarded us and we were surprised to see Lieutenant Allerton come on board again and approach our company. This time, however, he wore civilian’s clothes instead of his uniform.
Greeting us with quiet respect he asked:
“May I sit down, gentlemen? I’d like a little talk with you.”
Captain Steele pointed to a chair at his side.
“You are very welcome, sir,” he answered.
Allerton sat down.
“The despatches you brought,” said he, “conveyed to me some joyful news. I have been granted a three months’ leave of absence.”
As he paused I remarked, speaking for us all:
“You are to be congratulated, Lieutenant. Isn’t that a rather unusual leave?”
“Indeed it is,” he returned, laughingly. “I’ve been trying for it for nearly two years, and it might not have been allowed now had I not possessed an influential friend at Washington — my uncle, Simeon Wells.”
“Simeon Wells!” ejaculated Uncle Naboth. “What, the great electrician who is called ‘the master Wizard’?”
“I believe my uncle has gained some distinction in electrical inventions,” was the modest reply.
“Distinction! Why, I’m told he can skin old Edison to a frazzle,” remarked Archie, who was not very choice in his selection of words, as he rolled over upon his back and looked up at the officer wonderingly. “Didn’t Wells invent the great storage battery ‘multum in parvo’, and the new aeroplane motors?”
“Uncle Simeon is not very ambitious for honor,” said Mr. Allerton quietly. “He has given the government the control of but few — a very few — of his really clever electrical devices. His greatest delight he finds in inventing. When he has worked out a problem and brought it to success he cares little what becomes of it. That, I suppose, is the mark of an unpractical genius — unpractical from a worldly sense. Still, his relations with the government, limited as they are, proved greatly to my advantage; for when he found my heart was set on this leave of absence, he readily obtained it.”
“The request of Simeon Wells ought to accomplish much more than that, considering his invaluable services,” I suggested.
“For that reason he has warned me he will not interfere again in my behalf,” answered Allerton; “so I must make the most of this leave. It is this consideration that induced me to come to see you to-night.”
We remained silent, waiting for him to proceed.
“I understood from what you said this afternoon that you are bound for Cuba, by way of the Horn,” he resumed, after a moment of thought. Captain Steele nodded.
“You have a fast ship, you leave immediately, and you are going very near to my own destination,” continued Allerton. “Therefore, I have come to ask if you will accept me as a passenger.”
I cast an inquiring glance at Uncle Naboth, and after meeting his eye replied:
“We do not carry passengers, Lieutenant Allerton; but it will please us to have you accept such hospitality as we can offer on the voyage. You will be a welcome guest.”
He flushed, as I could see under the light of the swinging lantern; for evening had fallen with its usual swift tropical custom. And I noticed, as well, that Mr. Allerton seemed undecided how to handle what was evidently an unexpected situation.
“I — I wanted to take my man with me,” he stammered.
“Your servant, sir?”
“One of our seamen, whose leave I obtained with my own. He is a Maya from Yucatan.”
“Bring him along, sir,” said my father, heartily; “it’s all the same to us.”
“Thank you,” he returned, and then sat silent, swinging his cap between his hands. Allerton had a thin, rather careworn face, for so young a man, for he could not be more than thirty at most. He was of medium height, of athletic build, and carried himself erect — a tribute to his training at the Naval Academy and his service aboard ship. There was something in the kindly expression of his deep-set, dark eyes and the pleasantly modulated tones of his voice that won our liking, and I am sure we were sincere in declaring he would be a welcome guest on the ensuing voyage.
“I — I have several boxes — chests,” he said, presently.
“We’ve room for a cargo, sir,” responded Uncle Naboth.
“At what hour do you sail?” inquired Allerton, seeming well pleased by our consideration for him.
“Daybreak, sir.”
“Then may we come aboard to-night?”
“Any hour you like,” said I. It was Joe’s watch, so I introduced him more particularly to our second mate, as well as to the other members of our party.
“Shall we send for you, Mr. Allerton?” asked Joe.
“Oh, no,” he replied. “The ship’s boat will bring me aboard, thank you. The boys are sorry to see me go so suddenly, but I feel I must take advantage of this fortunate occasion to secure passage. I might wait here a week or two before any sort of tub came this way, and I need every minute of my leave. Cuba lies only a hundred and twenty miles across the channel from Yucatan.”
With this he returned to the torpedo boat he served, and so accustomed were we to little surprises of this nature that we paid small heed to the fact that we had accepted an unlooked for addition to our party for the long voyage that loomed ahead of us. We were quite a happy family aboard the Seagull, and Lieutenant Allerton appeared to be a genial fellow who would add rather than detract from the association we enjoyed.
CHAPTER 2
WE LISTEN TO A STRANGE PROPOSITION
I did not hear our passengers come aboard that night, being sound asleep. By the time I left my room next morning we were under way and steaming briskly over one of those quiet seas for which the Pacific is remarkable.
In the main cabin I found Lieutenant Allerton sitting at breakfast with Captain Steele, Uncle Naboth and Archie. Joe was snoozing after his late watch and Ned Britton was on deck. Behind our guest’s chair stood the handsomest Indian I have ever seen, the Maya he had mentioned to us and whose name was Chaka. Our South Sea Islanders were genuine black men, but Chaka’s skin was the color of golden copper. He had straight black hair, but not the high cheek bones of the typical American Indian, and the regularity of his features was certainly remarkable. His eyes were large, frank in expression and dark brown in color; he seemed intelligent and observant, but never spoke unless first addressed, and then in modest but dignified tones. His English was expressive, but not especially fluent, and it was easy to understand that he had picked up the language mainly by hearing it spoken.
My first glance at Chaka interested me in the fellow, yet of course during that first meeting I discovered few of the characteristics I have described. At this time he was silent and motionless as a statue save when opportunity offered to serve his master.
The lieutenant wore this morning a white duck mess costume for which he apologized by saying that his civilian wardrobe was rather limited, and if we would pardon the formality he would like to get all the wear from his old uniforms that was possible, during the voyage.
We told him to please himself. I thought he looked more manly and imposing in naval uniform than in “cits.”
“But I don’t see how he can be shy of clothes,” remarked Archie, after breakfast, as we paced the deck together. “Allerton lugged seven big boxes aboard last night; I saw them come up the side; and if they don’t contain his togs I’d like to know what on earth they do hold.”
“That’s none of our affair, Archie,” I remarked.
“Do you think this thing is all straight and above board, Sam?” asked my friend.
“Of course, Archie. He’s a lieutenant in the United States navy, and has a regular leave of absence. He joined us with the approval and good will of his commander.”
“I know; but it seems queer, somehow. Take that copper-faced fellow, for instance, who looks more like a king than a servant; what has Allerton got such a body guard as that for? I never knew any other naval officer to have the like. And three months’ leave — on private business. Suff rin’ Pete! what’s that for?”
“You might ask the lieutenant,” I replied, indifferently.
“Then there’s the boxes; solid redwood and clamped with brass; seven of ‘em! What’s in ‘em, Sam, do you suppose?”
“Archie boy, you’re getting unduly suspicious. And you’re minding some one else’s business. Get the quoits and I’ll toss a game with you.” Our passenger was very quiet during the following day or two. He neither intruded nor secluded himself, but met us frankly when we were thrown together, listened carefully to our general conversation, and refrained from taking part in it more than politeness required.
Joe thought the young fellow seemed thoughtful and ill at ease, and confided to me that he had noticed Allerton now made more of a companion of the Maya than a dependent, although the man, for his part, never abated his deferent respect. Chaka seemed to regard Allerton with the love and fidelity of a dog for its master; yet if any of the sailors, or even Nux or Bryonia, spoke to the Indian with undue familiarity Chaka would draw himself up proudly and assume the pose of a superior.
We were much interested in the personality of these two unusual personages — that is, Joe, Archie and I were — and we often discussed them among ourselves. We three boys, being chums of long standing, were much together and had come to understand one another pretty well. We all liked Paul Allerton, for there was something winning in his personality. As for the Indian, Chaka, he did not repel us as much as he interested and fascinated us. One night big Bry, whom we admitted to perfect familiarity because of his long service, said to us:
“That Maya no common Injun, Mars’ Sam, yo’ take my word. He say his country Yucatan, an’ that place Yucatan don’ mean nuthin’ to me, nohow, ‘cause I never been there. But, wherever it is, Chaka’s people mus’ be good people, an’ Chaka hisself never had any other marsa than Mars’ Allerton.”
“He has been serving in the navy, Bry.”
“That don’ count, sah. Yo’ know what I mean.”
On the evening of the third day out from Magdalena we were clustered as usual upon the deck, amusing ourselves by casual conversation, when Lieutenant Allerton approached us and said:
“I’d like to have a few moments’ confidential talk with whoever is in authority here. It’s rather hard for a stranger to determine who that may be, as you all seem alike interested in the career of the Seagull. But of course someone directs your polic
ies and decides upon your business ventures, and that is the person I ought properly to address.”
We were a little puzzled and astonished by this speech. Uncle Naboth removed his pipe from his lips to say:
“This group is pretty near a partnership, sir, seein’ as we’ve been through good and bad luck together many times an’ learned how to trust each other as brave an’ faithful comrades. We haven’t any secrets, as I knows on; an’ if so be you talked in private to any one of us, he’d be sure to call a meetin’ an’ tell the others. So, if you’ve anything to say about the ship, or business matters, or anything that ain’t your own personal concern, set right down here an’ tell it now, an’ we’ll all listen the best we know how.”
Allerton followed this speech gravely and at first appeared embarrassed and undecided. I saw him cast a quick glance into Chaka’s eyes, and the Maya responded with a stately nod. Then the lieutenant sat down in the center of our group and said:
“I thank you, gentlemen, for your kindness. It would seem that I have imposed upon your good nature sufficiently already; yet here I am, about to ask another favor.”
“Go on, sir,” said my father, with an encouraging nod.
“From what I have been able to learn,” continued the lieutenant, in his quiet voice, “your ship is at this moment unchartered. You are bound for Havana, where you expect to make a lucrative contract to carry merchandise between that port and Key West; mostly, of course, leaf tobacco. Is that true?”
“It’s quite correct, sir,” said Uncle Naboth.
“In that case, there is no harm in my making you a business proposition. I want to land on the east coast of Yucatan, at a place little known and seldom visited by ships. It will take you a couple of hundred miles out of your course.”
For a few moments no one spoke. Then Captain Steele said:
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 699
