CHAPTER II
THE PAINTED SHIP
The Ella had been a coasting-vessel, carrying dressed lumber to SouthAmerica, and on her return trip bringing a miscellaneous cargo--hidesand wool, sugar from Pernambuco, whatever offered. The firm of Turnerand Sons owned the line of which the Ella was one of the smallestvessels.
The gradual elimination of sailing ships and the substitution ofsteamers in the coasting trade, left the Ella, with others, out ofcommission. She was still seaworthy, rather fast, as such vessels go,and steady. Marshall Turner, the oldest son of old Elias Turner, thefounder of the business, bought it in at a nominal sum, with theintention of using it as a private yacht. And, since it was asuperstition of the house never to change the name of one of itsvessels, the schooner Ella, odorous of fresh lumber or raw rubber, asthe case might be, dingy gray in color, with slovenly decks on whichlines of seamen's clothing were generally hanging to dry, remained, inher metamorphosis, still the Ella.
Marshall Turner was a wealthy man, but he equipped his newpleasure-boat very modestly. As few changes as were possible weremade. He increased the size of the forward house, adding quarters forthe captain and the two mates, and thus kept the after house forhimself and his friends. He fumigated the hold and the forecastle--aprecaution that kept all the crew coughing for two days, and drove themout of the odor of formaldehyde to the deck to sleep. He installed anelectric lighting and refrigerating plant, put a bath in theforecastle, to the bewilderment of the men, who were inclined to thinkit a reflection on their habits, and almost entirely rebuilt, inside,the old officers' quarters in the after house.
The wheel, replaced by a new one, white and gilt, remained in its oldposition behind the after house, the steersman standing on a raisediron grating above the wash of the deck. Thus from the chart-room,which had become a sort of lounge and card-room, through a small barredwindow it was possible to see the man at the wheel, who, in his turn,commanded a view of part of the chartroom, but not of the floor.
The craft was schooner-rigged, carried three lifeboats and acollapsible raft, and was navigated by a captain, first and secondmates, and a crew of six able-bodied sailors and one gaunt youth whosesole knowledge of navigation had been gained on an Atlantic Citycatboat. Her destination was vague--Panama perhaps, possibly a SouthAmerican port, depending on the weather and the whim of the owner.
I do not recall that I performed the nautical rite of signing articles.Armed with the note McWhirter had secured for me, and with what Ifondly hoped was the rolling gait of the seafaring man, I approachedthe captain--a bearded and florid individual. I had dressed thepart--old trousers, a cap, and a sweater from which I had removed mycollege letter, McWhirter, who had supervised my preparations, and whohad accompanied me to the wharf, had suggested that I omit my morningshave. The result was, as I look back, a lean and cadaverous six-footyouth, with the hospital pallor still on him, his chin covered with aday's beard, his hair cropped short, and a cannibalistic gleam in hiseyes. I remember that my wrists, thin and bony, annoyed me, and thatthe girl I had seen through the opera-glasses came on board, and stoodoff, detached and indifferent, but with her eyes on me, while thecaptain read my letter.
When he finished, he held it out to me.
"I've got my crew," he said curtly.
"There isn't--I suppose there's no chance of your needing another hand?"
"No." He turned away, then glanced back at the letter I was stillholding, rather dazed. "You can leave your name and address with themate over there. If anything turns up he'll let you know."
My address! The hospital?
I folded the useless letter and thrust it into my pocket. The captainhad gone forward, and the girl with the cool eyes was leaning againstthe rail, watching me.
"You are the man Mr. McWhirter has been looking after, aren't you?"
"Yes." I pulled off my cap, and, recollecting myself--"Yes, miss."
"You are not a sailor?"
"I have had some experience--and I am willing."
"You have been ill, haven't you?"
"Yes--miss."
"Could you polish brass, and things like that?"
"I could try. My arms are strong enough. It is only when I walk--"
But she did not let me finish. She left the rail abruptly, anddisappeared down the companionway into the after house. I waiteduncertainly. The captain saw me still loitering, and scowled. Aprocession of men with trunks jostled me; a colored man, evidently abutler, ordered me out of his way while he carried down into the cabin,with almost reverent care, a basket of wine.
When the girl returned, she came to me, and stood for a moment, lookingme over with cool, appraising eyes. I had been right about herappearance: she was charming--or no, hardly charming. She was tooaloof for that. But she was beautiful, an Irish type, with blue-grayeyes and almost black hair. The tilt of her head was haughty. Later Icame to know that her hauteur was indifference: but at first I wasfrankly afraid of her, afraid of her cool, mocking eyes and the upwardthrust of her chin.
"My brother-in-law is not here," she said after a moment, "but mysister is below in the cabin. She will speak to the captain about you.Where are your things?"
I glanced toward the hospital, where my few worldly possessions,including my dress clothes, my amputating set, and such of my books asI had not been able to sell, were awaiting disposition. "Very near,miss," I said.
"Better bring them at once; we are sailing in the morning." She turnedaway as if to avoid my thanks, but stopped and came back.
"We are taking you as a sort of extra man," she explained. "You willwork with the crew, but it is possible that we will need you--do youknow anything about butler's work?"
I hesitated. If I said yes, and then failed--
"I could try."
"I thought, from your appearance, perhaps you had done something of thesort." Oh, shades of my medical forebears, who had bequeathed me,along with the library, what I had hoped was a professional manner!"The butler is a poor sailor. If he fails us, you will take his place."
She gave a curt little nod of dismissal, and I went down the gangplankand along the wharf. I had secured what I went for; my summer wasprovided for, and I was still seven dollars to the good. I wasexultant, but with my exultation was mixed a curious anger atMcWhirter, that he had advised me not to shave that morning.
My preparation took little time. Such of my wardrobe as was worthsaving, McWhirter took charge of. I sold the remainder of my books,and in a sailor's outfitting-shop I purchased boots and slickers--thesailors' oil skins. With my last money I bought a good revolver,second-hand, and cartridges. I was glad later that I had bought therevolver, and that I had taken with me the surgical instruments,antiquated as they were, which, in their mahogany case, had accompaniedmy grandfather through the Civil War, and had done, as he was wont tochuckle, as much damage as a three-pounder. McWhirter came to thewharf with me, and looked the Ella over with eyes of proprietorship.
"Pretty snappy-looking boat," he said. "If the nigger gets sick, givehim some of my seasick remedy. And take care of yourself, boy." Heshook hands, his open face flushed with emotion. "Darned shame to seeyou going like this. Don't eat too much, and don't fall in love withany of the women. Good-bye."
He started away, and I turned toward the ship; but a moment later Iheard him calling me. He came back, rather breathless.
"Up in my neighborhood," he panted, "they say Turner is a devil.Whatever happens, it's not your mix-in. Better--better tuck your gununder your mattress and forget you've got it. You've got somedisposition yourself."
The Ella sailed the following day at ten o'clock. She carried nineteenpeople, of whom five were the Turners and their guests. The cabin wasfull of flowers and steamer-baskets.
Thirty-one days later she came into port again, a lifeboat covered withcanvas trailing at her stern.
The After House Page 2
