Captain Calamity appeared to be one of those men who, for various reasons and often through force of circumstances, have drifted into the backwaters of civilisation to a life of semi-barbarism. Men of this sort are to be found all over the New World, but more particularly in the luxuriant islands of the South Pacific, where life can be maintained with a minimum of effort. Some are mere beachcombers, derelicts for whom the striving, battling world has no further use. Some are just "remittance men," social outcasts, bribed to remain at a safe distance from their more respectable relatives.

A few, a very few, are men obsessed by a spirit of adventure; men who can find no scope for their superabundant energy and vitality in the overcrowded, over-civilised cities of the world. Of such as these was Captain Calamity. Yet his past was as much a mystery to those who knew him as was the origin of the suggestive name by which he was known throughout the Pacific. No one—until to-day, not even Isaac Solomon—had the slightest inkling of his real name. And, as might be expected under such circumstances, various stories, each more incredible than the last, were current among the islands concerning him. Still, the one most generally believed, no doubt because it sounded romantic, described him as an ostracised member of an aristocratic English family upon whom he had in earlier years brought disgrace.

But, whatever the truth might be, Calamity never by any chance referred to his past, and, as to the stories concerning himself, he did not take the trouble to deny or confirm them.

For some days after his interview with Mr. Solomon Calamity was busily engaged in collecting a crew—a crew which, as the Hawk was to be a fighting ship, would have to consist of about thrice the number which she would have carried as a merchantman. So far as deck-hands and firemen were concerned this was fairly easy, but when it came to finding officers and engineers the task proved much more difficult. Men of this class, who, for some reason or other, found themselves adrift in Singapore without a ship, fought shy of the notorious skipper. They believed—and probably with very good reason—that to sail under him would ruin all prospects of getting a job with a reputable firm again. So, while willing enough to absorb "pegs" at the Captain's expense, they politely declined his offers of a berth on the Hawk.

Eventually, he ran across an engineer who had made several voyages with him on trading and pearling expeditions; one Phineas McPhulach, a little, red-haired Scotsman with no professional prospects, but an unlimited capacity for death-dealing drinks. McPhulach, being in his customary state of "down and out," and having no future that necessitated consideration, eagerly accepted the berth of chief-engineer which Calamity offered him. Moreover, he was able to introduce a companion in misfortune named Ephraim Dykes. Mr. Dykes was a lean, lanky individual, with a cast in one eye, and an accent that proclaimed him a native of New England. He had once held a master's certificate, but this, it appeared, had been suspended indefinitely owing to his ship having piled herself up on a reef off New Guinea. Therefore, when Calamity proposed that he should ship as first mate, he was quite willing, as he put it, to "freeze right on."

Partly through the instrumentality of this latter acquisition, Calamity was able to secure a second mate in the person of Mr. Sam Smith, a little Cockney of unsober habits. A second engineer named Sims, a taciturn man of middle age, was also picked up, and thus Calamity succeeded in collecting a ship's company suitable in quantity if not in quality.

In the meantime, Mr. Solomon had also been busy. On the day following his entry into partnership with Calamity, he went to Johore and paid an afternoon call on Mr. Rossenbaum, a gentleman of similar persuasions to his own. For some weeks past they had been haggling over a business deal, which, up to that day, had not been settled. Mr. Rossenbaum possessed a steamer which he wanted repaired, and Mr. Solomon had the docking facilities necessary for the job, and the only thing which had so far stood between them was a difference of opinion as to price.

The meeting between these two gentlemen afforded a magnificent piece of acting. Both appeared to have forgotten all about the subject over which they had been negotiating, and conversed amicably on neutral topics. The war, of course, came up for discussion, and this led Mr. Solomon to remark that money was scarce. Mr. Rossenbaum agreed, not only because it was the truth, but because he had always maintained this view, even when money was plentiful.

Mr. Solomon went on to say that, in consequence of the said scarcity of coin, he was now obliged to undertake contracts on unremunerative terms, simply for the sake of the cash. Mr. Rossenbaum expressed his sympathy and added, as though the matter had never before been mentioned between them, that he had a steamer laying up, solely because he was unable to pay the extortionate prices demanded by ship-repairers for overhauling her.

This was tantamount to a challenge, and Mr. Solomon accepted it. For a time they fenced and dodged, but at last, casting aside all pretence, came to grips over the bargain. It was a combat of wits between two men as well matched as any in the world, and it lasted well into the afternoon. Eventually Mr. Solomon made a great business of giving way and agreed to accept the contract on the amended terms if half the money were paid in advance. Mr. Rossenbaum reluctantly consented on condition that he was allowed 5 per cent discount on the advance. Mr. Solomon nearly fainted, and, with tears in his eyes, declared that if he agreed ruination would stare him in the face. Finally, he consented to a 2-1/2 per cent discount, and the business was concluded at last. Each, on parting, assured the other that he had spent one of the most enjoyable days of his life, and this was probably the only truthful statement either had made throughout the interview.

Over a week elapsed before Calamity and his partner met again, and, contrary to the Captain's expectations, Mr. Solomon evinced no desire to back out of the venture. On the contrary, he exhibited an almost painful desire to see the expedition set out with as little loss of time as possible—a fact which his partner regarded with not unreasonable suspicion.

"It depends on the ship," he said in reply to Mr. Solomon's eager inquiries. "How long am I to wait for her?"

"No need to vait at all; the ship is vaiting for you," said the other, pointing towards a newly painted steamer in the harbour.

Calamity gazed at the vessel and then at his companion with an air of mistrust. Such promptitude on Mr. Solomon's part was, to say the least, unusual.

"What about provisions, coal, guns, and so forth?" he demanded curtly.

"Everything's ready, and as to guns——" Mr. Solomon put his hand on the Captain's shoulder and whispered the rest in his ear.

"H'm," grunted Calamity, "I hope she's not some cursed old derelict you've picked up for a song."

"Picked up for a song!" echoed Mr. Solomon indignantly. "Vat you mean? She cost me——"

"Well?" inquired Calamity with interest as the other paused abruptly.

"Nodding—I mean," Mr. Solomon corrected himself hastily, "it has noddings to do with the matter. She is a peautiful ship."

"We shall see," said the Captain, rising to leave. "I'll go and have a look at your hooker now and see what she's like. Meet you this evening."

Mr. Solomon nodded, and stood watching the short, squat figure of his partner disappear in the direction of the harbour. Then, rubbing his hands together and chuckling wheezily, he turned away from the window.

On reaching the harbour, Calamity engaged a sampan and was taken to the steamer. There being no one on board, he was able to make an uninterrupted and very thorough examination, and, to his surprise, found that she was all that Solomon had claimed her to be. She was comparatively new—not more than five years old at most—of about 3,000 odd tons and with every indication of being seaworthy and sound. The food, too, was not as bad as it might have been; some of it, indeed, seemed quite eatable. Moreover, Mr. Solomon, in an extraordinary fit of liberality, had not only re-painted the ship, but had also caused the name Hawk to be emblazoned on her stern in letters of gold—which, by the way, Calamity had painted out the very next day. Nor had Solomon forgotten the primary object of the expedition, for in the after-hold were six machine-guns—rather antiquated as such weapons go, perhaps, but most decidedly serviceable. Ammunition and small-arms were there in plenty, the latter a somewhat miscellaneous collection of varying degrees of deadliness.

The Captain, as he noted all this, felt a growing sense of perplexity. It was so utterly unlike Mr. Solomon to do anything thoroughly—always excepting his clients, of course—that he felt almost apprehensive. He was like an animal, sniffing an appetising morsel, while fearing that it was merely the bait of some concealed trap. For some time he stood leaning on the bulwarks thinking hard, but at last the worried expression left his face and was succeeded by a smile; a smile that would not have made Mr. Solomon any the happier had he seen it.

Having made himself acquainted with the ship, Calamity decided to waste no further time. Going ashore again, he collected his crew and sent them aboard under Mr. Dykes, the mate. Those who were not sober enough to walk were carried by those who were and flung unceremoniously into the boats—a joyful, polyglot crowd with complexions as varied as their sins. On reaching the Hawk, the firemen were kicked below to get up steam and the deck-hands set to holy-stoning and polishing.

When Calamity came on board a little later, he sent for Mr. Dykes, and the two had a brief conference appertaining to the work of the ship.

"What's the crew like, Mr. Dykes?" asked the Captain presently.

"Like!" echoed the mate. "I reckon the devil's opened hell's gates somewheres around here and we've picked up a few of them what's got out. There'll be red, ruddy, blazin' mutiny before a week's out, and, with the number we've got on board, we shan't stand a yaller dog's chance."

Calamity smiled.

"Don't worry yourself, Mr. Dykes, I don't think we shall have very much trouble with them. One or two, I know, have sailed with me before and they, probably, will give the others the benefit of their experience."

Mr. Dykes having been dismissed, chief-engineer McPhulach was summoned to the cabin. Asked his opinion of the men under him, his reply varied in terms but agreed in spirit with that already given by the mate.

"The scum of the bottomless pit," was how he put it.

"They may not be a liner's crew exactly," said Calamity in an almost gentle voice, "but I think we shall understand one another before long."

Whereat McPhulach departed with an almost happy smile and knocked down an insolent fireman for the good of his soul.

That evening, according to his promise, Captain Calamity arrived at Mr. Solomon's store, accompanied by Mr. Dykes, whom he duly introduced. This done, he informed his partner that he was sailing that night.

"Vat, so soon!" ejaculated Mr. Solomon.

"You don't want your capital lying idle longer than necessary, do you?"

"No, no, but——"

"Then sign these bills of lading and don't waste my time."

Mr. Solomon turned up the smoky little oil-lamp which inadequately illuminated the room, put on his spectacles, and proceeded to examine the papers Calamity had thrust before him. He scrutinised each one so long and so carefully that at last the Captain lost patience and swore he would not sail at all unless the remainder were signed without delay. So, much against his better judgment, Mr. Solomon put his name to the rest without doing more than glance over the contents.

That night the Hawk weighed anchor and steamed unostentatiously out of Singapore Harbour without troubling the customs authorities or any other officials whatever.