The weather continued fair, and in three weeks we crossed the line in about twenty degrees west longitude.

We had seen but few vessels on the run down, but now sails were sighted almost daily.

Some of these were heavily loaded clippers, bound round Cape Horn, that had kept well to the eastward, in order to pick up the southeast trade as far over as possible and keep from getting jammed to the northward of Cape St. Roque.

As the northeast trade died out it left us entering the region of the doldrums, with its squalls and calms. We did well to carry the trade across the line, and then we drifted about for several days without making any southing to speak of. The southeast trade appeared to be well to the southward and the weather continued hot and calm.

One damp, overcast morning, a large ship appeared on the northern horizon, standing almost directly after us. She drifted along all day without coming near enough for Captain Crojack to make out who she was, and toward evening she disappeared in a thick smudge of rain.

After supper it cleared off, and the moon shone brightly over a sea of oily smoothness.

The ship astern had drifted quite close during the rain squall, and now she suddenly appeared on the port quarter not half a mile distant.

It was a pretty sight to see her there, with her canvas all glimmering in the moonlight, and all hands took a good look at her. She appeared innocent enough.

By and by the skipper made her out to be an Englishman, and he sat aft looking at her for a long time.

Mrs. Waters and her daughter came on deck and placed chairs, so they could sit and watch the stranger, for she was the only vessel that had come within hailing distance of us since we left port.

It is a strange feeling of fellowship that comes over people who are abroad on the wide ocean when they find themselves in the vicinity of an unknown vessel. There is as much interest taken in a strange ship at sea as there would be in one carrying dear friends on soundings.

While Captain Crojack and his passengers were gazing at the vessel astern the third mate came aft and seated himself close to Miss Waters.

The young girl and he conversed in low tones, so I could not hear what was said; but as she appeared to lose all interest in the ship, it is barely possible that they were not discussing nautical matters.

I can’t explain why this irritated me. It may have been the effect of the moonlight, for the tropic moon has a powerful effect upon people if they sleep with it shining in their faces.

I was irritated and had just about concluded to put in a word to help the conversation, and was starting toward them, when Crojack put down his night-glass with an impatient jerk.

“Where in thunder is that fellow heading?” he asked, turning and looking at me. “If he keeps on, he’ll be aboard us in an hour or two.

“It’s just the way with some of those thick-headed Englishmen! They’ll come drifting down on you in a dead calm, and, before you know it, they’ll be afoul of you and tear half the stunsails out of you, to say nothing of breaking the booms. It’s nigh eight bells, so suppose you call the second mate and tell him to bring his speaking-trumpet and hail the fellow. To run foul of a ship during a blow is bad enough, but to run foul of one during a calm means that we might lay alongside for a week and roll everything out of us aloft, stunsail-booms and all.”

Brown instantly started with me as I went forward, for the skipper brought his eye to bear on him and saw he was becoming unnautical with his niece. I sent him to call O’Toole.

“Wants me ter hail him, hey?” growled the red-headed giant, as he tumbled out on the main-deck. “B’ th’ sowl av Saint Patrick, jist hearken ter me. If thim illigant leddies av his are below, ye will hear me talk Spanish t’ th’ bloody Englishmen, sich as ye niver heard before nor since. Hello! Wait a minit—” and the second mate, catching a glimpse of a dress in the moonlight, dived below again in a hurry.

As he had turned out just as he turned in, he had forgotten, in his eagerness, to put on his trousers.

He appeared again in a few minutes better attired for the quarter-deck. Then, growling something not very complimentary to passengers in general, he came aft.

“Hail that fellow and tell him to stand off before he drifts afoul of us,” said the skipper. “Tell him there’s room enough on the Western Ocean without crowding.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered O’Toole, as he walked to the rail and glared fiercely at the stranger astern.

“S’ o—o—hoy!” he roared, in a voice like a fog-horn, and then stopped to listen.

He repeated the hail through his speaking-trumpet at the request of the skipper, although it was evident that he held such an instrument in high disdain and deemed any artificial acceleration to his voice as entirely unnecessary.

Soon a faint answer came floating over the calm, moonlit waters.

“What d’ yer want?” it said.

“Stand off, or you’ll be afoul of us!” roared O’Toole.

“Go to ’ell!” came the response, clear and distinct. Then the quiet of the tropic night fell again upon the sea.

“What a brute!” exclaimed Mrs. Waters. “I wonder how a man can be so coarse and vulgar. What is the matter with him?”

“It’s a disease that afflicts a great many shipmasters, and it appears hard to cure,” I ventured. “It’s a—”

“Beggin’ your pardon,” interrupted O’Toole. “’Tis a disease I’ve had occasion t’ cure often enough, an’, by th’ faith, I’ve always seen it give way, most rapid like, before th’ inflooence av prayer, an’ th’ layin’ on av hands. I know av a case where a man—”

“By thunder!” snapped Crojack, suddenly, “if it falls as calm as this to-morrow I’ll go aboard that fellow and see who he is. Mr. O’Toole, you will be on deck in the morning, and I wish you to have one of the boats ready. I’ve sailed in most seas and have met all kinds of people, but for a real out an’ outer, with a loose jaw tackle, give me one of those swine-gutted, bull-headed, egotistical Englishmen in the Indian trade. Seems to me, though, I’ve heard that voice before.”

“It’s pretty hard to tell at this distance,” I answered, “but we’ll be able to find out very soon, for she’s drifting down on us all the time.”

The skipper remained quiet for some moments, gazing steadily at the stranger through his glass, so I took the opportunity to lean on the taffrail close to where Miss Waters sat in her chair. She was looking silently at the towering white cloud of canvas astern and her profile shone clear in the moonlight.

Her large blue eyes had a dreamy, stupid look in them as they gazed from under their long lashes, such as I had often noticed before in pretty women; but her skin had a rich, creamy colour about the throat, and the outlines of her willowy figure showed such beautiful curves that I suddenly found my eyes roving in a most uncomfortable manner from ship to girl and from girl to ship.

I don’t attempt to explain it. It may have been the moonlight that made her look so pretty, but as I gazed I suddenly felt as if my blood had turned to melted lead in my veins. The heat of it made my face burn, and I could not utter a word, but I drew a long breath.

I shut my teeth hard and had just made up my mind to beat a retreat, when, to my dismay, she turned and looked me straight in the eyes.

The next instant she burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“Why, Mr. Gore, I didn’t know you suffered so with asthma,” she said aloud. “You must pardon me, but you really made such a noise choking that I was quite frightened. I should think the night air was bad for you.”

For an instant I felt as if the ship had sunk under me, but, as I caught the skipper’s inquiring look, my nerve, which seldom deserted me, returned.

“Well, you see, I’m so used to walking fore and aft during my watch on deck that I don’t notice it much while I’m in motion,” I replied. “It’s only when I get lazy and sit down that it affects me. After all, it don’t amount to much, and serves as well as a pipe to keep me on the move during the night.”

I noticed the old man scan the breadth of my beam with a quizzical look; for, you see, while I’m not as tall as some men, there is a certain heft to my shoulders even yet that is ill connected with a man weak in the wind.

However, my answer appeared to satisfy him, and I went below as quickly as possible, and turned in with a feeling of resentment against everybody on board the ship.

At midnight I turned out, and found the stranger close aboard our port quarter, and O’Toole furious at the answer he had received on hailing him.

“He won’t stand off, Mr. Gore,” said the second mate as I came aft, “an’ if it holds calm another hour he’ll be alongside.”

After O’Toole had gone below, I took the glass and watched the man who had just relieved the watch on her quarter-deck. He was not over fifty fathoms distant, and I could see that he was tall and wore a full beard.

Just below the stranger’s white quarter-rail was a yellowish streak on her black hull, and on focusing the night-glass upon it I read Countess of Warwick in small gold letters.

She drifted steadily nearer and I hailed her again.

At that moment a sturdy, bow-legged man appeared on deck and joined the one I had been watching.

He came to the rail and stared at me for several minutes, and then answered in a deep, gruff, even tone:

“By the great eternal! Ain’t this ocean big enough for you, that you must come wailing like a babe in the night? S’help me Gawd, when I sailed Yankee clippers there was little trouble in finding room enough in any ocean. This here lady is a real countess, and you needn’t be afraid of her sassiety, even if she is a little fast. She won’t foul them blooming stunsails of yours.”

At the sound of this voice, which was now quite near and distinct, I heard a quick movement in the skipper’s cabin, and I glanced down into it through one of the open ports.

Crojack had jumped out of his bunk and was in the act of swallowing a stiff drink of grog,—his usual toilet,—and as he finished it he bounded on deck with a series of sudden springs.

“Hello, there!” he bawled at the stranger.

His answer was a hoarse chuckle from the stout man, which swelled into a hearty laugh.

“Hello, there! Is that you, Bill Garnett?” repeated the skipper.

I heard the bow-legged man mutter something, and then take off his cap and mop his bald head, which shone in the moonlight.

“Well, sure enough, so it is,” he finally answered.

“Who the devil would be sailing with such a cargo but me? Why in thunder didn’t you tell me ’twas you, messmate? and I would have tried to put more water atween us—though there ain’t no danger.”

I had been watching him while he was talking, and I now recognized the old mate easily enough. Nearly every man in the deep-water trade at that time had seen or heard of old Bill Garnett.

“I might have known it was you,” growled Crojack. “Always an ornery, bull-headed, headstrong mate, trying to make trouble. Why don’t you keep off and give us more room?”

“Well, well, I am mate o’ this craft, sure enough,” laughed the old sailor, “but it ain’t such a bad job alongside o’ being a d——d, shad-bellied, thieving shipmaster. As for room, you’ve got the whole ocean and can change your course as easy as my skipper can change his—but you was always a hard man to reason with.”

And old Garnett began to walk fore and aft on his deck, chuckling audibly.

“I might have known it,” repeated the skipper to himself. Then turning to me:

“I’ve had Garnett with me as mate six voyages, Mr. Gore, and I’ve never seen a more unreasonable critter in my life. What do you suppose he’s doing on that Englishman, anyway? She looks mighty light for the India trade.”

“I don’t know why he should be on her, except for the pay,” I replied. “Garnett’s a rough mate and would just as soon sail under one flag as another. He’s been under about all. The vessel does look uncommonly light.”

The skipper stood watching the Englishman for some time, but as she appeared to draw no nearer, he finally went below. The Arrow, having no steering way, now drifted so as to bring the stranger almost head on, so I could no longer see the men on her quarter-deck.

In the morning, after I had passed a restless night, I turned out with but little appetite for breakfast. I knew well enough what was the matter with me, and, had I been ashore, I would have put some distance between myself and our passengers.

I was about as awkward at the table as it was possible to be, but I dared not shirk the ordeal, for fear of making an idiot of myself before Captain Crojack.

It’s all well enough to joke about such matters, and say they don’t last, and that no man ever died for love, but joking don’t help the case in any way whatever.

The cholera don’t last long after it takes a man, either, for that matter. It’s just as well to look the subject squarely in the face.

That no man ever died for love is an absurd statement. There are more men killed or ruined by this mental disturbance than any other.

That its origin is not purely physical even a deep-water sailor knows. That it don’t last is also certain, for nothing human ever does last above a certain limited time.

I have seen this passion burn itself out like a flash of tropical lightning, and I’ve seen it smoulder like the damp coal in a ship’s hold and last until it passes quietly into the perfect friendship between an old man and an old woman.

But because it don’t last, don’t think that it lacks force while it does act.

I’m a plain man and known as “Bull Gore” among the deep-water men. My face is too big to be handsome, and I’ve the girth of forty-five inches around the heave of my chest. In spite of this, I knew I was going to have a tough struggle and would need all my strength for the fracas brewing within me.

Who is it, I say? Who is it that has felt this passion and can say no one was ever hurt or killed by it?

Why, I once saw a Japanese samurai pass his heavy two-handed sword through nine men in succession for—

Well, I’m not a young man, but I don’t mean to be garrulous.