“SOME skippers are good and some are bad,” said Gantline, joining in the talk on the main-hatch. He was second mate, so we listened. He expectorated with great accuracy into a coil of rope and continued:

“Likewise so are owners. The same holds good to most kinds of people. Some owners don’t want good skippers. They’re apt to be expensive on long runs, for they won’t cheat a poor devil of a sailor out of his lime-juice and other luxuries they have nowadays. At best a sailor gets less pay and works harder than any man alive, leave out the danger and discomfort on a long voyage on an overloaded ship. It’s only fair to treat him as well as possible. This idea that feeding a man well and not cursing him at every order will make him lazy is wrong, and ought to be kept among the class of skippers who take their ‘lunars’ with a hand-lead.

“There are some ships always unlucky. But the luck is mostly the fault of the skipper.

“Take, for instance, the loss of the Golden Arrow or the big clipper Pharos, that was found adrift in the doldrums without a man aboard her. Everything was in its place and not a boat was lowered. Even the dishes lay upon the table with the food rotten in them, but there wasn’t a soul to tell how she came to be unmanned. She was an unlucky ship, for on her next voyage out she stayed. No one has seen plank or spar of her for twelve years. But the skipper and mate who left her adrift outside of the Guinea current were well known to deep-water men.

“I’m no sky-pilot, and I don’t mean to say a skipper who prefers a pretty stewardess to an ugly one—or none at all—is always a bad man, but I do say that a skipper who cuts off a man’s lime-juice, gives him weevils for bread, and two-year-old junk for beef, has got enough devilry in him for anything, and is apt to have things comfortable in the after-cabin.

“It was nothing but scurvy that killed young Jim Douglas, so they said; but what about Hollender, the skipper, who brought him in along with nineteen others?

“I went to see Jim in the hospital, and he was an awful sight. His eyes rolled horribly, but he took my hand and held it a long time; then he tried to talk. His mind wasn’t steady and he often lost his bearings, but there was something besides delirium behind his tale.

“‘Her curse is on us, Gantline,’ he kept whispering. I held him, but he lay mumbling. ‘Dan died, too, an’ we sewed him up in canvas like a ham, an’ over he went; but it wouldn’t have helped, for the water was as rotten as it lays in the deadwood bilge. ’Twas the ghost of the skipper’s wife holding us back—her curse did the business, an’ I knew it.’ Then he calmed down and talked more natural.

“‘She came aboard with the child, an’ Hollender’s stewardess wouldn’t wait on her. Black-eyed she-devil that woman. An’ the skipper grinned, an’ the poor thing cried an’ cried. “Don’t treat me so; have mercy!” But he just grinned. “You can go forward an’ live with the mate if you don’t like it,” he said. She just cried an’ cried. One night she came on deck an’ rushed to the rail. She had her baby with her an’ she hesitated.

“’“Shall we go aft?” I said to Dan. “It’s mutiny an’ death,” says he.

“‘Then she cursed us all—an’ went over the side——’ Jim lay quiet after this for a minute, then he began:

“‘Slower, slower, slower. No wind, two hundred days out, an’ the water as rotten as it is in the deadwood bilge. The cat—I mean the mate—went up on the forecastle, an’ he never came back. We ate him, an’ tied his paws around our necks for luck. No wind, an’ the sails slatted to and fro on the yards. Midnight, an’ bright moonlight when it struck us, an’ tore our masts out an’ drove us far out of the path of ships, an’ we lay there with the boats gone, water-logged till we rigged enough gear to drift home by—— Help! Gantline, help! The curse of the woman was on the ship, for there wasn’t a man aboard——’

“He struggled and rose up in the cot. His eyes were staring at the blank wall. I held him hard for an instant and he suddenly relaxed. Then he fell back dead.

“Then, you see, there was the Albatross that sailed——”

“But hold on a bit. Stop a minute!” said Mr. Enlis. “If you keep on like that, Gantline, you’ll ruin the passenger trade as far as wimmen are concerned. As for stewardesses, there won’t be one afloat if you keep croaking. You seem to think wimmen do nothing but harm afloat, whereas I know plenty who have done good. I don’t see what wimmen have to do with wittles, anyhow?”

“Who in the name of Davy Jones said they had?” growled Gantline, angrily. “I’m no sky-pilot, and I——”

“Right you are, mate, you say true there, for if I was to go to you to get my last heading I’d fetch up on a lee shore where there’d be few strange faces.”

Gantline gave a grunt of disgust. “That’s just the way with you every time any one starts a line of argument to prove a thing’s so; you always sheer off, or bring in something that’s got nothing to do with the case and don’t signify. Here I’ve been showing that bad luck to ships is caused by something wrong with the skippers, and here you are trying to bring wimmen into the case, just as if your thoughts ran on nothing else. But, pshaw! everybody knows what kind of a fellow you are when you’re on the beach.” And he jerked his pipe into his pocket and walked aft.

“Never mind him,” said Mr. Enlis. “He’s an old croaker, and it’s just such growling that makes trouble for skippers. But whenever you see a man talk like that there’s always something behind it. Yes, sir, every time.”

“How do you mean?” asked Chips.

“Well, when a man’s soured on wimmen there is always a cause for it, and I happen to know something about Gantline’s past. It’s the old story, but who wants to know how Jim or Jack’s wife fell in love with him? Neither does any one care about how she comes to leave him, though nearly all story books are written about such things, and that’s the reason I never read them. There ain’t much novelty in that line.

“Lord, love is all alike, just the same in the poor man as in the rich; but what I was about to say is this: Gantline, here, gives the idea that wimmen are dangerous afloat and leaves off telling anything good about them. That ain’t exactly fair. It’s true most wimmen who follow the sea are not exactly to be considered fighting craft, and are mighty apt to strike their colors do you but let it be known you’re out for prizes. Still, I know of cases where they’ve done a power of good. There was ‘Short Moll,’ who was stewardess with old man Fane, and she made him.

“The old man, you see, had been getting lonely, and had taken to carrying large invoices of grog, which is bound to break a man in the long run.

“One day at the dock Moll came along and inquired for the skipper. The old man saw her coming, and bawled out, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Mr. Enlis, don’t let her come aboard!’ and dived below.

“I ran to the gang-plank as she started over and said, ‘Captain’s gone up-town, and there ain’t no visitors allowed.’

“‘Oh, there ain’t?’ she said sort of sweetly, and she screwed up her little slits of eyes. ‘If that’s the case, you may consider me one of the crew, for I’ve got a notion they want a stewardess aboard.’

“‘There ain’t no passengers, so get back on the dock and obey orders!’ And I planted myself athwart the plank.

“Well, sir, if you ever seen a change come over a woman in three shakes of a sheet-rope you ought to seen her.

“‘What!’ she yelled. ‘You stop me from coming aboard a ship in this free an’ easy country of America? Git out o’ the way, you slab-sided, herring-gutted son of a wind-jammer, or I’ll run ye down an’ cut ye in two.’ And she bore down on me under full sail.

“She carried a full cargo, and I stepped down on the main-deck, for, after all, that gang-plank was too narrow a subject for such broad-minded folk as Moll and me to discuss on the spur of the moment.

“She never gave me a look, but steered straight for the cabin and disappeared.

“There was a most uncommon noise, and I saw the skipper’s head pop up the hatchway. But in a moment he was drawn slowly downward, and as he turned his face he looked like a drowning man sinking for the last time.

“Well, the first day off soundings there was another fracas, and Moll came forward with a can of condensed milk in one hand and a bunch of keys in the other. She gave me a leer and waved the can of milk, and I knew we were to live high that voyage. I hadn’t tasted the stuff for nigh two years.

“One day there was another scuffle below, and a bottle of liquor sailed up the companion-way and smashed against the binnacle. There were all kinds of noises after that, but I finally made out Moll’s voice bawling, ‘Not another drap, sir! Not another drap!’

“He was a sober man for two years until she left, and after Fane heard of her death he wasn’t the same man. She really did more good than many a better brought-up woman on the beach, and if he called her an angel it’s nothing to laugh at, though her wings may have looked more like the little winged animals that fly o’ night among the mosquitoes in the harbor than like doves.

“So you see there’s no use going against the wimmen, for there’s lots of good in them, only it takes strange circumstances at times to bring it out.

“After all, I don’t blame Gantline. And between us I’ll tell you why.”

Here Mr. Enlis looked sharply fore and aft to see if anybody might interrupt us, and then spoke in a low voice.

“He married a girl years ago, and one day he came home and found her missing. She had run off with a fellow named Jones, who was once mate with Crojack.

“He followed that fellow all over the world. That hole in his cheek is where Jones’s bullet went through when they met once on the streets in Calcutta. Jones got several bad cuts before they were separated. A year or two after this they met again, and Gantline has had that list in his walk ever since. You see, virtue and right don’t always come out winners on deep-water, unless the virtue lies in the heft of your hand. That mate Jones was a big man, and they used to say he was a powerful hand for putting a crew through a course of study to find out who’s who and what’s what. According to report they generally found Bill Jones was something of both, and I heard that one voyage there wasn’t enough belaying-pins left aboard to clew down the topsails on, so they left them flying and put over the side for it as soon as the hook took the ground.

“But what I am coming to is this: Gantline was second mate with that same fellow Hollender the voyage one of his men sent his black soul to hell. The mate was killed and Gantline was left in command.

“To the eastward of Juan Fernandez he picked up a boat adrift with one man in it. He was alive and that was all. Gantline stood by while they lifted the fellow on deck, and as he caught sight of his sun-blackened face with the dry lips cracking over the black gums he gave a start and swore horribly. Then he walked fore and aft on the poop, and they say he chewed up nigh two pounds of tobacco during the rest of the day. When the fellow’s mouth was wet enough to speak with, he raved and cried, ‘Saved at last! Saved at last!’ until they had to lash him in his bunk. Sometimes he would call out a girl’s name, and Gantline would rush forward onto the forecastle-head and storm at the men working on deck.

“It didn’t last long. The fellow was strong and began to recover, and then Gantline had his say. He walked into the room one morning carrying two glasses full of grog, and he put them both on the sea-chest.

“Jones looked up and recognized him—for he was clear in his mind now—and he started for him. But he was too weak, and Gantline bore him back into the bunk and poked a revolver into his face, telling him to keep quiet.

“‘You are in my hands now, and I’ll give you a fair chance, but God knows you don’t deserve it,’ he said. ‘I could tip you over the side as well as not, but I won’t unless it’s your fate.’

“The fellow saw he was caught and started up again, but Gantline drew the barrel of his pistol level with his eyes, so he kept quiet.

“‘Now,’ he went on, ‘you are too weak to fight with any chance, but I’ve followed you too long to let you go unless it’s the will of Providence. In one of those glasses of grog is a poison that will put one man out of misery without any mess. I know which glass holds it, but you don’t; so I’ll give you first chance. If it comes to me I’ll drink it, but if it comes to you, you’ll drink it or I’ll put a hole in your face. Now let her go.’

“The fellow Jones lay silent a moment and looked Gantline steadily in the eyes. Then a smile broke slowly over his face. He picked up a glass and drank off the liquor, and Gantline did the same. Then Gantline hurried on deck.

“He walked fore and aft a few moments and then dived below for the medicine-chest.”

“What!” cried Chips, “did he get the poison?”

“Sure,” said Mr. Enlis; “but you see Gantline isn’t such a fool as he looks. He had done some thinking during those moments on deck, and it seemed to clear his mind. It don’t do to lay down the law to Providence. No, sir, it don’t do. You never can tell just what Providence will do. Gantline measured a tremendous emetic and gulped it down. Likewise, in a moment, up it came, and the poison with it.

“After all, he did the right thing by Jones. He put him ashore, and as luck would have it, the war was on then, and he was shot just outside Valparaiso by the Chilian soldiers, who took him for a deserter. That’s the reason Gantline never says anything good about wimmen—and I don’t blame him much!”

THE END