By the World Forgot: A Double Romance of the East and West

THE BOATSWAIN'S STORY

A seafaring man is less at home in a parlor than anywhere else. He can sit comfortably on anything except a chair. The big boatswain balanced himself gingerly on the edge of the biggest and strongest chair in the private parlor of the Maynard apartment in the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. In his hands, fortunately, for otherwise he would not have known what to do with them, he clasped a large package wrapped in oil silk and carefully tied up. He looked and felt supremely ill at ease and miserable. Back of him, equally uncomfortable, were the other survivors of the Susquehanna. It was proper for the boatswain, who acted as third officer, to be seated. This much was conceded to his rank, but Templin and the other five, deaf to all suggestions looking toward their comfort, remained standing. They did not even lean against anything. They took position in true seamanlike fashion, arms folded or akimbo, feet wide apart, ready for any unexpected roll on the part of the St. Francis Hotel.

George Harnash had met the steamer. Indeed, he had boarded her before she tied up at her berth at the docks. He knew that Beekman would not be with the survivors because their names had been cabled to New York by Smithfield in answer to inquiries. The strangest circumstance was this. A list of the other members of the crew taken from the ship's papers which were in possession of the third officer, for so the boatswain was designated, had also been cabled and the name of Beekman did not appear in that list either. This puzzled Harnash beyond measure. He had delivered Beekman to the crimp and the gang designated by Woywod, certainly. Had anything happened? Were those knock-out drops too strong? Harnash was a miserable man, indeed, a prey to all sorts of fears and anxieties and each worse than the other.

The men, who had landed at Honolulu in a dilapidated condition, two weeks' cruising in an open boat being not conducive to the preservation of wearing apparel, had been thoroughly outfitted by the agent of the Inter-Oceanic Trading Company, and consequently as Stephanie Maynard looked upon them she thought them as fine an appearing body of sailors as she had seen in her various voyagings upon the seas. Old John Maynard, keenly appraising them as they were led in the room, arrived at the same conclusion by a somewhat different process.

"This is the bo's'n of the Susquehanna," began Harnash after he had mustered and marshaled the uneasy sailors. "That is, he was originally shipped as bo's'n, but he has been promoted to third officer. How or why I do not yet know. I thought it best not to question the men until I had brought them here. Mr. Gersey-"

"Jim Gersey, at your service, sirs an' ma'am," said the old seaman, rising and making a sort of sea-scrape with his feet while he knuckled his brow with his hand in true if now somewhat obsolete sailor fashion.

"Mr. Gersey," said Harnash, "this is Mr. John Maynard, president of the company which owned the Susquehanna, and this is his daughter."

"Pleased to meet ye both," said the boatswain.

"In addition to our natural anxiety about the ship and her people we have reason to be deeply interested in one member of her crew," continued Harnash, and his personal suspense was obvious to the dullest person in the room, much more to the girl who loved him in spite of all.

"I didn't ketch your name, sir," said the boatswain.

"Harnash, George Harnash."

The old man furrowed his brow and thought a moment.

"Of Harnash an' Beekman, 33 Broadway, New York?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, I got a message for you."

"A message?"

"Aye. It was give to me by a man that shipped aboard the Susquehanna as John Smith."

"That's why Beekman's name didn't appear among those sent us," observed Mr. Maynard suddenly.

"I suppose so," answered Harnash, glad to be relieved of one anxiety.

"Which he said it wan't his name, but I ain't never been aboard a ship without a John Smith on her," continued the boatswain, "an' sometimes we gits two or three of 'em. It's a kind-a easy name, an' when nobody knows a man we jest nachurly calls him that. Now this chap's name was Beekman. Leastways, that's what he said it was, an' when we put him overboard-"

"Put him overboard?" cried Stephanie.

"Yes, ma'am. In the ship's whaleboat, for his own safety."

"At the time of the fire?" interposed Harnash.

"Now, gents an' lady, if you'll excuse me, I can't quite steer my course amid so many variable winds, so to speak. I can't shift my helm quick enough to meet all them changes. If you'll lemme heave ahead in my own way I'll git the yarn off'n my chest the quicker an' the plainer."

"Of course," said Maynard; "don't interrupt, young people, let him tell us in his own way."

"Thankee, sir," said the boatswain. "You've got a seaman's instinck an' arter I've told the yarn I'll answer any question I may be axed, pervided they comes at me one at a time."

"Heave ahead," said Maynard, adopting nautical language for the occasion.

"Well, sir, it was this way. Arter Smith or Beekman put a knife into the mate-"

This was too much for Harnash.

"What mate?"

The boatswain shot a look at him.

"I was comin' to that," he answered. "Mr. Woywod, as you know, he was the mate of the ship. He was a prime seaman, an' pleasant enough if you done what you was told an' done it quick an' kept out of his way, but when he was roused an' riled-God help us, says I."

"We all says that," put in Templin grimly.

"Well, him an' Smith or Beekman got in an argyment the second day out when Smith come to in the fo'c's'l an' didn't know where he was at or why he was at it, an' Smith knocked the mate down. The mate seed he was green an' raw, an' he passed over that, only he told him if he ever done it agin he'd kill him. The mate battered him up considerably at the time. I sent for him that day an' told him as an old man that had follered the sea all his life that there wan't no use of tryin' to fight the mate; that the officers had everything on their side. They was like God hisself on the ship; that he'd git double irons clapped on him for mutiny, an' mebbe hanged if he didn't knuckle down an' turn to. He told me a long story about him bein' shanghaied. I didn't believe it at first."

"It was true," said Harnash. "Absolutely true."

"An' leavin' a girl on his weddin' day."

"I was the girl," said Stephanie.

"Dash me," said the old boatswain, staring at the girl with quite open admiration, "his was a harder lot than we fancied. Well, he concluded to take my advice. He turned to an' done his work like a man, an' I never seen a feller pick up so. Afore he left us he was as hard as nails, an' by way of bein' a prime seaman, too. The mate didn't manhandle him none, but there was bad blood 'twixt them two men. The mate was allus a pickin' on him an' a bullyin' of him. It was a kind of battle between 'em. The mate anxious to provoke an outbreak on Smith's part, which I means Beekman, an' Beekman determined not to give the mate no handle agin him. We had a hell of a-I beg your pardon, Miss, but that word jest describes the ship an' the v'yage. I never did see such a succession of gales. We was weeks gittin' round the Horn, an' there was a dead beat agin the wind nigh all the way up to the line. One night, I disremember the date, but I got it here" – he tapped the oilskin package to which he clung so tightly-"all hands was called on suddenly to reef tops'ls. The old man was for carryin' on, you know; he'd taken in the r'yals, but the to'gall'nts'ls was still set, an' the sticks was bendin' like whips when he decided to git 'em off her. Now there was a mast-man, a half-witted Dutchman, aboard named Wramm."

"Jacob Wramm," said Templin. "God rest his soul."

"He done a lubberly thing. He cast off the wrong halliards, an' we lost the main to'gall'nt mast. It was in the mid watch, an' Wramm had been takin' a snooze under the lee rail or he wouldn't have done it. The mate was very vi'lent with him. He had kicked him awake, au' when the mast carried away he hit him over the head with a belayin' pin, thinking, doubtless, to let some sense into his thick skull, but instead he let the life out of him."

"Do you mean that he killed him?" asked Maynard in amazement, while the others held their breath at this matter-of-fact description of tyranny and murder.

"Aye, sir, I means jest that. There's a lot o' things that goes on aboard your ships, that neither you nor nobody else in New York knows nothin' about."

"Evidently. Proceed."

"Wramm died the next day, but meanwhile, arter we'd cleared away the wreck an' got the ship snug, we took Wramm, who was still breathin' but unconscious, to his berth in the fo'c's'l. Arter we'd examined him, Beekman said he was goin' aft to see the old man."

"Did Captain Fish permit such brutality?"

"I ain't wishful to say nothin' agin a man that's dead an' that can't defend hisself, but him an' Salver, which he was in charge of the other boat, was much the same kind of men as Woywod, only not quite so vi'lent. The cap'n was an old man an' he wan't so free with his fists, but he allus backed up the mates in whatever they done. Well, Beekman insisted on seein' the cap'n, an' arter the mate had inspected Wramm an' seen he was pretty bad off, he thought best to let him go aft. Templin here was busy about the mizzenmast, an' he can tell what happened, though we've got it all down in writin'."

"If you please, ma'am an' gents," said old Templin, stepping forward and taking up the tale, "I heard v'ices raised high in the cabin, which I could see into it through the skylight which covers it an' lets in light an', when it's open, air. You understand?"

Maynard nodded.

"Wot words passed I couldn't make out, but I seen the mate leap toward Smith, an' Smith hit him. The mate was a big man, an' although it must have been a powerful blow, it didn't phase him; it jest throwed him back agin the cabin bulkhead. Then he gathered hisself up, drew a gun, p'inted it at Smith, an' made for him agin. The cap'n was havin' something to eat afore turnin' in, it bein' about four bells in the mid watch, an' there was a big, sharp carvin' knife layin' on the table. The mate was cursin' like mad, an' Smith was standin' there quiet an' as white as the paint on the cabin bulkheads. Jest as the mate pulled the trigger, Smith grabbed the knife an' buried it to its handle in the mate's breast, the bullet from the pistol passin' harmless like jest over Smith's head an' tearin' a big hole in the bulkhead."

"I seen the hole myself later on," said the boatswain as Templin stopped for breath.