Part 46 (1/2)

Tunis had been able to keep scarcely enough of his crew to handle the _Seamew_ in fair weather; and the barometer was falling, with every indication in sea and sky of the approach of bad weather. He feared the few hands he had would desert when they reached Boston.

Zebedee Pauling was a young host in himself--far and away a better seaman than Orion Latham, as well as a better fellow. But the schooner could not be sailed with good will.

Tunis' mind, however, remained fixed upon Sheila's troubles rather than upon his own; and as soon as the schooner docked, he went up into the town and wended his way directly to the great department store in which he had once interviewed the troublesome Ida May Bostwick.

The cargo was out, and the _Seamew_ had already been warped into another wharf where freight was awaiting her when the skipper returned to the water front that afternoon. The three men remaining of the forecastle crew were still at work, a.s.sisted by Zebedee and Horry Newbegin. They had not had a regular cook for two trips now.

But a new complication had arisen. Mason Chapin stood at the rail waiting his return, and a taxicab had been summoned. The mate carried a bag.

”A telegram from Doctor Norris. My wife's worse, Mr. Latham. I've got to go back just as fast as steam will get me there,” was his greeting to the skipper of the _Seamew_.

This was according to the agreement Mason Chapin had made in the beginning. His wife was sorely ill, and surely Tunis would not stand between a man and his sick wife!

But it left a very serious situation upon the schooner when the mate drove away in the taxicab. Six men, forward and aft, to handle a suit of sails which equaled those of any seagoing racing yacht. If it had not been for the freight--some of which was perishable--the master of the _Seamew_ would have laid up until he could have got together a more numerous crew at least.

But instead of going to the seamen's employment offices, Tunis had to turn to himself, while the heavier pieces of freight were lowered down the hatchway of the schooner. It was near evening when the hatch was battened down and a small tug snaked them out of the dock and from among the greater s.h.i.+pping, and gave them a whistled blessing in midstream.

All hands and the skipper tailed on to the sheets and got her canvas spread. Then the skipper went below to the galley and prepared supper. Tunis Latham could be no stickler for quarter-deck etiquette on this voyage, that was sure.

But although the hands growled, and even Horry looked sour, Tunis seemed strangely excited; indeed, he looked less woebegone than he had for many a day. Something seemed to have given him a new zest in life. He even spoke to the hands cheerfully, and they were a trio of as surly dogs as ever quarreled with their food and a s.h.i.+p's officers.

”I'll lay up at the cove until I get a decent crew this time, if I lose all my existing contracts,” Tunis said to Zebedee. ”I'll find a bunch of men who are not afraid of their shadows. Huh! Hoodooed, is she? I'll show 'em that she can sail, even if Davy Jones himself sits on her bowsprit!”

There was wind enough, in all good conscience. They discovered that before they were out of the bay. It had s.h.i.+fted into the northeast, and the _Seamew_ went roaring away on her course under reefed canvas, heeling over to it like a racing yacht.

But the long tacks to seaward which the gale enforced made it impossible for the schooner to beat back to Hollis where the first of her freight must be discharged until after breakfast the next morning. By that time the three foremast hands who had been obliged to work double watches were fairly stewing in their own rage.

Tunis had to see his consignees while the freight was being discharged; when he got back to the wharf there was n.o.body aboard the schooner save Horry and Zebedee. The latter had a broken oar in his hand and he and the ancient seaman seemed to be in a condition of utter amazement.

”What's to do now?” demanded the skipper.

”They've gone, Cap'n Latham,” stammered Zebedee. ”Say they won't put foot on the _Seamew's_ deck again. That--that confounded 'Rion--”

”What's the matter with Orion now?” exclaimed Tunis. ”I hoped I was well rid of him. Has he turned up here at Hollis?”

”Look at this,” said Zebedee, shaking the broken oar. ”Here's what it seems 'Rion found in the hold two trips back. So those fellows say. He left it with 'em. And they say the schooner is a murder s.h.i.+p and they won't try to work her no further.”

Tunis seized the piece of oar. Along one side was a streak of faint blue paint. He knew immediately where he had seen that broken oar before--leaning against the door frame of Pareta's cottage in Portygee Town, when he had last talked with the old man's daughter.

”What in thunder!”

He had turned it over and saw the straggling letters burned into the wood: MARLIN B. Newbegin looked at Tunis with an expression which betrayed a great perturbation of soul. The old man could scarcely show pallor under the mahogany of his face, but it was plain that superst.i.tion had him by the throat.

”So this is the thing that rotten 'Rion played them with, is it?”

Tunis demanded. ”Trying to make them think my beautiful _Seamew_ was once the _Marlin B._? Why, the poor fools, this broken oar came out of Mike Pareta's woodpile, or I'm a dog-fis.h.!.+ See that blue streak?

I saw this broken oar at Pareta's house. Bet you anything Eunez had something to do with it, too. Though why she should want to harm me, who never said a cross word to her, I can't see.”

”She and your cousin are mighty thick,” Zebedee said reflectively.