the Seamew, they hustled about on the Gullwing and replied. Nor did
Captain Bowditch shift his helm at once. The sister ships continued to
approach each other.

The Seamew had plainly overtaken the Gullwing, and now, when she
sheered off, she would begin to creep ahead of the craft in which I
was the more interested. With the wind as it was, and nothing untoward
occurring, the Seamew was bound to gain something over her rival in
each leg she made.

“What’s he sayin’?” bawled Cap’n Si to Mr. Barney.

I had already learned something about the signal code, and when the
second mate’s back was turned I got a squint at the codebook. Captain
Bowditch was asking if the Seamew would heave to and send me aboard!

“Cap’n Joe is sure cracked!” cackled the commander of the Seamew. “Tell
him I wouldn’t do it for a hull barrel of greening apples.”

I reckon Mr. Barney put the refusal more briefly. But the Gullwing
continued to hang in the wind while another line of flags was run up
to her fore. The book told me that the signal read: “I’ll send boat
aboard.”

“No he won’t, by jinks!” crowed Cap’n Si. “Nor he wouldn’t wanter do it
if he warn’t so blamed short-handed. Stow your flags, Mr. Barney. Stand
by. Ready! haul sheet!” and he went ahead and gave swift orders to put
the Seamew about on the other tack.

But I was glad that those aboard the Gullwing knew that I was alive. I
could imagine Thank’s relief, and how surprised and--I hoped--glad, the
others would be to know that I had not found my grave in the ocean. I
even thought kindly of Bob Promise, the bully, and believed that he
was likewise thinking kindly of me at that moment.

“And to serve Cap’n Si out for not being willing to meet Cap’n Joe half
way, and let them take me aboard,” I muttered to myself, “I hope the
Gullwing beats the Seamew all to flinders!”

The Seamew, however, gained slowly upon her sister ship. On every tack
that day she made a better showing. Sometimes the Gullwing was below
the horizon; but whenever we sighted her she was dropping back a bit.
The wind remained steady and from a favorable quarter and by and by the
night dropped down and divided the two ships more effectually than the
sea itself.

As the light faded upon sea and sky we sailed under a vast,
black-velvet canopy embroidered upon which were the countless stars
and planets. Constellations that I knew nothing about glowed from the
depths of the firmament; and brighter than all was the Southern Cross.
The moon had dipped below the horizon and therefore the Cross and the
stars were the more brilliant. I paced the deck alone and thought of
my mother, and wondered what she was doing just then, and if Chester
Downes was still trying to circumvent me, and Mr. Hounsditch, and gain
control of the fortune, possession of which he so much begrudged my
mother and myself.

And a thought came to me from out the stillness and immensity of that
night--a thought that forever after seemed to haunt me; was there not
some curse upon my grandfather’s huge property, which had been willed
my mother and I under such wicked conditions? For that Grandfather
Darringford’s will had been inspired by hatred of Dr. Webb, my father,
one could not doubt.

Had my father not been drowned as he was off White Rock, that will
of grandfather’s would have been the source of heartburnings in the
family. Human nature is human nature; the time would have come when the
fact that Dr. Webb was a stumbling-block to his son’s advancement, or
his wife’s ease, would have been advanced. That is, if my father had
remained all these years a poor man. And what else could he have been
with his practice in Bolderhead?

Men get stunted in small towns--especially professional men. Dr. Webb
could never have made much more than a miserably poor living for
mother and I had he lived; and all that time the thought of the great
Darringford Estate would have been the skeleton in our closet!

It was better as it was, I suppose. It had been a dream that my father
was still alive. I believe I would have gladly given up my share of my
grandfather’s money to have found that the mysterious man aboard the
frozen ship was my father! I had been strangely drawn toward that man.

Besides, I felt now as though I were old enough and big enough to make
my own way in the world, and to keep my mother in comfort, if not in
luxury, as well.

Dawn drew near and the stars began to fade. Soon the deck would be
a-bustle with our watch washing down. We had probably crossed and
recrossed the way of the Gullwing during the night, but she had not
been hailed from the lookout.

As the light of day advanced the wind fell. We hardly made steerage-way
in the pearl-colored light of dawn. The coming day is heralded ashore
by hundreds of feathered trumpeters; but here on the open sea it
advances with silence.

Far, far out on the sea, where the gently swelling water seemed
buttoned to the rim of the sky, a sudden flush appeared. The hue lay
upon both sky and sea--indeed, it was hard to distinguish for a bit the
one element from the other. But I knew the sun was about to poke his
head up just there!

And as the glow grew, a ghostly figure drew across the pink patch.
I watched it eagerly. The sun, mist-shrouded and sleepy, was thrust
out of the sea; and across the red face of him sailed a four-stick
ship--the Gullwing! It did not need the man in the crow’s nest to hail
the officer of the deck and announce the fact. I could identify our
sister ship from where I stood.

Long red rays like pointing fingers played across the sea. The Gullwing
and the Seamew were several miles apart. The early rays of the sun
touched an object on the sea--at first merely a black spot--lying about
equi-distant of the two ships.

When I first saw this black thing I sprang into the shrouds. Mr.
Hollister hailed me:

“What do you see, Webb?”

“Something adrift--yonder, sir!”

“Lookout, ahoy!” bawled the mate.

“Aye, aye, sir! I sees it.”

“What d’ye make it out to be?” demanded the mate.

“It’s the black hulk of an open boat,” I cried, as the seaman above
hesitated. I expect the rising sun half blinded him. “There’s a stump
of a mast and she seems decked over forward--no! it’s an awning.”

“A ship’s boat?” cried the mate, eagerly.

“Aye, aye, sir!” came down the voice of the man in the top. “That’s
what she be. And wrecked. Not a sign of life aboard her.”

“How is it, Webb?” Mr. Hollister repeated.

“I see nothing moving,” I admitted, slowly.

Mr. Hollister sent down for his glass, and then joined me in the
shrouds. The deck was all a-bustle by now. Cap’n Si came up, rubbing
his eyes and yawning.

“What’s the matter with all you lubbers?” was his pleasant demand.
“What’s that--the Gullwing? Ain’t you never seen her before?”

“Drop your eyes a bit, Captain,” advised Mr. Hollister, swinging down
after a look through his glass.

“Huh!” exclaimed the skipper. “A boat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Empty?”

“It looks so,” replied Mr. Hollister, and passed him the glass.

“Ain’t wuth picking up,” decided Cap’n Si, after a long look at the
drifting boat.

He closed the glass. Mr. Hollister waved me down and turned to order
the watch to work, when the man in the tops hailed again. He was in a
better position to see into the drifting boat than anybody else.

“I see something moving in that boat, sir!”

“What do you see?” bawled Cap’n Si.

“It’s something fluttering--a flag, or a rag. There it is!”

There were light airs stirring. Suddenly something upon the broken mast
moved. A flaw of wind fluttered something fastened there. Was it a
signal of distress? Was some poor creature adrift in the half wrecked
boat?

I wondered what Cap’n Si would do. To ignore a flag of distress--to
pass by the opportunity of rescuing a fellow-creature from death--would
be an awful thing. Yet there might be nobody in the boat. I could see
the old man doubted.

And then the lookout hailed again:

“The Gullwing’s dropping a boat, sir!”

“That’s enough!” roared Cap’n Si, all in a bluster at once. “I won’t
let Cap’n Joe do more’n me. Mr. Barney!” The second mate had followed
him on deck. “Call away a boat’s crew.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” was the second mate’s smart response.

“Beat the Gullwing’s boat to that barge. Understand me? You git there
first. I ain’t goin’ to let Joe Bowditch crow over me in Baltimore.
Mebbe the boat’s wuth savin’ after all.”

Before he had ceased speaking Mr. Barney had shouted down the fo’castle
hatchway and his watch tumbled up. I had slid down the stays to the
deck and was right beside the boat Mr. Barney had elected to launch. I
wanted to go in that boat, but I belonged to the mate’s watch and knew
I would not be selected.

CHAPTER XV

_In Which We Have a Good Race In Earnest_

And I had an idea that if I asked the captain to go in the boat, or
suggested it to Mr. Barney, I’d get an immediate refusal. I had a
decided belief that Captain Somes didn’t wish me to get aboard the
Gullwing again. Not that he needed my services particularly--although
my work was costing him nothing but my grub and the cast-off clothes I
had been given; but Captain Si feared that Captain Joe needed me, and
my remaining with the Seamew was crippling his rival. Which, by the
way, was likely to be the facts in the case.

So, with this scheme in my mind, I expect I was even more cautious than
was necessary. I might have been unnoticed had I jumped right into the
boat as it went overboard.

But when I heard Mr. Barney call off the men’s names, I noted that Job
Perkins was among the chosen. I had sized up Job for what he was. I
grabbed him as he passed me on the run and shot into his ear:

“Listen! ten dollars when we reach Baltimore if you’ll let me take your
place in the boat.”

“Huh?” said Job, wonderstruck for a moment. But it was only for a
moment. The old fellow had all his wits about him and in working order.

“It’s a bargain, boy,” he whispered, and the next moment he fell
sprawling over a coil of rope and scrambled up again right before Mr.
Barney.

“Hullo! what’s the matter with you, old man?” demanded the second
officer.

“Ow-ouch!” groaned Job, rubbing his arm.

“Hurt you?” snapped Mr. Barney.

“By gravey! I _did_ wrench my arm,” groaned Job, his face writhing with
an expression of pain.

I stepped in at once. “I’ll take his place, sir,” I said.

“All right!” cried the officer, without a glance, and I slid down the
falls and seized the bow oar.

In another moment the officer followed me, getting into the stern, and
we cast off.

“You git that boat for me, Mr. Barney!” bawled Cap’n Si, over our
heads. “Don’t you let them fellers from the Gullwing beat ye.”

“We’ll do our best,” responded Mr. Barney, waving his hand. Then to us
he said: “Give way, men! See what you can do. Bend the ash!”

Before we had left the deck of the Seamew we knew that the Gullwing’s
boat was off ahead of us. It looked as though the drifting boat was
about as far from one vessel as she was from the other. The air being
so light, we would have lost time trying to beat down to the spot. The
race was between the six-oared boats, and I do not believe any college
regatta was ever pulled amid more intense excitement.

At first, however, as we were so low in the water, we could not see our
rival. Nor could we scarcely observe the object of our race.

But over these gentle waves we could pull a mighty stroke, and I found
that the men with me at the oars were practiced hands. The strokeman
set a pace that made us bend our backs in good earnest. This was a race!

Mr. Barney was using a steering oar, and using it well. He stood up to
the work, and therefore he could see much farther than we at the oars.
By glancing now and then over my left shoulder, however, I could see
the black hulk of the drifting boat rising and falling upon the gentle
waves.

And at first I saw nothing about the boat to express life saving the
fluttering rag. It was a flag. After some minutes of hard pulling it
was revealed to us that it was a British flag, set union down.

As I pulled I saw that Mr. Barney was looking across at some other
object than the mysterious black craft. His eyes were squinted up as he
gazed into the rising sun, and the expression of his face was mighty
grim.

“He sees the Gullwing’s boat,” I thought.

“Pull, you fellows!” he suddenly barked at us. “Why don’t you pull?”

And we _were_ pulling. I could stand the pace for a bit longer, I
thought; but the stroke was certainly bending his back and driving his
oar with a vigor that left little more to be expected from mortal man.

“Pull!” yelled our mate. “Pull, or those lubbers will beat you to it.”

There was no feathering of oars, or any fancy work. This was just the
hard, deep pull of the deep-sea oarsman. We breathed heavily; the
sweat poured from our limbs; we neither spoke nor looked back over our
shoulders now. We became veritable pieces of mechanism, set to do this
certain stroke, and to do it until we broke down completely!

“Keep it up! Break your backs!” yelled the second mate.

I had an idea that there was an added incentive for Mr. Barney’s
excitement. His twin brother more than likely commanded the boat from
the Gullwing. But we at the oars could not see her yet.

Nearer and nearer we came to the drifting boat. Our craft sprang
through the sea at the end of every stroke. Had one of the oars broken
I believe we would have been capsized.

Once more I glanced around. Not a sign of life in that floating mystery
with its signal floating from the broken mast. But there _was_ a bit of
canvas spread forward of that mast, like an awning.

Mr. Barney saw me look back and he swore at me good and plenty.

“You want us to lose this race, you sawney!” he exclaimed.

I was convinced that, for his part, he was more anxious to beat the
Gullwing’s crew--and incidentally his brother--than to save any life
there might be remaining on the wreck.

But perhaps I misjudged Mr. Alfred Barney. We were all excited. Even
I, who had no reason for wishing to see the Seamew’s boat win, pulled
my oar with every last ounce of strength I possessed. Mr. Barney had
accused me without warrant of trying to throw the race.

The two racing boats were not head-on to each other, but were
approaching the wreck at an angle that now brought each in sight of the
other. When the Gullwing’s boat flashed into the range of my eyes I saw
half a dozen of the men I knew. There was Thankful Polk, heaven bless
him, and Mr. Jim Barney at the steering oar. The sight of them made me
feel good all over.

But I could not see the wreck now without twisting my head around. And
if I did that I knew I should bring the wrath of our second mate upon
me. The Gullwings cheered. For a moment I did not know what for. Could
they be winning?

And then Thank’s jolly voice reached me across the stretch of sea:

“Hurray, Clint! Go it, old boy! You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

But I had no breath with which to answer. And I reckon if he had been
pulling his oar as I was, he would not have been so boisterous.

The strain of the last few minutes of the race was terrific. My breath
came in great sobs, and I heard the other men with me groan as they
strained at the heavy oars. We were about all in.

“Pull, you tarriers!” barked Mr. Alf Barney again.

“Keep it up, boys!” yelled Mr. Jim Barney in the other boat.

I saw scowling looks exchanged between the twin brothers. It must be
true, as Job Perkins had said, the two Barney boys were deadly enemies!

Then suddenly our cox shouted: “In oars! Way all!”

I felt the nose of the boat bump something behind me. I dropped my oar
and turned to seize the broken gunwale of the drifting hulk we had
pulled so hard to reach. We of the Seamew had won the race.

CHAPTER XVI

_In Which I Return to the Gullwing--and With My Arms Full_

I hadn’t breath enough left at first to answer Thankful Polk’s hail.
And when my eyes fell upon the contents of the drifting boat that we
had pulled so far to reach, what I saw was not calculated to aid me to
easy breathing. Lying upon his back, face upwards, in the glare of the
morning sun, lay a man, bareheaded and barefooted, dead.

And such an awful death as he must have died! His face was quite black,
although he was a white man by nature, it was as though the blood had
been congested in his face. His tongue had protruded slightly from
between his firm, white teeth. His legs were drawn up as though in a
convulsion and the corpse had stiffened that way. His limbs had not
been composed by any kindly hand after the spirit had left its body.

He was a sailor. There was tattooing on his chest and arms. He had a
short, bushy beard. I believed at first glance that he was a British
seaman. And almost at this first moment of glancing into the boat I
made another discovery. I learned how the man had died.

His tongue was not black; and although he was much emaciated, neither
thirst nor hunger had hounded the sailor to his dreadful end.

He wore a gully slung by a lanyard around his neck. That knife was
twisted tightly in the cord, and the cord itself was imbedded in the
flesh of the dead man’s throat. Actually a tournequet had been made of
the knife and cord, and the sailor had been strangled. He was a horrid
sight, as he lay with his feet to the empty stern and his touseled head
thrown back over a seat.

Perhaps many of the details of this awful scene were a matter of later
observation; but it seems to me now as though everything about the dead
man was photographed upon my brain at the first glance.

And then my gaze roved beyond him. There was a piece of sailcloth laid
across the bow of the open boat beyond the stump of the mast. It was
dark under that awning. But right at the entrance lay something white
and gold.

Without waiting for any order from Mr. Barney, I stood up and leaped
into the half wrecked boat. I heard none of the other men speak a
word. All my attention was given to the object which my dazzled eyes
now rested upon.

A young girl--the prettiest, most appealing child I had ever seen--lay
under the awning. Her head was toward me. Her face was as white as
milk, and the blue veins showed plainly at her temples and were traced
along her throat. Her cheeks were without an iota of color.

She was all white--her face, her thin, ruffled dress--the bare arm from
which the sleeve had been pushed back to her elbow. All white, save
the great mass of her hair. That was gold--pure gold. Such a beautiful
child I had never imagined before. She was twelve or thirteen years old.

“What’s that you got there, Webb?” I heard Mr. Alf Barney shout.

I had dropped on my knees beside the unconscious girl. I saw that she
was only delicate and exhausted. There was a breaker of water lashed
to the gunwale right beside her, and a cup with water in it. I saw no
food; but I knew well enough that the girl was not dying of thirst. No
more than the sailor had died of thirst!

I gathered the girl up in my arms. She was a light weight. I thought
she sighed and her eyelids fluttered.

And then suddenly sounded a raucous bellow, in a strange tongue, from
within the decked-over portion of the boat. Something moved. I leaped
back and almost trod upon the dead man.

Out from under the awning crept a tall, lean, lithe brown man, dressed
in torn sailor togs, but with a dirty turban around his head. He was a
wild-eyed, yelling fiend. In a moment there flashed out of his dress,
from some secret place, a long, glittering blade. With this raised
above his head he bounded in his bare feet the length of the boat after
me.

At that moment the boat from the Gullwing scraped alongside the wreck.
As I whirled to escape this murderer, this boat was nearest to me.
Thankful Polk, his red face transfixed with horror, shouted to me:

“Here, Sharp! Quick! This way!”

Their boat was really nearest me. I leaped into it. Thank shoved off
with his oar and the boat and the wreck were separated by a growing
streak of sea.

The men in both boats all talked at once; and the two Mr. Barneys
shouted; but above all the uproar I could hear the frenzied shrieks of
the brown man in the turban.

“Come back, here, Webb!” cried the second officer in the Seamew’s
boat. “We’ll take that child with us.”

“Sit down, Clint!” commanded Mr. Jim Barney, quietly. “You’ll have us
swamped.”

I obeyed him quickly. Thank smote me a hearty blow between the
shoulders.

“Sharp! you’re a daisy! I knowed they couldn’t never drown you,” he
declared.

But I couldn’t reply to him. I still held the girl in my arms. There
seemed to be no good place there in the stern to lay her down. And she
was so frail, and soft, and pretty! I had never seen such a delicate
creature before.

We were still moving from the wreck and the Seamew’s boat, the men
backing water. There was a splash and a louder yell from the Seamew’s
men. I glanced over my shoulder. I could see the turbanned head of the
wild man and his thin, bare arms beating the water. He was swimming
desperately after our boat.

“That monkey’ll be drowned,” Thank cried.

“We kin get away from him easy,” said another of the rowers.

“He’ll be drowned,” I said to Mr. Barney. “We’ll have to take him in.”

“I reckon that’s so, Webb,” said the second mate. “The Seamew is
welcome to the old tub--and the dead man.”

The brown man came to the side of our boat, panting and moaning. He was
near spent.

“I believe he belongs to this girl and he thinks we’re running off with
her,” said Mr. Barney.

“He’s crazy as he can be,” said Thank.

“Help him in. See that he doesn’t have that knife. If he doesn’t
behave, we can lash his wrists together,” said Mr. Barney.

The foreign looking man was hauled in. He lay panting on the bottom,
between Mr. Barney and I. We were being hailed from the other boat.

“Let that Webb come back with us, you fellows!” cried Mr. Alf Barney.
“Cap’n Si will be furious.”

“He belongs to the Gullwing,” said our Mr. Barney, promptly. “You can’t
have him.”

“We’ll see about that--”

“See about it, then,” said the officer, shortly. Then to his own crew
he said: “Give way, men! Altogether, now.”

We swept away on a graceful curve and headed for the Gullwing. Mr.
Barney nodded to me with a smile.

“You certainly had a close call for your life, Clint,” he said. “Luck
was with you when you went overboard from the Gullwing, after all.
Everybody gave you up for lost--save Thank there. He swore that if you
went to the bottom you could walk ashore, somehow.”

At that moment the brown man drew a longer breath and struggled to his
knees. Mr. Barney reached forward to seize him; but I saw that the
foreigner’s eyes glowed no longer with the wild light that had made him
look so savage.

“Sahib,” he said softly, “is Her Innocence safe? Is the Missee
unharmed? Is it well with her?”

I looked down at the child’s face. She was breathing quietly, but her
eyes were still closed.

“She is asleep. She does not seem to be harmed,” I said.

“Sahib! I was overcome. I had watched so long. Two long weeks have
we been in that boat. Water we had, but little food. That food I had
brought myself for Missee. One man become touched of the finger of the
gods and leaped overboard. The other desired the fragments of food
which only remained for Her Innocence. I felt myself fast losing the
thread of life. Then--the other man died.”

I knew what he meant. I understood how that man had been strangled by
the lanyard around his neck that the food might be saved for the girl.
I guess this strange man was pretty nearly a savage; but I believed
then--and I believe now--that he had done right.

“I--Dao Singh--then fell asleep, Sahib. I believed it was to be my last
sleep. But the Missee had her food and the water.”

“I see,” I said, for he spoke only to me, even ignoring Mr. Barney.
“Now you will both be saved. Our ship is at hand.”

“It is well, Sahib,” he sighed. “Dao Singh--is the Sahib’s--servant--”

He fell back into the bottom of the boat and his eyes closed. I feared
he had died then and there; but Mr. Barney bent over him, opened his
shirt, felt of his heart, and then nodded to me with encouragement.

“He’s asleep,” he said. “Just done up--plucky brown devil. A Hindoo,
I take it. These folks were from a British ship; but that boat had no
name on her.”

Half an hour later we pulled under the Gullwing’s rail. All hands were
there to eagerly welcome us. We caught the falls and they hauled us up
to the davits, heavy as the boatload was.

As we swung inboard I leaped down to the deck, still bearing the
unconscious girl in my arms.

CHAPTER XVII

_In Which We Learn the Particulars of the Wreck of the Galland_

Captain Joe Bowditch smiled down broadly at me from the poop as
I leaped to the deck; but when he saw the burden in my arms his
countenance changed queerly.

“What in the name o’ goodness you got there?” he barked.

“A little girl, Captain Bowditch,” I replied.

“A little--well! what d’ye think o’ that?” he gasped, waddling down the
ladder. “Ye didn’t git that aboard the Seamew? Nor out o’ the ocean
when ye went overboard, neither?”

“No, sir,” said Mr. Barney, who had followed me. “She is what we found
in that drifting boat--part of what we found, at least.”

“A gal! Moses ter Moses, and all hands around!” groaned the captain.
“Whatever will we do with a gal aboard the Gullwing?”

“I don’t see how we could have left her there, Captain,” laughed Mr.
Barney.

“Now, don’t ye cackle!” snapped the old man. “Why didn’t you leave her
for Cap’n Si? He’s a man that’s more used to female children than I be.
Why, Cap’n Si’s sister married a man whose brother got spliced to a
widder woman that had twin gal babies. He’s more fitten to take such a
responsibility than what I be.”

He looked as though he thought he had proved his case, too. But I was
too much worried over the condition of the pretty creature in my arms
to pay much attention to his growling.

And when the Hindoo was brought inboard, Captain Joe went off into
another fit. “Holy smoke!” he yelled. “Another useless critter to feed.
Didn’t you leave nothin’ in that boat for the Seamew?”

“We left a dead man,” chuckled one of the men.

“Well--we could have buried him easy,” grunted the old man. “Take that
nigger below and find out what seems to be the matter with him.”

But his bark was a whole lot worse than his bite. He hurried away
to open the spare cabin for the girl, and I followed him into the
afterhouse, still bearing her in my arms.

Mr. Bates, who had the deck, came to look down upon her pretty, white
face as I started below.

“Bless her!” he murmured. “Have a care with her, Clint. Glad to see you
again, boy. Ah! that pretty one ought to bring us luck, sure enough.”

“Come right this way, boy, and lay her in the bed,” ordered Captain
Bowditch. “My! she looks bad--but pretty! Sh! is she asleep?”

And then the trembling lids, with their long golden lashes, opened
slowly. With her complexion and hair, I had expected to look into blue
eyes. But I was astonished to find that the little creature’s orbs were
a beautiful, deep, deep brown, with golden sparks in their depths. My
face was so close to hers at the moment her lids parted that I could
see the reflection of my own countenance in the pupils.

“My soul!” murmured Captain Joe, looking over my shoulder, “she’s jest
the prettiest thing I ever see.”

Her wan face changed slowly. A faint color was breathed over it. She
gazed steadily into my countenance, and it was evident that I did not
frighten her. She put up one hand and touched my cheek. I tell you, the
touch thrilled me!

Then her eyes closed again, she sank deeper into the pillow, and was
again asleep.

“Here, boy!” croaked the master of the Gullwing, trying to speak
softly. “You run and tell the doctor to kill a chicken and make some
broth--strong broth, now. Don’t want no ‘phantom soup’--suthin’ that
tastes like a chicken did more than wade through a gallon of water on
stilts. If he don’t make it good I’ll be in his wool!”

I ran to do his bidding. I knew very well that the little girl would
have the very best of everything there was upon the big schooner.

In the dog-watch I held a regular reception. The men were eager to hear
the story of my adventure overboard, and old Tom Thornton declared I
might live to be “a second Methuserlum” and never experience a closer
call than that. Old Stronson shook his head.

“De poy iss fey,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“He’s sure a lucky youngster,” declared Bob Promise. “No wonder he got
the best of me when we had our set-to.”

Thank and I had much to talk over. I know my chum had suffered in
spirit when it seemed that I was drowned. He never would admit to the
others that he had given up hope of seeing me again. Now he clung close
around me and did not seem to want to let me out of his sight--not
even long enough for me to go down to take a look at Dao Singh.

“Let that Jasper be, Sharp,” Thank drawled. “You can’t kill a nigger
easy--sleep won’t hurt him. If he was pretty near two weeks on watch in
that boat, no wonder he’s all in.”

“He is a faithful creature,” I said. “And he must love his mistress.”

“That Jasper’s taken a fancy to you, too,” Thank said. “You’re ‘it’
with him.”

I did not realize at the time how very right Thank was, and what it
meant to be canyonized by Dao Singh.

The report came forward that the little girl had taken some of the
broth the cook had made, was seemingly satisfied with her surroundings,
and had gone to sleep again. Mr. Barney told me that Cap’n Bowditch was
peeking in at her every hour or so, and that it was plain the old man
was prepared to get down on the deck and let his little visitor walk on
him--if she so desired.

But in the morning watch they called me and I found that the girl
wanted to go up on deck, but had asked to be lifted by the boy who had
taken her from the wrecked boat. She remembered me, then! And I had not
really supposed she had seen me until after I had lain her down in the
berth and she had opened her eyes.

She had had some breakfast. There was a little flush in her face. She
looked much brighter, and when she saw me she smiled delightfully.

“I know your face!” she said, and although her voice was weak, it
was as sweet as a tinkling silver bell. “I was sure I could not be
mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” I asked, puzzled.

“Yes. You were the boy I saw before--oh, long, long before I came here.”

That puzzled me, and I suppose my face must have shown my surprise. She
laughed--a pretty, resonant chime. I fell for that voice of hers!

And then what she said about seeing me so long before got me going, too.

“Say, you never saw me before I got you out of that boat,” I declared.

“Oh, yes, I did,” she returned, confidently. “I haven’t been aboard
this big ship long, have I?”

“Only since yesterday,” I admitted.

“That is what the nice captain told me,” she returned, as though
satisfied.

“Then you’ve seen me just once before. When I brought you below
yesterday.”

“But you took me out of the boat?”

“Yes.”

“And held me all the time we were getting here?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“I knew it,” she breathed, smiling up into my face again. “I knew it
couldn’t be all just a dream.”

The captain had fixed a chair himself, with blankets and the like, in
the shade of the afterhouse. There I laid her down and then, having no
further orders, would have gone forward to my own place. But she clung
to my hand.

“You sit down here on the deck beside me, tell me your name, and all
about you,” she said. “For although I saw you so long ago, I never
learned who you were.”

I looked up at Mr. Gates and the Captain and slyly tapped my forehead.
I believed she was lightheaded. The old man nodded and said, gruffly
enough, for he was deeply moved:

“You stay with her, Clint. Do jest what she wants ye to.”

“Clint?” she repeated, questioningly. “Is that your name?”

“Clinton Webb,” I replied.

“Clinton is pretty. You are English?”

“I should say not!” I exclaimed. “American.”

“Oh, yes! I am an English girl; but I have lived in British India most
all my life.”

“That’s it, Miss,” I said, knowing that the captain and mate were dying
to hear her story. “You tell us all about it. How did you come in that
boat? And what vessel was it that was wrecked?”

“We sailed in the Galland, a big steamship, from Calcutta,” said the
girl softly. “I was with friends. They were taking me home--‘home’
means England to all British India people who are white.”

“Then you were going to relatives?”

“I do not know. I am not sure. My father had some people--_once_. But
they treated him unkindly, I believe. He had not heard from them for
years. My father was Captain Erskin Duane. He died very, very suddenly.
My mother had been a long time dead,” and the tears now began to fill
her eyes and creep down her pale cheeks.

“Friends who were about to go to England took me on the Galland with
them. These were Mr. Suffix, and Mr. and Mrs. Traine, and Cecelia
Traverstone.”

“Were they saved?” asked Mr. Gates, quietly.

“I do not know. I think not. I think the steamer’s boilers blew up and
smashed most of the boats and liferafts, so that few were saved,” said
the girl, simply.

“You poor child!” breathed Captain Bowditch, blowing his nose right
afterward like a fog siren.

“I am Phillis Duane,” she said, after a moment. “I traveled with my
_ayer_ and Dao Singh, who would not leave me when father died. He had
always served the captain. We lived up country from Calcutta. I do not
think that my father was very well acquainted with the people I sailed
with, after all. I was alone, and they were just kind to me.”

“And you don’t know what you were going to do when you reached
England--whom you would meet?” queried Mr. Gates, gravely.

“No. It was all in the hands of my friends,” she said, shaking her
head. “And I am quite sure they never got away from the Galland. I
would not, had it not been for Dao Singh.”

“That nigger, eh?” grunted the captain.

“He is a Hindoo. He is a very intelligent man in his own language
and among his own people. I have heard my father say so. I fear he
sacrificed his caste by attending on the captain--and on me.”

“But he saved you from the wreck?” I urged, keeping her to the story of
the wreck.

“Yes. When the boilers blew up (the steamship had been afire all night)
Dao Singh ran into the cabin and hurried my _ayer_ and me out on the
deck. Some men were lowering a boat. It was damaged some.

“Singh tried to put the _ayer_ and me in it. But I believe she must
have fallen overboard, or been pushed overboard. There was much
confusion. I was scared and cried. When I understood a little better
about matters, we were in the boat, drifting without oars, and the
Galland, all a mass of flames, seemed to be going down, stern-foremost,
under the sea.”

CHAPTER XVIII

_In Which I Become Better Acquainted With Phillis Duane_

There was little more to be learned, it seemed, about the actual
tragedy of the burned steamship. How the fire had been started she
could not say. She had been asleep. Her nurse, or _ayer_ awoke her at
the height of the stampede of passengers for the deck. Whether the
officers and bulk of the crew had been killed by the explosion, or had
abandoned the ship and her human freight, she did not know.

The Galland had been some months on the voyage, having circumnavigated
the world, when Phillis Duane and her friends boarded her at Calcutta.
She had touched at Chinese ports, and again at Tahiti. She was a
British tramp steamship and Phillis seemed to think that her home port
was Edinburgh. It might be that the lost girl’s friends were Scotch,
and that the friends she traveled with were likewise Scotch, and that
is why they had selected the ill-fated Galland to get home on.

“Do you suppose that nigger knows?” demanded Captain Bowditch, of Mr.
Gates, in a whisper.

“Doubtful if you get anything out of him,” returned the mate.

“Understands English, doesn’t he?” growled the skipper.

“And speaks it. But these Hindoo servants don’t really know anything
about the English sahibs they serve. The Britisher governs India in a
boiled shirt and evening clothes. He is about as human to the natives
as one of their own cast-iron gods. That’s how Johnny Bull has been
able to boss the several million of blood-thirsty inhabitants of his
colonies. No. The nigger wouldn’t be likely to know anything.”

“But why did he follow the girl to wait on her, then, Mr. Gates?” I
asked.

“Because he’s a nigger--an inferior tribe. That’s the nature of ’em.”

I did not believe it. I had never read that the people of Hindoostan
were particularly inferior to the whites. And Dao Singh looked to me
as though he knew a whole lot more than the ordinary European. I was
mistaken if he was not the best educated person aboard the Gullwing at
that moment!

But it might be that the Hindoo knew nothing of the cause of the wreck
and of what had become of her other passengers and the crew. Unless
some other boats had been picked up from the lost Galland, her case
was likely to be another of those unexplained tragedies of the deep
which fill the columns of our newspapers for a few issues and then are
forgotten--so easily forgotten!

The officers and I had held the brief conversation noted above when we
had withdrawn out of earshot of the little girl. The cook had brought,
her a beaten egg to drink as a “pick-me-up” between breakfast and
dinner. When she had finished it she looked around for me again.

“Go on, boy,” said the captain. “Keep her amused. Poor little thing.”

“And encourage her to talk with you, Clint,” advised Mr. Gates. “Put
what she says down in your log. If you do that, you may gradually get
together a connected story of what and who she is. Such information
will be valuable in aiding her to find her friends.”

I thought well of that idea, and promised to do so; though I wondered
how the mate knew I kept a log. I had taken notes of my adventures ever
since I had been blown out to sea on my little sloop, the Wavecrest;
but at this time I did not know what an aid to memory a log--or
diary--would be. By the way, a seaman never calls it “logbook;” the
daybook of a ship at sea is merely a “log.” One of the most popular
magazines published has a correspondence department called “The
Logbook,” and that makes the sailor smile!

I had no objection to being attentive to our little passenger. I judged
her to be a mighty plucky little girl. Of course, her father had been
dead long enough for the first of her grief to have been assuaged
before she had sailed from India. And the friends she had sailed with
had won her heart; therefore she had not loved them enough to miss them
much now.

She had endured privations in the drifting boat remarkably well. She
told me of the man that had gone crazy and leaped overboard. She did
not seem to know that the men aboard the boat with her had had no food.
I began to have a remarkably high opinion of Dao Singh. Yet I knew very
well that he had strangled the man I had found dead in the boat and had
been unable to throw the heavy body overboard.

There’s a vast difference between the negro race and the Hindoo, I
thought, remembering Mr. Gates’ words, “This Dao Singh is a remarkable
man, or _I_ am much mistaken.”

Mr. Barney came along and spoke to the little one, and she seemed to
like him--as I had--at first sight. Afterward the young second mate
talked a little in private with me.

“Mr. Robbins says she takes to you and is willing to talk with you,
Webb.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re trying to draw out from her her history?”

“I am, sir.”

“It’s a good idea. There may be some difficulty in getting trace of her
friends.”

“Well, she sha’n’t suffer, if her friends don’t turn up,” I said, with
emphasis. “My mother is rich and she will be glad to take Phillis
herself, I have no doubt.”

“That’s a good thing, too,” said Mr. Barney, heartily. “But you
understand, my lad, that there may be friends expecting the girl in
the Old Country, that she knows nothing about. We shall have to report
the case to the British consul at Baltimore, and he will look up her
folks--if she has any. In case there should be none, somebody might
have to step in to save the child from being sent to an institution--in
England, I presume. They would scarcely send her back to India.”

“Not much, sir!” I exclaimed. “They will have to show pretty good
grounds for taking her from mother----”

“Why, you don’t know whether your mother will take her or not,” laughed
Mr. Barney.

“Yes she will,” I assured him. “She’d love to have a girl like Phillis.”

And I had no fear on that score. Mother couldn’t help but fall in love
with such a dear little thing as Phillis Duane. I was glad to see that
Phillis seemed fond of me, too. I had never had a sister, and it struck
me just then that a sister was what I had missed all my life!

We were getting on fine together and she was chattering to me just
as though she had known me for years, when I spied a figure coming
waveringly down the deck from the forward house.

“It’s poor Dao Singh!” exclaimed Phillis. And then she called to him in
her sweet voice; but what she said none of us could understand as it
was in his own tongue.

He glided rather than walked along the deck. Somehow he had obtained
clean garments; and he had washed his turban. Altogether he looked very
neat and trim. But he was very weak and cadaverous. That Hindoo had
come pretty near starving to death, and no mistake.

When he had spoken to the girl in reply, bowing low before her, he
turned quickly to me. I was not only astonished, but I felt mighty
foolish when he dropped gracefully on his knees and touched the deck
lightly with his forehead right at my feet.

“Dao Singh is the servant of Webb Sahib,” he said, softly.

“For the love of Mike, get up!” I gasped, and I heard Thankful Polk
giggling behind me, while Mr. Barney laughed outright. “You don’t want
to kneel to _me_.”

Singh arose and stood, with dignity, before me.

“Webb Sahib has but to command,” he said, quietly. “He is the friend
and protector of Her Innocence,” indicating Phillis with a scarcely
perceptible gesture. “His word is law to Dao Singh.”

“All right, if that is so,” I said, glad that he had spoken too low
for anybody else to hear. “If my word’s law, just you treat me with a
little less deference. I’m only a man before the mast on this ship,
and it won’t do to be kowtowing to me and treating me as you do the
Memsahib. That’s all right for _her_, Dao Singh; but I’m not used to
it.”

“It is as the Sahib pleases,” he replied, gravely. “He has but to
command.”

I began to wonder if a Hindoo, who was so enthusiastically my friend,
might not prove to be something of a nuisance in the end!

CHAPTER XIX

_In Which I Learn Something More About the Barney Twins_

The captain allowed Singh to wait upon his “Missee” to his heart’s
content, and I heard the two mates laughing over the fact that the
Hindoo insisted upon acting as steward and waiting upon the Captain
Sahib at table. The Old Man wasn’t used to having a man standing behind
his chair at meals and it near took his appetite away at first. But
Phillis being in the cabin and soon taking her meals at the first
table, pleased the officers immensely, I could see.

Forward, Singh was forever trying to do little things for me, and
learning that I thought a good deal of Thankful Polk, the Hindoo
included my chum in his voluntary services. He looked over our clothes
and mended them, and insisted upon doing our washing.

“That Jasper is just as handy as any house-broke nigger I ever saw,”
declared Thank. “My folks owned slaves before the war; but I don’t
know but being waited on by one is going to be too rich for my blood.”

Thank saw no difference between a Hindoo and a Negro; anything off
color was a “Jasper” to him. But it tickled him when Singh called him
“Polk Sahib.” With the other hands he was never familiar; but nobody
save Bob Promise treated him unkindly. Bob was a bully, and that mean
streak in him was bound to show on the surface every once in awhile.

Meantime the old Gullwing was snoring away up the coast of South
America. Not that the land was in sight, for we were miles and miles
off shore; but the course she followed was parallel to the coast. The
Seamew was not sighted for days at a stretch, and we did not know
whether she was ahead of us or astern. I had an idea, however, that
during the favorable weather she was walking away from us at a pretty
lively gait.

Since I had returned from my sojourn aboard the Seamew I thought that
Mr. Barney treated me differently. That is, when we were off duty and
chance threw us together. Before my accident I had put on the gloves
with him on several occasions, and he had been kind enough to say that
I was as good a sparring partner as he had ever had. We took up this
exercise again, as the weather remained so favorable.

He was curious about the attitude of the Seamew’s company toward us,
and whether they were as eager to win the race to Baltimore as were the
men aboard the Gullwing.

“More so,” I told him. “They mean to beat us if they can--from Cap’n
Somes all down the line.”

He threw off the gloves and said, with a side glance at me:

“My brother, too?”

“Yes, _sir_.”

“Just as eager as the others?”

“Just as eager, sir.”

He was silent a moment, as I got into my shirt, and then he shot at me:

“What did you think of my brother, Alf Webb?”

I was rather taken aback for a moment. Then I saw that he expected a
straight answer and I did not like to say that I did not like Mr. Alf
as well as I did him. So I stammered:

“I--I thought there was something troubling Mr. Alfred’s mind.”

“Aye?” returned Mr. Barney, cocking his eye. “There’s something
troubling both our minds, I reckon.” And then, after a moment’s
silence, he asked: “Will the Seamew beat us, Webb?”

“I hope not!” I cried. “But the spirit among the crew of the Seamew is
different from ours. Cap’n Somes would take any advantage he could to
beat us; so would Mr. Hollister and--and----”

“And my brother?”

“I--I am afraid so. That is the way it impressed me,” I admitted.

“Alf didn’t use to be like that,” said Mr. Barney, gravely. “But he and
I have been at outs for some time. It’s a bad, bad affair,” he added,
more to himself than to me. “And it’s Uncle Jothan’s fault. Confound
that old man, anyway!” he completed, with a good deal of emphasis.

Then it was just as Job Perkins had told me! The rivalry between the
Barney twins was fostered by their rich uncle. I had no comment to
make--it wasn’t my place. But Mr. Barney seemed to wish to talk to
somebody, and perhaps because I was so near his own age (he could not
have been twenty-three yet) and came from people who were more like his
own class, he warmed toward me for the moment. Perhaps, too, I am a
sympathetic listener.

“Alf and I,” said Mr. Barney, thoughtfully, “have always been more than
brothers. We’ve been _friends_. There’s a difference. We understand
each other fully--or always have until now. I never had any other chum,
nor did he. We have been just as close to each other all our lives as
the day we were born.

“I guess we had to be,” he added, thoughtfully. “There wasn’t anybody
else for us to get close to. Our mother died soon after we were born.
Father was lost in that old leaky bucket belonging to the firm, the
Timothy K.--named after T. K. Knight, who used to be head of Barney,
Blakesley & Knight before Uncle Jothan worked up in the firm.

“And that’s what makes the old man so crazy now. He wants a Barney to
take his place so that another Knight won’t boss things. He’s nutty on
it--that’s what he is!

“Uncle Jothan has had the care of us since we were small, you see. It’s
nothing to his credit, however. Father left some property--sufficient
to give Alf and me our education and set us out into the world with a
little something to rattle in our pants’ pockets besides a bunch of
keys!

“Old Uncle Jothan tried to set us boys at each other long ago. He tried
his best to set one off against the other--to make Alf sore on me, or
me sore on Alf. We didn’t see what he was getting at, at first.

“But he didn’t succeed very well. He made his favor, and his money, and
his influence an object for us to struggle for. As it happened, we just
wouldn’t struggle. We would not be rivals. What one had, t’other had.
And that satisfied us--until last year,” and Mr. Barney shook his head
dolefully.

“When we got our tickets the old man was crazy to find out if one of
us passed better than another. We were about equal, I reckon. What one
knows about seamanship, the other knows. In navigation I’m sure we
stood equal.

“That didn’t satisfy Uncle Jothan. The last day we saw Baltimore he had
us to breakfast with him. He was more ornery that morning than ever
before.

“‘You two boys make me sick!’ he said to us. ‘I believe you try your
blamedest to keep even in everything.’

“‘And what if we do?’ I asked him. ‘Ain’t that as it should be? We’re
twins.’

“‘You’re a pair of twin fools,’ says he, with his usual politeness.
‘One of you don’t know which side of his slice of bread the butter’s
on.’

“I looked at mine. ‘The top side,’ I says, ‘so far,’ and Alf laughed.

“‘And you’ll find it butter side down, if you don’t have a care,’
snarled Uncle Jothan. ‘I got about tired of waiting for one of you to
show some sense. I tell you there’s only room for one of you in the
firm, and that one is going to handle my money. The other is going to
be a poor man all his life.’

“‘Which one’s going to be poor, and which one rich?’ Alf asked him.

“‘You might as well tell us which will be rich, Uncle,’ I said,
laughing. ‘For if it’s Alf, then I can begin to borrow from him right
now.’

“‘That’s right,’ says Brother Alf. ‘What’s mine is yours.’

“That really made the old man mad, I expect. He pretty near gnashed his
teeth.

“‘I believe I’ve got a pair of totally condemned fools for nephews!’ he
yelled, only he put it even stronger.

“Oh, he was mad! I saw that we’d gone too far with him.

“‘Never mind, Uncle,’ I said, soothingly. ‘We’ll both do our best for
you----’

“‘And your “best” will be just exactly alike,’ he cried. ‘When you
get your mate’s tickets it will be the same, and in the end I’ll have
a couple of masters of windjammers as near alike as old Somes and
Bowditch. What one can do the other can do. Ye stood just the same in
your books at school, and you stand just the same in your rating at
sea.’

“I expect the old man was pretty well heated up. But we just laughed as
though it was a joke.

“‘I tell you what,’ says he, pushing back his chair. ‘You sha’n’t fool
me no more. One of you is going to take his place in the firm at the
end of this v’yge you are beginning. One of you will win and the other
will lose. And I’ll never let a penny of my money get into the hands of
the fellow that loses.’

“Oh, he was quite in earnest, we could see. Alf looked at me and shook
his head. It was past laughing at.

“‘The Gullwing and the Seamew,’ says uncle, ‘are putting to sea on the
same day. They will practically make the same voyage. Now listen to
me! Whichever of you boys steps ashore at Baltimore at the end of the
voyage, that boy will be my heir, and the other sha’n’t have a cent.
Now, that’s final. One of you has got to win, whether you want to, or
not. I’ll settle it myself.’

“And with that he walked off and left us, too mad to even bid us
good-bye,” said Mr. Barney.

CHAPTER XX

_In Which Phillis Tells Me of Her Dream_

I thought Mr. Barney had finished his story, he was so long silent. I
saw, however, that he was still thinking of his brother, and I was not
sure whether he was expecting a word of sympathy, or not. I reckoned he
had been talking more to relieve his mind than for any other purpose.
And finally he went on with it:

“Alf and I talked it over as we walked down to the docks. I told him
I was sick of Uncle Jothan’s nagging. I wished he’d pick the one he
wanted and close the discussion. I believed the price we’d have to pay
for his money was too great, anyway.

“‘But money’s a good thing,’ says Alf. ‘And Uncle Jothan has got a good
deal of it.’

“‘I believe too much money spoils folks, Alf,’ says I.

“‘We could stand some spoiling,’ he returns, laughing.

“‘Look at uncle himself,’ says I. ‘He’s spoiled.’

“‘I’m not afraid of being spoiled by it,’ says Alf.

“‘I believe it would hurt you as quick as anybody,’ I told him. And
that riled him, though I had no thought that it would.

“‘Speak for yourself, Jim,’ says he. ‘Money’s worth going after.’

“‘We’ve had everything equal so far, Alf,’ says I. ‘I’m not hungry for
his money.’

“‘And I suppose you think I am?’ and then I saw he _was_ miffed.

“‘The one that tries to get the best of the other for the sake of Uncle
Jothan’s money, will show he’s hungry,’ I said.

“‘Then call it what you like, Jim!’ he cries. ‘I’m going after it.’

“‘How?’ says I.

“‘I’m going to beat you back to Baltimore,’ says he.

“‘I’ll be hard to beat,’ I told him.

“‘Wait and see!’ cried Alf, and with that he flung off from me and went
his way to the Seamew alone.

“I had to do an errand. When I got aboard the Gullwing the two
schooners were just about to pull out. It was then old Cap’n Si made
his bet with Cap’n Joe. I believe Alf put him up to it. When I saw
Alf in Buenos Ayres I told him so, and he didn’t deny it,” said Mr.
Barney, sorrowfully.

“When we met in the other ports we had words. I’m blamed sorry now, but
it’s too late to patch it up. I’ll tell you honest, Webb, I don’t care
who gets Uncle Jothan’s money and the job with the firm; but I’m going
to not let Alf beat me to Baltimore if I can help it.”

He went aft then without another word; but I did a good deal of
thinking about the friction between the two Barneys. Privately I liked
Mr. Jim Barney the better of the two; but it was a wicked shame that
the head of Barney, Blakesley & Knight should have set the twins by
their ears in this way. Money was at the root of the trouble. Mr.
Jothan Barney seemed about to devote his wealth to as bad a cause as my
grandfather had tried to devote _his_ property.

The Gullwing struck a streak of headwinds soon after this and we
wallowed along without making much headway. That made us all feel
pretty sure. It was a chance that the Seamew might have forged so far
ahead of us that she had escaped these contrary winds entirely.

Captain Bowditch was on deck almost all the time. His better seamanship
began to be displayed now. He took advantage of every flaw in the wind.
He had us making sail, and reefing down, most of the time, and Bob
Promise grumbled that we topmen had better stay up there in the rigging
all the time, and have our meals brought to us by the cook.

We saw nothing of the Seamew, and that added to our anxiety, too. Days
passed and we crossed the line, under the heat of a tropical sun that
fairly stewed the pitch out of the deck planks. Dao Singh seemed the
only person aboard that accepted the heat with good temper.

We rigged an awning for our passenger, and Phillis lived under it
both day and night. She was getting plump and hearty, however; surely
the voyage was doing her no harm. And she was the sweetest tempered,
jolliest little thing one could imagine. It cheered a fellow up and
made him ashamed to be grouchy, just to be near her.

She liked Thankful Polk, and he amused her by the hour. The officers
were pretty easy on Thank and I as long as we were with her. To me she
clung as though I really was her brother--and I was proud that she so
favored me.

Phillis told me much of her life in India--as far back as she could
remember it. She had come out from England when she was very small. On
her last birthday she had been twelve. But little that she could tell
me would help in finding her relatives--if she had any.

Her father, Captain Erskin Duane, had not been in active service. Not
as far as she knew, at least. He had been an invalid for months; but
had died very suddenly. There seemed to have been few army friends, and
the people she had sailed with from Calcutta she had hardly ever seen
before the captain’s death.

I had tried pumping Dao Singh about the private history of the little
girl; but either he knew nothing about the captain’s affairs, or he
would not tell me. He was as simple, apparently, as a child about his
own expectations. He had insisted upon accompanying the little Memsahib
in her voyage “because she needed him.” _Why_ he thought she needed him
he could not, or would not, explain.

For my part I told Phillis everything about myself, and recounted, from
time to time, all the adventures through which I had been since leaving
Bolderhead. I told her much about my mother, too, and about Darringford
House, and our summer home on Bolderhead Neck.

I assured her that I should take her at once to my mother when we
landed and that I knew my mother would be delighted to give her a home
with us. This seemed to please the little girl greatly.

“Then we shall really be brother and sister, sha’n’t we?” she cried.

“Of course,” I said.

“That will be splendid! For, do you know, Clinton, I think you are the
very nicest brother I could have picked out. You are just as nice as I
dreamed you would be.”

“There!” said I. “You have said that before. How do you mean, that you
_dreamed_ about me?”

“So I did. Only it was a dream that came true.”

“You mean that you dreamed of me when you were aboard that boat?”

“Oh, no! it was long before that. It was soon after we left Calcutta
that I saw you,” she said, confidently.

“Why, Philly!” I exclaimed. “That’s impossible, you know.”

“But I _did_ dream about you,” she returned, seriously. “I knew that I
was in a little boat. I thought I was all alone on the great ocean. And
I was frightened, and sick--just as I _was_ frightened and sick when
the time came. But you came to me, and told me you would save me, and
you held me in your arms just as you _did_ hold me afterward all the
way to this ship.”

She was so positive that she had dreamed it all before, that I saw
it was no use to gainsay it. And then, why should I contradict her?
Perhaps she had had some secret and wonderful assurance that she would
be saved from the wreck. I did not understand the clairvoyant part of
it, or whatever it might be; so I did not touch upon the subject again.

It was after that that the great gale struck us and the staunch
Gullwing was battered continually for a week. We ran almost under bare
poles for a time, and fortunately the gale favored us. But we lost our
mizzen topmast completely and some of our other rigging was wrecked.

Phillis had to remain below during this storm, and she was sick again.
She cried so for me that the captain--kind old man that he was--let
me go down to her whenever I could be spared from the deck. The child
seemed to feel that she was perfectly safe if I was with her.

Her constant trust in me made a strong impression upon my mind. Nor was
it an unpleasant impression. Nobody had ever leaned before on me as
this child did--not even my mother. It made me feel more manly and put
me on my very best behavior.

CHAPTER XXI

_In Which the Sister Ships Once More Race Neck to Neck_

That gale hit the Gullwing harder than any blow she had been through
(so Mr. Barney said) since she had left Baltimore. We could not do much
toward making repairs until the gale had blown out; we only cleared
away the wreckage aloft, reefed everything snug, and let her drive.

Captain Bowditch worried like an old hen with a mess of ducklings. I
don’t know when the old man slept. He was on deck every moment of his
own watch, and I could hear him often roaring orders during our watch
below.

This was the time when the fact that the Gullwing was short-handed made
the crew groan. It was up and down at all hours for us. If there was a
lull in the gale we were yanked out and sent aloft to risk an inch more
canvas. Cap’n Joe coaxed her along every chance he saw. The thought of
getting ahead of the Seamew obsessed the Old Man’s mind while he _was_
awake, that was sure!

We discussed our chances forward with much eagerness, too. The Seamew
had left us behind during the fair weather; we could make up our minds
to that. But now we had a better chance. The Gullwing was better
worked, short of hands as she was, than the Seamew.

I remembered vividly how Cap’n Si Somes hopped about, and bawled
orders, and seemed to get in his own way when a squall came up, or the
weather was unfavorable. He was a more nervous man that our skipper;
and, I believed, he was nowhere near so good a seaman. At least, I had
got that idea in my head, and comparing the actions of the two skippers
in a squall, I guessed any unprejudiced person would have accepted my
view as correct.

We came out of this blow at last, fair weather returned, and Phillis
had her awning re-rigged, and was able to come on deck again, although
the Atlantic billows were tumbling heavily.

All hands were busy on the new rigging. The captain had got up a spare
spar and Old Tom Thornton and Stronson, went to work on that. The
captain was determined to get up a new mizzen topmast and bend on new
sails. Every square inch of canvas spread to the favoring breeze would
aid us in the race home.

We had gotten now into the greatest ocean current in the world--the
Gulf Stream. Ocean currents are mysterious phenomena. The source of
energy required to set and keep the vast masses of water in motion has
been productive of endless discussion.

Temperature, barometric pressure, attractive force of the moon, have
all been advanced as bringing about ocean currents. Seamen believe that
it is the wind that brings about certain oceanic movements. But the
winds do not explain the reason entirely--not even in any single case.
As to the direct action of the wind on the surface of the sea alone,
it has been shown that with a wind blowing at twenty-five miles an
hour the surface water would have a movement of not more than fifteen
miles in the twenty-four hours! The Gulf Stream is the greatest of the
Atlantic currents, if not the greatest current on the wet portion of
the globe. It is really a wonderful river--a river flowing through an
ocean. Its temperature is different from the surrounding waters, it is
of a different color, and the edge of it can be noted almost exactly
wherever a ship crosses into or out of the Gulf Stream.

This warm current starts between the coast of Cuba and the Florida
reefs, and certainly with this mighty current the wind has absolutely
nothing to do. The force of the current is at its maximum strength
when it emerges from the Bemimi Straits, between the Bahama Bank on the
east and the coast of Florida on the West. Between Fowey Rocks and Gun
Gay Light the average depth of the Gulf Stream is 239 fathoms, and it
runs at a speed of fifty miles in the twenty-four hours. Occasionally,
under particular circumstances, it will speed up to a hundred miles in
the twenty-four hours. Little wonder that homeward bound windjammers
are glad to strike the Gulf Stream. After we crossed into the clear
azure of that current there was a steady tug on the Gullwing’s prow.

“The women-folks are pullin’ her home with their apron strings,”
chuckled Captain Bowditch.

I rigged fishing tackle for Phillis and she caught some of the smaller
fish of the Gulf Stream--fish which cannot be caught in the waters
even a short distance outside of the line of the current. They were
brilliant trunk-fish, and angel-fish, and the like; not edible, but
interesting to look at.

Shark were plentiful, too, and followed the ship like dogs, to fight
for the scraps the cook flung overboard. Thank got a big hook and about
a pound of fat pork (he could wheedle anything out of the black cook)
bent on a strong line, and we trolled for shark.

We caught one about eight foot long; he was an ugly beast, and fought
like a tiger when we got him onto the deck. He would snap at a
broomstick and bite it through as neatly as we could have cut it with
an axe. A sailor hates a shark just as the ordinary man ashore dislikes
a snake.

“I tell you what we’ll do with him,” said Bob Promise, chuckling. “I
seen it done on the old Beatrix two years ago. We ‘belled the cat’
with an old he shark, and it’s an all right trick to play on the dirty
critters.”

“How d’ye do it?” asked Tom Thornton.

“Lemme have that broken broomstick,” said Bob, grabbing it. “Now
watch--when he snaps at me.”

The huge fish, lying on its side, with its wicked eye watchful of us
all, opened wide his jaws when Bob Promise approached. The bully was a
reckless fellow, and as the shark snapped open his jaws he thrust his
hand and arm into the cavity and thrust the stick upright, far back in
the beast’s throat.

Thank actually screamed aloud, and I felt sick--I thought sure the
foolish fellow’s arm would be snapped off between the closing jaws.

But the shark couldn’t close his jaws! That was the trick of it. The
stick was thrust upright, sticking into the roof of the great mouth and
into the root of the tongue. The fish was “belled” indeed.

There it writhed upon the deck, thrashing its strong tail about, its
wicked eyes rolling, and evidently in awful agony.

“Now pitch him overboard,” laughed Bob Promise. “He’ll live some time
that way--mebbe till he starves to death or until some of the smaller
fish pitch upon him and eat his liver out. Ugh! the ugly beast!”

Somebody took a turn of the rope around the fish’s tail and in a moment
the shark was swung up by the falls we had rigged. But while he hung in
the air and was about to be swung over the rail, Phillis ran up to us.

“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t do it! I saw you! How could you be so
dreadfully mean--Oh! Clint! how could _you_ do such a cruel thing?”

I had been thinking all the time that it was a blamed mean piece of
business; but I hadn’t had the pluck to say so!

“You stand away, Missee,” laughed Bob. “He’s all right. Overboard he
goes--plop into the sea--and it will be one murderin’ old shark fixed
jest right.”

“You shall not do it!” she cried, and she was so earnest and excited
that she stamped her little foot upon the deck. “It is wicked and
cruel.”

“Why, it ain’t nothin’ but an old shark, Missee,” growled Tom Thornton.
“He ain’t fit for nothing better.”

“He’s God’s creature. God made him,” declared the child. “You’ve no
right to maltreat him. It’s wicked. I won’t have it.”

She was so excited I was afraid she would get sick. I put in _my_ oar:

“That’s all right, Philly. None of us stopped to think of that side of
it. Lower away here, boys, and we’ll knock that prop out of his mouth
again.”

“No you won’t!” exclaimed Bob Promise.

I stopped and looked at him. “Why, sure, Bob, you don’t mind. If the
little girl doesn’t want us to do it----”

“Stow that,” said Bob, in his very ugliest tone. “That shark ain’t
hers. I put that stick there. I want to see the man that’ll pull it
out,” and he swelled up like a turkey-cock and acted as though he
thought he was the biggest man who ever stepped on the Gullwing’s deck.

But if he had been twice as big I reckon I should have stepped up to
him! To have anybody speak before Phillis as he did was not to be
endured. Thankful Polk flamed up, too, until you could have touched off
a match on his face. Old Tom Thornton reached an arm across and put me
back as lightly as though I had been a feather, and seized the rope
above Bob’s hand.

“Drop it, you landcrab!” he growled. Old Tom seldom got angry; when he
did we knew enough to stand from under!

And then appeared Dao Singh. How he had heard the racket I do not know.
Light as a panther, and with an eye wickeder than the shark’s own, he
slid along the deck and stood right at the other elbow of the bully.

“Let the rope go, as Webb Sahib say,” he hissed into Bob’s ear.

The bully was as amazed as he could well be and keep on his pins. He
stepped back and glared from Thank and me to Old Tom, and then around
at Singh.

“Holy mackerel!” he murmured. “Do the hull of ye’s want the blamed
fish? Then, take him!”

The watch burst out laughing. Mr. Barney had himself come forward, and
now he spoke.

“Get a harpoon, Webb, and kill the beast at once. That will settle the
controversy. I’m not sure that the little one isn’t right. We’re all
too big to torture even such a beast as a shark.”

That was the kind of influence Phillis Duane had over all of us. The
captain had her on the bridge with him and showed her everything he
did when he took the sun’s altitude, and all that. Mr. Gates talked
with her by the hour. Mr. Barney was forever finding something new with
which she could amuse herself. And the black cook and Dao Singh almost
came to blows over who should wait upon her the most.

Then came the day when, off Hatteras, we sighted another four-masted
ship. She crept out of a fogbank to leeward of us and it was some time
before we saw her clearly enough to be sure. That she was tacking
northward was the main fact at first which urged us to believe it was
our sister ship.

But in an hour it came clearer, and we could be sure. It was the
Seamew, standing in very prettily, and it was plain she had sighted us,
too. We tacked and her course brought her across our stern. We ran so
near the captains could hail each other. Old Cap’n Si waved his glass
and shouted:

“We’re about to bid you a fond farewell, Joe! Next tack will put us
ahead of you. That apple’s mine, by jolly!”

“Seems to me if I had such a great craft as the Seamew, I’d have got
farther ahead than you be now,” returned our skipper, with scorn. “I
reckon the race ain’t over yet.”

“It’s pretty near over. We got good weather comin’. The Seamew can walk
away with you in a fair wind.”

“All right. Brag’s a good dog, but Holdfast’s a better one,” said Cap’n
Joe. “Wait till we sight the Capes o’ Virginia.”

She was too far away from us then for Cap’n Si to shout again. The
rest of us had grinned or scowled at the men aboard the Seamew, as our
natures dictated. I had noticed that the boat found adrift with Singh
and Phillis in it, had been hoisted aboard the Seamew and was lashed
amidships.

Away we went on our tack, came about, and again neared our rival. The
Seamew was not pulling away from us much; the wind was heavy. The
Gullwing crept up on her and, finally, when the Seamew tacked again, we
did the same and she had no chance to cross our bows, even had she been
able to.

So we sailed, neck and neck, not half a mile from each other, both
ships plunging through the swells with a line of white foam under
their quarters, and well heeled over to the wind. Whichever won the
race--whether the Gullwing or the Seamew--it would be a good fight.

CHAPTER XXII

_In Which the Capes of Virginia Are In Sight_

We had a stiff wind blowing--half a gale, indeed--and when we raised
other sailing ships, their canvas was clewed down and some of them were
running under little more than stormsails. But neither the captain of
the Seamew nor of the Gullwing had any intention of losing a breath of
such a favorable breeze.

Our ship heeled over until her rail was under water; and she was laden
so heavily that this sort of sailing was perilous. Suppose some of the
cargo should shift? Where would we be? Well, just about there, I guess!

“Some day the old man will carry the sticks out of her completely,”
growled Mr. Gates to Mr. Barney.

“Well, let him!” exclaimed the second mate. “We’ve got to win this
time.”

“What for?” I heard the other ask, curiously. “Just so Cap’n Joe will
win his greening apple?”

Mr. Barney cursed the captain and his apple.

“You want us to win anyway, eh?” pursued Mr. Gates, in his slow,
thoughtful way. “No matter what happens to the Gullwing?”

“She’s insured; so’s her freight,” snapped Mr. Barney.

“It doesn’t matter if both good ships should founder and be lost?”

“I don’t give a hang!” exclaimed the younger man, bitterly, “as long as
the Gullwing goes down fifty fathoms nearer Baltimore than the Seamew.”

“And how about the crews?”

“Who’s thinking of men--or ships--just now?” demanded Mr. Barney.
“Aren’t both captains risking lives and property for a silly
competition? I’m no worse than they are.”

“And so, the rivalry of Cap’n Joe and Cap’n Si will excuse your own mad
determination to get to port first?” suggested Mr. Gates, quietly. “I
don’t believe you’ll feel that way, young man, twelve months from now.
And how about the little girl?”

“Pshaw! there’s no danger,” said Mr. Barney, lightly.

“I hope there will be no danger--no more than there is now, at least,”
said the mate, significantly. Then he saw me on lookout and said,
irritably: “Come away! This is no place to talk.”

I wondered what the mate thought Mr. Barney would do for the sake of
helping the Gullwing to win the race; but I heard nothing more of their
conversation. This occurred in the evening when we could just see the
ghostly sails of the Seamew as she stood on for us. Mr. Barney soon
after took the wheel himself, it being the captain’s watch. From that
point on to the end the second mate was more frequently at the wheel
than at any previous time during the cruise.

Day and night the two huge schooners ran almost even. Our skipper was
seldom off the deck. I don’t know when he found time to sleep. He never
lost a chance to make the most of a puff of wind. The men worked for
him eagerly and well; but they stood double watches.

Some of the small sails Cap’n Joe even had us dip overboard so that,
well wetted, they would better hold the wind. It was four bells in the
morning watch when the Seamew crossed our bow. She had been trying for
it for twenty-four hours, or more. And when she cut us off and we had
to take her white water, a groan of derision was raised by her crew.

We were sore--every man Jack of us. Cap’n Joe and Cap’n Si had it hot
and heavy from their respective stations.

“Better give us a line aboard so’t we can tow ye in, Joe!” bawled Cap’n
Si.

“You air mighty willin’ to give a helpin’ hand jest now, Si,” returned
our skipper, with scorn. “But it warn’t allus so.”

I saw Mr. Alf Barney at the Seamew’s wheel. He handled the ship
splendidly. When the Seamew came about on the other tack, her helmsman
met the waves just right and swung her over so that the sails scarcely
shook at all. She reared up on one tack, turned as it were on her heel,
and swept away on the other tack at a speed that sent the spray flying
high above her rail. It was a pretty sight.

Our Mr. Barney stood right beside me as I manipulated the Gullwing’s
helm. He watched the handling of our rival with lowering brow.

“Gimme that wheel!” he snapped, pushing me away and seizing the spokes.
The Gullwing was right in the eye of the wind. Cap’n Bowditch was
shouting his orders. If the Seamew had rounded prettily, the Gullwing
went her one better. We wasted less time hanging in the wind than the
Seamew.

“That’s the way to do it!” bawled our skipper, dancing on the quarter.
“By jinks, Mr. Barney, you handled that wheel well. Keep her so!
Steady.”

The second mate let me take the wheel again after a minute or two;
and his face had remained unsmiling all the time. He had merely been
determined to show them all that he could handle the big ship’s helm as
well in every particular as did his brother.

Our course was west-northwest now to the Capes of Virginia. The fresh
gale was out of the same quarter. Therefore we had to beat to windward
all the remainder of the race, and although the Seamew had gotten
a little the start of us, the Gullwing had a slight advantage. She
handled better to windward than her sister ship.

The Seamew stood off on one tack, we on the other. She disappeared
beyond the sea line, but standing in some hours later we found her
again--and finding her were pleased more than a little in seeing that
we had made something up on her. Our skipper’s shrewdness was telling.

I knew how it was with Cap’n Si; when things broke wrong for him he
paddled about the deck, cursing the hands and the wind and various
other things, altogether irrational. Whereas our skipper never lost a
trick, kept his head, and never gave an order he was sorry for--and
that last is saying a good deal.

We filled away once more and stood back to her. We were making distance
fast. Had we held on this time we should have crossed her wake almost
under her stern. The man aloft suddenly sang out:

“Land, ho!”

I heard the cry repeated in the Seamew’s tops.

“Cape Henry, sir!” shouted our man to the skipper.

“Aye, aye,” said Cap’n Joe, eagerly. “And when we tack back again we’re
going to cross ahead of the Seamew’s bow--and the race will be over.”

He said it with enormous satisfaction. He believed it, too.

“Why will the race be over, Clint?” asked Phillis, who stood beside
me at the moment. “I looked at the chart. We’re a long way yet from
Baltimore. We are not in sight of the opening into Chesapeake Bay.”

“There are tugs waiting up there in the roads for us,” I told her.
“You’ll soon see their smoke. _They_ will race out for us, as we race
in for the port. We shall go up to Baltimore under steam.”

And my statement was scarcely made ere we saw in the far distance the
pillars of smoke from the stacks of the ocean-going tugs. The land
that had been merely a hazy line, grew more clearly defined, although
we were not approaching it directly. Soon I could point out to my
little friend the other cape guarding the mouth of the Chesapeake--Cape
Charles.

The tugs steamed out to meet us under forced draught. More quickly to
get in tow of the tug nearest us, which was coming already hooked up,
Cap’n Bowditch put the Gullwing about earlier than he had originally
intended. As we tacked, so did the Seamew.

“She’s afraid to give us an inch,” laughed Mr. Barney, taking his place
beside the wheel again, and looking up at Mr. Gates.

“It’s nip and tuck,” returned the first mate. Then to the skipper he
said: “Shall I make ready to take the tug’s hawser, sir?”

“Right-oh!” declared Captain Bowditch. “And be lively with it. We’re
too close to fool away a moment. I hope we get the fastest tug.”

“She’s the Sea Horse, Cap’n!” bawled down the man aloft.

“Smart tug, she is,” agreed the skipper.

“And I believe that’s the Comet makin’ to meet the Seamew.”

“Both Norfolk Tug Company’s craft--and good ones. I wouldn’t give a
dollar bonus either way on ’em, would you, Mr. Gates?”

“They’re just as near alike as the Seamew and the Gullwing are alike,”
agreed the mate, and went forward.

We were standing in now directly for the channel. The Seamew was headed
likewise. We were bound to pass close to our sister ship--so close
that, as the moments slipped past, I began to feel some disturbance of
mind.

Heaven knows the ocean was broad enough; but the two skippers were
obstinate and eager. One would not be likely to want to give way to the
other. And moment after moment the two great ships, their canvas filled
and the white water split in great waves from their prows, rushed
closer and closer together.

CHAPTER XXIII

_In Which We Face Death by the Breadth of a Hair_

I had walked forward, anxious over the situation of the sister ships.
Tom Thornton was right by my side, for Mr. Barney had taken the wheel
himself.

“In case of doubt,” I asked Tom, “who gives way--the Seamew or the
Gullwing?”

“Why, the Seamew, of course,” growled Tom.

“Are you sure?”

“I be,” he said, emphatically. “No gittin’ around it. It has to be her
gives way--not us. Both of us are close-hauled, that’s a fact; but we
on this tack has the right of way. The Seamew’s got to come about and
give us the road.”

“She don’t look like she would,” I said, gravely.

“Of course she will!”

“Then she’ll miss meeting the other tug this time. It will give us a
big advantage.”

“Don’t ye suppose our skipper knows that?” returned Tom, with a wide
grin. “That’s what he aimed to do. Oh, Cap’n Joe is a cleaner, now I
tell ye!”

It did look to me as though the two great ships were rushing together.
If they had been two old-time frigates, aiming to come to a clinch and
the crews ordered to “board with cutlass,” the appearance of the two
could have been no more threatening.

The Seamew’s men were grouped along her rail and swinging in her lower
shrouds, watching us; and every person aboard the Gullwing, including
the cook, was on deck. I heard Captain Bowditch growling to himself:

“What does that lobster mean? Ain’t he goin’ to give us no seaway?”

Mr. Barney had taken the wheel of the Gullwing. I saw that his brother
was already glued to the spokes of the Seamew’s wheel.

“’Ware what ye do there, Mr. Barney,” sang out Captain Bowditch.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Keep her steady.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

I caught old Tom by the sleeve of his jumper again.

“Cap’n Si don’t mean to give way!” I gasped.

“Wal,” said the old seaman, reflectively, “it’ll be up to him if he
doesn’t.”

“But----”

“It ain’t our place to give that blamed Seamew the whole ocean.”

“But if the Seamew _won’t_ give way?” I repeated, vainly.

“What! Not give way! That’d be foolish,” growled old Tom. “A man can go
bullying his way ashore, pushin’ folks inter the gutter and all that,
if he’s big enough--like Bob yonder. But a captain can’t do that at
sea. He’d only git what’s due him. He’ll _have_ to give way.”

Yet no order was given from the Seamew’s quarter; nor did our skipper
say a word. I could not believe that Captain Bowditch, even with the
sea-law on his side, would risk his beautiful ship and the lives of her
crew. Yet if the Seamew continued to run in on us much longer we would
have to fall off, or collide with her.

Little Phillis was sitting calmly under her awning, busied with some
pieces of sewing--for she was a housewifely little thing. It struck me
that an awful death was threatening the innocent child, and I moved
toward her. Thankful Polk was working his way along the deck in the
same direction, too.

Captain Bowditch glanced at the child under the awning. If he had had
any desperate intention of keeping on, whether or no, so as to pick up
his tug ahead of the Seamew, I believe the presence of Phillis Duane
restrained him. His hard old face changed.

The Seamew was holding on. She was going to force us. The old man
jumped to the rail and motioned with his arm for the helmsman of the
Seamew to keep off. But Mr. Alf Barney’s gaze rested only on the face
of his brother at _our_ wheel; and Captain Somes never gave an order.

Captain Bowditch turned and yelled:

“Keep off! keep off, I say! D’ye wanter wreck us?”

He started for the wheel. I do not know whether our Mr. Barney obeyed
the order--or tried to obey it. The two great ships, their canvas
bellied with the strong gale, seemed to sweep together as though they
were magnetized!

It may have been explained by the fact that we were so near each other
that one took the wind out of the other’s sails. At least, the two huge
ships were no longer under control.

“I’m hanged if she ain’t got away from him!” I heard Tom Thornton
yell; but which ship he meant I did not know.

The Gullwing took a shoot. The Seamew took a shoot. Then the two ships
clinched!

Talk about a smash! It was the most awful collision one could imagine.
Two express trains on the same track, coming head-on, could have made
no greater explosion of sound. And it did seem as though no other kind
of a collision could have resulted in so much wreckage.

I grabbed up Phillis just before the ships came together, and dashed
for the companionway. But as I gained its shelter I saw the spars
raining from aloft on both vessels, with the canvas and cordage in a
perfect jumble.

It fairly shook the spars out of the Seamew. I believed, at the last
moment, that the Gullwing had sheered off. At least, she had taken the
blow on more of a slant. The wire stays upon our sister ship had been
torn away and her foremast came down and hung over the rail a complete
wreck.

Her other masts wavered. I could see that she was shaking like a
wounded thing; I believe she was settling even then. She had opened a
great hole in her hull forward. I could see the ragged, splintered ends
of the planks.

Our own damage and peril I could not gauge until I had set Phillis down
and rushed back to the deck. The old Gullwing was hobbling away from
her sister ship. Captain Bowditch was bawling orders from the bridge;
but I heard nothing but screams of rage and fear from the Seamew. _And
Captain Si Somes was no longer in sight._

“Axes, men!” roared our skipper. “Get aloft there! Cut away wreckage!
Clew up everything that ain’t torn away. Look alive, up there, Mr.
Gates.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” responded the mate from forward.

“Keep her steady, Mr. Barney!” commanded the captain.

I heard no response. I glanced aft as I worked my way up the backstays.
Mr. Jim Barney still stood at our wheel. He hung to the spokes and held
the ship steady. But a whiter face and a more miserable face I had
never seen upon mortal man.

CHAPTER XXIV

_In Which the Tragedy of the Racing Ship Is Completed_

League upon league of the sea--across and again across two oceans--the
sister ships had raced, to fall afoul of each other here almost within
sight of port!

While we aboard the Gullwing were cutting adrift the wreckage for dear
life, another mast--the mizzen--fell across the Seamew. She was down
dreadfully by the head. We could hear the roar of the water pouring
into the hole stove in her hull.

I knew Mr. Hollister’s voice, and he was shouting orders to the crew.
But nobody heard Cap’n Si speaking; nor was he in sight. I knew as
well then as I did afterward that, at the moment of the collision, the
master of the Seamew went overboard, sank, and never came up again!

Down came the aftermast of the Seamew; the mainmast was swaying. I
reckon the crew responded to Mr. Hollister’s orders not at all. I
heard the wail of:

“Boats! boats! take to the boats!”

But when they took another look at the wabbling masts, they waited to
launch no boat. With a few words but much action the crew went over
her rail, now almost even with the sea, and one after the other began
to claw out for the Gullwing which lay to not two cable’s lengths away
from the sinking ship.

But Mr. Alfred Barney held to the spokes of her wheel; he made no offer
to leave the Seamew, although Mate Hollister, like the men, was already
in the sea.

As I hacked at the steel cordage and broken spars I heard Captain
Bowditch shouting directions to the men below, and to the men in the
water. Ropes and life-buoys were flung to the seamen from the sinking
ship. In this comparatively quiet sea there was little likelihood of
any of them being drowned.

Mr. Hollister waited to see his hands drawn over the rail of the
Gullwing before he came inboard himself. But while this was going on
Captain Bowditch discovered the missing second mate still on the wreck.

“Come away from that!” he shouted to Alfred Barney. “Come on! Jump in!
We’ll haul you out.”

The young man made no reply, nor did he move from the wheel.

“Come away, you fool!” roared Captain Bowditch.

But Alfred Barney, like Jim Barney, seemed frozen to the spokes of
the wheel. The thought in my confused mind was: _Had the two brothers
deliberately wrecked the sister ships?_

The Gullwing had recovered from the shock of the collision. She was not
going to sink--at least, not right away. All her crew were inboard now,
and Mr. Hollister followed. Nobody spoke of poor Cap’n Si. We all knew
that he was missing. But there was a great to-do about Alfred Barney.

“What does that etarnal fool want to stay over there for?” yelled
Captain Joe to Mr. Hollister. “Is he a dummy?”

“He iss _fey_,” whispered old Stronson in my ear.

“Looks like it was his fault the ships came together,” said Bob Promise.

We had descended to the deck again now. Our upper works were in an
awful tangle; but we could do no more at present. The tug was steaming
in near to us now and it did not matter if we did drift.

All our eyes were fastened upon the Seamew. She was going down
steadily, head-on. Already her bows were being lapped by the waves
clear to the butt of the jib-boom.

Mr. Hollister sent another wailing cry across to the second mate at the
Seamew’s wheel; but the figure did not move, nor did Alf Barney make
any reply.

Suddenly our Mr. Barney left the helm. He just motioned to me, and I
grabbed the spokes. He sprang to the rail and held out both his arms to
his brother.

“Come! Alf, Alf! Come!”

Then it was that Alfred Barney turned his head and looked across at us.
His face, white as his brother’s had been, broke into a frosty smile.
He raised one hand and waved it to his twin. And then----

There was a roar of sound, a rush of wind, a yell in chorus from all
hands aboard the Gullwing, and the mainmast of the Seamew came rushing
down, astern! The great spar had been shaken loose and it fell with all
its weight along the deck of the laboring schooner. The topmast broke
off and sprang into the air, along with a tangle of steel cable and
shredded sails.

And when that topmast struck the deck again it wrecked the Seamew’s
wheel and pinioned Mr. Alfred Barney beneath its wreckage!

A general shout of horror arose from the Gullwing; but above it rang
the clarion tone of Jim Barney’s voice:

“Boat! Boat! Launch the quarterboat!”

Our men sprang to their stations; the young second mate gave his orders
quick and sharp. Captain Bowditch did not gainsay him. Mr. Jim Barney
had it all his own way.

His crew--the same that had manned the boat when she had picked up the
castaways--quickly took their places in the craft. She was lowered with
a plop into the sea.

“Give way, men!”

They bent to the oars like giants. The boat shot across the sea to the
fast sinking Seamew. I held the spokes of the Gullwing’s wheel idly and
watched. Indeed, the tug coming up to hook us attracted no attention
from anybody aboard our ship at that moment.

The Seamew was wallowing deep in the water now. Her head was under and
her stern was kicking up. She was about to dive like a duck to the
bottom.

Suddenly the air-pressure below blew off her forward hatch. Instantly
the waves broke across the deck and the water poured into the open
hatchway.

Swiftly and more swiftly she sank. When our boat came to the hulk, she
presented a steep side for one to mount from the small boat.

“Alf! Alf!” we heard our second mate yell. We could not hear that there
was an answer from the man under the wreckage of the topmast.

“Hold her in close, boys!” commanded Mr. Jim Barney. “Give me that
boathook!”

“You’ll be drowned, sir!” I heard Thankful Polk cry.

“She’s going down--she’ll suck us all under,” declared Bob Promise.

“Stand by, as I tell you!” commanded the second mate again.

In a moment he had fastened the boathook somehow, and went up hand over
hand. He seized the rail of the sinking ship. The small boat backed
away. I believe Bob Promise thrust her off with his oar.

“Look out there!” bawled Captain Bowditch, from our poop. “You’re
taking your life in your hand, lad!”

Mr. Jim Barney merely waved his hand, notifying the master of the
Gullwing that his warning had been heard. But he crawled right up to
the stern over that wreckage. He did not look back once.

And down settled the Seamew, lower and lower. She was under seas as
far back as the stump of the mainmast. The water boiled around her.
There was good reason for our men in the quarterboat to back off. Once
caught in the suck of the sinking ship, our men and their craft would
go under, too!

I saw Mr. Jim Barney spring over a pile of debris. He stooped, tore
away some of the wrecked stuff, and then stood up with his brother’s
body clasped in his arms.

For an instant I saw the white face of the unconscious man. There was
a streak of crimson on his forehead. Jim Barney looked down into the
countenance of his brother and the men in our quarterboat uttered in
chorus a long-drawn cry. The Seamew was going down.

Slowly, the eddying water seething about her wounded hull, the ship
settled.

“Jump!” shouted Cap’n Bowditch, leaning over the rail, his own face
pallid and his eyes aglare.

But that would not have saved them. Mr. Barney could not have leaped
far enough with his burden to have overcome the suck of the maelstrom
forming about the wreck. And it was right for the men in the small boat
to sheer off.

The wreck slid under the surface. Almost the last thing we saw was Mr.
Barney, holding his burden in his arms, his own face still bent above
the unconscious countenance of his brother.

CHAPTER XXV

_In Which a Very Serious Question Is Discussed_

The boat from the Gullwing was so near the maelstrom caused by the
sinking of the ship that her bow was sucked under and she shipped a lot
of water. We saw the boys bailing energetically.

Then Thank stood up and cast off his outer clothing and his shoes.
Bob Promise, who pulled the bow oar, followed suit. They each took
the precaution to lash the end of a line to one wrist before going
overboard. Where the Seamew had sunk was a circle of tossing waves, and
broken bits of wreckage were popping up from below in a most dangerous
fashion.

The suspense aboard the Gullwing and in the boat was great indeed as
the two young fellows went down. If the Barneys had been entangled in
any wreckage on the lost vessel, Thank and Bob would never be able to
reach them, for the sea at that spot is very deep, and the hulk of the
schooner would finally rest upon the bottom.

Mr. Gates had run back to the stern and stood beside me, gazing off
across the tumbling sea.

“God help the boy!” he muttered, and I knew he referred to our Mr.
Barney. “I doubt now he’d rather be under the seas than above after
this day’s work.”

“Do you believe it was Mr. Barney’s fault?” I whispered.

He started and looked around at me. I repeated my question.

“Was it Jim Barney’s fault?” he returned. “What do you think?”

“I don’t believe it. He sheered off----”

“Too late,” muttered Mr. Gates.

“Just as soon as the captain ordered him to,” I declared eagerly. “When
Captain Bowditch ordered him to ‘Keep off’ he swung her over. I saw
him.”

“It was too late then, I tell you,” declared the first mate of the
Gullwing.

“But how about Mr. Alf Barney?” I cried. “He held on to the course all
the time till she hit us.”

Mr. Gates said nothing.

“If it was anybody’s fault it was Mr. Alf Barney’s,” I repeated,
stubbornly.

“No. It cannot be laid to his fault in any case,” said the mate,
sternly.

“Why not, sir?” I asked.

“Because his captain gave no order. Captain Si had the deck. He was in
command.”

“Then Captain Bowditch is at fault, too,” I declared. “He did not speak
quick enough.”

“He gave the order quick enough,” returned Mr. Gates, gloomily, “but
Jim Barney hesitated. That’s where the fault lies. Jim Barney hated to
give the Seamew right of way, and he held us onto the course after he
was ordered to keep off. That’s where the fault lies, my boy--that’s
where it lies.”

At another time I do not suppose the mate would have discussed the
point with me, I being merely a foremast hand. But we were all stirred
up and for the moment quarterdeck etiquette was forgotten.

But in a moment there was a cheer raised in our little boat, dancing
out there on the swells. Thank’s head appeared, and one hand grasped
the gunwale of the boat. He dragged into view the two Barney’s, locked
in an embrace that could not be broken.

Bob Promise came to his help instantly. Together they held the twins
up. Both the Barneys were unconscious. Mr. Jim must have had a
frightful fight down there under the sea to hold to his brother and get
out of the strong suck of the settling wreck.

The brothers were hauled into the small boat, and then Thank and Bob
followed. As quickly as possible she was rowed back to the Gullwing.

Meanwhile the big tug Sea Horse had steamed up to us and rounded to
under our bows. The hawser was passed and Mr. Gates took charge of the
rigging of the bridle. Our skipper himself went to the rail to meet the
incoming boat.

“Good boys,” he said, warmly. “It’s a pity poor old Si warn’t found,
too.”

I wondered if that was so. It seemed to me that Captain Silas Somes was
the man mainly to blame for the tragedy. I could not believe that the
onus of it would be heaped upon our second mate.

The boat was hoisted in. Both the Barneys remained unconscious; but Mr.
Hollister and the captain declared they would be all right soon. Mr.
Alf Barney had not been seriously injured by the falling of the mast.
They were taken below and Mr. Hollister took charge of them, with one
of his own hands to help in bringing the brothers back to their senses.

The Gullwing quickly felt the tug of the hawser binding her to the Sea
Horse and with her sails clewed up she wallowed on through the choppy
seas into the broad mouth of the Chesapeake.

No need of aiding the steam-tug by hoisting sail. The race was over.
The Seamew had run her course and the Gullwing was the winner. But a
sorry winning of the race it proved to be.

Mr. Gates kept both watches at work for a time making the loose spars
secure. The steel stays that had been broken had to be reset, or we
might have one of our masts coming down as the Seamew’s had.

The work was done before the second dog-watch and then we had a chance
to sit down and fraternize with the men from the Seamew.

“What gave the old Seamew her ticket,” said Job Perkins, “was our
changing a live man for a dead one. When Clint, here, went over the
side and a man that had been garroted came back inboard, I knowed
we was in for trouble. And that ten dollars you’re to pay me at
Baltimore,” he whispered in my ear, “ain’t going to pay me for the
dunnage I lost.”

“How d’ye s’pose that feller got strangled with his lanyard?” demanded
another of the Seamew’s men.

“Ask that nigger they’ve got aboard the Gullwing here,” growled
another. “He knows. And he’ll hafter tell it to the consul.”

But I made up my mind that, if it were possible, Dao Singh should not
be obliged to go before any court, or any consul, to explain that
matter. The fact was, there wasn’t anything he could explain. Under a
dreadful provocation he had killed the sailor. But I doubted if his
excuse for committing the act would be accepted by the law.

The men were mainly interested, however, in the circumstances
surrounding the collision of the sister ships and the sinking of the
Seamew. The great question was: Who was at fault? But we conducted
the discussion in very low tones, that the officer on deck might not
overhear us.

“Talk as ye please,” grunted Job Perkins. “If two other men--men that
warn’t Barneys--had been at the helm of the two ships, there wouldn’t
never been no trouble.”

“Well,” declared I, “_our_ Mr. Barney sheered off.”

“Not soon enough,” said Tom Thornton, shaking his head.

“Just as soon as the order was given!” I cried. “And it wasn’t our
place to give way, at that.”

“Oh,” said Job, “we’ll all grant the old man--Cap’n Si--was the main
one to blame. Leastways, he’s the one dead, and the dead man is always
blamed. But Mr. Alf Barney never got no word to change his helm--and
yours did.”

“The ships come together; they was bound to do so, sooner or later,”
said old Stronson, shaking his head. “It iss not de men iss to
blame--no! You remember the Chieftain and de Antelope? Dey was sister
ships, too. Dey could not be anchored within a cable’s length of each
odder, or dey come togedder.”

“By jings! the old man’s right,” declared Tom Thornton. “I sailed on
the Antelope once. There seemed to be magnets drawin’ them two ships
together. Gettin’ under way at Savannah we bumped the Chieftain and
tore away her fore chains and made a mess of our own bows.”

“I heered if the two craft was anchored full and plenty apart, and in
no tideway, they’d rub sides within twenty-four hours,” said another
man.

“And das iss de trut’,” declared Stronson. “Dey wass sister
ships--like das Seamew and Gullwing. Nopoty can keep dem apart when dey
gets jest so near to each odder.”

“That’s so! I bet that was what did it more than the Barney boys,”
agreed Job Perkins.

“Sich things happen, as we knows,” said Tom Thornton.

And I declare, all the old fellows went off on this tangent and
accepted this idea as the true explanation for the sinking of the
Seamew. They talked it over and became more and more positive that it
was so. The superstition that the sister ships had a natural attraction
for each other took a firm hold upon their minds. I could see plainly
that if the firm had any of these old barnacles into court, they would
swear to this ridiculous idea. At least, it might throw a bit of weight
against the idea that the Barney boys had deliberately wrecked the two
ships.

“Jest the same,” observed old Tom, slowly, “study on it as we may,
there’s one place where it’ll be decided for sure, as far as the legal
end of it goes. The insurance court will have the last say.”

“Wrong you be, Tom,” declared Job, “wrong you be. The final settlement
of the hull matter will be in the offices of Barney, Blakesley &
Knight. Never mind what the court says, nor how the insurance is
adjusted; them two boys will hafter go before the firm.”

“By mighty! that’s so,” agreed Tom.

“And the way it’s turned out,” pursued Job, “it looks like Mr. Jim
Barney would have the best of it.”

“How so?” we asked.

“Don’t you see that he’s bound ter be first ashore at Baltimore?” and
the Seamew’s oldest hand chuckled. “He’s come through on his ship and
will stand first in the old man’s estimation--no matter how he done it.
Ye know Jothan Barney.”

“By crackey! will Mr. Jim beat Mr. Alfred, then, and be boss of the
firm?” Thankful Polk demanded.

“That’ll be the end of the story, son,” said Job, turning his cud in
his cheek. “Old Jothan sent ’em out, one ter beat the other. By jinks!
one _has_ beat the other. No matter how he’s done it. It’s done, and so
old Jothan will agree, I reckon.”

“But won’t the firm punish Mr. Jim?” I asked.

“I wanter see the firm do anything that old Jothan don’t want it to
do,” scoffed Job.

“And that’s so, too,” agreed old Tom.

“Then, believing that Mr. Jim Barney deliberately wrecked the Seamew so
as to beat his brother into Baltimore, you fellows think his uncle will
receive him with open arms?”

“That’ll be about it,” said Job. “Jothan Barney is that way. He wanted
one of his nephews to show what they call ‘initiative’ and all that.
Jim Barney’s showed it----”

“And risked drowning a whole ship’s crew--two ships’ crews, in
fact!--including his brother?” I cried. “You believe he did that just
to get ahead and win his uncle’s approval?”

“That’s it,” said Job.

“Then if he hated his brother so,” I demanded, raising my voice in my
earnestness, “why did he risk his own life to save him?”

The men were silent for a moment. Then Mr. Gates’ voice came booming
forward from the quarter:

“You men stow your jaw-tackle. You’re gassin’ too much.”

That ended the discussion. But I was by no means convinced that the
seamen understood the two Barneys. I had an entirely different idea of
how the matter would fall out in the end.

CHAPTER XXVI

_In Which Is Told How the Barney Boys Go Ashore_

Of course, the sinking of the Seamew would be reported by the tug
Comet, that had gone out to meet her, and the news would be telegraphed
to Baltimore long before we reached the port. The owners would know all
about the trouble, and I reckon Captain Joe Bowditch had pretty serious
thoughts that night as we were towed up the bay.

It was a lovely evening and Phillis came out on deck and begged me to
sit with her. She had not been so greatly frightened when the two ships
collided, because I had been right with her and the trouble was over so
quickly. I hated to think of what might have happened, however, if it
had been the fate of the Gullwing to sink instead of her sister ship.

Since they have been carried below, unconscious, none of we foremast
hands had seen the two Barney boys. We only knew that they had both
recovered and were none the worse for their ducking.

It was now the captain’s watch, however, and Mr. Jim Barney came up
and paced the larboard side of the deck, aft. It was not long before
I caught sight of a similar figure pacing the starboard side of the
house, and knew that Mr. Alf Barney had come up, too.

Philly and I had been whispering together under her awning and suddenly
she put her finger on my lips to enjoin secrecy, and tripped away to
Mr. Jim Barney’s side.

She tucked her hand in his, I could see, and walked beside him. I am
not sure whether she said anything to him, or not; but I know he did
not send her away from him, although he was on duty.

Then, after a bit, I saw Philly go to the other side of the deck and
join Mr. Alf Barney. She must have got acquainted with him below deck,
for he welcomed her warmly. They talked earnestly for a few moments,
and then the little girl ran back to me.

I had been gazing idly off over the rail, watching the lights ashore,
and thinking of my home-coming. In this land-locked bay I could be
pretty safe in believing that I would soon be with my mother.

Of course, through the machinations of my cousin I had been kept from
coming directly home when I was at Punta Arenas. But Paul Downes would
not be in Baltimore when we landed, to trouble me in the least. Once
I got ashore with Phillis and Thank, I was determined to hike for
Darringford House in short order.

I had enough money to pay two railroad fares home--the little girl’s
and my own. Thank and I were to receive no wages for our work aboard
the Gullwing. But I would leave Thank enough money to keep him until I
could telegraph him more from Darringford.

He proposed to go home himself for a time--back to Georgia. He had a
half sister there that he wanted to see. Then he was to join me for
the balance of the summer on the Massachusetts coast. We had already
planned great fun at Bolderhead, despite the fact that my bonnie sloop,
the Wavecrest, was far, far away--at Buenos Ayres.

The matter of Dao Singh was not so easily adjusted. I knew very
well that Captain Bowditch would insist upon reporting the case of
Phillis to the proper authorities at Baltimore. That would include the
examination of the Hindoo on the details of the wreck of the Galland.
And just as sure as they got the man into court I knew he would convict
himself.

I was not willing to see the examination dragged on for weeks, perhaps
months. And the end was not sure, either. I did not want Dao Singh
punished; and I knew that it would trouble Philly greatly if the man
was not at her beck and call most of the time.

However, if Dao Singh, as a pertinent witness in the case, was not to
be found, I believed I could get any fair-minded court to place Phillis
in the care of my mother until the matter was concluded. That was the
scheme I had in mind.

Therefore, when we landed I proposed that Dao Singh should disappear. I
had already sounded him. I had no money to spare, but he seemed to have
worn a belt about his waist under his clothing, in which he told me he
carried valuables. Money I supposed.

Nor was he ignorant of the port to which we were bound. He had studied
the geography of the world and he had corresponded in some way with
members of his own race located in Baltimore.

“To them will I go, Webb Sahib, directly the ship docks. If there
is hue and cry, they will not find me. When your augustness and the
Memsahib en train for your home, I shall en train likewise. I shall not
be far from you.”

“But you will not know when we go,” I cried.

“Let not the Sahib fear for that. Dao Singh will have means of knowing.
Your movements, Webb Sahib, will be learned, although I be afar. Fear
not.”

And this is all he would tell me. Rather a rare bird, was Singh. He
treated me always with immense deference, waited on me when I would let
him, hand and foot, yet always retained an air of being upon a mental
or spiritual plane immensely removed from my own. And I’m not at all
sure that he was not possessed of intelligence far above the order of
the European or American.

But I have got away from my text. Philly and I were sitting watching
the lights on shore. As we were under towage, the watch on deck had
little to do. Therefore the captain did not mind being aft with the
little lass.

Suddenly I saw the two Barney boys cross the deck and stand together
under the break of the quarter. It was dark there and I could not see
how they looked at each other, nor could I hear what they said. But
they stood there for some minutes and, when they separated, and Mr. Jim
went back to his duty, I hoped that they had not parted in anger.

It seemed a dreadful thing if either, or both, of the twins should be
accused of losing one ship and all but wrecking the other. As young
merchant officers, just starting out in life, the affair would about
ruin them. And if old Jothan Barney stuck to his word and took Jim
Barney into the firm, and gave him all his money, what would become of
Mr. Alfred?

At midnight I turned in; Philly had sought her cabin long before. She
wished to be up bright and early to see the Gullwing docked. But I
could not sleep for mulling over the case of the Barney boys in my mind.

My watch was called at eight bells to wash down and make the deck as
tidy as possible for the docking, although we were not yet far north
of the mouth of the York river. The best we could do, however, our
beautiful Gullwing looked like a drunken old harridan that had been out
all night!

The day was beautiful. As the shores and islands were more clearly
revealed, Philly’s delight knew no bounds.

“Oh, the land! the beautiful land!” she sighed. “I want to jump for
joy.”

“Have you got enough of the sea for all time?”

“I do not think I am afraid of the sea--not as afraid as I was once,”
she replied. “But think how good it will be to step ashore! I really
don’t feel, Clint, as though I would care to sail again right away.”

And despite the sorry story we had to tell of the Seamew, there was a
briskness in everybody’s movements that told of shore leave, and most
of the men’s faces were agrin. Those forward were making up parties for
certain pleasures and entertainments which had been denied them for so
many months.

Old Stronson was going immediately to the Bethel, there to pay Captain
Sowle the dollar he had owed the good superintendent for five years and
more.

“I do that chob at vonce,” said the old man, “pefore somet’ings happen
to me. Meppe Captain Sowle vill take my moneys for me and find me a
goot berth aboard some gentleman’s yacht. Das berth I like, I t’ank.”

I knew he wanted to get away from the drink and I hoped with all my
heart that the old man would be able to do so.

Tom Thornton had a married sister in Baltimore, over to whom the bulk
of his paycheck was always paid by Barney, Blakesley & Knight. He would
be put up by her, and cared for, and kept straight as long as possible;
then the old man would go to sea again--in the Gullwing if possible.

As for Bob Promise and some other of the younger men, they were all for
“the sporting life.”

“I’m goin’ to tog meself up in decent clothes,” said Bob. “No slops
or sheeny hand-me-downs for me. You watch my smoke, boy, when I get
ashore. I ain’t sure that I won’t go up to some swell hotel and stay
for a week. I reckon my bunch of coin will stand for it.”

Never a word about salting some of the money away for some worthy
object. Jack Tar of the merchant marine has only two states of
existence--slavery aboard ship and license ashore. There seems to be no
happy medium for him.

The Sea Horse towed us into our berth. The hawsers went ashore and we
were warped in beside the dock amid a deal of clatter and confusion.

There was a crowd to receive us. Some of these people were newspaper
men. The story of the wreck of the Seamew had appeared in the Baltimore
morning papers and reporters for the afternoon sheets were here for the
particulars at first hand. Nobody was allowed aboard, however, although
the quarantine officers had given us a clean bill of health down the
bay.

I saw standing upon the dock a tall, withered old man, with a very
sharp face and white hair and mustache. He looked like a hawk, and was
dressed all in shabby black. Without asking, I knew this to be old
Jothan Barney, the head of the firm that owned the Gullwing.

I did not see either of his nephews greet him from the ship. Mr. Jim
had plenty to do while the ship docked, and Mr. Alf was not far from
his brother at any time. Indeed, I was not the only person who noticed
that the Barney boys stuck together.

A section of the rail had been removed amidships. A narrow gangway was
run out from the dock, the ropes were caught by two of the seamen, and
the plank made fast.

“First ashore!” sang out the old man and looked from our Mr. Barney to
his brother.

We all fell back for a moment. It was evident that the Barneys would go
ashore even before Cap’n Joe. They approached the plank and both smiled.

“All right, Alf?” I heard Mr. Jim say.

“I’m with you, Jim,” was the reply.

And with their arms locked, the twin brothers walked ashore together
and went straight to stand before old Jothan Barney!

CHAPTER XXVII

_In Which I Receive a Telegram That Troubles Me_

For a moment there was a dead silence among the crews of the sister
ships. Then Captain Bowditch himself took off his hat and started the
cheering.

And how he did yell! If both vessels had come home safely we could not
have given tongue more joyfully. For in that moment every man of us
knew that whatever friction there had been betwixt Jim and Alf Barney,
they were once more brothers and friends!

Of course, the crowd ashore thought we were just glad to get home
again--that we were expressing our satisfaction upon getting to
Baltimore, safe and sound. But the Barneys knew what it meant and both
of them waved their hands in response to our hearty hurrah.

As the newspaper reporters crowded aboard to interview Captain Bowditch
I saw that the three Barneys walked away. The old man did not even
speak to the skipper of the Gullwing. I reckoned any comment upon the
skipper’s actions by the members of the firm of Barney, Blakesley &
Knight would be postponed until some later time.

The newspaper fellows were eager for a story; but Mr. Gates and Mr.
Hollister “shooed” them away from the foremast hands. The men would
not be discharged until the next day, when they would be taken to the
offices of the firm for a settlement of their accounts, and to receive
their discharges. Until that time they must remain aboard and continue
under the discipline of the officers.

“If you writer chaps,” said Mr. Gates, with a grin, “want to get these
old hardshells to spinning yarns, you’ll have to wait till they lay
their course for Front Street. You’ll have to be contented with facts
from Captain Bowditch just now.”

So the stories of the Seamew’s tragedy were not very ornate in the
afternoon papers after all; and public interest in the affair was soon
quenched.

When my watch was piped to dinner the doctor gave me the tip to wait on
deck and in a few minutes Mr. Gates beckoned me to the afterhouse.

“Quarterdeck etiquette is busted all to flinders, Clint,” he said, in
an unusually jolly tone, for he was naturally a grave man. But the fact
that we were in the home port after so many months was bound to thaw
the iciest manner. “You’re to dine with the old man and Miss Philly.”

It was a shame the way I looked! My second suit of slops from the
chest were pretty well worn out and my head was a regular mop. I had
reckoned on seeing a barber about the first thing I did when I went
ashore; and I hoped to squeeze out money enough for a cheap suit, too,
in which I might make a more presentable appearance going home.

“Never mind your clothing, Clinton,” said Captain Bowditch, when I made
some remark of this kind. “We’ll excuse your looks.”

“And I’m not much better off than you,” laughed Philly. “I have to go
to bed when Singh washes this dress.”

“By the way, where _is_ Singh?” demanded the captain. “After dinner I
want we should all go up to the British consul--and I want Singh to go
to.”

But Dao Singh was not to be found. I said nothing about my talk with
the Hindoo. I knew that nobody had seen him after we got into our
berth. He might, even, have gone ashore ahead of the Barneys. However,
gone he was and the captain was quite put out.

“That’s the trouble with these natives,” he growled. “Can’t trust ’em.
I’d ought to put him in irons----”

“What for, Captain? What has poor Singh done?” asked Philly.

And then the captain took a tumble to himself. The little girl knew
nothing about the man murdered in the boat from the wreck of the
Galland.

“Well, it’s a serious thing--for me--to have let him get away without
his going before the authorities,” Captain Bowditch growled.

That was not exactly true however. Nobody would blame him because the
Hindoo had departed. But the old man said he would take us both up
town right after dinner. I begged for a little time to make myself
presentable and was given an hour’s leave ashore. I found a barber and
got my hair trimmed properly and then went to a second hand shop and
got an outfit of coat, pants and shoes, with a new hat for six dollars.
Nothing very fashionable, you may be sure; but I reckoned the butler
would let me into the house with ’em on--by the side door, at least!

So the captain and Philly and I walked over to the British consulate
and saw a young man with eyeglasses and something of a lisp, dressed in
clothes that could not possibly be made so badly anywhere else but in
London. He was a nice young man, though; and he insisted upon making
tea for Philly when he heard that she had been two weeks in an open
boat, as though she might still need a “pick-me-up” because of that
adventure.

It seemed that he had already heard of the loss of the Galland. Her
burned hull had been sighted by two steamships and reported before
the Gullwing arrived in port. But none of the crew or passengers of
the ill-fated ship, until Phillis Duane came, had been reported as
saved. The Galland had been posted as a complete loss, with crew and
passengers.

“What puzzles me,” said the English official, “is the distance the
Galland and the boat you found drifted apart. Her bulk was reported as
sighted only a day or two after your Gullwing picked up the little girl
and the Hindoo.” The captain had already explained about Dao Singh.
“Yet,” continued the consul, “the Galland had drifted far up the coast
in the steamship route--she’s a dangerous derelict, and has been so
reported to the Hydrographic office at Washington, and to Lloyds in
London.

“Whereas, Captain, the latitude and longitude you give is far, far to
the south. South of the Straits, in fact.”

“Three hunder’ mile sou’east of the Capes of the Virgin, sure enough,”
admitted Captain Bowditch.

“Yes. The Galland had come through the Straits and must have met with
her accident not far outside. It seems strange that only one boat got
away from her--and that one improperly manned.”

“As near as we can find out, sir,” said the skipper, “she had but two
seamen in her beside the Hindoo and the little girl here.”

He had taken the captain and I into his private office while he
examined us regarding the particulars of the affair. I told him frankly
about the dead man in the boat.

“I must find this Dao Singh,” he said. “Until I get him I cannot call
the case closed, of course. And then, there’s the little girl.”

Captain Bowditch spoke up for me, then. He had had a good report of me
from Captain Hiram Rogers of the Scarboro, and he believed what I had
told him about my folks. He would go bail for my appearance, and the
production of Philly safe and sound, whenever we should be wanted.

“A very good arrangement,” agreed the consul, seemingly mightily
relieved regarding the girl. He was a bachelor himself. “Meanwhile I
will do my best to locate her people. Of course, she must have been
consigned to somebody in England, even if she does not know who.
It seems to me as though the name of Captain Erskin Duane is not
unfamiliar to me.”

So we got away from there after a while. When I had gone ashore to get
my fancy rigout I had sent a telegram to Ham Mayberry. I did that so as
not to startle my mother, believing that Ham would know how to break
the news of my arrival to her better than anybody else. Ham had been
with us so many years that he was like one of the family.

And having telegraphed him I was mighty anxious for a reply that all
was well.

Captain Bowditch left us to report at the offices of the ship owners
and Philly and I went back to the Gullwing where Ham was to send his
message. It had arrived while we were at the consul’s and Mr. Gates
handed the envelope to me the moment I came aboard.

With some perturbation, I broke the seal, and to say the least I was
amazed when I read Hamilton Mayberry’s telegram:

“I will meet every train. Speak to nobody until you see me.--H. M.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

_In Which My Homecoming Proves To Be a Strange One Indeed_

Naturally I thought that Ham’s telegram spelled trouble; but I kept my
thoughts to myself. I did not feel like discussing the matter even with
Thankful Polk.

We had begun to break out the Gullwing’s cargo and worked until dark.
The next day the roustabouts would come aboard and relieve us of that.
All hands (save Thank and I) would go up to the office to be paid off.

We in the forecastle heard nothing about the Barneys that day, nor
did Mr. Jim return to the ship. We spent the evening skylarking on
the forward deck. A man had come aboard with an accordion and the men
danced, and sang, and had a general rough-and-tumble jollification.
But I only looked on. Tomorrow would close such scenes for me--perhaps
forever.

In the morning a lawyer and his clerk came aboard to take testimony
regarding the loss of the Seamew. Just as I had supposed, the men
who talked most were the old fellows who believed that the two ships
had come together because of some supernatural attraction. The real
incidents of the collision were buried under a heap of rubbish,
testimony that would help the courts and the insurance people mighty
little in getting at the facts of the case.

I was thankful that the lawyer did not put many questions to me. I
stuck to my belief that Mr. Jim Barney had obeyed Captain Bowditch’s
order to change the course of the Gullwing as soon as the order was
given.

When the examination was over there was a deal of bustle in preparation
of all hands going ashore. I paid Job Perkins the ten dollars I had
promised him and lent Thank all I could spare after saving out enough
for the tickets for Philly and myself to Darringford.

I suppose I might have borrowed a little money from Captain Bowditch;
but Thank could get along until I could telegraph him a hundred from
home. He had agreed to accept that much from me, and promised to join
me at my mother’s summer home later.

Then we bade the men good-bye, and shook hands with the skipper and Mr.
Gates and Mr. Hollister. Thank went with Philly and me to the railroad
station. There I hoped to find Dao Singh--and Philly was anxious about
him, too. But the Hindoo did not appear.

We could not wait for him; nor did I know how to find him in Baltimore.
But I told Thank to keep a watch out for him, and if he saw Singh to
let me know at once by telegraph.

We took the fast express for Boston and only had to transfer at one
point. From that point I had engaged seats in the chair car and berths
for both Philly and myself. There was but one day coach attached to
the train when we changed, and we were scarcely aboard when a tall,
turbanned figure appeared at the window beside my seat.

“Oh, Dao Singh!” cried Philly, and then rattled away to him in his own
tongue.

He made me a low obeisance. “I have come, Sahib, as I promised,” he
said, softly. “I take train here with you and the Memsahib. I ride
forward in the other coach;” and bowing he left us.

I saw that he had a complete new outfit--a costume of his own country.
He was a strange looking object as he stalked away to take his place in
the day car.

I sent Ham another wire to say what hour we would arrive at Darringford
station. I was sincerely worried about my mother. Perhaps she was ill.
Perhaps--I dared not ruminate farther on that subject.

Phillis was greatly interested in the country through which the
train flew. We looked pretty shabby--both of us--to be riding in a
first-class coach, and the other passengers were curious about us. But
we made no acquaintances on the way.

We arrived safely in Boston in the morning, and crossed the city to the
other station. We had not long to wait for a local train that stopped
at Darringford. It was not long after nine o’clock when the train
stopped and we disembarked.

I saw Ham instantly; but he did not have our carriage. There was nobody
else to welcome me--there was nobody about the station, indeed, who
recognized me. I had changed a good deal during the twenty-two months I
had been away.

But old Ham knew me. He rushed at me and wrung my hands and sputtered
something at first that I could not understand. At last he said:

“And ye couldn’t have timed it better, Master Clint. You’re just in the
nick of time. The court sits in ha’f an hour.”

Then he caught sight of Phillis and Dao Singh right behind me.

“What’s all this?” he muttered.

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “It’s too long a story to give you now.
Besides, you’ve got to tell me things first. Isn’t the carriage here?
Can’t we all go right to Darringford House? Haven’t you told mother?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Can’t take you home, jest yet, Master Clint,” he said.

“But mother! is----?”

“She ain’t sick, and she ain’t well. Only poorly. Nothing to be worried
about. And now that you’re here I reckon things will be straightened
out all right.”

“Chester Downes!” I ejaculated.

“Yes. He’s cutting up didoes,” grunted Ham.

“But where is Lawyer Hounsditch?” I cried.

And then Ham _did_ amaze me--and startle me, too.

“Old Mr. Hounsditch died a month ago, Clint,” he said. “It was sudden.
He was an old man, you know, and there is nobody to take his place.”

“My guardian is dead, then!” I exclaimed.

“He was co-trustee with your mother, Clint. That’s where the trouble
lies. Chester Downes is riggin’ to get appointed in his place. It comes
up before the Judge of Probate this morning. You ain’t but jest in
time.”

_That_ woke me up, now I tell you! All my wits were working in a
minute. Ham needed to make little more talk about it for me to fully
understand what was threatening.

“And mother didn’t object?” I asked.

“You know what a holt Downes has over her,” Ham said gravely. “She
_did_ want him to wait until you came home. We got your letter from
Valpariso and we knew the Gullwing was about due in Baltimore. But
Chester Downes--you know him!”

“Let us take my little friend and Dao Singh to the hotel,” I said.
“They can wait for us there. I must have a lawyer, Ham.”

“I got you one,” said the old man, quickly. “We’d have gone before the
court if you hadn’t come in time and tried to get a stay.”

“Who is he?”

“Colonel Playfair.”

I knew him by reputation. A better man didn’t live in Darringford, nor
a better lawyer--now that Mr. Hounsditch was dead. And it seemed to me
that I remembered something about Colonel Playfair and my grandfather
having once been close friends.

“Have you got any money, Ham?” I asked him. “For I haven’t a cent.”

“Plenty,” he replied.

“Get a carriage, then, and drive us to the hotel first; then to Colonel
Playfair’s office.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” returned Ham and in a few moments we were off in a
station hack, Ham on the seat with the driver.

Mr. and Mrs. Bramble kept the Darringford Hotel, and I left Philly in
the good lady’s care. Dao Singh remained with her, of course. Then Ham
and I raced to the office of the lawyer.

It was already half past nine. There was no time to lose if the matter