The Captain of the Kansas Read online

  Produced by Al Haines

  THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS

  BY

  LOUIS TRACY

  AUTHOR OF "THE WINGS OF THE MORNING," "THE PILLAR OF LIGHT," ETC.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  PUBLISHERS -- NEW YORK

  Copyright, 1906, by

  EDWARD J. CLODE

  _Entered at Stationers' Hall_

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  ITEMS NOT IN THE MANIFEST

  CHAPTER II

  WHEREIN THE CAPTAIN KEEPS TO HIS OWN QUARTERS

  CHAPTER III

  WHEREIN THE CAPTAIN REAPPEARS

  CHAPTER IV

  ELSIE GOES ON DECK

  CHAPTER V

  THE KANSAS SUSTAINS A CHECK

  CHAPTER VI

  --BUT GOES ON AGAIN INTO THE UNKNOWN

  CHAPTER VII

  UNTIL THE DAWN

  CHAPTER VIII

  IN A WILD HAVEN

  CHAPTER IX

  A PROFESSOR OF WITCHCRAFT

  CHAPTER X

  "MISSING AT LLOYDS"

  CHAPTER XI

  CONFIDENCES

  CHAPTER XII

  ENLIGHTENMENT

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE FIGHT

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE FIRST WATCH

  CHAPTER XV

  IN WHICH THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHRISTOBAL'S TEMPTATION

  CHAPTER XVII

  A MAN'S METHOD--AND A WOMAN'S

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A FULL NIGHT

  CHAPTER XIX

  WHEREIN THE _KANSAS_ RESUMES HER VOYAGE

  _The Captain of the Kansas_

  CHAPTER I

  ITEMS NOT IN THE MANIFEST

  "I think I shall enjoy this trip," purred Isobel Baring, nestlingcomfortably among the cushions of her deck chair. A steward wasarranging tea for two at a small table. The _Kansas_, with placid humof engines, was speeding evenly through an azure sea.

  "I agree with that opinion most heartily, though, to be sure, so muchdepends on the weather," replied her friend, Elsie Maxwell, rising topour out the tea. Already the brisk sea-breeze had kissed the Chileanpallor from Elsie's face, which had regained its English peach-bloom.Isobel Baring's complexion was tinged with the warmth of a pomegranate.At sea, even in the blue Pacific, she carried with her the suggestionof a tropical garden.

  "I never gave a thought to the weather," purred Isobel again, as shesubsided more deeply into the cushions.

  "Let us hope such a blissful state of mind may be justified. But youknow, dear, we may run into a dreadful gale before we reach theStraits."

  Isobel laughed.

  "All the better!" she cried. "People tell me I am a most fascinatinginvalid. I look like a creamy orchid. And what luck to have a chum sodisinterested as you where a lot of nice men are concerned! What haveI done to deserve it? Because you are really charming, you know."

  "Does that mean that you have already discovered a lot of nice men onboard?"

  Elsie handed her friend a cup of tea and a plate of toast.

  "Naturally. While you were mooning over the lights and tints of theAndes, I kept an eye, both eyes in fact, on our compulsoryacquaintances of the next three weeks. To begin with, there's thecaptain."

  "He is good-looking, certainly. Somewhat reserved, I fancied."

  "Reserved!" Isobel showed all her fine teeth in a smile.Incidentally, she took a satisfactory bite out of a square of toast."I 'll soon shake the reserve out of him. He is mine. You will seehim play pet dog long before we meet that terrible gale of yours."

  "Isobel, you promised your father--"

  "To look after my health during the voyage. Do you think that I intendonly to sleep, eat, and read novels all the way to London? Then,indeed, I should be ill. But there is a French Comte on the ship. Heis mine, too."

  "You mean to find safety in numbers?"

  "Oh, there are others. Of course, I am sure of my little Count. Hetwisted his mustache with such an air when I skidded past him in thecompanionway."

  Elsie bent forward to give the chatterer another cup of tea.

  "And you promised to read Moliere at least two hours daily!" she sighedgood-humoredly. Even the most sensible people, and Elsie was verysensible, begin a long voyage with idiotic programs of work to be done.

  "I mean to substitute a live Frenchman for a dead one--that is all.And I am sure Monsieur le Comte Edouard de Poincilit will do our Frenchfar more good than 'Les Fourberies de Scapin.'"

  "Am I to be included in the lessons? And you actually know the man'sname already?"

  "Read it on his luggage, dear girl. He has such a lot. See if hedoesn't wear three different colored shirts for breakfast, lunch, andtea. And, if _you_ refuse to help, who is to take care of le p'titEdouard while I give the captain a trot round. Don't look cross,there's a darling, though you _do_ remind me, when you open your eyesthat way, of a delightful little American schoolma'am I met in Lima.She had drifted that far on her holidays, and I believe she washorrified with me."

  "Perhaps she thought you were really the dreadful person you madeyourself out to be. Now, Isobel, that does not matter a bit inValparaiso, where you are known, but in Paris and London--"

  "Where I mean to be equally well known, it is a passport to smartsociety to be _un peu risque_. Steward! Give my compliments toCaptain Courtenay, and say that Miss Maxwell and Miss Baring hope hewill favor them with his company to tea."

  Elsie's bright, eager face flushed slightly. She leaned forward, witha certain squaring of the shoulders, being a determined young person insome respects.

  "For once, I shall let you off," she said in a low voice. "So I giveyou fair warning, Isobel, I must not be included in impromptuinvitations of that kind. Next time I shall correct your statementmost emphatically."

  "Good gracious! I only meant to be polite. Tut, tut! as dad says whenhe can't swear before ladies, I shan't make the running for you anymore."

  Elsie drummed an impatient foot on the deck. There was a little pause.Isobel closed her eyes lazily, but she opened them again when she heardher friend say:

  "I am sorry if I seem crotchety, dear. Indeed, it is no pretense on mypart. You cannot imagine how that man Ventana persecuted me. The meresuggestion of any one's paying me compliments and trying to befascinating is so repellent that I cringe at the thought. And even oursailor-like captain will think it necessary to play the society clown,I suppose, seeing that we are young and passably good-looking."

  Isobel Baring raised her head from the cushions.

  "Ventana was a determined wooer, then? What did he do?" she asked.

  "He--he pestered me with his attentions. Oh, I should have liked toflog him with a whip!"

  "He was always that sort of person--too serious," and the head droppedagain.

  The steward returned. He was a half-caste; his English was to thepoint.

  "De captin say he busy, he no come," was his message.

  Elsie's display of irritation vanished in a merry laugh. Isobelbounced up from the depths of the chair; her dark eyes blazedwrathfully.

  "Tell him--" she began.

  Then she mastered her annoyance sufficiently to ascertain what it wasthat Captain Courtenay had actually said, and she received a courteousexplanation in Spanish that the commander could not leave thechart-house until the _Kansas_ had rounded the low-lying, red-hued CapeCaraumilla, which still barred the ship's path to the south--the firststage of the long voyage from Valparaiso to London.

  But pertinacity was a marked trait of the Baring family; otherwise,Isobel's father, a bluff, church-warden type of man, would not have wonhis way to the chief place in the firm o
f Baring, Thompson, Miguel &Co., Mining and Export Agents, the leading house in Chile's principalport. Notwithstanding Elsie's previous outburst, the steward was sentback to ask if the ladies might visit the bridge later. Meanwhile,would Captain Courtenay like a cup of tea? All things considered,there was only one possible answer; Captain Courtenay would be charmedif they favored him with both the tea and their company.

  "I thought so," cried Isobel, triumphantly. "Come on, Elsie! Let usclimb the ladder of conquest. The steward will bring the tea-things.The chart-house is just splendid. It will provide a refuge when theCount becomes too pressing."

  There was a tightening of Elsie's lips to which Isobel paid no heed.The imminent protest was left unspoken, for Courtenay's voice came tothem:

  "Please hold on by the rail. If a foot were to slip on one of thosebrass treads the remainder of the day would be a compound of tears andsticking-plaster."

  "I think you said 'reserved,'" whispered Isobel to her companion with awicked little laugh. To Courtenay, peering through a hatch in thehurricane deck, she cried:

  "Is the brass rail more dependable than you, captain?"

  "It will serve your present purpose, Miss Baring," said he, not takingthe hint.

  Gathering her skirts daintily in her left hand, Isobel tripped up thesteep stairs. Elsie followed. Courtenay, who had the manner andsemblance of the first lieutenant of a warship, stood outside a havenof plate glass, shining mahogany, and white paint. The woodwork of thedeck was scrubbed until it had the color of new bread. An officerpaced the bridge; a sailor, within the chart-house, held the smallwheel of the steam steering-gear. Somewhat to Isobel's surprise,neither man seemed to be aware of her presence.

  "So this is your den?" she said, throwing her bird-like glance over thebright interior, before she gave the commander a look which wasdesigned to bewitch him instantly. "Surely you don't sleep here, too?"

  "Oh, no. This room is the brain of the ship, Miss Baring. We arealways wide-awake here. My quarters are farther aft. I think I canfind a chair for you if you care to sit down while I have my tea."

  The captain led the way to a spacious cabin behind the chart-house.

  "I hope you don't mind the chairs being secured to the deck," he said,taking off his hat. "So far above sea line, you know, everything thatis loose comes to grief when the ship rolls."

  "Then what becomes of your photographs?" demanded Isobel, promptly, herquick eyes having discovered the pictures of two ladies in silverframes on a writing-table.

  "I take care to put them away. There is always plenty of warning. Noordinary sea can trouble a big hulk like the _Kansas_."

  "Is that your mother, the dear old lady in the lace cap?"

  "Yes, and the other is my sister."

  "Oh, really! Is she married?"

  "No. Like me, she is wedded to her profession."

  "Will you think it rude if I ask what that is?"

  "She is a hospital nurse; the matron, indeed, of a public institutionin the suburbs of London."

  "How wonderful! I do admire hospital nurses so much. They are soclever and self-sacrificing, and they always have a smile on theirsweet faces. Only dad wouldn't hear of such a thing, I should love tobe a nurse myself."

  And Isobel sighed, dropped her long eyelashes, and examined the toe ofa smart brown shoe with a wistful resignation. Courtenay was politelyincredulous, but the arrival of the steward with the replenishedtea-tray created a diversion.

  "Do let me pour your tea," cried Isobel. "I make lovely tea, don't I,Elsie?"

  Elsie laughed so cheerfully that Isobel flashed an interrogatory glanceat her. Certainly, the notion of Isobel Baring claiming the domesticvirtues was amusing. But Elsie answered at once:

  "I know few things that you cannot do admirably, dear."

  So Isobel filled a cup, asked if Captain Courtenay took milk and sugar,and said demurely, with a sip of a spoonful:

  "Let me see if I can guess your tastes."

  Elsie's blue eyes assumed a deeper shade. Men might like that kind ofthing, but she felt that her face and neck would be poppy red inanother moment. Thus far she had not addressed a word to Courtenay,though by his manner he had included her in the conversation. She nowresolved to break in on the attack which Isobel was beginning with theadroitness of a skilled campaigner. And she, too, could use her eyesto advantage when she chose.

  "What a curious library you have, Captain Courtenay," she said,looking, not at him, but at a row of books fitting closely into a smallcase over the writing-table. Instantly the sailor was interested.

  "Why 'curious,' Miss Maxwell?" he asked.

  "First, in their assortment; secondly, in the similarity of theirbinding. I have never before seen the Bible, Walt Whitman, and Dumasin covers exactly alike."

  "That is easily explained. They are bound to order. My real troublewas to secure editions of equal size--an essential, you see--otherwisethey would not pack into their shelf."

  "But what a gathering! Shakespeare, the _Pilgrim's Progress_,Montaigne's Essays, Herbert Spencer, _Goethe's Life_, by Lewes, MarcusAurelius, Martial, Wordsworth, _The Egoist_, Thoreau, Hazlitt, andMitford's _Tales of Old Japan_! Where have I heard or read of thatparticular galaxy of stars before?"

  "Go on. You are on the right track," cried Courtenay, setting down theteacup and hastening to Elsie's side. She was leaning on the table,reading the titles of the books. The motive of her exclamation wasmerged now in the fine ardor of the book-lover. She had an unconscioustrick of placing the forefinger of her right hand on her lips whendeeply engaged in thought. Elegant as Isobel Baring might be in herstudied poses, Elsie need fear no comparison as she examined thecontents of the bookcase with eager attention.

  "Why the _Vicomte de Bragelonne_ only, and not the _Three Musketeers_?"she mused aloud. "And if the _Life of Goethe_, why not his poems, hisessays, _Werther_?--Ah, I know--'the crowning offence of _Werther_.' AStevenson library! Each volume he recommends in 'Books which haveinfluenced men,' I suppose? What a charming idea! I shall neverforgive myself for not having thought of it long ago."

  Courtenay laughed and blushed like any schoolgirl. Elsie'sappreciation had a downright, honest ring in it that went far beyondthe platitudes. She accorded him the ready comradeship of a kin soul.

  "Many people have been surprised by my collection; you are the first todiscover its inspiration," he said.

  "That is not strange. There are so few who read. Reading meansdiscerning, interpreting. I am a worshiper of R. L. S., but I havebeen shocked to find that for a hundred who can talk glibly of hisnovels there is hardly one who has communed with him in his essays."

  "We have actually hit upon a topic that should prove inexhaustible.Believe me, Miss Maxwell, that is my pet subject. More than once,needing a listener, I have even lectured my long-suffering terrier,Joey, on the point."

  Isobel laughed softly. The two standing in front of the bookcasestarted apart, with a sudden consciousness that they were speakingunguardedly, for Isobel's mirth had mockery in it--"there was alaughing devil in her sneer."

  "By the way, where is Joey?" she asked.

  The dog answered her question by appearing, with a stretch and a yawn,from beneath a bunk. He had heard his name in Courtenay's voice. Thatsufficed for Joey at any time.

  "What a strange animal!" went on Isobel. "I should have thought thathe would bark, or peep out at us, at the least, when we came in."

  "Joey had a disturbed night," said Courtenay. "We passed the eveningin the Hotel Colon, and he regards South American hotels as the naturaldwelling-place of cats, and other bad characters. Here, he is at home,and he knew that I was present."

  "Otherwise, he would have classified us as suspicious?"

  "He is far too discriminating. What do you say, pup?"

  Joey looked up at his master. Apparently, he found the conversationtrivial; he yawned again, capaciously.

  "You darling! You must have slept with one eye open," sa
id Elsie,stooping to pat him.

  "Oh, take care!" cried Isobel. "He may bite you."

  "Not he! When you see that wistful look in a dog's eyes, have no fear.He wants to speak then. You won't bite me, will you, dear?" And Elsiesank on one knee, to stroke Joey's white coat; whereupon Joey tried tolick her face.

  "Between the Stevenson Library and the captain's dog you are installedas a prime favorite on board the _Kansas_," commented Isobel. Theother girl rose hurriedly. She had caught the touch of malice in thesmooth voice.

  "Captain Courtenay is too polite to remind us that we are intruders,"she said lightly. "We forget that he is busy. Joey, candidly canine,did not try to hide his feelings."

  Isobel swung her chair round to face the door.

  "This is quite the best place in the ship," she said. "I am verycomfortable, thank you. Please don't send us away, captain."

  Before Courtenay could answer, the officer of the watch looked in.

  "Cape Caraumilla bearing sou'west of the Buei Rock, sir," he announced,and vanished again.

  "Don't hurry," said Courtenay, taking up his cap. "I must leave youfor a few minutes."

  He was gone, with Joey at his heels, and there was a brief silence.

  "Really, Isobel, we should go back on deck," urged Elsie, uneasily.Already she half regretted the impulse which led her to intervene inher friend's special hobby.

  "I like that. I didn't credit you with such guile, Elsie Maxwell. Yousnap up my nice captain beneath my very nose, and coolly propose that Ishould vacate the battlefield. Oh dear, no! I can't talk literature,but I _can_ flirt, and I have not finished with Arthur yet by a longchalk."

  "Isobel, if you knew how you hurt me--"

  Miss Baring crossed her pretty feet, folded her arms, and gave hercompanion a smiling glance.

  "So artful, too. 'Love me, love my dog,' eh? You actually took mybreath away."

  "It may amaze you to learn that I meant to achieve that much, at anyrate," was Elsie's quiet retort as she turned to select a volume fromthe queer miscellany in the bookcase.

  "Oh, don't be cruel. Leave me my Frenchman! Say you won't wheedleEdouard by quoting the classics of his native tongue! Poor me! Herehave I been warming a serpent in my bosom."

  With a _moue_ of make-believe anguish Isobel leaned back in her chair.She was insolently conscious of her superior attractions. Was she notthe richest heiress in Valparaiso? Had not her father chartered thisship? And was not Elsie even now flying from an unwelcome suitor? Sheknew full well that her friend would resent the slightest semblance oflove-making on the part of any man on board. Already her astonishmentat Elsie's unlooked-for vivacity was yielding to the humor of meetingsuch a rival. The Count might serve as a foil, but the real quarry nowwas the captain. That very night there would be a moon. And the seawas calm as a sheltered lake. Isobel's lips parted in a delightedsmile as she tried to imagine Courtenay deserting her to discuss thosecelebrities whom Elsie had made the most of. And how she would playoff the Count against the captain! They ought to be at daggers drawnlong before the Straits of Magellan were reached. Certainly she neverexpected such sport on board such a humdrum ship as the _Kansas_.

  Suddenly they both heard an excited bark from the dog, and the quickrush of feet along the deck; Courtenay's voice reached them with a newand startling note in it.

  "Stop that!" he shouted.

  There was an instant's pause. Their alert ears caught the sounds of adistant scuffle. Then a pistol shot jarred the peaceful drone of theship.

  "Sheer off, there!" roared Courtenay again. "Next time I shoot tokill!"--

  With terror in their eyes, with blanched cheeks, they rushed to thedoor and peeped out. Courtenay was not to be seen, but the officer ofthe watch was swinging himself over the canvas shield of the bridge.He disappeared. Joey, barking furiously, trotted into view and ranback again. Creeping forward, they saw the stolid sailor within thechart-house squint at the compass and give the wheel a slight turn.That was reassuring. Yet another timorous pace, and through thecurving window they could discern Courtenay, holding a revolver in hisright hand, but behind his back.

  Even in their alarm they realized that nothing very terrible wouldhappen now. But why had the shot been fired, and what had given thattense ring to Courtenay's threat?

  Venturing a little further, they gained the bridge. On the main deck,a long way beneath, near an open hatch, a half-caste Chilean was lyingon his back. He had evidently been wounded. Blood was flowing fromhis leg; it smeared the white deck. The officer who had climbed downso speedily from the bridge was directing two other men how to lifthim. Close by, the chief officer, Mr. Boyle, was stanching a deep cuton his chin with a handkerchief. At the same time he curtly orderedoff such deck hands and stewards as came running forward, attracted bythe disturbance.

  The girls were gazing wide-eyed at this somewhat unnerving scene, whenCourtenay approached.

  "Better go below," he said quietly. "I am sorry this trouble shouldhave happened, at the beginning of the voyage, too. I hope it will notupset you. That rascally Chilean tried to knife Mr. Boyle, and thoseother blackguards were ready to side with him. I had to shoot quickand straight to show them I meant what I said."

  "Is he dead?" asked Isobel, with a contemptuous coolness as to the fateof the mutineer which Courtenay found admirable.

  "Not a bit of it. Fired at his legs. Only a flesh wound, I fancy."

  "Poor wretch!" murmured Elsie. "Was there no other way?"

  "There is only one way of dealing with that sort of skunk," was thegruff answer. The pity in her voice implied a condemnation of his act.He resented it. He knew he had done rightly, and she knew that she hadgiven offence by her involuntary sympathy with the suffering Chilean,who, with the passing of the paralyzing shock of the bullet, washowling dolefully now as the sailors carried him towards the forecastle.

  The man's groans tortured her. Her eyes filled with tears. Joey,yelping with frenzy, leaped up to invite her to lift him above thecanvas screen so that he might see what was going on. But Elsie couldonly reach blindly for the rail of the companion-way, and Isobel, aftera smiling word of farewell to Courtenay, followed her.

  So it came to pass that neither Stevenson nor the moon had power todraw the captain of the _Kansas_ to the promenade deck that night.