The Yazoo Mystery Part 2

"Is a marine license so very desirable?"

"Chief engineer is a pretty good berth, especially now. Those running in the war zone get good pay and a big bonus besides, you know."

"Are we in the war zone?" he asked with some surprise.

"Yes--don't you see those lifeboats swung out? One of the firemen told me last night that this line had lost two s.h.i.+ps--both torpedoed."

"And I suppose the firemen get the worst of it on account of being so far below?" he queried, glancing nervously at the dim sh.o.r.e line.

"Yes. Then, you know, there are supposed to be mines all along the coast."

Without comment he gnawed the last piece of meat from the bone and tossed the refuse overboard. Two young girls among the pa.s.sengers above giggled at that. Strong flushed, but gave no other outward sign of annoyance.

"Then we are liable to be plugged any time?" he asked.

"Yes; there is a possibility."

"Well, if I get another dose like I got last night I believe I would welcome it," he laughed, looking at his blistered hands.

"You will soon learn how to favor yourself, and the work won't be so hard."

"But you say the men who do the actual work get the worst of things."

"Yes--I think so. Firemen are the feet of the s.h.i.+p, you know."

"I think I was all feet last night," he replied, smiling dolefully. "I have heard professors rant about the dignity of labor," he replied, arising with the empty pan, having enjoyed the first full meal he had ever actually earned. "However, I have signed for a round trip and I'm going to stick if it kills me," he added, half to himself, as he went below.

When he came on watch at four the fire of adventure had taken the place of Hiram Strong's gla.s.sy stare of debauchery. He cleaned and shook his grates without coaching, heaving the coal well back in the fire-box. I knew that every bone and muscle of his body was crying out in protest.

Later I saw blood from the blisters show through the cotton gloves, but he worked stolidly, silent and grim. Surely he was game.

We were getting farther south, the wind coming hot and the boiler-room an inferno. As Strong worked he perspired to the point of melting. I saw him grit his teeth, determined not to show another white feather, and when we were was.h.i.+ng up at the end of that four-hour watch, there was something of unction in his remark, to himself: "Thank G.o.d, it didn't get me this time!" Sensibly he went to his bunk without eating.

CHAPTER III

OUR s.h.i.+ft was off at eight p. m. with duty ahead at four o'clock in the morning. But not feeling disposed to sleep just then, I began to study our position. Twenty-four hours ago we had cleared Scotland lights.h.i.+p, and I figured we were something like three hundred miles south of New York, off the Virginia capes.

The s.h.i.+p, as on the previous night, was wrapped in complete darkness as we emerged from the boiler-room, and I could just make out the shadowy form of the officer on the bridge, who moved about nervously. I glanced across the expanse of water but no light could be seen in any direction.

The only activity was the sounding lead which was thrown overboard occasionally.

We still had the southern head wind which made it too hot for sleeping below, so I decided to bunk on deck, and went below for a blanket. Young Strong slept as though dead, even though the quarters were close and stuffy. I was glad to escape to the deck with my covering. As I laid down, expecting to doze off at once, I began to hear subdued voices. I heard some one say: "You know, we pa.s.sed him this afternoon at three. He couldn't be over two hours behind us." At first I wasn't sure I was awake, for the voices were almost inaudible. I was sure I had slept some time.

"Did the wireless say all were taken off?"

I could now make out two officers talking near me, but they were unaware of my proximity. Then came the answer to the question:

"Yes; the report came from the sh.o.r.e station where the lifeboats landed, but if the subs are operating up there, we're probably safe."

Manifestly they referred to some s.h.i.+p that was torpedoed two or three hours behind us.

"That's all right, but you know well enough that mines have been sown here for the Chesapeake traffic."

"We're not due there yet, and it's a thousand-to-one shot that we'll get by. We've pa.s.sed that spot many times. I believe that talk about mines is all bunk. Anyway, you know the Old Man changes his course at that point to keep the supposed mine field sh.o.r.eward. Go to bed: you'll be bawled out quick enough if we hit anything."

Then all became quiet, but now thoroughly awakened, I went down to the galley to cajole some food from the cook. There, to my surprise, I found young Strong on the same errand.

"You had a good sleep?" was my greeting. I needn't have asked, for he looked rested and bright, even jaunty.

"Five hours; it's past one now. Where did you sleep?--I did not see you in your bunk." His voice sounded rather chummy, as the cook relented and helped us liberally. We told him we had both gone off watch without eating.

We took the food into the firemen's messroom, lighted by a single dark blue bulb, and sat opposite each other, a long, narrow, oak plank between us, picnic style. The cook enjoined us to shut the door, to cover even the dim illumination. The closed windows of the messroom were painted black so that not the slightest trace of light could escape.

"How do you feel this morning?" I asked.

"I am surprised at how well I do feel. If it wasn't for my hands I would feel fine," he replied cordially, sort of self-congratulatory, a half smile creeping about his non-secretive mouth.

"Moisten the inside of your gloves with petroleum, and your hands will soon heal if you are careful," I advised quietly. "The oilers will give you some."

"It is the first time in my life that my system has had the nicotine and other bug juices washed out of it; a cigarette tastes different now," he exulted, though evidently looking for sympathy.

"Do you know," he continued, as he cornered a chunk of meat in the bottom of the pan and tried to sever it with the ancient cutlery, "I always thought I could work, and now I know it."

"Then this is really your maiden labor sweat?" I asked, seemingly incredulous.

"Say," he began, still laboring with the meat, "I think this s.h.i.+p bought a job lot of sheep, and there were some granddaddies in the lot." I smiled an a.s.sent.

"If any one had told me a few days ago that I would be sitting on board a s.h.i.+p before an oak plank, eating old ram with relish, and out of a laundry vessel at that, I would have believed him insane."

I laughed outright and mumbled something about "crises in every one's life."

"My crisis came, all right, the other day. It was like the sidewalk coming up and hitting me in the face, it so upset me--oh, it was terrible. I am surprised that I can talk about it so soon." There was a ruefulness and disappointment in his tone.

I smiled encouragingly as he went on.

"I knew there was trouble ahead when the Governor called me into his office--there always was--but I expected, as usual, to win him over. I found for the first time why men called him a 'Gold-Beater.' I sat across a long table from him, never before realizing how big a man he was, his chest seemingly as broad as those of two ordinary men. He wasn't mad, just cold and immovable. He gave me some money and told me that was the last. I had to get out and work or starve. What I decided to do did not interest him. He said he didn't want to see me again and that he didn't care whether I went to h.e.l.l or to work." Strong spoke as one recalling a nightmare.

"I suppose you have not been able to figure out yet who is right?" I asked.

"Oh, I think there is little doubt who is right, but just how long it will take me to recognize the fact is the question. You see, the Governor was never stingy or tight with me. That's why he was called a 'Gold-Beater'; he has made money, but he owns the money instead of it owning him--at least that's what his cronies say. And there's no doubt about the fact that I should go to work, but in the two or three days I have had to think about it I can't see why he waited so long. It's downright wrong to allow a fellow to believe he's got nothing to do but spend money and get into trouble for years at a stretch, then stop everything all of a sudden. I think that's where the Governor's wrong.

But, you see, I can work, and I'm going to fool the old man." Bending over toward me, he added, "But I don't know how I would have come out on my first try if it hadn't been for you."

"Oh--I have done nothing but pa.s.s on to you what was done for me when I started. Later on you will perhaps admit that men who work with their hands, if approached right, are more kindly disposed and even more generous than others. But I am glad you speak English, to say nothing of finding a good fellow," I replied, approvingly.

"Well, I am not only glad to find some one who uses English, but, like the kid I really am, I am glad you listen to me. I got such a jolt. You see, it was the first time I ever felt the lash of the paternal whip, and one or two cuts were enough. I now know why the Governor is such a power among men--he does things so thoroughly and quietly. There wasn't any row--he was ready for me and I don't realize yet how well he prepared things, or how much he apparently knows of my movements----" He hesitated with a sorrowful shake of his head and resumed eating.

"You found he was checking you up pretty close?" said I, to urge him on.