The Blood Ship

since his arrival on board, early that morning, with a letter from the owners' agent, and the announcement he intended making the voyage with us. He had wea

cted to travel about the south seas investigating the "king's" past, so he could write a book about the old viking. He had heard that

islands-too good to be true, and certainly too good not to put into a book. Was Captain Shreve familiar with the tale? How this fellow, Waldon, sailed into a Samoan harbor in an

reve must tell him all he knew about the fellow. If he could only get at the beginning of the "king's" career in the islands. Where did the fellow come from? Why should a man br

tter in the alphabet, is any sign of lung power, that chap didn't need any cod-liver oil or sea air. He could have given up writing, and still have made a good living ashore as a blacksmith's bellows! And as for the local color and inf

dn't confide; his face kept its accustomed expression of serenity, and he made no attempt to stem the author's flood of words. I was somewhat surprised by this meekness, for our Old Man is a

tain, Briggs, myself, and this human phonograph. It was a pleasant day, and we would have enjoyed the loaf in the warm afternoon sunshine, had it not been for the unen

eed but a mental image of the man to make him live again. You must tell me what he looked like, Captain. Is it true, as I have been told, he was such a giant of a man, and possessed of such enormous phy

ut the author did not pause; in fact he hastened on, as though determined to forestall any interruption. Tal

ve as when he was in the flesh. If he were alive I should not need your assistance, Captain; one look at the man and I could paint him in his true colors. I have t

g else that rubbed the expression of patient resignation from his face; he was staring over the starboard rail with an expression of lively inte

by George, what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. He turned to the mate, his bright

shifted his quid, spat, and inspected the passing hulk with extreme deliberation. I looked at her too,

at a cathead, preparing to let go anchor. She was ill-favored enough to look at, that hulk-weather-beaten, begrimed, stripped of all that makes a ship sightly. Not

o it is!" He nodded to the Captain, and then returned his regard to the hul

do you two see in that old hu

tunity to exercise for our benefit the rare gift he was endowed with. He glanced patronizingly at the coa

ity. An old workhorse-eh? A broken down old plug, built for heavy labor, and now rounding o

mouth. But it was Briggs who was unable to contain himself. He turne

bat you'd know you were talking rot! 'A workhorse!' you say. 'A

e tug had gone, and she was lying anchored, now, a few hundred yards off our

t a dirty old sc

ent on Briggs, relentlessly. "Well, young feller, tha

d. The name meant nothing

echoed. "Surely you

ug

is left of the finest ship that ever smashed a record with the American flag at her

n he turned to the writing guy, and co

ome to me. We are all workhorses, are we not, we of the sea? And time breaks down us all, man and ship." The Old Man wa

I see her through a layman's eyes," he explained. "A

yes, she looks old and dirty-no mistake. But time was when no ship afloat could match her for

his eyes, he remembered her. He remembered one time running the Easting down in the Josiah T. Flynn, a smart ship, with a reputation, and they were cracking on as they would never dare crack, on in these degenerate days, when, blast his eyes, the Golden Bough came up on them, and passed, and ran a

t was. We know the record of that ship. Aye, lad, and if those sorry-looking timbers yonder could talk, you would not have to make the voyage with us in order to get a taste of the salt. You'd get real local color there-you'd hear of many a wi

awled the writing guy. "Falling from aloft, and b

did not mean the physical dangers of life, particularly; I meant, rather, that Fate tangles lives on board ship as queerly as in cities ashore. I meant that the Golden Bough, in her day, left her mark upon a good many lives. She broke men, and made th

ifficult it was to get our Old Man to spin a yarn, and I was determined he should not be shunted off on a new

yonder has had a good deal to do with my own life. I received my first boost upward in the Golden Bough. Shipped in the foc'sle,

valorous deed?" pu

performing an infamo

at is the way most

seemed about to say a lot mor

he yarn, Capta

ead of us, and I'll gladly spin the yarn. You say, sir, you are interested in ships, and sailors, and, particularly, in 'King' Waldon's history. W

o work out their separate destinies as Fate and character directed. Aye, and their ch

e tongues welding into a dangerous unit the mob of desperate, broken stiffs who inhabited the foc'sle. There were Lynch and Fitzgibbon, the buckos, living up to their grim code; and the Knitting Swede, that prince of crimps, who put most of us into the ship. There was myself, with my childish vanity, and petty ambitions. There was the lady, the beautiful, despairing lady aft, wife of the infamous

elling it. You know, sir, this is where you writing folk have at disadvantage the chaps who only live their stories-you see the yarn from the beginning to the end, we see but

, a middle, and an end," began the

on that writing guy's kid-clad foot, and held him in speechless ag