"in the black ball line i served my time,
to me hoodah. to me hoodah;
in the black ball line i served my time,
so hurrah for the black ball line!
"blow, my bullies, blow,
for california o!
there's plenty of gold,
so i've been told,
on the banks of the sacramento!"
it was with this familiar capstan chanty, "the banks of the sacramento," ringing into his senses that paul lavelle opened his eyes again on conscious life. the chorus rose clear and lusty, following a baritone leader whose tones were like chimes. a strange, sharp voice of command near by suddenly cut into the chorus.
"tell that gang of bullies to cut that out and handle that capstan in silence! tell 'em to remember we've sick folk aboard here."
a moment afterward the chanty ceased.
"emily, emily!" paul called. he believed he shouted, but his voice rose hardly above a whisper. a shadow cut off the morning sunlight which was streaming through a door at his feet. a film seemed to be over his vision, but he sensed that he was in the daphne's lounge. somebody sat down beside him and two strong hands took one of his between them.
"you god blessed, old pirate, you——"
emotion choked the speaker, but paul lavelle started at the sound of that voice. it called to him across fourteen years of silence. he looked up dazed at a man built like himself and dressed in the uniform of a united states naval commander.
"tommy—tommy winterton," he murmured.
"bet your boots it's tommy!" came the answer with a bit of a sniffle in it.
"but where am i? where——" terror seized him. "emily, emily!" he called.
"she's below, paul, sleeping. she's been up here, sitting where i am, nearly all night."
"but how——where——"
"stow your questions till i get through. i've a lot to tell you."
paul subsided with a wondering gaze fixed on the speaker.
"i've a lot to tell that'll make you want to live; that ought to bring you off your back quicker than you can say jack robinson," winterton went on. "you haven't swallowed any steam—you're burned up a bit outside and you're just as good-looking as ever."
"but where am i? what has happened?"
"you're aboard your own bark—the daphne. she's yours by the lord harry and i'd like to see anybody take her away from you. we'll be up with the gate in another three hours. i'm having her mudhooks shackled up now. along——"
a renewing of the chanty interrupted him.
"mr. yates! mr. yates!" called winterton.
a young ensign appeared in the doorway.
"tell 'em to cut that out!"
paul shook his head.
"let 'em go on," he asked. "ask that fellow with the baritone voice to find a job and give us 'the maid of amsterdam.'"
"anything his heart desires, mr. yates."
yates stepped inside with his hand extended toward paul.
"i just want to shake hands with you and say i'm proud to do it."
he lifted the hand which winterton held and gave it a gentle squeeze through its bandages. he turned and went out quickly. winterton picked up the hand again and met paul's wondering gaze.
"that boy meant that," said winterton. "why——"
the strain of "the maid of amsterdam"—the most beautiful of all sailor work songs—came aft.
"that can't stop me," winterton went on. "we ran afoul of your old packet about 11 o'clock yesterday morning, threshing around like a wild ship—two ships of the cruiser squadron; mine and another. the carolina has gone on in. i'm stretching a hawser over your bows with my ship. don't you remember anything about it? no? i sent yates and a boat's crew aboard of you. they found you and that glorious girl trying to get aft. you wanted to get to the wheel and you not able to stand. don't remember it, eh? i reckon you don't.
"oh, my boy, that girl and you have had the whole lot of us miserable. we reached honolulu from callao ten days after the cambodia went down. department ordered us to join the search for survivors. whaler picked up a hundred and forty. there was a kid of a quartermaster among 'em—he and a chap named evans—he's in the consular service—were the heroes of the whole lot. it would take me a week to tell you the things they said about you. they weren't the only ones. to me it was like a poor man finding gold—every word they dropped was a chunk of gold. say, don't mind, if i snivel a little bit. but i'm glad, glad! you under—you old——"
"my mother——have——"
"got a cable from her at honolulu. sent a wireless to her last night. she's waiting for you now in town. cambodia had no wireless. 'twas a crime. somebody ought to be hanged."
paul nodded assent.
"well, we combed out to the westward looking for you till it was hopeless," winterton resumed. "we had nothing but gale upon gale. we combed through that chain of islands to the nor'west of the hawaiians and at midway we ran on the gang out of this ship. oh, it isn't a pretty story: they'd made the island after being in the boats ten days. when they set fire to this ship they thought midway was right aboard of them. none was a navigator. second mate—a murdering hound named morgan, who'd been taken aft from the foc'sle, was the ringleader. he killed mcgavock, the skipper. the jap cook killed the mate. plain hellishness was at the back of it; that's all.
"mcgavock had been logging both of them—knocked morgan down one day for giving him back talk. mate did the same to the cook. the jap was crazy from opium smoking. after they'd done the killing they fixed the fire and the rest of the crew followed them over the side like rats—you know the kind. one of the outfit—sort of a third mate and bos'n—who'd put up a fight—they turned him adrift without water or a bite to eat. told him to eat the oars if he got hungry; gave him the ocean to drink. yes, that's the fellow you picked up. miss granville told me about it last night. he was with your father at apia."
"but what of mcgavock's wife? there was a woman, tommy."
"she wasn't aboard. seems poor mcgavock lost his wife—died at sea with her little baby, away out to the westward there, a couple of years ago. he kept brooding over it—kept the wife's things aboard just as she'd left them. i saw the little ferns down there under the skylights yesterday evening. seems that after crossing the line this voyage mcgavock got it into his head to make the position where he'd buried the little woman. he had it marked on the chart with a little red cross. the mutineers stole the chart and they thought the red cross stood for an island. god knows why mcgavock steered out there. maybe he never intended to come away.
"the jap committed suicide at midway, but he told the whole story before he went out and we have the rest of it from the other swine. the whole outfit's aboard my ship. something of the poetry of justice in that, eh? a british cruiser's waiting to take them aboard as soon as we get in. had her by wireless yesterday.
"but, paul, it's you i want to talk about—and i'll not answer another question till i have my say. when the news of the cambodia's loss and what you'd done aboard of her went flashing round the world it set the old navy gang's hearts up. but it did more than that. it reached into the conscience of that fellow graham. he was on his last legs in a hospital in san francisco. he'd never had a ship since he'd lost the yakutat—just a beachcomber and a bum. a man can't do a dirty thing and stand up afterward. that's as sure as shooting. well, with his last breath, graham tells the truth about the night the yakutat was lost; said if he'd done what you advised him to do the ship would never have piled up. he took back every lie he uttered on the witness stand—admitted that he'd ordered you to the boats. he even told how he looked down from the bridge and saw you fighting like a tiger to get women and children into the boats. the san francisco papers—we picked 'em up at honolulu—are full of it. miss granville has a lot of them.
"lord, man——why, paul, you damned old pirate you! the fleet's been collecting a fund—one of the newspapers that roasted you the worst is backing it—to build you a memorial. something in bronze. but it isn't going to be bronze. it's going to be silver—the damnedest, finest wedding gift a real man ever got."
winterton's voice was husky with emotion. his big brown eyes were suspiciously misty. he had to stop.
"farallones are abeam, sir," reported yates, who was in temporary command of the daphne, coming to the door.
"must be getting back to my own ship, paul. regulations, you know. but i'll be aboard of you as soon as we get our mudhooks down."
"carpenter's mate reports, sir," interrupted the ensign, "that the fire in the forehold is extinguished."
"see that!" exclaimed winterton. "you beat that, too, you old beggar, even though you did come near blowing yourself to kingdom come!"
at that moment emily, fresh from sleep and with the wonderful light of love transcendent in her being, came up through the companionway with the surgeon from winterton's ship at her heels.
sawbones caught winterton's eye and followed him out on deck. the lounge door closed softly behind them and emily granville and paul lavelle were alone. he drew her precious face down to his and printed a kiss of life triumphant upon her expectant lips. neither attempted to speak for several minutes.
the gold woman carried a small black book and she laid it in paul's hands as she lifted her face from his.
"i want you to have this now, my prince, before the world renders you what it will in a few hours. i would have dragged from the world what it is going to give you willingly. i want all that comes to you to come through me. darling, that is the woman of it. i have kept this a secret from you because i wished to be able to swear that it was not written at your suggestion; that you knew absolutely nothing about it. if i did wrong in keeping it from you—you——"
"why, darling, what is it?"
"can you bear to read?"
"yes."
"then begin here," and she opened the book in the middle for him and this is what paul lavelle read:
"at sea aboard the bark daphne, march 31, 191-.
"in the presence of death and without the solicitation or the knowledge of any person hereinafter named i, daniel mcgovern, sometimes called driscoll, and other names unknown to me, say: i was quartermaster aboard the steamship yakutat which was wrecked on the california coast in the month of march—the 15th—190-, through and by the carelessness of her first officer, william graham, then acting as captain in the place of her dead commander. i joined the ship at skagway. the shipping records there will show under what name. on the day preceding the wreck and when we were within thirty-six hours of our destination we encountered a dense fog in which the ship remained up to the time she struck. the fog closed in about 10 o'clock at night shortly after i took the wheel. paul lavelle, second officer of the yakutat and ranking next in command to william graham, was on the bridge. about fifteen minutes afterward graham came on the bridge. i heard mr. lavelle tell a steward to call graham from the saloon. lavelle said: 'we are standing in too near the land. there is a bad current along here.' graham said: 'i've had enough of this talk from you. hold your course. i'm in command here.' he left the bridge. the next night when i went on watch the course was the same that we had been holding for the previous twenty-four hours. this was at midnight. the third officer and the captain, graham, were on the bridge. mr. lavelle was just being relieved. he said to the captain, graham: 'i advise you to steer at least three points further to the southward.' we were making a course southeast by east. graham answered: 'take your orders or go to your room and stay there. which will it be?' mr. lavelle said: 'i will take my orders.' other things were said in both these conversations, but what they were i do not know. i give only the parts i heard and remember. the ship struck at fifteen minutes before two. the third officer signaled: 'full speed astern.' if he had signaled 'full speed ahead' there would have been but few lives lost. there was a ground swell running, but hardly any sea. lavelle came on the bridge first. then came graham and the fourth officer. graham was like a crazy man. he kept saying: 'all hands to the boats.' and there were not boats enough aboard for half the ship's company. mr. lavelle cursed graham. graham said: 'i order you to your boat.' i followed mr. lavelle. we had to fight like wild beasts. there were pistols and knives against us at every hand. 'women and children first; remember, driscoll.' that is what mr. lavelle said to me. the boats were being let go by the run, some half filled and others with not enough in them to man them. we gathered all the women and children we could see. the last we let in was an old gentleman who had been sick all the passage, and his wife. i lifted him in. mr. lavelle lifted the wife. one would not go without the other. then the lights went out. when we cleared the side lavelle started to climb the boat fall again to go back to the ship. i pulled him back. he was too brave a man to let commit suicide. he had absolutely no thought of himself. i have followed the sea forty-five years and i know brave men. i saw paul lavelle's father die at apia. nobody was driven from our boat but men. we gave their places to women and children. we did not beat anybody with oars. when we cleared the ship a negro—i had knocked him overboard myself—grabbed the gunwale of the boat. we could not take him in. mr. lavelle struck at him with an oar. somebody stood up in the boat and the next second we were all gone. i did not remember what happened until one year ago. the minister at the bethel in hong kong can tell you about that. the doctors there know, too. while i was on the yakutat i did not know who paul lavelle was.
his
daniel x mcgovern.
mark
"witness:
"emily granville."
"oh, you wonderful, wonderful woman!" cried paul as he finished this amazing document and crushed emily to him.
contrition filled him as he remembered the picture of her standing beside the derelict's berth swearing him to the truth of his statement. he started to speak, but a hand over his mouth stopped him. the gold woman could read his thoughts.
"i should have answered you when you called me that night, paul," she said, "but if i had done so i should not have been able to get the poor old fellow to make his mark. i had fought death from taking him until i could put in writing what he said. you——"
she did not finish, for he drew her cheek down against his.
two hours later paul lavelle and emily granville sailed through the golden gate—the golden gate of the future which she had promised him.
the noble sea way was shimmering in the sunlight of a flawless spring day. as the daphne came under the lee of the green-clad marin hills the northwest wind, which had been her constant champion, withdrew like a courtier who has seen his lady to the threshold of her home.
"to live and to love!" exclaimed paul, inhaling a deep breath of the crisp, sparkling air where he had been carried from the lounge to a chair against the taffrail.
"to love and to live," whispered emily, pressing the hand which she held in hers against her heart. "isn't life beautiful?"
"we are but coming through its gate, darling," he answered.
