The Cruise of the Dry Dock

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Both boys bent above the chart, and Madden silently pointed out a row of
pin holes that marked the daily reckonings of the _Minnie B_. She
had sailed from Portland, Maine, had swung up the northern route past
Newfoundland Banks as if going to England. On this portion of her voyage
her average run was a little less than two hundred knots a day. On the
fifth day out, the _Minnie B_ inexplicably deserted the normal
trade course, turned from "E. NE." and sailed directly "S. SW." At the
same time her speed was accelerated to a trifle over three hundred knots
a day. Her last reckoning left the pin sticking in the exact longitude
and latitude which Leonard had worked out for the dock that morning.

"They got in a hurry when they did turn south," said Greer vacuously.

"They certainly burned coal from there to here."

"But what could have put her in such a rush, sir?"

"She must have sailed somewhere after a cargo, and later received a
cancellation of the order. With that cancellation there must have come a
new commission with a time limit, from some of the South American ports,
I should judge by her course, say Caracas, or Paramaribo."

"But she has no wireless, sir. She couldn't have changed her
destination."

"That would be fairly easy to explain. There are so many fast liners
with wireless between New York and Liverpool, it would be a simple
matter to get a message signaled to a sailing vessel in the trade
route."

"But I can't see why she sailed through the Sargasso?"

"If the time factor had been urgent enough, she might have tried to
shorten her journey by coming this way instead of following the usual
course by Cuba and through the Caribbean."

"That doesn't tell what happened to the men."

Madden shook his head and wiped the sweat from his face on his
undershirt sleeve. "Let's read the log. That ought to clear up things a
bit."

Both lads hurried over to the desk, drew out the greasy, well-thumbed
book. In their excitement, they forgot rank and tried to read together.

"Let me read it aloud," compromised Madden.

Dripping with sweat, they leaned on the hot desk and went carefully over
the log of the _Minnie B_.

The record was simple. The _Minnie B_, of Leeds, England, sailed
from Portland, Maine, for Liverpool on July thirtieth with a cargo of
lake copper in bulk bound for Liverpool. For the first five days, her
log was written in two heavy unscholarly hands, which alternated with
each other, and were evidently those of the mate and the captain. These
two handwritings were quite distinct from each other and contained the
usual notes of prevailing winds, state of weather, speed, distance
indicated by patent log, dead reckonings, vessels sighted and such like.

From the sixth to the twentieth day, the log of the _Minnie B_ was
written in a sharp, pointed, scholarly hand, and this record was
confined to the mere relation of distances and reckonings. Then on
the twenty-first day of August there appeared the following entry:

"46 degrees 57' W. Long. 27 degrees 24' 11" N. Lat. No wind. Sargasso
Sea. Current 9.463 kilometers per 24 hrs. W. SW. Cast sea anchor. Five
hundred tons ingots reshipped."

At this statement, Leonard turned and stared at Greer.

"Reshipped! Reshipped! Holy cats, Farnol! Reshipped from here--right
here!" He jabbed a finger downward to indicate the spot in the dead
Sargasso Sea occupied by the _Minnie B_.

Greer shook his head dully. "But this is all the wildest--" he made a
helpless motion. "You oughtn't to think about it, sir, or you'll be
going overboard, too. Reshipped!... This heat will get anybody in
time.... The man who wrote that went and jumped overboard the next
minute no doubt. Reshipped..... It ain't good for us to read it, sir."

"But something's gone with her cargo, Greer!" declared Madden
vehemently. "Something's gone with it. I don't care how crazy the crew
became they surely wouldn't have dumped a hold full of copper into the
sea. This log says 'reshipped' and blessed if I don't believe--"

At this moment the boys seemed to hear the sound in the deathly silent
vessel for which their ears had been all the time straining. Madden
broke off abruptly and both stood listening with palpitating hearts. It
was repeated. A repressed half groan, inarticulate, as if some human
being were in distress. It was in the main cabin below them.

Hardly daring to guess at what they would see, the adventurers crept
silently out of the chart room, down a short hot passageway to a door.
Leonard caught a breath, then opened it without noise.

In the brilliant westering light that flooded the main cabin through the
port holes, Madden saw a dining table, disordered as from a recent
feast. On the floor around it were fragments of smashed glasses and
bloody stains. A cut glass decanter, half full of wine, sat on the
table, and in a corner of the cabin shrank the figure of a man.

CHAPTER IX

A MODERN COLUMBUS

Hardly knowing what to expect the two advanced into the cabin, when the
figure turned and looked at them with pallid countenance.

"It's Caradoc!" cried Madden in great astonishment and relief. "Scots,
Smith, you gave us a jolt! We thought--what's the matter, old chap? Heat
again?"

The Englishman's long face was strained. "Would you--take that decanter
away, please!" he begged unsteadily.

Instantly Leonard understood the temptation into which Caradoc had
unwittingly wandered. A strong odor of wine pervaded the cabin, and
Smith's knock-out had given his nerves a great craving for a stimulant.

Without a word, Leonard walked to the table, took the wine bottle by its
neck and heaved it through the open port. The three men in their half
costumes stood listening intently until it chucked into the sea below.
All three seemed to feel relief at the sound.

"That's all right, Caradoc," said Madden with a note of comfort in his
voice, "all right, old chap. It won't be like this always."

"I was unstrung--rotten heat," grumbled the Englishman in acute
self-disgust. "I thought I was getting over all--" he shifted the topic
suddenly: "What do you make out of all this?"

"Completest mystery I ever ran into--the crew deserted for some
reason----"

"And they had a feast and a celebration before they went. What cause of
rejoicing they discovered in this place is more than I can fancy."

An inspection showed Smith was correct. What the boys had taken for
bloodstains in their first excitement were splashes of wine. The table
was still laden with dishes and eatables. Broken glass around the table
showed that the diners had followed the old custom of breaking their
goblets after toasts.

"They were having a last square meal before taking to their boats,"
speculated Leonard.

"But the boats are still here, sir," objected Greer.

"There seems to be no explanation," gloomed Caradoc.

"If we gathered this up and took it to the men, they would thank us
heartily," suggested Greer.

"That's a fact," agreed Madden, setting to work at once. "Here, pile
these plates on trays and we'll load 'em in the small boat."

The three adventurers set to work busily, carrying the provisions, which
were still fresh and wholesome, to the port dinghy which lay toward the
dock.

As they worked they speculated further on what could have brought about
such an extraordinary situation. Their guesses ranged from water spouts
to savages. Presently Caradoc cut in with:

"It's not so much how the _Minnie B_ got here, as it is how we are
going to handle her."

"We'll man her and sail home," said Greer.

"We'll have to ballast her first," declared Leonard. "She won't run this
way."

"We have enough coal on the dock for that, sir."

"In a flat sea like this," suggested Caradoc, "we can warp the schooner
to the front of the barge and load the coal directly in her hold."

By this time the dinghy was loaded and the three swung her out of the
davits into the sea below. Then they threw down a rope ladder and
climbed below. Greer went back to the stern, picked up an oar and began
to scull.

The sun sank as the little boat worked her way through the lanes of
seaweed, and the great dock threw long purple shadows across the highly
colored ocean. Caradoc looked at the great structure intently. The
setting sun rimmed its great shape in brilliant red, but the bulk of it
lay in deep wine-like shadow. The boys gazed at it musingly.

"A fine structure to desert, isn't it?" said Caradoc in a low tone.

"Just what I was thinking," sympathized Madden. "I suppose we could send
a tug back and find her?"

"Doubtful, in this fantastic place."

"The current is fairly well charted; still, it may take us some time to
reach port----" Both men fell into a musing silence as Greer nibbled the
boat forward with the single oar.

"The thing's worth over a million pounds," appraised Caradoc.

Suddenly Madden straightened with an idea. "How about hitching that
schooner to the dock and towing her?"

"What an American idea!" Caradoc lifted his voice slightly.

"Would we--make any--headway, sir, with the schooner's--light
machinery?" asked Greer, his sentence punctuated by shoves at his oar.

"We would have to try and see. Besides, we would have to do little else
than help the current we are in. The Atlantic eddy sweeps through the
Caribbean close to the South American coast. If we could control our
direction slightly, we would perhaps make La Guayra or the Port of
Spain."

"With a seven or eight mile current that would take us months--years....
What is the distance to La Guayra?" this from Smith.

"Something around fifteen hundred miles. But that isn't the point. It
isn't how long it takes us, it's can we _do_ it. Had you thought of
the salvage end of this thing?"

"Salvage, no. We'll get salvage on the schooner--a bagatelle."

Madden shook his head, "No, I believe we ought to get salvage on the
whole dock."

"Salvage on the dock!" Caradoc opened his eyes. "We'd be jolly well near
millionaires. No, that's impossible. A crew can't salve their own
vessel."

"Yes, but we are not the crew of the dock," insisted Madden, "at least
not the navigating crew. The men of the _Vulcan_ were that. We are
nothing but painters----"

"Oh, that's a quibble--nothing but a quibble!" objected Caradoc.

"Well, anyway, I think there is a rule that if a crew rescue their own
craft under circumstances of extreme peril, they come in as salvors.
I'll look it up in Malone's books when we get back."

At that moment their ears caught a cheering from the dock, which came to
them as a small sound almost lost over the immense flat sea. Greer
paused in his work to wave a hand, which was extremely sociable for him.
The men bunched on the forward pontoon, waved and shouted at the little
boat. As the noise grew louder, questions shaped themselves in the
uproar.

"W'ot did ye make of 'er?" "Was there anywan aboard?" "W'ot ship is
she?" "Can we git a berth hoff this bloomin' dock?"

Madden held up his hands for silence and shouted a reply.

"We have a meal for you--a dinner!"

A great shouting and cheering broke out at this. It is strange how much
more pressing is the small need of a dinner than the large need of a
rescue. The mystery of the schooner was overlooked in a sight of the
plates and victuals.

"Oh, look, there it is--bread and meat!" "And, say, ain't that fish?"
"And that goose or something!"

Eager hands reached down as Madden and Caradoc handed up the platters.
"To the mess room, to the mess room!" directed Leonard.

"Sure, sure, we wouldn't touch a mouthful for hanything!" cried Mulcher
earnestly.

"Misther Madden, you're a wonder!" extolled Hogan.

Then the three men climbed up and were received clamorously. Even the
silent Greer found himself beset with a temporary bunch of admirers. All
began talking of the _Minnie B_, asking questions. Caradoc unbent
his dignity and explained what he had observed.

Leonard went straight to the officer's cabin, eager to satisfy his
curiosity about salvage. A whole fortune shimmered before his vision if
law allowed the crew to salve the dock. He turned into the hot cabin,
struck a light and ran his eyes over the mate's shelf of books. He soon
found what he was hunting, "Abbot's Law of Merchant's Ships and Seamen."

Leonard sat down at his desk, placed the light close by and began a
sweating search for the legal rule applicable to salvage. It was
Madden's intention to attempt to get the dock to port no matter what the
law said, but he knew his best chance of getting the crew to cooperate
was through possible prize money.

Like all legal works, Abbott gave shading decisions on both sides of the
topic. As the lad read on he discovered many questions were involved.

What constitutes the crew of a vessel? Can a towed vessel have a
navigating crew? Could a lawful crew be composed of ordinary laborers,
or would it be necessary for them to be able seamen?

All these points and many others were involved, but Leonard plodded
patiently through the legal labyrinth, and finally decided that he and
his crew were eligible for prize money. He then fell to estimating the
probable amount the crew would receive. The dock was easily worth a
million pounds, or say five million dollars. It would lack one or two
hundred thousand totting up a full five million, but Leonard's
imagination was in no mood to balk at a paltry two hundred thousand more
or less. Say five million! The share of the salvors would amount to--say
fifty per cent, two and a half million. Distribute this among twelve
men. There he was, two hundred and eight thousand, three hundred and
thirty-three dollars and thirty-three cents. Or say two hundred thousand
dollars.

Madden drew a long breath and opened his eyes at his own figures. Was it
possible? He doubted it! He believed it!

He stared out of his open port onto the fantastic sea, amazed that a
great fortune should drift in to him from such a place. What would he
do? How should he live? He could go anywhere, do anything. There came to
him suddenly the precepts of his old teacher in economics at college: "A
fortune is a great moral responsibility. A rich man is a trustee of
society." Did he have the brains to wield this money and make it mean
something to the world? The thought of wealth always comes with a
question. A man's answer to that question determines whether he is a man
or a thing.

Before Leonard could reach any sort of decision, Gaskin rang his gong
for dinner. The boy arose and walked buoyantly towards the mess hall. He
was hungry, too. Ever since he had cut rations, he had been eating the
same fare as the men.

The tropical night was falling as the men joyously entered to a
full-fledged, satisfying, if secondhand, meal. They came in laughing,
joking boisterously, wondering about the schooner.

When the men had strung around the long table, Mike Hogan arose and the
men became quiet as if at some preconcerted signal. The Irishman gave a
slightly embarrassed bob toward Leonard and began in an extra rich
brogue:

"Misther Madden, sir----"

Leonard glanced up in surprise. "What's worrying you, Mike?"

"Th' bhoys, sir, have been thinkin' as how we would loike to ixpress our
appreciation av what ye've done for us, sir, in a little spache,
something loike a little spache av wilcome, sir, an' asked me to do it,
if ye don't moind."

"Go ahead," nodded Madden, "but don't expect much of a response from me.
I'm no speaker and----"

"Go on, Mike!" "Go to it, Mike!" "Take a sip of water, Mike, like a
reg'lar one, and cut loose."

With this encouragement, the Celt moistened his dry lips, thrust out his
chest, and after a momentary fumble, stuck three fingers in his shirt
front.

"It's me pr-roud privilege, ladies and gintilmin, to wilcome to our
midst, a gintilmin bearin' in wan hand a distinguished ancistry, a
spirit av enterprise and a hear-rt av courage, while wid his other, he
snatches a dinner for his starvin' min out o' th' middle av th' Sargasso
Sea. Oi rayfer to our distinguished commander, Captain Leonard Madden of
America."

A burst of applause followed this period. Hogan beamed, bowed deeply to
left and right; his voice went up an octave and he proceeded:

"Ladies an' gintilmin, me mind runs back through th' pages av histh'ry,
lookin' for a name fit to be compared with him but I don't find none.
There is Columbus and Peary and Stanley and Amundsen, all av thim
gr-reat min, but whin you come to compare thim with our hero, phwat have
they done?

"Look at Columbus. What is his claim to glory? Did Columbus iver swim
out into th' stinkin' Sargasso and come back with a good dinner for his
star-r-vin' min? Histh'ry does not say so. He discovered America,
Columbus did. What is America? A whole continint. Anybody that was
sailin' by would have noticed it. But, gintilmin, a dinner is a very
small thing and they are har-rd to discover, as ivry wan of you lads
very will know. Columbus wint out in thray ships, our gallant captain
wint out in his undhershirt and a straw hat. I say thray cheers for our
gallant captain!"

The cheers were given with a hearty good will and the orator sat down
smiling broadly and moistening his dry lips with his tongue. Then the
diners desired a response.

It struck Madden to propose salving the dock while the crowd was mellow.
He arose when the noise subsided somewhat.

"I thank you fellows very much for the kind opinion you entertain of me,
and now I want to lay a proposition before you."

"Hear! Hear the captain!" called two or three cockneys in hoarse good
humor.

"I want to say that to-morrow we are going to man the schooner and sail
for home."

The men were in a bubbling mood, and cheered this with cries of "Good!
Good!"

"What I wish you to decide is, whether we shall tow the dock, or sail
with the schooner alone?"

"With the schooner alone, sor!" "Schooner alone!" "We 'ave enough of th'
dock!" came an instant chorus.

Leonard held up a hand, "One moment. I want you to have a voice in this
decision. An attempt to tow the dock will be highly adventurous, no
doubt dangerous. You were not hired for any such service, and I wish to
leave it to a vote."

"Good, very good, sor! Let's 'ave th' question!"

"Just one moment. You must consider the salvage involved in this matter.
If we save the schooner, we will receive as prize money about one-half
her value. If we save the dock, we will receive about half _her_
value. The dock is worth a million pounds, about five million dollars.
So each man would receive for his portion, in event we salved the dock
about... two hundred thousand dollars... a fortune."

A profound silence fell over the diners. They hunched forward, staring
fixedly out of sunburned, gross, dissipated faces. Longshores-men, the
scum of London, who had worked all their lives for half a pound a week,
gaped at the idea of two hundred thousand dollars.

Somebody repeated the sum hoarsely. Suddenly they raised an uproar.

"We'll take 'er, sir!" "We'll tow th' dock, sor!" "We weel tow zee dock
to zee moon for zat!" "Sphend our loives and die rich min!"

The strong imagination of wealth ran around the table like wine.
Deschaillon responded first.

"Voila! One meellion francs! I weel buy a pond near Paris and raise bull
frogs. I weel buy a decoration and be a knight. I weel----"

"I'll start an undertaker shop!" glowed Galton, "and my old mother shall
have a bit of ground to raise flowers."

"Glory be!" chanted Hogan, "Oi'll wear a tall hat, a long-tailed coat
and carry a silver-headed cane, and thin Susie Maloney and Bridget
O'Malley and Peggy O'Brien will be sorry they iver tossed up their saucy
noses at th' love o' an honest lad!"

"I'll own a kennel of bulldogs," growled Mulcher, "and 'ave a fight
hev'ry day."

All this was given in chorus and much of it lost. Those who didn't speak
aloud their heart's desires thought them. Fortune had shown her golden
form to these crude men for a fleeting instant, and dreams, long hidden
in their hearts, suddenly leaped to life. They were poor dreams, selfish
dreams, foolish dreams, but for the moment they poised, like liberated
fairies, for a flight to the land where dreams come true.

"We sail in the morning," explained Madden, "for a South American port.
Is there anyone in this crew who knows anything about running a marine
engine?"

The men fell silent and looked inquiringly at each other. Fortune was
beginning to show herself elusive, even in the Sargasso, save to those
who _know_.

"I b'lieve not," said Mulcher.

"We could raise steam, sir," suggested Galton, "and then pull all the
levers and twist th' w'eels, sir and see w'ot'd 'appen."

"W'ot 'ud 'appen!" cried two or three voices. "W'y, we'd hall be blowed
galley west, 'at's w'ot'd 'appen!"

"Sure Misther Madden can figger it out!" suggested Hogan cheerfully.

"We might leave th' dock and run 'er 'ome by sail," suggested Galton.

"No! No! Take th' dock!" "We'll run'er by steam!" "Steam's th' word!"
A storm of determination cried down any such suggestion.

"D'ye mean a dozin str-rong min can't run one little engine!" shouted
Hogan; "r-rich min, too! It's a shame, lads, we haven't a dhrop o'
something to dhrink the health av th' ixpedition."

"Yes, Mister Madden, a drop o' something!" urged another voice.

At that moment, Gaskin entered the door with suppressed excitement
showing through his usually imperturbable manner.

"Hi--Hi beg pardon, Mister Madden. Hi, don't want to interrupt, but--"
he rubbed his hands with a little bob--"but would you 'ave th' goodness
to step outside for a look, sir. Hi think th' _Minnie B_ is on
fire."

And the fairy dreams, evoked by a wave of Fortune's wand, crept silently
back into the hearts of their owners.

CHAPTER X

THE STRANGE END OF THE _MINNIE B_

At Gaskin's announcement, bedlam broke loose among the diners. They
leaped to their feet and rushed headlong from the messroom.

"Get th' buckets!" "Man th' boat!" "We'll niver get there in toime!"
"_Allons! Allons_!" "W'y didn't we put a guard on 'er!" "Hurry!
Hurry! Hurry!" "Yes, 'urry! 'urry!"

Out into the darkness to the forward pontoon rushed the howling mob.
Some gave inarticulate cries, others bewailed their lost riches to the
vast empty night.

A strange sight met their eyes. The spars and sails of the _Minnie
B_ stood out against the black heavens in a flickering brilliance
that danced up through the rigging, but presently all saw it was a mere
light shining from beneath.

"Th' fire's in th' hold!" cried Galton hoarsely. "Did you men drop a
match?"

"'Ow could they drop a match, wearin' nothin' but undershirts?" flared
back another navvy.

"We could do no good in a small boat!" cried Galton.

'She's afire from stem to stern!"

"But smoke--w'ere's th' smoke?"

Then, quite surprisingly, the light wavered out, leaving the schooner in
stony blackness. A vague blur of complementary color swam in Madden's
eyes. A gasp went up from the watchers.

"Bhoys," faltered Hogan in an awed tone, "th' banshees ar-re dancin'
to-night!"

"Banshees!" sneered Mulcher. "Th' deck's caved in--it'll break out
again!"

"Th' engines must be ruint complately."

"Wot do ye make of it, Mister Madden?" asked Galton, bewildered.
"Look--there it is again!"

Sure enough the mysterious light flamed up once more as suddenly as it
disappeared. It flickered and wavered over hull and spars.

"It might possibly be a phosphorescent display," hazarded Leonard,
completely mystified.

"Tropical seas grow very luminous when disturbed... a school of
dolphins or sharks on the other side the schooner might----"

"This must be a reg'lar fire!" cried Mulcher. "Nothin' but a furnace in
th' hold----"

"W'y don't hit smoke?"

"'Ow do I know?"

"Hit ain't a fire!"

"W'ot is hit?"

"Phosphescence, didn't you 'ear Mister Madden say!"

"Will hit sink 'er?"

Deschaillon gave a sharp laugh. "What _sauvages_!"

By this time it became clear to everyone that it was not a fire. As the
weird illumination continued its fantastic gambols, little points of
light began moving about the deck.

Just then Caradoc's grave voice hazarded: "That must be an extraordinary
display of St. Elmo's fire. I should say a storm was brewing."

"Would St. Elmo's fire 'urt th' vessel, sir?" asked a cockney.

"Not at all," replied the Englishman.

As Leonard stared a queer thought came into his head. He looked around
at his companions. In the faint radiance from the mysterious schooner,
he could make out their faces, pale blurs all fixed on the strange
spectacle. He picked out the heavy form of Farnol Greer and moved over
to his friend. Under the cover of excited talking and exclamations, he
asked in a low tone.

"There was somebody on that schooner this morning, Farnol?"

"Just what I was thinking, sir."

"He could have hidden from us. You thought he must be crazy--a crazy man
would probably have secreted himself."

"I had it in mind, sir, the very thing."

"Now could he possibly make a light like this?"

Greer remained silent. The queer fellow never said anything when he had
nothing to say.

"I'd like to go over and see," went on Leonard. "I want one man to row
with me. We want to go light and fast."

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