The Cruise of the Dry Dock

T >> T. S. Stribling >> The Cruise of the Dry Dock

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Half an hour later the dinghy drew alongside the silent _Vulcan_
and the crew clambered aboard. As they had suspected, there was no sign
of the tug's crew aboard.

Although the binoculars had forewarned them of this, the adventurers
bunched together on the deck with a qualmish feeling and began talking
in low tones, as men converse in the presence of mystery, or death.

"We'll search her first," directed Madden, in a tone he tried to make
natural.

"Yes," agreed Greer, "and, men, keep a sharp eye out for lunatics. Don't
let anything jump on you----"

"Lunatics!" gasped Mulcher.

"Greer and I fancied someone scuttled the _Minnie B_," explained
Madden with a frown, "but that's no sign such a person is aboard the
_Vulcan_."

"They are wonderful like, sir," observed Gaskin.

"Anyway we'll look her over."

The men agreed and began scattering away, two by two for companionship.
Presently from the port side Hogan raised his voice guardedly.

"Oh, Misther Madden, just stip this way a moment, if you plaze."

The call instantly attracted several other men. They moved across deck.
Hogan was pointing. "Jist th' same as th' other wan," he said gloomily
and significantly. "We knew it would be this way, sir. It was th' same
hand as done it"

Leonard looked with rising dismay at the sinister parallel.

The _Vulcan_ also was lying at sea anchor.

In brief, here was conclusive proof that the tug had been abandoned
deliberately and with forethought by Malone, Captain Black and the whole
_Vulcan_ crew. Moreover, as in the case of the _Minnie B_, they
had deserted their ship without taking a boat or even so much as a
life buoy.

The amazed group of men collected about them other members of the
searching party, who stuck their heads out of ports and doors now and
then to see that no evil magic had set the rigging in flames.

"They all go th' same way," mumbled Hogan, staring at the anchor and
wetting his dry lips. "Oi'm thinkin' it'll be our toime nixt."

"Piffle," derided the American half-heartedly.

"It makes no difference what happens," put in Caradoc, "we'll see the
thing through."

For some reason the men thought better of Smith since the fight and his
crisp announcement cheered them somewhat.

"She's got plenty o' coal," volunteered Galton.

"'Er engines look all right," contributed Mulcher, "though I know
bloomin' little about hengines."

"I weesh I knew what happened to the men," worried Deschaillon in his
filed-down accent.

"My quistion ixactly, Frinchy," nodded Hogan emphatically. "Misther
Madden says 'Piffle,' but Oi say where are they piffled to? Did they go
over in a storm, or die of fever, or run crazy with heat?"

"They didn't starve," declared Mulcher, "for some of th' fellows are in
th' cook's galley now eatin'."

Madden lifted his hand for attention, "There's no use speculating on
what has happened. It's our job to get dock and tug to the nearest
port."

"But suppose--suppose----"

"Suppose what?"

"Suppose th' thing gits arfter us, sir?"

Madden stared, "Thing--what thing?"

The cockney frowned, looked glumly across deck. Galton answered,

"W'y, sir, th' thing that run th' crew hoff the _Minnie B_ an' hoff
th' _Vulcan_. Crews don't 'op hoff in th' hocean for amoosement,
sir. Some'n' done hit an' that's sure."

"Do you mean you object to sailing this tug on account of some imaginary
_thing_?" demanded Madden in utter surprise.

"Imaginary, sir!" protested Mulcher, "If you please, us lads on th'
dock, the night th' _Minnie B_ sunk, saw something swim off to th'
south wrapped hall over in fire, sir. Imaginary thing! It bit a 'ole in
th' _Minnie B_ an' sunk 'er, sir!"

This recalled to Leonard's mind the peculiar phenomenon he had witnessed
at the sinking of the _Minnie B_.

"What do you think the thing is?" he temporized.

"A--A sea sorpint, sir," stammered a cockney embarrassed.

"Sea serpent! Sea serpent!" scouted the American. "There is no such
thing as a sea serpent!"

"That's w'ot th' hofficers always say," growled Mulcher.

"But it is a scientific fact--there's no such thing."

The well-fed Gaskin, who formed one of the group, made a bob. "That may
well be, sor," he said in solemn deference, "but w'ether there is or
isn't such a thing, sor, it's 'orrible to see, either way."

From the banding of the men against him, Madden became aware that they
had decided on the real cause of the mystery behind his back, and he
would have hard work to argue them out of the sea serpent idea.

"You boys saw a shark or porpoise swimming away from that schooner," he
began patiently. "I saw it myself. You recall, on that night anything
that moved in the water burned like fire. The ship was brilliant, the
oars of the dinghy shone. The thing you saw had nothing to do with the
schooner."

"Then w'ot sunk 'er, sor?"

"Aye, an' w'ot come of 'er men, sor?"

"Aye, an w'ot come of th' _Vulcan's_ crew?"

"Could a sea serpent put out a sea anchor?" retorted Leonard.

The men stared doggedly at their chief. "We don't know, sor."

"You do know that it is impossible!"

"If there ain't no such thing, sor, 'ow do we know w'ot it can do?"
questioned Gaskin.

"Then do you want to go back and stay on the dock and starve?" cried
Madden at the end of his patience.

There was a silence at the anger in his tone, then Gaskin began very
placatingly, "Hi'm not wishin' to chafe ye, sor, but th' dock is so big
th' lads 'ave decided the sorpint is afraid o' th' dock."

At Leonard's impatient gesture he added hastily, "Not that Hi believe in
such things, sor, but Hi carn't 'elp but notice that hever'body on th'
dock is alive, an' hever'body on th' other two wessels is dead an' gone,
sor."

Madden turned sharply on his heel. "Anybody who knows anything about
marine engines, follow me," he snapped. "We must study out a way to
start the _Vulcan's_ machinery. We're going!"

As he moved down to the doorway amidship that led below, he heard Galton
mumble: "Yes, _we'll_ be going, Hi think, down some sea sorpint's
scaly throat, but th' tug an' th' dock'll stay 'ere."

If a view of the _Minnie B's_ auxiliary engines had put hopeful
notions in Madden's head of puzzling out their control by mere
inspection, a single glance at the huge machinery of the _Vulcan_
filled him with despair.

The tug's hull was practically filled with a maze of machinery. Her
engines arose in a tower of bracings, wheels, gearing, pistons, steam
pipes, steam valves, with a multitude of the eccentrics and trip
gearings used on quadruple expansion engines.

Although he had seen hundreds of steam engines, never before had Madden
realized their complication until he faced the problem of running this
difficult fabric. His proposed task made him realize that the engineer's
apprentice, who serves four years amid oil and iron black, learning all
the details of these mechanical monsters, is probably just as well
educated, just as capable of exact and sustained thought, as the lad who
spends four years in college construing dead tongues.

Madden could construe dead tongues, or at least could when he left
college a few months back, but now his life, the life of his crew, the
salving of the dock, and the winning of a possible fortune, depended
upon his answering the riddle of this Twentieth Century Sphinx. It was
like attempting to understand all mathematics, from addition to
celestial mechanics, at a glance.

Nevertheless, Madden's training as a civil engineer gave him a certain
aptitude for his formidable undertaking and he set about it with
rat-like patience.

He picked out the main steam pipe, larger than his body, covered with
painted white canvas, and followed this till he discovered the throttle,
a steel wheel with hand grips with which he could choke the breath out
of the monster engines. Beside this were control levers. On the steam
chest lay a half-smoked cigarette, as if the engineer had been called
suddenly away from his post.

Madden turned the throttle, pushed the levers back and forth, and
listened to clicking sounds high up in the complexity of the engines. He
knew that every lever threw long systems of vents and valves in and out
of play. A wrong combination would easily wreck all this powerful
machinery. He was tackling a delicate job--like juggling a car-load of
dynamite.

An oil can sat under the throttle. The amateur engineer picked up this
and a handful of greasy tow. Engines require constant oiling. Madden had
never watched an engineer ten minutes but that he went about poking a
long crooked-necked oil can into all sorts of hidden inaccessible
places.

Madden thought if he tried to oil the engine, he might learn something
about it. He glanced around for the usual myriad little shining brass
oil cups stuck, one on each bearing. To his surprise, he saw none. The
machinery of the _Vulcan_ was lubricated by a circulatory
compression system, which used the same oil over and over. Madden did
not know this, so it threw him off the track at his first step.

No one had followed the boy into the engine room, so now he was about to
go on deck and commandeer a squad, when, to his surprise, Galton
appeared at the top of the circular stairs, whistling a rather cheerful
tune. He leaned over the rail and called down heartily:

"Do you want me, Mr. Madden?"

"Yes, come along. I wish you knew something about machinery."

Galton laughed buoyantly. "I'm not such a chump at hit, sor," he
recommended.

"You know something about it?" inquired Madden in surprise.

"A bit, a bit, Mr. Madden. My brother Charley is chief engineer on the
_Rajah_ in the P & O, sor."

"Ever work under him?" asked the American hopefully.

"Two years, only two years, sor. Never did finish my term an' get my
papers. Often's the time 'e's begged me to do it, Mr. Madden. 'E'd say,
''Enry, me boy, w'y don't ye finish your term and git a screw o' sixteen
pun' per, but I was allus a----"

"That's all right!" cried Leonard delightedly. "I don't care whether
you're a full-fledged engineer or not. You're hired for this job.
Understand? You'll get full wages, and then some. I'll----"

"Oh! I can 'andle a little hengine like this, sor. That's th'
inspirator, sor," he pointed. "That's th' steam chist. In th' other end
is th' condensing chamber. That little hegg-shaped thing is----"

"That's all right; I'm no examining board. Just so you can run it and
keep it running. Now I'll get a gang at the furnace, if the boys have
got over their sea-serpent scare by this time."

"They're jolly well over that, sor. Me and Mulcher 'ave decided as 'ow
we're goin' to kill that sea sorpint, if it comes a-bitin' into our tug,
sor."

Madden looked at his willing helper curiously. "Kill it--how are you
going to kill it?"

"Dead, sor, yes, kill it dead, sor." Galton nodded solemnly, "My brother
Charley, cap'n o' th' _Cambria_, sir, in th' 'Amburg-American Line,
'e learned me to kill sea sorpints, w'en I was jest a l-little bit of
a--a piker, sor. An' I n-never forgot 'ow 'e told me to do it. You climb
up th' mainmast, sor, w'ere you can git at their 'eads, cross your
fingers for luck, an' blow tobacco smoke in their eyes. They 'ate
tobacco smoke an----"

Leonard stared at the fellow, with a sinking heart. He was drunk. As to
whether he knew anything about marine engines or not, there was no way
to find out.

The effect of the long strain of heat, hunger and anxiety now told on
Madden in a wave of unreasonable exasperation.

"You boozy fool!" snapped the officer, "you haven't sense enough to run
a go-cart. Go down and start a fire in the furnace--can you do that?"

"Shertainly," nodded Galton gravely, "Mr. Madden, I can do anything. Go
bring me th' furnace, and I'll put a fire in it _that_ quick. I'll
start it now."

Here he stooped unsteadily, picked up a piece of oily tow, and before
Madden knew what he was about, drew out a match and set fire to the
greasy mass.

Leonard made a jump, planted a cracking blow between Galton's eyes. The
fellow went down like a tenpin and lay still. The American stamped out
the blazing tow before the fire spread on the oily floor.

Just then he heard a yelling from the upper deck. Hardly knowing what to
expect, he dived for the circular stairway and rushed up three steps at
a jump.

CHAPTER XIII

THE SEA SERPENT

When a new crew is shipped on an old vessel, the mate's first duty is to
search the sailors' dunnage for whiskey; when an old crew is shipped on
a new vessel, that officer would do well to search the vessel for rum.

Madden had neglected this. While the American was in the engine room,
the cockneys in the cook's galley had found intoxicants, had poured raw
whiskey into their empty stomachs and the result was the quickest and
most complete intoxication. When Madden regained the deck he found his
crew singing, laughing, fighting, quarreling in an absurd medley.

Deschaillon roared out a French song. Two cockneys quarreled bitterly
over what words he was saying. Mike Hogan jigged to the Frenchman's
tune, but shouted as he danced that he was spoiling for a fight. The
smell of spirits reeked over the tug as if someone had sprinkled her
deck with liquor.

Madden looked with anxious eyes for Caradoc, but did not see him. Smith
was probably stuck away in some hole, senseless with poison, his effort
at sobriety frustrated, his moral courage shattered, his weeks of
painful reform smashed.

Whatever humor there might have been in the ill-starred situation was
destroyed for Madden by his friend's moral relapse. It was much as if
some invalid, nursing a broken leg, should fall and break it over again.

Gaskin was the first man who came in reach of the wrathful American.
Madden caught his arm, whirled him about.

"You ladle rum out to these hogs?" he blazed.

Gaskin revolved with dignity and considered his accuser. "You wouldn't
think Hi'd do such a thing, sor!"

"Then how did they get it?" Leonard shook the fat arm sharply.

"In spite o' me, sor! In spite o' me!" defended the cook, shaking his
fat jowls earnestly. "Hi rebooked 'em, sor. Says Hi, 'Gents, this is
lootin', it is piratin', it is----'"

"You should have refused them a drop!"

"Refuse--Hi did refuse, sor! Hi did more. Hi blocked 'em! Hi--Hi fought
hout, like a demon, sor! There were too many! Hoverpowered me, sor, they
did! I was fightin' and blockin', fightin' and blockin', like a d-demon,
sor, b-but--b-but----"

Here Gaskin's utterance grew thicker, his fat head bobbed, then he
slithered down by the rail in the hot sunshine; his face stared skyward
and stewed sweat in the terrific heat. Madden gave a grunt of disgust.
Gaskin was fast asleep.

There was nothing to be done. The men were drunk and he would have to
wait till they became sober before making an attempt to run the
_Vulcan_. He stood a moment, staring disgustedly at his useless
crew, then finally stooped and dragged Gaskin to the shady side of the
superstructure. As he passed with his burden some of the men made clumsy
tangle-footed efforts to salute.

In the shade Leonard found a deck chair, perched himself on its arm so
as not to touch its hot canvas, and sat brooding glumly. He banished the
drunken uproar from his brain and began totting up his prospects for
escape from this foully beautiful sea. His mind jumped from topic to
topic in an exhausted fashion. He wondered whether or not Galton really
knew anything of marine engines? If the dock would be discovered by a
passing ship? If the tug's crew had really gone demented and leaped
overboard? If there were any connection between the fate of the
_Minnie B_ and the _Vulcan_?

It seemed to Madden that he had been in the heat and brilliant
garishness of the Sargasso for centuries. He wondered if the men would
become so starved that they would draw lots to see who should be killed
and eaten.

Anything, everything, was possible in this isolated sea. Its normal
happenings were unreasonable. It was a place of madness. He recalled the
words of the navvy on the London dock, "Everything is unreasonable at
sea." Certainly that was true of the vast stewing labyrinth of the
Sargasso. He had lived abnormally so long that it seemed strange to him
now to think that there were comfortable, well-ordered places on the
face of the earth. Just as one cannot imagine snow and ice in the depth
of summer, so Madden could not imagine the simple comforts of life. It
seemed to him the whole world shriveled under a furnace heat.

Such heat, such congestion, he thought, might well breed sea-monsters.
After all, why should there not be a sea monster? Who could be sure that
the old megalosauri, and megalichthys were extinct? Those monsters
existed once upon a time, certainly. He was half persuaded that they
still existed.

A sea serpent!

He wondered what a sea serpent would look like? One might well drive a
man insane, cause him to leap overboard in utter horror.

His feverish brooding was interrupted by a wild flood of abuse from the
starboard deck. It was Galton's voice bellowing:

"Were is 'e? Were is that bloody Hamerican? 'E 'it me! 'It me in th' eye
for trying to 'elp 'im! You lads goin' to see me murdered for nothin'?"

Came a medley of drunken questions:

"W'ot's th' matter? Who bloodied your bloomin' eyes? W'ot 'appened?"

"That Hamerican chap!" bawled Galton savagely. "'E 'it me for 'elpin'
'im make a fire! Goin' to see me run over an' killed?"

"Faith Oi didn't see nawthin'," panted Malone, fresh from his dance

"Won't you stan' by a Hinglishman?" shouted the battered one.

"Sure we will!"

"We're Hinglish!"

"Le's 'lect 'nother hofficer an' court martial 'im!" bawled the sailor
venomously.

"Sure, make 'im walk a plank!"

"Son of a shark!"

"Man-killin' crimp!"

The whole crew came lurching around toward Madden, filled with the wordy
anger of intoxicated men.

The American arose to his feet with little emotion save a return of his
old disgust. He knew he could defend himself from any assault the crew
might make in that condition. But they made none. They stopped a little
way from him, some drunkenly grave, others winking or leering, some
abusive and threatening.

"Go'n' tuh 'lect 'nother captain," announced Mulcher thickly. "You no
reg'lar hofficer!"

"You 'it a man for 'elpin' you, and 'urt 'is eye!"

"Make 'im walk a plank!" flared out Galton, shaking a big fist at
Leonard. "Make 'im walk a plank!" Leonard observed that the fellow's
nose and forehead were badly bruised, and dark circles had settled under
his eyes. He started for Madden, when Hogan caught him under the arms.

"Phwat you talkin' about, old scout? Walk a plank--you have to court
martial him first."

"I don't b'lieve 'e can walk a plank," surmised a cockney gravely.
"'E's too drunk; 'e'd fall hoff."

"Where's Farnol Greer, Mulcher?" snapped Madden disgustedly. "Is he
drunk, too?"

"D-drunk--you don't think we're drunk, sor?"

"We 'ave been drinkin' a little, sor, but we're not drunk."

"Oi am," nodded Hogan, resting his chin on Galton's shoulder as if from
deep affection.

"Oi don't a--ack loike it, you--hic--you couldn't tell it on me, b-but
Oi--Oi--Oi'm drunk, aw roight."

"I theenk Greer ees in the cook's galley," smiled Deschaillon, who
appeared to be rational; then he added coolly: "Eef there ees any
fighting, I weel help you, Meester Madden."

"Cook's galley!" sputtered Mulcher. "'E's drinkin' hit ever' drop, lads;
come on!"

"An' th' grub, too!" added Hogan.

This news completely disorganized the court martial and election
committee. Galton himself forgot his revenge in his thirst. They
started aft pellmell in confused haste to help Greer finish the rum.

Leonard made no objection. They were already drunk. They might as well
dispose of the liquor once for all, and then it would trouble discipline
no more.

When the men and their turmoil had disappeared, Madden remained on deck,
filled with a dull, heavy feeling of lassitude and bitterness. It was
one of those moments when a man's hope is swamped in present
difficulties.

The sun swung slowly down into the western sea, and its reflections made
long blinding streaks in the Sargasso. Its yellow light transformed the
great red dock into an orange structure that rested on the sea as
lightly as the pavilions of the evening clouds.

The perpetual bizarre beauty of the scene was tiring to the youth. For
some reason he thought again of the sea serpent. It occurred to Madden
that an enormous scaly thing, in vivid spangling colors, embossed with
sword-like spines, with a long convoluted tail, huge red-fanged mouth,
would be in keeping with the scene before him, would indeed produce a
gorgeously decorative effect, such as he had seen in Chinese pictures.

His thoughts took all sorts of queer turns. He wondered what he would do
if he should see such a creature? He walked over and stood by the rail,
staring intently into the colorful west, half expecting to see some wild
dragon of his imagination. If it should come, he wished for a camera--a
moving picture camera. A moving picture of a dragon attacking a ship!

Just then he caught a strange noise that seemed to emanate from the air
above his head. He stood quite still, hands on rail, listening. It was
repeated. It was a human noise. It seemed to come from the vacant
bronze-colored sky above his head. He wondered if he were going insane?
Just then he caught sight of Caradoc's torso thrust out from a barrel up
in the shrouding of the foremast. The crew of the _Vulcan_ had run
up the barrel like a whaler's lookout to post a watch. Into this barrel
Caradoc had climbed.

The face of Smith wore a strained, desperate look. Madden stared at him
for several seconds, quite taken aback by finding him in such an
unexpected place. One thing, however, filled the American with deep
gratification. The man was not drunk.

"What you doing up there?" called Madden in surprise.

Caradoc's broad shoulders sagged drearily. "I don't know," he said
dully. "I fancy I might as well jump overboard and be done with it."

Madden became instantly alert. "Jump overboard! What for?" A sudden
thought hit him. Maybe this was the way they all went? Then another fear
entered his heart.

"Say, have you seen anything up there, Smith?... A dragon, or... sea
serpent, or..." Madden stared dumbfounded at his friend, marveling what
manner of sight had put suicidal thoughts into Smith's head.

"Heavens, yes... dragons, dragons, dragons!"

A weak, watery feeling went through Madden's legs. He felt doddery.
"Many dragons!" All idea of beauty was lost in grisly horror.

"W-wait a m-minute!" he chattered. "D-don't j-jump--I'm coming up
th-there!"

CHAPTER XIV

CARADOC WINS HIS FIGHT

Trembling all over, Madden gained the barrel and stepped through a niche
in its side. He stared through the brilliant, hot colors, but no rushing
horde of monsters met his eyes.

"Which way?" he asked breathlessly.

Caradoc looked around at him in uncomprehending misery. There was just
room for the two in the barrel. Smith seemed to put his mind to Madden's
question with an effort.

"Which--what did you say?"

"Which way?"

"What do you mean?"

"The dragons, man, the dragons!"

"Dragons--right here!" Smith beat his broad chest, then waved his long
arms about. "Everywhere--don't you smell it?"

The idea of smelling dragons confused the American. "Smell what?"

"The whiskey!" shivered Caradoc. "I came up here to get away from it."

"Oh--so you didn't see--I understand!"

"It's tantalizing--horrible!" he shivered again, as if the superheated
air chilled him.

The American's own foolish fancies vanished in the face of his friend's
real trouble. Caradoc had met a dragon more terrible than the Sargasso
could conjure up, and its fangs were in his heart. His flight to the
crow's nest had been an effort to escape its fury, but it had followed
him there. Leonard put a hand on his friend's shoulder. He was at a loss
what to say. Indeed there was nothing to say.

"Habit--queer thing, Leonard--I thought I was all right."

"Yes?"

"You see, in college I used to take an alcohol rub-down after my bouts,
and a drink. And now, after my fight at noon--smelling this--you don't
know how it brings it back, appetite, recollections, everything----" he
waved his hands hopelessly again.

"Don't think of it. Put your mind on something else."

Caradoc gave a short mirthless laugh. "Stand in a fire--and consider the
lilies?"

"We've got to consider how we'll ever get out of here, if we can't run
this tug's engines..."

"We're stuck! We're stuck!" declared the Englishman miserably. "I don't
see why I don't go down and be a hog again... we'll finally starve...
Somehow I had a mind to die sober... God knows why I ever came on such a
junket."

"Starve nothing. We'll get out somehow. We can fish and eat seaweed and
distill our own water. I can make a still. And you'll get over that
appetite. Bound to--can't last always."

Smith relapsed into silence, staring over the dying colors of the sea.
Madden tried to think of simple remedies to abate a drunkard's appetite
for alcohol. He had heard of apples, lemon juice, but both were as
unobtainable as the gold cure itself.

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