The Coast of Adventure

She drifted east with the Gulf Stream. Around her there hung a muggy atmosphere pervaded with a curious, hothouse smell. Grahame stood in the channels, heaving the lead. He found deep water, but white patches on the northern horizon, where the expanse of sea was broken by spouts of foam, marked a chain of reefs and keys that rose a foot or two above the surface. A larger streak of white was fading into the haze astern, but Grahame had carefully taken its compass bearings, because dusk, which comes suddenly in the Bahama Channel, was not far away. He dropped the lead on deck, and joined Macallister, who stood in the engine-room doorway rubbing his hands with cotton waste.

"No sign o' that steamboat yet?" the Scot asked.

"It's hazy to the east," said Grahame. "We mightn't see her until she's close if they're not making much smoke. Still, she ought to have turned up last night."

"She'll come. A tornado wouldna' stop her skipper when he had freight to collect; but ye were wise in no' paying it in advance."

"You haven't seen the fellow."

"I've seen his employers," Macallister replied with a chuckle. "Weel I ken what sort o' man would suit them. Gang canny when ye meet him, and see ye get the goods before ye sign the bill o' lading."

"I mean to take precautions. No first-class firm would touch our business."

"Verra true. And when ye find men who're no' particular about one thing, ye cannot expect them to be fastidious about another. When I deal wi' yon kind, I keep my een open."

"Where's Walthew?"

Macallister grinned.

"Asleep below, wi' his hair full o' coal-dust, looking more like a nigger than the son o' a rich American. Human nature's a verra curious thing, but if he can stand another month, I'll hae hope o' him."

"I think the lad's right. He wants to run his life on his own lines, and he is willing to pay for testing them by experience."

Grahame, glancing forward, suddenly became intent, for in one spot a dingy smear thickened the haze. It slowly grew more distinct, and he gave a seaman a quick order before he turned to his companion.

"That must be the Miranda. You can start your mill as soon as we have launched the dinghy."

By the time the boat was in the water the steamer had crept out of the mist. She came on fast: a small, two-masted vessel, with a white wave beneath her full bows and a cloud of brown smoke trailing across the sea astern. She was light, floating high above the water, which washed up and down her wet side as she rolled. A few heads projected over the iron bulwark near the break of the forecastle, and two men in duck stood on the bridge. Studying them through the glasses, Grahame saw they had an unkempt appearance, and he was not prepossessed in favor of the one whom he took to be the captain.

He rang the telegraph, and when the engines stopped he jumped into the dinghy with Walthew and one of the seamen. Five minutes later, they ceased rowing close to the steamer's side, which towered high above them, red with rust along the water-line. The black paint was scarred and peeling higher up, the white deckhouses and boats had grown dingy, and there was about her a poverty-stricken look. The boat swung sharply up and down a few lengths away, for the sea broke about the descending rows of iron plates as the vessel rolled.

"Enchantress, ahoy!" shouted one of the men on her bridge. "This is the Miranda. S'pose you're ready for us?"

"We've been ready for you since last night," Grahame replied.

"Then you might have got your gig over. We can't dump the stuff into that cockleshell."

"You can't," Grahame agreed. "The gig's hardly big enough either, and I won't risk her alongside in the swell that's running."

"Then what do you expect me to do? Wait until it's smooth?"

"No," said Grahame; "we'll have wind soon. You'll have to take her in behind the reef, as your owners arranged. It's not far off and you'll find good anchorage in six fathoms."

"And lose a day! What do you think your few cases are worth to us?"

"The freight agreed upon," Grahame answered coolly. "You can't collect it until you hand our cargo over. I'll take you in behind the reef and bring you out in three or four hours. There'll be a good moon."

The skipper seemed to consult with the man beside him, and then waved his hand.

"All right! Go ahead with your steamer and show us the way."

"I'd better come on board," Grahame answered. "It's an awkward place to get into, but I know it well."

A colored seaman threw them down a rope ladder, and, pulling in cautiously, Grahame waited until the rolling hull steadied, when he jumped. Walthew followed, and in a few moments they stood on the Miranda's deck. Walthew had been wakened when the boat was launched, and he had not had much time to dress, but he wore a fairly clean duck jacket over his coaly shirt. His bare feet were thrust into greasy slippers, and smears of oil darkened the hollows round his eyes.

One or two slouching deckhands watched the new arrivals with dull curiosity, and a few more were busy forward opening the hatch. Grahame thought the vessel a rather unfavorable specimen of the small, cheaply run tramp, but when he reached the hatch the skipper came up. He was a little man with a bluff manner, a hard face, and cunning eyes.

"They'll have the cover off in a minute and you can see your stuff," he said, and called to a man with a lantern: "Stand by with the light!"

When the tarpaulin was rolled back, Grahame went down with a mate and counted the wooden cases pointed out to him. After this, he examined their marks and numbers and, going up, declared himself satisfied.

"Now," said the skipper, "you can take us in; the sooner the better, because it will be dark before long. Would you like a drink before you start?"

Grahame said that he would wait until he had finished his work. He followed the skipper to the bridge, and rang the telegraph.

The Miranda went ahead, her propeller hurling up the foam as it flapped round with half the blades out of the water, while the Enchantress crept slowly up her froth-streaked wake. Grahame, standing at the wheel-house door, was glad that Walthew had come with him, although this reduced his vessel's crew. Macallister, however, was capable of managing his engines without assistance, for a time, and could be trusted to take charge of the Enchantress if necessary, for Grahame did not think the hands would give him trouble. One was a Canary Spaniard, whom they had picked up at Matanzas, a very simple and, Grahame thought, honest fellow; the other three were stupid but apparently good-humored half-breeds. Grahame would have preferred white seamen but for the danger of their getting into trouble in parts where wine was cheap and perhaps betraying the object of the voyage in drunken boasts. His business would not bear talking about – and that was why he distrusted the Miranda's captain.

The moon rose before the short twilight had changed to dark, and the steamer moved on across the dimly glittering sea, until a long white line grew plainer ahead. As they drew near, the line could be seen to waver, gaining breadth and distinctness and then fading, while a dull roar which had a regular beat in it mingled with the thud of the engines. Though the Miranda rolled and plunged, the surface of the water was smooth as oil, and in the deep calm the clamor of the surf had an ominous sound. Then another white patch appeared to starboard, and a few moments later, a third to port.

The captain was pacing up and down his bridge.

"It's a puzzling light," he said, stopping near Grahame with a frown. "I suppose you do know the place?"

"Oh, yes," said Grahame carelessly. "We made a rough survey and took soundings. But slow her down and use your lead if you like."

"That's what I mean to do," the captain replied.

He rang the telegraph, and when the beat of engines slackened a man stood on a footboard outside the bridge, where a broad canvas belt was fastened round his waist. Whirling the heavy plummet round his head, he let it shoot forward to the break of the forecastle, and steadied the line a moment when it ran vertically up and down.

"By the deep, eight!" he called.

"Starboard!" said Grahame, and there was silence except for the rumble of the surf, while the quartermaster turned his wheel in the glass-fronted house.

In a few minutes the lead plunged down again.

"By the mark, seven!" was announced.

The captain gave Grahame a quick glance, and then looked ahead, where there was something to occupy him, for at regular intervals the sea was torn apart and a spout of foam and a cloud of spray shot up. Moreover, the vessel was heading directly toward the dangerous spot. It was not needful for Grahame to take her so close as he meant to do, but he had reasons for letting the nearness of the reef appeal to the captain's imagination.

"And a quarter six!" the leadsman called.

The captain grasped the telegraph.

"If you mean to go any closer, I'll stop her and back out!" he said. "Then you can tranship your goods outside or I'll take them on, as you like."

"We can let her come round now," Grahame answered, and beckoned to the quartermaster. "Starboard. Steady at that!"

The Miranda swung until the frothy confusion on the reef, where the swell broke in cascades of phosphorescent flame, bore abeam, and then a similar troubled patch grew plain on the opposite bow. There was, however, a smooth, dark strip between, and she followed it, shouldering off a spangled wash, with the propeller beating slow. Ahead, a low, hazy blur rose out of the sea, and when Grahame spoke to the captain the windlass began to clank and indistinct figures became busy on the forecastle. Then a gray strip of sand came into sight, and Grahame nodded to the anxious captain.

"You can let go here, but don't give her much cable."

The anchor splashed from the bows, there was a roar of running chain, the throb of the screw slowly turning astern, and a screaming of startled birds. She brought up, the noise died away, and the silence was emphasized by the clamor of the surf on the opposite shore of the key. The captain looked about with a frown, for the desolation of the spot and the nearness of the reefs had their effect on him.

"Hail them to get your gig over at once, and then we'll have a drink," he said.

Macallister answered Grahame's shout, for the Enchantress had anchored close astern, and the boat was hanging from her davits when he followed the captain into his room. The vessels rolled lazily and the swell broke with a languid splash upon the beach, for the bight was sheltered by the reefs. The small room was lighted by an oil lamp and was very hot. A pilot coat, damp with salt, and a suit of oilskins swung to and fro across the bulkhead, and a pair of knee-boots stood in a corner. Two or three bad photographic portraits were tacked against the teakwood paneling, but except for these, all that the room contained suggested stern utility.

Unlocking a cupboard, the captain took a bottle and some glasses from a rack, and Walthew coughed as he tasted the fiery spirit.

"That's powerful stuff, but the flavor's good," he said with an attempt at politeness.

A big, greasy man who the captain informed the others was Mr. James, his chief engineer, came in. He sat down with his feet on the locker, and helped himself liberally to the spirits. In the meanwhile the captain put an inkstand on the small folding table.

"You have the bill of lading; endorse it that you've got delivery, and I'll give you a receipt for the freight."

Grahame glanced at Walthew, who sat nearest the door, and the lad looked out.

"The gig's alongside, ready for the cases," he said.

"We'll heave them up as soon as we've finished this business," the captain replied.

Grahame wrote a check and put it on the table with some American paper currency.

"Your owners have satisfied themselves that this will be met; I thought I'd better keep the other amount separate."

"That's all right," the captain returned; "but you're a hundred dollars short."

"I guess you're mistaken," Walthew said. "We've paid the freight, and a bonus to yourself, as we promised because it was an awkward job. What else do you want?"

"A bonus for the engineer," the greasy mechanic answered with a grin.

"Precisely," said the captain.

"Then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," Grahame said, and Walthew picked up the check, which still lay on the table.

There was silence for a few moments while the Miranda's officers looked hard at their visitors. Grahame's face was impassive, but there was a gleam of amusement in Walthew's eyes.

"Now, you listen to me," said the captain. "Mr. James is entitled to his share, and he means to get it. You don't suppose he'd take a hand in a risky job like this entirely for the benefit of the owners?"

"Mr. James," said Walthew, "runs no risk that I can see. However, if you think he has a right to something, you can divide with him."

"No, sir! What you have given me is mine. But there's another point you've overlooked. The crew expect a few dollars, and it might be wise to satisfy them."

Grahame smiled.

"They certainly struck me as a hard crowd; but seamen don't rob cargo-shippers nowadays. Then it's difficult to imagine that you told them what's in the cases. In fact, the way they obeyed your mate suggested that there's not much liking between men and officers on board this packet. If there was any trouble, I don't know that they'd take your side."

The captain frowned; and James drained his glass again and then struck the table.

"Think something of yourselves, I reckon, but we've come out on top with smarter folks than you. Put down your money like gentlemen, and say no more."

"It's good advice," the captain added meaningly.

"Guess we disagree," Walthew said, putting the check into his pocket. "You haven't got your freight payment yet."

"Do you think you can keep that check?"

"Well," said Walthew coolly, "we could cable the bank to stop payment from the nearest port. For that matter, I'm not certain that you could take it back."

"We're willing to try," the big engineer scowled.

"And you don't get the goods until we're satisfied," the captain added.

"May I ask what you would do with the cases? They're consigned to us, and you'd have some trouble in passing them through a foreign customs house. They open things and inspect the contents when the duty's high."

"We could dump them overboard. Better do the fair thing by us and get delivery."

"I don't think we're unfair," Walthew replied. "We engaged with your owners to pay a stipulated freight, and added a bonus for the skipper. Now we put down the money and want our goods."

"The winch that heaves them up doesn't start without my order," James said with an ugly laugh.

Grahame turned to the captain with a gesture of weariness.

"We don't seem to get much farther! I suspect you've forgotten something. How much a day does it cost you to run this ship?"

"What has that got to do with it?" the captain asked curtly.

"Well," said Grahame coolly, "there's a risk of your stopping here for some time. It's an awkward place to get out of unless you know it well; particularly when it's blowing fresh. The Northers hardly reach so far, but they unsettle the weather, and when the wind's from seaward a strong eddy stream runs through the bight. Perhaps you may have noticed that the glass is falling fast."

The captain looked disturbed; but he was not to be beaten so easily.

"You don't get back on board your boat until you've taken us out!" he threatened.

"I can take you out to-night, but if you miss your chance and have to wait we can afford it best. Our expenses aren't heavy, but you'll have to account to your owners for the delay that won't cost us much. Besides, you'd be forced to keep steam up in case she dragged; it's bad holding ground."

There was silence for a few moments, and then the captain made a sign of surly acquiescence.

"Very well; we won't argue about the bonus. Give me the check."

"I think we'll wait until the cases are transhipped," Walthew said with a smile.

"Give them steam for the winch, Mr. James," the captain ordered; and the engineer slouched away.

The winch began to rattle and an hour or two later Grahame went up to the bridge while the anchor was broken out. When the men were stowing it the engines throbbed and the Miranda turned her head toward open water. In another half hour the propeller stopped and the captain turned to his guests with a grin as the Enchantress's gig came alongside.

"I expect the dagoes you're shipping those rifles for will find you hard to beat," he said.