The Voyage of the Arrow to the China Seas. Its Adventures and Perils, Including Its Capture by Sea Vultures from the Countess of Warwick, as Set Down by William Gore — Text and Context

e, I will say at the beginning that I am only a sailorman, and rough. Therefore, if I offend, I crave pardon, for my knowledge is only that of the sea, and my manners are ocean-bred. If any one is too delicately constituted to listen to a man like myself, and prefers a tale of gentleness and delicate desire, he had best pass over this narrative of part of my life, which has already received so much publicity. I know many people hold off from me. I know some sweet-scented sea lawyers who fancy they have a taste for description have called me many hard names, and that many honest folk hold away from me because of it. This and much more. But I have gone my way in silence and lived according to the little voice within me, as a strong man should. And it is not weakness now that prompts me to speak. I feel it my duty, and will tell what I know and remember about the part of my life which the public have chosen to discuss so freely.

I do not know who will believe a sailor’s tale, for sailors have been known to enlarge on their yarns, but my father was a sailor before me and was an honest man. So were many of the Gores, and I myself have been master of a deep-water clipper-ship.

In spite of this I hardly feel that I have reached an exalted pinnacle of human fame, for most people do not regard me as a success, nor am I held up as a shining example of what man might accomplish in his life’s work, although I was captain of the _Southern Cross_--until I ran her ashore and lost her on the Irish coast.

This was all owing to misdirected effort--that is, her loss was; for, after slaving twelve years fore and aft to get command of a ship and at last getting one, I tried to break the record from Hongkong to Liverpool. I did this by five days, and instead of holding offshore until the weather moderated, I overran my distance during a foggy, driving gale and left the whitening ribs of the _Southern Cross_ to mark the success of my endeavour. Had I made harbour, my name would have gone down to posterity as that of the best sailor afloat, and I would have had the pick of the whole deep-water fleet, instead of being forced, as I was, to sign on as mate of the _Arrow_.

It made my eyes misty and something rose in my throat as I did this. I, a man of twenty-nine, signing the papers for a mate’s berth just as I had done years ago when barely twenty.

I thought of the wild work I had done on the yard-arm in many a fierce and freezing gale. I fancied I saw again the ragged rocks of the Ramires through the gloom of the Antarctic night. The powerful typhoon of the South Pacific and the hurricane of the Gulf flitted for an instant before my misty vision. Then--Yes, then I was aware of Mr. Ropesend gazing down quietly at me over the edge of his gold-rimmed spectacles, and I signed “William Gore” without a tremor.

Mr. Ropesend was the head of the firm of importers who had chartered the _Arrow_ for this voyage, and he had appointed old man Crojack as skipper.

It seemed to me that the old merchant read some of the thoughts which were uppermost in my mind, for his eyes held such a pitying look that I arose from my chair with a rough oath. Then I threw the pen down on the table and bitterly cursed the man who had invented such a thing for a sailor. I felt like rushing from the office, and I set my teeth hard when I put on my hat and swaggered out into the street.

It was almost as hard for me to sign that agreement as it would have been for me to sign on a ship’s articles as a common sailor. I fancied that some of the clerks smiled, but I really saw nothing distinctly until I breathed the damp air of the foggy street and mingled with the busy throng on the pavement.

Making my way slowly through the crowd, I entered the doorway of a saloon that stood on the corner of a cross-street a few blocks farther down-town. I had been in there often before, so, nodding to the proprietor at the bar, I walked into the room and sat down at a vacant table and ordered a drink. Then, picking up a copy of the _Marine Journal_, I tried to forget my misfortunes and become interested in the shipping news.

The noise of people talking as they sat and chattered at each other around the various tables distracted my attention from the paper. I looked over the top of the sheet to see if I knew any one in the crowd. While I looked the gathering over, lazily scanning the men’s faces, two men entered from the bar, and I recognized them to be clerks in the shipping department of the office I had just left.

My first impulse was to leave the place, for I knew they recognized me, although they showed no knowledge of my presence. Then I realized that I was getting oversensitive and morbid about my downfall, so I buried myself in the paper again and ordered another drink. I was very thirsty. The two clerks seated themselves at a table next to mine and gave their orders. In a few minutes I forgot their presence.

While I read of an overdue vessel which had just arrived with half her crew down with scurvy, I heard Mr. Ropesend’s name mentioned in a low tone by one of the clerks. I didn’t hear what was said in connection with his name, but, in spite of this, my curiosity was excited and I found myself listening attentively to the low, earnest voices of the men. This annoyed me extremely when I realized what I was doing, and I concentrated my thoughts upon the paper again. Picking out a most exciting incident, I read of how Amos White, a well-digger, had lit the fuses of three blasts in the bottom of an open caisson in the harbour. He had then started up the rope ladder, and it had parted and dropped him down upon them. With great presence of mind he had snuffed two of the fuses with his fingers, but the third had reached the tamping. Dropping flat on his breast, he instantly stuck his tongue into the hole and--

I felt a certain amount of relief when I found that Mr. White had saved himself from turning into an impromptu sky-pilot. Then my attention relaxed, and I was aware of the two clerks talking in an animated manner, with their voices still modulated, though louder than before.

“The evidence is dead against Brown,” said one. “Anderson was pretty clear in his statement to Mr. Ropesend, and he is not the kind of man to incriminate any one unless he’s pretty certain about it.”

“That’s all right! That’s all right! I’ll admit that,” said the one with his back toward me, in an excited and silly manner. “Anderson is pretty careful about his own skin, and that’s just what stumps me after all this talk about Brown and his sister. They are engaged, aren’t they?”

“They are, and that’s just what makes me so certain he is right about it. He never would have kept so quiet about it if his sister wasn’t concerned. Brown will never know who gave him away.”

“What did the books show, did you find out?”

“Several thousand, I believe, but of course Brown will get his friends to make it good, and get away. He’s all right with Mr. Ropesend, somehow, and the old man, I hear, is going to send him off with Captain Crojack, so it can be hushed up.”

“Well, I’m sorry for him, for one. He’s a good fellow, and he’s done more than one man a good turn through his influence. He never hesitates to help a friend, and that is more than can be said for Anderson. I never did like that fellow’s face--”

Here I lost the drift of what was said. I had heard enough, however, to excite my curiosity again, and I sat wondering what had happened.

Young Mr. Brown had been cashier for the firm for several years. I had met him several times in the shipping-house, and we held a sort of speaking acquaintance. He had handed me my last freight money when I was master of the _Southern Cross_.

The man Anderson was bookkeeper for the firm and a nephew of Mr. Tackles, the junior member. I had never spoken to him, but knew him well enough by sight.

There was evidently something wrong, so I thought, but as more could be learned by keeping quiet than in any other way, I didn’t allow my curiosity to worry me.

In a few minutes the clerks left the room, and I finished the drink I had ordered. Then I paid my score from a bag of rather light pocket ballast, and strolled down to the dock where the _Arrow_ lay.

Larry O’Toole, the big, red-headed, freckle-faced second mate, was hard at work on her main-deck getting a mixed cargo into her. He had been second mate with me once before, and he gave me a hearty greeting as I climbed aboard.

I reported to Captain Crojack, and then got into my working togs to start the men loading at the fore hatch. Every one aboard the ship knew me, and even the old rigger, who was setting up the backstays, had sailed with my father, Captain Gore, when he was the crack skipper of the Yankee deep-water fleet, and who had gone on his long cruise when I was yet a boy.

I felt my position to be rather uncomfortable at first, but a sailor soon learns to adapt himself to all circumstances, and I reasoned that it would be better to appear as a good mate than as a poor skipper. Then I took hold in earnest, and it wasn’t long before we had the clipper settling in a way that bid fair to have her on her load-line in a pair of days.

When we knocked off work for the night, I went aft and met Captain Crojack, who handed me a note from Mr. Ropesend. I opened it and found that it was an invitation to join a small party of the old merchant’s friends at his house that evening. I showed it to Captain Crojack and explained that I was not a man for a social party of either men or women, and that in my present humour I would prove rather poor company.

After talking over the matter with him, however, he intimated so strongly that I must go that I finally went to a barber’s and then rigged myself out as well as possible in a hired suit of clothes. I had lost all my shore togs, except one ragged suit, in the wreck of the _Southern Cross_.

After finishing my rig, I made my way in no pleasant frame of mind to Mr. Ropesend’s residence.

On arriving there I looked at my watch and found that it was exactly the hour he requested me to be there, so I walked boldly up the broad stone steps, rang the bell and entered. There was not a soul there besides Mr. Ropesend and his sister, Mrs. Matthews, but this lady was dressed as though she expected company. You will understand what I mean by that, for a sailor can hardly describe the gearings belonging to trim females, in spite of the fact that he is always talking about them and drawing comparisons between them and clippers under sky-sails.

The large hall of the house was decorated with great quantities of rubber-plants, palms, and ferns. The door which led into the passage to the conservatory was open, and the drawing-room was filled with the warm, damp odour of flowers and moist earth.

The old merchant came forward and grasped me by the hand as if greeting his oldest friend. We talked pleasantly about old times for a few minutes, and then, excusing himself to his sister, he took my arm and led me into the conservatory, where he intimated that he had something new in the way of ferns to show me.

As we passed along through the aisles, among the plants, I recognized a rare Australian fern that I had presented him on my return from the first voyage I had made in one of his vessels.

It was pleasant to be among those luxurious surroundings, even for a short time, but as I knew that he had business with me which he was anxious to settle, my interest centred mostly upon the old gentleman himself.

After a desultory and one-sided conversation, in which I took the smaller part, he seated himself on a rustic bench and motioned me to sit beside him.

“I wished you to be here to-night,” he began, “so you would meet Mr. Brown and, perhaps, have a talk with him, for he is going to sail with you on the _Arrow_.”

I remained silent, for I couldn’t quite catch the drift of his meaning.

“Not as a passenger,” he went on, “but as third mate.” Then he was silent for a moment as he saw I was listening.

“I see,” I answered, but I really saw nothing except the old man’s keen gray eyes regarding me curiously from over the rim of his eye-glasses. I am an old sea-dog of the tight-jawed breed, and I’ve always found that when a man wishes to learn something it is best to let the man imparting the knowledge do the talking.

“The young man has not been in good health for some time past and we have thought it advisable that he should take a long sea-voyage on which he can get plenty of exercise and fresh air. He has expressed a preference to go with you on the _Arrow_.”

“I see,” I answered again, for although not of a suspicious nature, I was beginning to see that there was something unhealthy about the business. I did not feel greatly flattered by the preference bestowed upon me, so I kept quiet after admitting that I saw.

My manner was not lost upon Mr. Ropesend, for he eyed me keenly, and continued:

“Mr. Gore, this young man’s father was my earliest friend. I looked upon him as I would look upon my own brother, and I look upon his child as I would look upon--well, say my own--had I ever married and had one--you understand?”

“And as he will have to be in your watch, I want you to take every care of him that you possibly can, without, of course, interfering with the ship’s duties or discipline. He will not be one who will try to shirk hard work.” He said this with great warmth, and after pausing a moment to allow his words to have their effect, continued:

“I know that your misfortunes have soured your temper to a certain extent--No, no, don’t misunderstand me,” he put in, hastily, as he saw my look. “I know that you are only human and what you have been through would have ruined most men. At the same time you have a great deal to be thankful for.”

“Yes,” I growled, rather ill-naturedly, “I suppose I should be thankful that I haven’t the smallpox, or the yellow fever, or a hundred other things. Being thankful for a number of things that don’t happen to me does not make me thankful for some that have.”

He was silent for a few moments, and then said, with a smile, “I see you wish me to believe you a philosopher. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” I answered.

“Have you ever been in love?” he continued, smiling broadly, and the merry twinkling of his eyes told me plainly that our business was finished.

“Never in my life,” I answered, firmly, and I never knew until that moment that I could lie so easily.

“Of course, then, you have never married and don’t know what it is to have a son of your own.”

“Hm-m-m, well,” I answered, “I’ve made several voyages to China and Japan, and it is always the custom out there to purchase a wife, if you can support her and--”

“Never mind, never mind about that,” he interrupted, quickly; “I don’t want any of your reminiscences at present. You understand what I want done with Mr. Brown, so we might as well go in and see if any one has arrived.”

I was astonished, when we neared the door of the drawing-room, to hear a great hum of voices. We had been in the conservatory only a short time, but during that interval a number of people had arrived and were seated at small tables playing euchre.

Mr. Ropesend found a place for me at a table with Mr. Brown, Miss Anderson, and Captain Crojack’s pretty niece, Miss Waters. How the evening passed I can hardly remember. I was a poor partner for Miss Waters, who kept telling me over and over again that she and her mother were going out with us to China. It was a great relief to me when some one suggested dancing, so I could get away.

I felt conspicuous among those people, for, after all, I was nothing but the mate of a deep-water ship. I could dance about as well as a Chinese mandarin, and my hands were so large and brown that they looked absurd among the rest of those at the card-table.

I looked around for Mr. Ropesend to say good night and see if he had any further orders for me. Not finding him, I separated from the rest and walked into the conservatory and sat down.

After a few minutes the good-natured person playing the piano grew tired and ceased. Then several couples came laughing into the conservatory and through it to the garden beyond. I thought I would wait until they all came out, and then go in and say good night, so I lounged back in my seat beneath the ferns and palms.

Presently Mr. Brown and Miss Anderson came out and stood just opposite me, but directly behind a thick bunch of palmettos. They were whispering earnestly, and the girl leaned heavily upon the young man’s arm.

“How did it happen?” I heard her ask him, passionately.

“I don’t know any more about it than you do, dearest,” he answered. “I am the cashier, and I’ll be held responsible. That is all, and that is why, I suppose, that I am going on this voyage. Mr. Ropesend seems to think it is absolutely necessary to hush the matter up.”

It seemed to me that I had made great progress in listening to matters that were none of my business. I reflected, however, that it was through no efforts of my own, and remained silent. I have always tried to be broad-minded, and this evening listening appeared to me to be anything but wrong. There was a short silence, and I caught a glimpse of the girl’s beautiful face as she looked up at her lover’s.

“Wherever I go, dear, I’ll always--”

“And I’ll be yours, Jack--”

And as she put up her beautiful mouth to be kissed, I gave a deep grunt of satisfaction before I realized what I was about. I turned away my head and heard a rustle of silk. When I looked up again, they were gone.

As soon as possible I found Mr. Ropesend and said good night. Then, without a word to any one else, I hurried away.

The little scene I had just witnessed impressed me strangely and haunted me all the way down to the ship. That beautiful, earnest face, with the trembling, sensitive lips repeating those last words--somehow it brought back to me an incident that--

I passed a beggar leaning against the side of a house, with his crutch before him, and, as I passed him heedlessly, I heard the deep curses he hurled after me. Turning quickly, I grabbed him before he could move half a fathom.