On that unusually cold December morning it was warm and comfortable in the club-rooms down by the docks which the Master Mariners' Society maintained all the year around on the top floor of the Lake Carriers' Association building for the accommodation of ships' officers who resided near. From the large windows one could obtain an unobstructed view of the local harbour, the protecting breakwater and the tumult beyond; and on this particular morning there was that outside which greatly interested-the men who frequented those club-rooms. A hard- working tug had just nosed the big schooner Vidalia, long overdue, alongside her wharf, an object of entrancing beauty as the winter sunshine turned her ice-covered masts and rigging into sparkling gems of every known hue.
"That crew can thank whatever gods there may be to watch over the destinies of sailormen," said Captain John MacDonald quietly. "In all my forty-odd years on the lakes, I never knew of such an apparently miraculous escape," he remarked, turning about to face some dozen auditors, mostly "retired" captains, grouped near him.
"Jim! You boys better go out and watch that schooner to-day. You won't see another like it for many a year." He glanced over toward the edge of the western window where young Falkner, lately pirate-chief of the Lady Gwendolyn, and two or three of his friends were striving to see what was happening down on the Vidalia, without interfering with the prior rights of the club members who stood there.
"Reminds me of old Dan McHann's adventure in 1871," he continued, as his auditors lighted ill-smelling pipes and settled back into easy- chairs, while Jim Falkner and his pals sat down on the floor beside them, quite disregarding the old man's suggestion that they go down to the Vidalia's wharf. Captain MacDonald was a story-teller whose fame had spread far and wide along the Erie Coast, notwithstanding the fact that he sometimes sacrificed veracity in an effort to make his tales more interesting.
During the years that followed hard upon the short cruise of the Lady Gwendolyn, Jinx Falkner had been "our boy" to Dick Brown and his lovely wife, Virginia, in only a very limited sense, despite her assurance that he would ever be so regarded. Nevertheless they did take an interest in his welfare and arranged that the boy should make his home with Dick's parents while he earned his way through High School. In Dick's memory there remained a too realistic attempt by the irresponsible youngster to drop him over the side of the pirate-craft, bound hand and foot, and a too successful restraint while he was on the island where it was wrecked. These served to cool his own enthusiasm, and after all, the words of "Miss Virgin'y" were but hasty thoughts inspired by a romantic escapade that had fortunately just ended happily.
Jim Falkner was not a good student. Few of his associates, whether comrades or teachers, considered him anything but just plain dumb. His experiences in the schoolroom were of such a harrowing nature that his days there became a period of absolute drudgery and terror which he endured only because of his sponsors' obvious desire that he should do so. But early and late, in fair weather or foul, and regardless of the season, the lake drew him to its shore irresistibly. He soon came to know intimately every type of vessel that ploughed its surface, and on every ship that docked regularly in the harbour he was a welcome visitor. Sailors, more than any other class of men, quickly recognize a kindred spirit; and it was no trick at all to conclude that Jim Falkner was one of the lake breed.
His intelligent interest in the ships that paused a while inside the breakwater aroused a friendly regard for him from the men who sailed them. Little did they care for his lack of scholastic attainments; and among the older mariners who no longer walked the quarter-deck Jim Falkner quickly became and remained a prime favourite.
Masters they had been—men accustomed to command and to be obeyed! It irked them to discover in their declining years how few there are who take either boys or old men seriously, and led them at times to bewail the degenerate days upon which they had fallen. There was surcease, however, from an ever gnawing pain in the worshipful admiration of Jim Falkner. He never failed to listen with rapt attention to their oft- repeated narratives that stirred his young soul inexplicably. Those stories sent him forth grimly to endure the humdrum activities of home and school until that greatly desired day when he too could go away on one of the ships that slipped quietly over the horizon and as silently returned from unknown lands where strong heroic men might fairly expect to encounter startling experiences.
"Aye! That was an adventure indeed," continued Captain MacDonald. "Danny never would tell his friends much about it, though; and it was only after he went down with his ship somewhere off the Thunder Bay shore that we got the particulars from his wife.
"The last ship down from Duluth floated like a great shadow in the Superior snow gloom. A million ice-devils bit and snapped at the vessel like angry dogs, and half-frozen swells swished against her in monotonous complaint because her sides were of steel. From his perch in the crow's-nest, Dan McHann could hear them, and for the twentieth time he delivered thanks into the chaos of the day that he was riding in metal instead of wood.
"Except for the sound of ceaseless strife between iron and sea, and the drifting up of voices that sounded half a league away, McHann might have imagined himself above the clouds. Falling snow shut out all vision deckward. Even the freighter's bow lights were obliterated. Above him and ahead, there was a shifting, tantalizing nothingness, into which he stared hard, a blurring sweep of snow and mist, out of which the storm wraiths formed themselves, like ghostly pictures smothered in sea foam.
"It was the man's first experience in a last trip down, and the phantoms had worked upon his nerves. He had seen ships come up out of the swirl ahead, only to dissolve before his eyes as he leaned to shriek down warning; grotesque monsters seemed created by every veer and lunge of the wind, until, at last, his vision was stung to uselessness by the intangibility of the world about him, and he bowed his head in his arms. There was relief in this. So he crumpled himself back in the nest, and cursed the greed of men who had sent him out upon this death race with vinter, for the toll from three hundred thousand bushels of grain. As he swore, he looked out again, in a fleeting, half-blind way, and, as he looked, there seemed to creep up out of the snow clouds the network of a ship, with dead-white masts and frozen shrouds. He rubbed his eyes with a mittened hand, and when he uncovered them again there fell from his lips a cry of warning that ended in a shriek.
"The blow came then. Above the rhythmic throb of the engines, and the cries of startled men below, there came a jar of mighty objects meeting, and above that the grinding, hissing rush of a thousand tons of ice. McHann reached out, but his arms were filled with air. Like a back-broken thing, he shot from the kick of the steel mast, and his wailing cry died away in the twisting whiteness of the storm. To those on the freighter who heard, it was the death call of the crow's-nest man. McHann, after that one cry, closed his mouth tight, and held a long breath; and, when he figured that he was near the end, he held out his arms to meet the ice-choked sea. In place of it he was crumpled up against something that set him rambling off into half- consciousness.
"Some time afterward, he seemed awakening from a dream. Things seemed to come and go before his eyes, and something that was growing brighter and stronger in him every moment made him feel that he was out of danger-that there were tangible objects about him, which he would reach up and investigate when the numbness went out of him. He knew that, straight above him, there towered the mast of a ship. It did not seem strange that there was no canvas about this mast, or that its spars and shrouds were thick with ice and snow. Rather, he argued in a negative way that, where there is a mast there must be a ship, and a ship is run by men. So he waited for some one to come and help him. After a little while, when his vision had grown stronger, he could see that he was under a foremast, for half-way up it was the look-out nest, and in the nest was a man. The man was leaning far out, and was beckoning to him, in a weird, aimless sort of way. McHann made a huge effort, and sat up.
"'Hello, Bill!' he called weakly.
"He grinned up at the object, and was very happy to know that he was saved. But the man aloft did not respond, though he beckoned, and his head bobbed; and, the more he beckoned and bobbed, the straighter sat Danny McHann; until, at last, he staggered to his feet, and, with his hands against the mast, stared straight up at the crow's-nest man. His senses were readjusting themselves rapidly. When he backed away through the drifted snow there was in his face the look of a man who had witnessed something bad, and a grim sort of horror was filling his soul, for he knew that man was as dead as a herring floater.
"It was only for a moment that the thing remained in his brain. He went back into the snow, and sat down, with his head between his knees. From his forehead blood dripped upon his feet. He made an effort to rise, and felt the warm flow of it over his face. Instinct, more than reason, impelled him aft. He did not know that at times he dragged himself on hands and knees through the snow, and that frequently his progressive movements were no more than convulsions, a sprawling of legs and arms and an unconscious struggle with hands and feet. When he reached the galley door, he pulled himself up to it, like a wounded animal. It was unlatched, and under his weight burst inward.
"Danny drew in his head and shoulders, and lay upon the floor. There was warm stale air inside. His comprehension of the virtue of all things but warmth was gone. Even this warmth he seized upon, in a subconscious, worm-like way, and encouraged himself into it inch by inch, only realizing that after every effort he became more comfortable. It was a long time before he aroused himself to the meaning of things. It occurred to him for the first time that he had suffered a hurt, and that his hurt was keeping him down. So, when he strove to throw off the oppression that was binding him, it was with new caution. He lifted himself slowly, gripping at the fact that it was his head which hurt him most, and that, when he moved fast, as under the crow's-nest, he became dizzy almost to the point of nausea.
"The thought of the man in the crow's-nest set him back at the beginning of things, and when his head became clear enough he went to the door. For many minutes he stood there, listening to the creaking of ice-stiffened shrouds and staring into the ghostly gloom forward; and always his eyes circled from other things to the figure which hung against the foremast. To his disordered vision it was a shapeless, illusive blotch, suspended in the chaos of snow. After this, he searched until he knew that the silent watch and himself were the only human creatures, living or dead, who rode with the frozen ship.
"There came an overwhelming sense of drowsiness in him, so he dragged a cot into the galley and stretched himself upon it. For a long time he listened to the moaning of the gathering night-wind, the rustling run of the ice-choked sea against the wooden sides of the ship, and the crackling of frozen ropes and spars. He had to listen hard to hear these sounds. Even the ticking of his watch rose above them. This watch troubled him. Its ticking kept him awake. He pulled it from his pocket and placed it as far out on the floor as he could reach.
"When he fell back upon the cot there was a buzzing in his brain. The effort of reaching out sickened him. And it had done no good. He could hear the watch plainer than before.
"It seemed working in his head. The sound came louder and nearer, as though the watch was creeping across the floor to him. Soon it ceased to tick. It tapped! It was like a small hammer, beating on wood just under his ear. He dragged himself out upon the floor, and gave the watch a shove with his hand, that sent it to the opposite side of the room. When he came back, he held his breath to listen.
"It was still under Danny's head, so close that he thought he could feel the jar. He groped out in the darkness, as though expecting to touch some one. Then he felt under his pillow. The tapping stopped. Before it continued again he had fallen off into a stupor. The tapping under his head grew louder after that, but failed to arouse him."
Clouds had gathered over the tossing unrest beyond the breakwater, obscuring the sun, but the growing gloom in the club-rooms passed unnoticed while Captain MacDonald continued his narrative. Tim Falkner leaned forward like one entranced.
"Many hours later he opened his eyes. His face was turned to the wall. Instantly he knew that it was day, and that the cabin was filled with light. He was very comfortable, too, and the pain had gone from his head. The incidents of the evening before crowded into his memory-the ghost ships climbing, wraithlike, out of the snow gloom; then the real ship, with the thing swinging and beckoning in the crow's-nest; and, after that, his rush into what he had thought would mean eternity for him. Curious how he had landed on the deck of the abandoned schooner! There came a thought of the mysterious tapping, and he listened. The ticking of his watch came to him faintly. He held his breath—a strange thrilling sensation growing in him; another sound came to his ears, an almost inaudible sound, that seemed coming nearer and nearer to him. It was like the cautious, smothered working of human lungs— the breath of a creature struggling, like himself, to maintain silence. He turned his eyes, without moving his head, but nothing was within his vision. Still there came the soft fall of something, that might have been a bare root, and the breathlike sound near his ear ceased. With a powerful effort he nerved himself, and swung his head and shoulders around, his right arm doubled for striking.
"'Gawd!' he exclaimed. 'How you frightened me!'
"In the middle of the floor there stood a grotesque monster of a man. He was old—very old. Long grey hair fell about his shoulders. A beard almost white spread over his chest. He was a giant in breadth and height. He wore no coat, no hat, no shoes; his grimy shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves of it were torn into shreds. Enough to frighten a man at first glance, but benignity shone in the eyes as he looked down.
"'Good morning, my son!' the stranger greeted.
"'Good morning!' replied McHann, as he brought himself to a sitting posture on the edge of the cot. The movement made him dizzy, and he knew that he had not fully recovered from his injury.
"'I hope you are better,' said the other. 'You had a good sleep. I stopped work so as not to awaken you. I thought the pounding might annoy you. Have you seen my crew?' He smiled down at McHann, and there was something in the smile that made the young man shudder.
"'Yes, of course-my crew. Come! I'd like you to meet the boys!' he said as he walked to the door, and McHann followed him. Shoeless he trod ahead through the snow until he stood under the foremast. He pointed up to the dead man swinging in the nest.
"'That's Joe, the best watch that ever run Superior!' His grey eyes were clear and expressionless, and no shadow of a smile lurked on his lips. McHann's face whitened.
"'He was bad until I tied him up there—very bad! He said I wasn't captain, and wouldn't obey me. I knocked him down with a club. That's his punishment for not obeying me—no sleep, no food, work all the time!'
"The old man turned and made a new trail through the snow. Where the wheel should have been was a miniature mountain of ice, and close beside this he stopped, peering in, as though looking through a window. McHann knew what had happened. The ceaseless wash of the sea had gradually smothered the wheel in ice. The mass was higher than his head.
"McHann drew close. He stared hard into the crystal mass. He could see the outline of the big old-fashioned wheel, and beside the wheel was a shadow—a horrible, spectre-like shadow that his vision soon formed into the shape of a man. One arm of it reached out and gripped a spoke of the wheel; its head, hatless, was inclined forward, as though watchful eyes were peering into a danger lurking sea; from the waist down it was lost in the opaque whiteness of the mass.
"'That's Tom!' whispered a terrible voice. 'Ugh! But he was a hard one! 'Twas an awful task to master him. Once he nearly had me—but I gripped him by the throat and hung like a dog. Then I tied him there. He's a clever wheelman. Ain't you, Tom? Eh?' A hard, cackling laugh sounded so close that McHann shivered. He could feel the other's hot breath on his neck.
"Tom thought he was captain of the ship. I think he was a little wrong in his head. The queen thought he was captain, too. So did Joe. They were all wrong !'
"'Yes, the queen!' The old man drew McHann about. 'A strange glow had come into his eyes. The grip of his fingers was like that of a steel clamp.
"'You know that I'm captain here, don't you?' he asked; and as McHann nodded, the grip on his arm loosened.
"'Does the queen?' he dared softly.
"The old man's yellow teeth showed in a leering grin. 'Yes. She does now. Would you like to meet the queen?'
"Without waiting for an answer he turned in the direction of the galley. Inside he motioned McHann to seat himself on a cot. For a few moments he stood looking down upon him. In his eyes there came slowly a dull, threatening fire; his bony fingers crooked themselves until his hands looked like talons, his breath came quickly, and his huge form seemed nerving itself for a spring.
"'I'm the captain, you say?' he demanded again.
"'Of course you're the captain!' cried McHann.
"He tried to laugh, but he knew that something akin to terror filled his face. He saw the talon-like fingers relax. The old man turned slowly away, and with one of his bare feet kicked aside a piece of rag carpet that lay near the galley stove. The movement exposed a trap. He raised this, and step by step, descended through the opening, evidently by means of a ladder. At last only his great head remained above the floor. For an instant he stared hard at McHann—then disappeared.
"The other was listening! Then there came the fall of bare feet, gradually dying away, and then—
"A thrill shot through McHann. He heard voices; the shrill frightened cry of a woman—and then a sound of scuffling. Again came the cry, muffled, choking—and there went out from McHann an answering yell that boomed through the hold of the ship like the report of a gun. He shot down through the trap, and another cry burst from his lips as he landed. For an instant he stood silent to get his bearings. Not a sound came from the dense blackness about him.
"'Where are you?' he cried. 'Where—'
"He did not finish. Instinctively he felt that something was very near him, and coming nearer—something living and breathing like himself, and with him as its objective. He half crouched, as if to meet an enemy, and soon he was sure that he heard a sound. It became more, and more distinct, and the sweat burst from his tense muscles. It was the ticking of a watch! Foot by foot the tell-tale sound approached him until he knew that he could almost reach out and touch the creature that was creeping upon him. Then it stopped. He could feel that the other was gathering himself for a spring. A second more and he had launched himself into action. One arm and a knotted fist shot out with terrific force, but the blow missed, and McHann stumbled and pitched to his knees with the weight of it.
"Before he could rise the other was upon him with a mad, half-human cry. His long fingers clutched the sailor's throat; his huge form crushed down upon him like a weight of iron. With a sidewise wrench McHann twisted himself until he could throw an arm around the old man's neck, tightening the grip until the other gave a choking gasp. The fingers at his throat closed in like pieces of steel. He relinquished his hold; in a frenzied fight for breath he tore with both hands at the clutch that was throttling him—in his dizzy brain there rang the cackling triumphant laugh of the madman. He fell forward upon his face; his arms sprawled out powerless, there came a splitting pain in his head, and a sound like the rushing, hissing roar of a cataract drowned his senses. Again, as if coming to him through a great void, he heard that gloating laugh.
"The first thing after this of which McHann became conscious was a face. It seemed to be very near to his own—a staring, wild-eyed face, sometimes so close that he imagined he could feel the breath of it, at others slipping away until it dissolved into air. Twice he saw its lips move, as if speaking to him, but his eyes closed, and his ears seemed powerless to grasp sound. At last it appeared to him with vivid distinctness, a thin terrified face of starved whiteness, with dark wide eyes burning into his own. With a powerful effort he dragged himself another step into consciousness. He realized then that the face was down from him; that somebody was crouching upon the floor at his knees, and that the face was that of a girl.
"'You're—the queen?' he managed. It was the first thought that came to him. He could scarcely hear himself because of the dizzy sickness he was struggling to overcome. A weight rested upon his knees, and the face came nearer to him.
"'I feared he had killed you! Oh, if I could only help you—get you water—'
"The words helped to drag Danny from his stupor. He attempted to straighten himself and found that something held him from behind. His thoughts returned to him quickly now. He was tied in a chair. His hands were bound. In an instant the situation flashed upon him. He looked about for the old man. Then his eyes rested upon the upturned face of the girl. He was struck with the beauty of it, the terror in it and the feverish lustre that shone in her eyes.
"'He's down there!' she whispered, and turned on her knees so that she might point to the open trap. Then McHann saw that her hands were tied. 'He's mad I He's sinking the ship! Oh, God—'
"McHann listened. From beneath him there came the peculiar tapping of the night before. The girl heard, and shuddered.
"'Hear him pounding? He's digging a hole through the bottom! It's almost—through—' Suddenly she raised herself until her bound hands rested against McHann's breast. 'Tell me,' she breathed, 'has he— killed them?'
"McHann knew what she meant. His own hands were tied behind him, but he leaned over until his face swept her tumbled hair.
"'Tom—and the others. Tom is my brother. This is his ship. Johnson was the wheelman—and he went mad. One morning he came to me and said that he had killed them all during the night, and that the ship was his—that he would not kill me, but would take me to the bottom of the sea with him! Tell me—'
"From out of the trap there came the cackling laugh of the madman. With a frightened cry the girl dragged herself to the edge of the cot and drew herself upon it. Scarcely had she done so when Johnson's head appeared through the opening. His lips were drawn back over his yellow teeth; a terrible gleam filled the eyes that fell upon McHann. 'We'll soon be going,' he said. 'It's coming in fast. Listen!'
"Faintly there came to McHann's ears a sound which he knew was the inrushing of the sea. The old man laughed gleefully. For a few moments he stood with his head and shoulders out of the trap; then he slowly descended. McHann strained on the thongs which bound him. In his effort the chair toppled over with him, and he fell face down upon the floor. He was surprised at his weakness. Vainly he struggled to bring himself to his knees, and at last rolled upon his side, facing the girl. 'There's a knife!" he gasped, nodding toward the stove. 'Can you—get it?'
"Instantly the girl slipped from the cot and began crawling across the floor. She moved by inches. Her long hair dragged under her knees. At the stove she reached up and gripped the knife between her two hands.
"'Quick!' whispered McHann. 'Quick—'
"Soon she reached the cord that bound his wrists. He could feel the knife sawing upon the cord. How light the pressure was! Each second seemed a minute—each minute an hour.
"'A little! "came the girl's voice, replying in a terrified whisper. McHann could hear her breathing hard at his back. He strained at the thongs to tighten them, and never for an instant did his eyes leave the black opening of the trap. Each moment the sound of water pouring into the hold came to him more distinctly. A dozen times he fancied he heard the old man climbing up the ladder. Once the thrilling triumphant laugh came to him as if from amidships. He twisted his head about, and looked up at the girl.
"'It's almost through!' she answered.
"There came a sudden snap, and Danny's hands were free. Quickly he cut the ropes about his waist and feet and freed the girl. Then he rose to his feet, gripping the knife, and staggered to the edge of the trap. Again came the terrible laugh from below. It was nearer than before.
"McHann swayed. He was conscious of an almost overmastering dizziness. The girl saw his weakness and caught him by the arm. 'Come with me— quick!' She pulled him toward the galley door. 'You're hurt. We must get to the boat——'
"McHann followed, resisting slightly. The girl's strength seemed greater than his own. 'Guess I am,' he acknowledged weakly. 'Didn't know he got me so hard.'
"Danny stumbled out into the snow, the girl darting ahead of him to the schooner's small boat, swinging in davits amidships. When he came to her she was tearing with her naked hands at the tarpaulin covering which protected it from the wash of the sea. Even as they pulled off the sheet, a yell of rage sounded from the cabin. In a last tremendous effort McHann caught the girl in his arms and lifted her into the boat. Then he swung the davit arms out over the sea. Behind him Johnson appeared in the galley door. Where the two ends of the falls were tied the sailor slashed blindly with his knife, and the boat pitched downward. A single glance behind—a vision of the great grey giant within a dozen feet of him—a cry of warning to the girl, and McHann flung himself over the side.
"Half an hour later McHann lifted himself on his elbow. With a piece of her dress the girl had been bathing the blood from his face.
"'She's getting pretty low!' he said, as for the hundredth time they turned their eyes in the direction of the sinking schooner. She lay three-quarters of a mile away, with the sun lighting up her glistening shrouds.
"A little sob broke from the lips of the girl. McHann, sitting up, took one of her cold little hands and held it tightly in both of his own.
"'Tom was the only one I had on earth. If he's gone—'
"'Yes, he's gone, but I'm going to take you to one of the dearest mothers in the world,' said McHann softly. 'She's waiting for me at Algonac, and perhaps—'
"He stopped. The end of the distant ship had come. For a time only her spars seemed riding above the sea, and these went down slowly, until the black of Superior rose and fell where they had been.
"'Got off just in time, didn't we?' asked Danny cheerfully.
"From the girl's staring face McHann turned his eyes toward the Michigan shore and wondered how long it would take him to row that distance."
