THE STORYTELLER

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14601, 26 February 1921, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE STORYTELLER

The Ship of Shadows

(By'"John Foster, author of The Beraardine, The Forgotten Hock, etc.) GHAPTEII XIV. — (Continued.) . 'At length the Ume wore on, nearhig the hour at which lie had promised u 3 bleep. Afterwards I've olien thought it curious—and E\an agreed with me—that neither oi us uuuineu his promise. Tlie sty was overcast, brooding and threatening. He hau Deen very quiet for an hour or so. Tlie ship was sailing easily, but there was a menace in the sky. Suddenly, lie began to sing, not loudly, but uie air reached me, and I recognised it. It was tlie Lorelei, "lob weiss night was soil es bedeuten." Unce or twice since then 1 have

heard it, but under very different conditions, in concert-halls amid warmth and crowds, and eucti time the lights and faces have vanished, and I was back again with a shudder on the ship of Shadows, and heard the man singing at the tiller under the darkening Atlantic sky.

"E\au was staring at him, and turned to'me. "Griosda leinn I" tic whispered. "It is fey that lie is."

'The singing suddenly stopped, and Lowdcn called out an order to "snug" the ship. Wondering, we shortened her canvas. Then tie gave the lifter to l.van, moved slowly to the companion, and struck the hour very deliberately— Four bells. 1 remembered suddenly that hour two days before. The ensign was still at half-mast. We were just eboul tlie place where poor ('.errand had given his wife to tlie merciless embrace of the sea.

i was dully speculating why the ship was brought to. Evan had taken the tiller. Lowden, after .striking four bells, walked close to the lee rail. Then, in a steady voice, he gave ttifi naval formula, "I leave the ship," turned round, and gravely saluted us. 1 think that 1 knew what was coining;

but before my thoughts ran into action he put one foot on the rail, called, "Coming, Madge," and at a•■ bound cleared Ihe rail and sprang overboard. 'When I came to myself Evan was tending over me. The want of sleep and the horrors of the last two days had brought me to breaking point. 1 had collapsed on the spot. ' "Come, laddie, we're all that's left." He helped me to rise, and we staggered aft like drunk men. Evan vouched the tiller, and 1 dropped beside him like a log. The schooner was lurching wildly, a gale breaking overhead in a wild burst of rain. '1 was past caring for wind or weather, feeling like death. All I wanted was to be left alone, to shut my eyes and lie down for ever. 'lt seemed days after, though it was only an hour, when I was roused by Evan shaking me. 1 sat up and looked round me with a shudder. ' "I'm goin' to put her about again for Scotland. We can do it. She's a. tidd.ible ship. Another ten meenils an' we'll get some sleep. House an' bitt, lad!" Evan kept calling. 'lie held a stiff "Dogger Banker" (three parts rum, one of steaming hot coffee) to my chattering teeth, and watched me swallow the potent browst. Then he hoisted me to my feet, l felt about as cheap as over I did; but with the courage of desperation I man. aged to stand by the tiller, lie went forward and let go the sheet, and at his shout I gathered up the lees of my strength, contrived to put the tiller hard down, and the schooner swung round. 'Then he came aft, the picture of weariness, and looked at the barometer. "Heavens! I'm goin' to let her risk it, for I'm done," said he. He lashed the tiller amidships, and lit the lights. The schooner bowled along, running free before the wind. We lay down literally where we stood, and 1 were sound asleep in our drenched clothes in less seconds than it takes me to tell it. 'Come to think of it, had it been daylight, passing ships might well have wondered at the sight; the schooner sailing unmanned like a ghost in the great waters; her ensign still at halfmast with its message of Tragedy and Death; the two mariners worn-out, in their deep sleep as inert as the dead.'

CHAPTER XV.—LAND HO i 'I slept for many hours, and the good Evan did not rouse me. Luckily, the wind had not risen during Hie night, or I might not be here to tell the tale. When 1 came on deck m\ comrade was at the tiller, the sky clean and rain-washed, and a copper sun was taking heart behind the last of the flying clouds. 'Evan began at once a characteristic vendication of his prophecies of disaster. I felt inclined to tell him to thank God for our luck rather than dsnee round his fetish, but 1 was too hungry and too weak to talk. 1 changed my clothes, and then, under his direction, set about making breakfast, while he steered. Then we went out of sight of that corner of the deck where the red stain was'—lie pointed aft—'there I that's Why 1 wouldn't sit there to-day—and ate and drank, saying little. 'Was it all real, or was I crazy? Was this silent ghost the craft [hat nad run so merrily out of Saint Pierre.' Gerrand! Madge! Hulse! Lowden, the handsome devil 1 Were they names in a dream? But the flag was still at half-mast; the dog Dugald trotted, whining, fore and aft, round and round. then up and down the companion, lookIns for the lost; and 1 knew that close beside us on deck was Hie red stain, that the sea would keep the vanished men and the woman till one Great Day; and that we were alone, sailing the Ship of Shadows. Some sudden memory of the good-hearted skipper arose —his voice, I think, when first he offered to take me out of Port o' Spain—and between this, my physical weakness, and my stretched nerves, my manhood nearly gave out. Evan disgnosed my thoughts, and wisely set me to work.

'Eor the next day or two the deaths of poor Hulse and Gerrand came up fitfully in our talk. I told Evan what I had heard when I listened on Hie companion?way; hut. we name tn no conclusion, nothing farther than I have arrived at to this day concerning Lowden. Evan was disinclined to think of the things we had seen, "f.et Hie dead lie!" he said at list, looking around almost, as if he expected lo hear their vofc.PS. "This Is an accursed ship. Let Hie dead lie!" and not another word would he breathe again on the Slillject.

'The run home until we made a londf'll was blissfully uneventful. The Fates probably thought thai we had had more than our share of happening*. Much to one relief, Ibe wind »i,<w fair-. The glass rose and k'-pt «-'• •!(!'■. \ warm P>in shone, and I pielcd tip strength every hour, f was a novi <■ at steering: nul Evan did (he w -'. of this, and between us we manP :■■,} f.-i w -o the ship K"inc\ Evan talt',r ■■■':<■ 1 rr.rinffo bv dead reckoning. if.. ■. •) Vi ••''- what would have, hip- -- ned ;n i : '-' v weather: but we kept he sails reduced just as Lowden had

left her, and, as it turned out, we never shipped a spoonful of water; One evening, just before nightfall, Evan pointed out te me a long blur on the horizon. "Land Hoi" he said, it was the coast of Ireland, off Donegal, as i! turned out, and ere morning the deepsea light at l-'anad Head sent, us its welcome greeting. Then the sun slowly painted out the last shadows , aTT*I morning banks of mist, showing white tteecy cloudlets, (lying like a Hock of white birds of good (mien; all around us, the great crystalline wheel of the sea. The coastline hardened into cliffs crowned with green, seas creaming at their feet. 'Now, Evan had been strangely silent for him i concerning our destination. I hud made no doubt that, we would run for the nearest port; but even when we saw Ireland he said little or nothing. The sight of land demanded some definite course. I asked him directly where he was making for. • '•Well, we can run for Lough Pwillv or LouVi Foylc: but that, wi' only the fewo o' us here, means a pilot, an' a pilot means questions, an' questions mean trouble, as sure as there's kail in Kintyre. 1 tell ye fair, a Hoard 0* Trade inquiry is jist, the last, thing I'll be seekin' to show my face at." He looked at me obliquely.

' "You mean" '"Well. . . . maybe it wass a drop o' whusky. Maybe no.' I' ye think a mate—an' that's me—signs on as a cook an' bottle-washer on a schooner for a tarnned two pounds a month, or for the sake o' his health, \e.Te welcomel But that's no' my opeenion."

' "Tell me nothing you don't, want to, Evan," said I, knowing his brittle temper. After all, he had sailed the ship and stued our lives. We had faced death together, and he had shown the fine qualities of a seaman in a crisis, and his liltle idiosscransies never warped a. cheerfulness and resource beyond praise. 'His brow cleared a little as he said,

"Now, we've no cargo to land, an' peIvveen you an' me an' Ihe dog. I'm no ftrrv_ much' cann' whether we make a fiorl or no'. We's off the County Donegahl, an' wi' a decent, wind like Ihe wan we're getlin' we'll see Scotland soon."

"My heart beat. "Splendid, Evan! The sooner the better!" • "Wait, till I've feenished, m'lad. Ye'rc young. Delceberation is a ferry goot thing." He was silent for a Utile, casting a glance al n vcr the bowl of his pipe, i know that, the agreeable rascal was turning over some scheme of his own.

' "Yess, a ferry goo thing! Now, look ye! liere we are, saitm' a schooner that duesn't happen to pelong to us. Supposin' we bring her into port, what story will pe tellin' aboot her'.'" ' "Why, the true story, of course, Evan. Why not."' ' "Why not'.', Ye must be a great gomeral! Heeause no one will pelleve it, an' them thai do will only pretend to. There'll be a great, pusiness in ♦he courts, as like as no' as if it wass our fault. I'm no' goin' barefoot among thistles if I cari help it!" lie answered gloomily, then relapsed into silent preoccupation. Ids eye measuring the sea between us and the coast, and every now and again stealing a look al me. I had but, fine thought, and that was to set foot again in Scotland; and I urged that we could come to no harm by running for the nearest land. or, for that mallei', the Clyde, there To hand the ship over to the authorities, and tell tiic unvarnished tale.

'"Come, Evan! we must get home. What's your reason for not running for a port?" I asked again.

'He thought for a moment. "Well, there's a story I'll toll ye aboot a groat chief long ago in tlir. Highlands. K's a. peety you have no Gaelic, for it clinks far petter in the Gaelic fhnn Hie English. The English is n poor speorh for a story." 'So, by way of answer, he told me that once, in the good old days, n great chief, temporarily embarrassed, had borrower! n hundred head of entile from a neighbour, but without going through the little formality of informing their owner. The cattle were intercepted and recaptured: hut 'he rightful owner* contended that they were twenty head short, and a .representation tn this effeci was made to the chief. "What?" said he. "Things have come to a pretty pass when my neighbours will oof fake the word of a Highland gentleman I" ' "Well?" I asked when he stopped.

' "Weel, I'm goin' to sail the ship where I like; an' as for bavin' my reasons. ye'll chust have to pe takin' Hie word o' a Highland chentleman for them."

'With this parable 1 had to be content, for he would snv no more, remaining for the rest of the day as silent as a Trappisf monk.'

CHAPTER XVI.—'TIME TO LEAVE HER.'

'The course The Tyrshire Hose was altered ;» point or two under his orders, Hie Irish coast just visible on our starboard.

' "I suppose we must bring her to some port, Evan," I said. This would surely unbend him. ' "I'm no sure o' that," he grumbled.

'This was irritating and mystifying, and I asked him again point-blank to speak out and say what he meant. He wriggled mentally and physically, ami hesitated. Now, there's no surer index to a man's thoughts than what he says in a, temper. I deliberately set, about lo rouse his, and bring matters to a head.

""Perhaps you want to steal the ship?" I said. 'I should hnve got. only my deserts if he had cuffed my ears; hut he merely rose, ran a blazing eye over me from head to fool, turned his hack, ami went slowly forward. T left the tiller for a moment nnn ran after him instantly, ashamed and penitent. 'Then the hurricane of his anger broke out. and i listened to many unrepeatable things in Engiisli and Gaelic, until I betted his pardon humbly, and confessed thai, my words were only a rusi' to get at his mind. ' "By Hie Holy Iron! it's chust as well, if 1 thought that ye would pe meanln' if. it's nefer again wad 1 break speech wl' ye. Maybe 1 am wanted for a srnahl hit o' smugglin', hul I'll have ye know I hat Evan Mai lend ir-s an honest iiiiin.''

'(.ml! the murder was dill ! Ev.i'i honest rnnn. had visions of being laid liy the heels ashore for a bif of smuggling. ' "Is that nil. man? I'll help you," said I. vuslly relieved. 'Hf was sfi|] snorting- a lift!'', bill his fare visibly brightened and lie shook my oiilstrftrhed h.md. Then he rnbosomed himself. n- had he«n eaughl in n lillle .f.■ ■ 11 in smuggled saeeharine from Ihp Bailie. '<"y r . see, mine's a fare on rilydesidfi! They M me i,lit nn Ivui. 'hough llir> lawyers rhairger] sn miirh lhal I've whiles thought I was belter to have stopped in jylo. F'vr neither wife n ;,: ' bairn. =n I rhu«l '"\ rabK It's i':l '"itv wr]| rornin' rui'etiv back as I intended, an' eettin' raid off

the ship an' takin' my chance. I wad have risked that. I've done it pefore. But it's anither pair o' hreeks to come back in a schooner wi* her name chaigned, nopody on board but you an' me an' tlie dog, an' a story o' death, murder, an' suicide, tit for the Polis News. No. There would pe a fine pusincss. I'd be up against, the whole clamjarnfry o" the law, fra' Hie Lord Adv'iiit to the nicht-bobbies on Greendyke Street by the Broomielaw." • "There's nothing for it but to risk it, is tiiere'.'" I ventured. ' "Hisk it! I've risked enough in this cursed . :ssel to last my turn. I'd as lief risk offerin' a bun to a shark as risk the law If I get clear o' The Avrshir-3 Rose mess, they'll get me on the smu.-vlu:' ball. What they'll pe losin' i n the swings they'll make />n the m< .'■>•-! :■■' -lounds, ns Hie man said. I tell \estr; sglit, I'm no' goin' near a i f ' [l "

"Stun her ashore? That's as bud." ' \,'i i: o. We would be seen. I'm goin' to leave her." lie struck into the old chanty,

The seas we re high, the winds were strong,'

Leave her, Johnny! leave her! It, will pe as easy as turnblin' out o' yer bunk. Get her close inshore; then" — He pointed to the shin's boat. 'My face instantly reflected the hundred difficulties I foresaw, for tie coolly said with a grin, "An' ye'll have to join me. my lad for ye wouldna think o' sailin' the schooner a knot by yersel", unless ye dwanl to join the rest o' the ship's company wi' Davy Jones." 'This was true, and he saw that I knew it,. All hough I argued for the best part, of the day, he was adamant. 'After all, 1 owed Evan a Rood deal, and tie had nursed me as tenderly as a woman when I was ill. Ultimately I gave in, and we set about immediately to conceal The Ayrshire Rose's identity. I don'l know that this was quite necessary, hut Evnn was all for being *\nc ralher than sorry. We began by pwabbing the decks. I was glad that I'van took the after-deck, where the red stain was. as pari of his job. Wfl did the business thoroughly.' 'You did,' I cut in. 'There wasn't a scrap to identify her by.'

'That's so. We emptied the lockers, down to the pockets of the dead men's clothes. We burned or threw overboard every scrap of paper, the log included. It was a sad task, and we went through it silently. I remember the little feminine fineries, the photographs, the woman's hand plain in the (my stateroom. But it had to be done, and doing it. thoroughly kept me from thinking. Evan burned the combing of Ihe hatch bearing the ship's number, and threw Ihe bell, with the schooner's first name. The Honorine on it. over the side. Then we swabbed the deck again, and The Ayrshire Hose looked as clean and as innocent as lier name. 'Fortune favoured us. The wind was kind, the schooner as easy to handle as a. perambulator, and soon the blue line of Kin tyre on (lie quarter heralded Old Scotland. ' "I'm in two minds what to do, ' said Evan, poring over the chart. "I'm no' aoquont hereabouts."

'I doubted him, but said nothing Together we had a look at the chart, and suddenly I remembered that I knew my bearings in the reaches of tiie Solway. ' "It's Providence," he cried when I told him Ibis. "An' the wind, in the westward!"

'Promptly the schooner's figure, head was set for the North Channel, and we began our last day on board. 'By the dog-watch we were astern of the light of the Mull of Galloway. Not, a topsail fretted the h"rizon. The wind was scarcely rippling the water. Everything conspired in our favour, and about two in Ihe morning Evan throw the lead for Ihe last lime. '"By the deep, three 1" lie said. "Time lo leave her." 'We gave her a last overhaul, and then sal down to a square meal. There was some money, ten or eleven pounds, and we made.no bones about dividing it in proportion to our rating. I swear we had worked hard enough fur it.

'We shut (he dog Dugald in the cabin with some food and water. He would have jumped after us, and we knew someone would find him on hoard. Strange that it should have been yov! We left just enough sail on her to keep her under way, and run her up the Solway with the tide. 'I hen we lowered the boat, and got. into it. The schooner towed us for a minute or two, until Evan cast off. "['he dog howled dismally, some inslinet telling him that lie was being abandoned. Very little would have made me turn back for hire, but I hardened my heart, and we bent t i the oars. Dugald's voire reached us at intervals, like some melancholy spirit calling. "A-lone! I'm alone," until i' died in the distance: and soon all we could see ~f the ship that held such dirk memories was the plow of her port light, its image following her furtively, shimmering red on the wafer like a blood-stain.'

CHAPTER XVII.—TO THE ROAD. "We rowed easily but steadily. In the early morning light 1 tried to make out the features of the shore. There was the suggestion of Woods and l.eughs, lu're and there a gleam perhaps of a yellow creek, but all as yet blurred and vague in tin; half-light. Between us and the shore stretched tlie long sandy fringe of the Slewartry seaboard. The tide was at Hie (low, ami an occasional stroke of the oars was now enough to keep the boat moving; so we deified pleasantly, resting, wailing for the way. There wis scarcely -a lipfde no the sea, the tide crooning around us, giving Hie, boat a slow, drowsy, cradle-like swing. in the stillness and Hie sense of security Hie days and nights on The Ayrshire Rose'seemed years ago. So I thought as we leaned over the oars and rested. I saw Evan's head nod once or twice; and, watching him. I dozed, and dreamed thai, 1 was at home, and that someone was knocking far too early at my room door. '1 woke' will) a start to see Evan in the stern, hammering the seat, with a stretcher I" waken me. We had been asleep for an hour. 'lie handed me Hie spy-glass. "Where are we?" _ '1 turned round, put up the glass, and in a trice my pulse was at a gallop. For under the glass, like the sudden raising of a theatre's curtain, there leaped forward into vividness a picture thai I had carried in my heart throughout nil my wanderings, a promontory dark green with woods, rising behind it hills laced with niornirn misls; a sentinel jsle in Hie gateway • if a little estuary.' lie pointed westward. 'You can see them all from Ihe iditfs over there- Sereel, Benguirn, Ualcar> Point, and the Isle L ,f lleslon. I was within a summer day's Damp of home, and a I. Ih> Sllddenlv dim. '1 handed the spy-glass lo my comrade with "The sun is in my eyes, Evan !" 'lb- la.id a big, kind hand on niv shoulder. "No, laddie; il's your heart's in your eyes. The sun isna fairly awake yet. 'Deed, ye needna hf ash.ini d, for Ihe hesl men have jusi. a fiii i-D o' a woman in them. Man. if yon were Ihe mists on Ihe (Juchullins instead o' them hits o' hitlocks. I might pe feelin' Ihe sun in my ~),] blood as we|] a- in my pyr o ino!" ( 'A few strokes of (he oar brought the boat within fifty yards of the rirn

of the'tide. I knew my bearings, and when her nose touched the sand we Quickly planned our last move. We went over the side, waist-deep, in the water; and then**.dragging her half-a-dozen yards lo a little hump or sand, we turned her keel upwards and left her to the will of the rising tide.

'To splash through the shallows to the sands took us but a moment, and in half-an-hour we were walking briskly under the green arch of a birdhaunted wood lhat skirts Daleary Bay on the western side. Not a soul was astir at that early hour. In the village oi' Auohencalrn —somnolent enough at broad noon—we heard a clock strike four.

•A couple of miles farther along the road we curled up snugly enough under the lee of a haystack, and slept Hi,' sleep of the just. When I woke, instead of the bilge and tar-laden aroma of the cramped fo'c'sle, a cool breeze greeted us. 1 stretched myself luxuriously, and sat up to discover the miracle of a green Held, beyond it glowing uplands, vivid, splendid with the daring bloom of the whins. The breeze carried with it the scent of the hay and the whins, apricot and languorous, and tjiere we sat for half-an-hour, feeling il was good to be in Scotland. But the sun was climbing, and the open road called. We hud a wash in a burn, and took the road, Evan whistling alongside me, his beloved concertina under his arm. 'A glimpse, of Iho sea gave us no signs of The Ayrshire Kose. We guessed that she would run with the tide somewhere up the Firth, and purposely had struck westward of Auchencairn. Evan's plan was to gel to some quiet railway station, and thence unostentatiously push north off the beaten track. I know my way, and had gone out of my track to see him part of the road. ~ 'Wo tramped steadily on. Ohl the good brown hills and the windy moors; the white specks of farm -"touns" sprinkled among the tumbled hills; the kind eyes of the loehans, blue from the summer sky! "Tarry here!" cried the peewits. "Tarry here!" A hundred summer voices, a hundred singing burns, greeted us. We covered the road in deep content, our hearts answering the magic bugles of the homeland. We might have been princes coming into our own, with never a care in the world, instead of two shabbj sailor-men on tromp, a few pounds in our pockets, and the 'fore-lhe-rnast marks on our hands. "nh, the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy-tree | They grow sac green in my ain countric." Evan trolled out: hut I knew that ho was menially comparing evefy turn of the mad wilh Skye.

'Bread and cheese and beer at, a country inn, where (ho Galloway patois refreshed me almost as much as the provender: then to the road again, through the railway that skirts Minnignff, (he burliest parish in that burly land. (To be continued.)