Copyright Story. HIS MADELINE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue XI, 16 March 1901, Page 482

Copyright Story. HIS MADELINE

By

J. HANMER QUAIL.

(Author of “The Voyage Home,” etc.)

“Captain Paul Hermann, sir!” The waiter stood aside to allow the stranger to pass into the room. “Glad to see you. Captain; how are you?” said Henry Musgrave warmly, as he advanced to meet his visitor. "Oh, fairish, considering things. How are you?”

"Oh, I’m all right, except ” Musgrave shrugged his shoulders, turned the palms of his hands towards Capt. Hermann and bent his head to one side in an ominous and uneasy fasion. Walking to the front of the lire place, he put his hands behind and glanced impatiently at the closing door. The door handle rattled and the waiter had gone. “There! sit down, Captain, we can talk now,” said Musgrave as he walked to a side table and took a decanter in each hand. “Whisky, brandy or what?” he asked, with a look at the captain. “Oh, whisky will do,” replied Hermann, indifferently. Musgrave took two glasses from the side table and poured out a stiff meaure of the liquor into each. “Good health to you, Captain,” he said, raising one glass to drink. , “Good health and good luck,” was the response, as Captain Hermann grasped the other glass, raised it to his lips and took a light draught. Setting his glass on the table. Musgrave moved a chair to within a yard of his visitor and then sat down.

“Well, what’s afloat?’ asked the captain, eager to know why Henry Musgrave, manager of the North Brazilian Shipping Company, had invited him to the New Metropole. Musgrave raised his chair and set it down again one inch nearer his visitor.

“Captain, he said in an undertone. “I suppose you know that it’s all up with the company?” “Well. I guessed that things weren’t over brisk.” “Brisk! They’re brisk enough, but it’s the wrong way. Were in liquidadation. The boats are to be sold and in a few days the North Brazilian will have no further use for your valuable services or mine.’ “Humph! that’s bad!” “Bad as it can be as regards the company. That’s why I wanted you to come and talk things over.” The captaiK shot an inquiring glance at Musgrave. “I’ve an idea that will yield a few thousand pounds within twelve months,” Musgrave went on. “1 want a captain to go in with me on half shares.” “What is it?” came the sharp inquiry. “Take a solemn oath that you wont divulge, and I’ll tell you everything.” “Oh, that’s all right, you can trust me.’’ “Give me your hand.” The captain’s arm slowly rose. Musgrave grasped his hand and held it firmlv.

“Give me your solemn oath that you won’t repeat a word that I say, to anyone.”

“Right; I swear.” “Good. Then here’s the trick. I’m going to bluff the underwriters. I’ve paid them thousands and it’s quite time I made a call on them.” Hermann looked black and moved uneasily.

“You needn’t be afraid: it’s not a scuttling job. We can do better than that.” said Musgrave, reading the captain’s thoughts. “Go on,” was the impatient re-

joinder. “We can get one of the company’s boats at our own price. Suppose we take one of the best, fill her up with what we can get or with rubbish; insure the ship and cargo for a top sum. and let her go and play chameleon. Do you see?” “Yes; that yon want to send me to penal servitude,” said the captain coolly.

"Bosh! Don’t you see the plav. Twenty-four hours out your boat becomes some other boat. You paint her her down and give her the name of some boat she’s like. Suppose you had the Pernambucan. A couple of days after leaving port she becomes, say, the Caspian. You start, say, for Buenos Ayres, but go to Calcutta or Bombay instead, and sell the boat—the Caspian —for what you can get. The Pernambucan will have gone—at least, they must think so here, and I must get her posted as lost and look out for money. What you get for the boat will be so much more to the good. That’ll work, won’t it?”

Hermann sat silent, looking hard at the fire-back. The scheme was as audacious as it was simple, but he saw difficulties. There were the cargo. and the papers and the crew. The cargo would have to be got rid of. and the crew would see all that was done above board.

“Won’t it work?” asked Musgrave, disappointed. Hermann shook his head. “Whv not?”

“What about the eargo and the papers and the men?” queried the captain.

"I’ll see to the papers. The cargo, you’d put out. where we arranged, and you would have to keep the men on board until you had got rid of the boat,” said Musgrave confidently. Hermann thought again.

"What would a boat fetch at Calcutta or Bombay,” he asked after a long think.

“More than the cost of the venture.” “And how much would you make out of the insurance?”

“Can’t tell; perhaps thirty thousand; perhaps .more.” “And you would be willing to make it an equal share job?" “Yes, we would divide equally.”

“How about getting a boat?” “I can work that. The company will be glad to get a boat off their hands.”

Hermann took a sip at his whisky and then thought for a minute. “Pay all costs and guarantee me two thousand pounds however the thing goes and I’ll go in with you” he said decisively. "Why two thousand pounds?" Musgrave asked with a disappointed air. "Because I take the risks. If the thing fails I'm done.” "Tut! nonsense!” “Ruined, ruined! Nothing but penal servitude for it," the captain said emphatically. They talked for ten minutes more and then Musgrave yielded. The captain agreed to join him in the venture on the understanding that he was to have half of the nett profits, or two thousand pounds, whichever sum might be the greater. He was to command such steamer as could be got, and. jointly with Musgrave, was to exploit the underwriters. The eool effrontery of the project made it the more attractive to him. He parted from Musgrave in a lighter and more hopeful mood than he had known for manv a dav.

Musgrave bought the North Brazilian Company’s steamer Madeline at a price which some of the shareholders of the company correctly described as “little more than the price of old iron.” But as the company had been working at a ruinous loss and was retiring Henry Musgrave, its old manager, to make way for a liquidator; and as the Madeline and two other steamers were swallowing up the little remaining capital of the company, the directors were glad of an opportunity of lightening their burdens by disposing of one of the steamers. And to take the grace of a virtue out of what was almost a necessity, some of the shareholders viewed their retiring manager wnth condescension and said:—“Give him

a chance; let him have the boat to see what he can do for himself.”

So Musgrave got the Madeline, a handy, modern boat of over 2500 tons, iiannd after his only daughter as a i oinplin.ent to him toe years before. Musgirave collected enough cargo to give a look of genuine freight and business to the boat while she was loading, and Captain Hermann helped to make draught by taking all of the water he safely could, into convenient parts of her. Except for appearances, on insurance account, they wanted no cargo. Every ton put on board was an encumbrance and added to the risks of the undertaking. When the Madeline steamed easily down the Thames bound nominally for Rio Janeiro she had every appearance of being as well-found and honest a trading steamer as ever carried a house-flag. But the piece of deep-blue bunting bearing the large yellow M which fluttered at her main truck, and her freshly painted funnel with a deep black band, top and bottom, and stone-coloured body, bearing a clear and massive letter M on each side—standing for Madeline or Musgrave—were new, and caused many a speculation as to whose the steamer might be.

Hermann knew his business as well as any man who ever paced a steamer’s bridge, and knew just as well how to get any work 'connected with his steamer done by the time and in the way he wanted. When, therefore, the Madeline had been six days out she had become another craft. Her funnel was dark blue with a single black band at the top. Her hull was glossy black with a good breath of bright salmon-pink curving away above the water-line. At each side of the bow, in large yellow letters, stood out the name Sicilian, and on the sweep of the stern were neatly picked out the words—Sicilian* London. “Wonder if Musgrave would know us if he came alongside now,” chuckled Hermann to his second officer, as they stood on the bridge watching a eouple of men who were painting the forward winch.

“Not he! And nobody else either. Takes a keen eye to see through a aew suit of ship’s clothes,” laughed the second, with a glance at the newlypainted funnel. Instead of steaming west for Rio, the Sicilian took a southerly course. Crossing the line, she worked down southward, past Ascension and StHelena, and then bent south-east for the Cape of Good Hope. In another ten days she was well round the Cape on a straight N.E. by E. course across the Indian Ocean. The Sicilian was never meant to go within a couple of thousand miles of Rio on that trip. Musgrave had made up such papers as Hermann would require, and had given them to him with letters of consignment to two Colombo agencies. The Sicilian was steered to Colombo, and the cargo landed on consignment for the new British Trading Company of London, to await the arrival of an agent, who was said to be following

by the first mail steamer. Picking up what cargo he could find that he might show a clean face in port, and make a few extra pounds on his own account, Hermann put the Sicilian on a north-westerly course, under full steam for Bombay. Dick Fairburn, first officer of the Leonidas, stood at the end of the bundar at Bombay, talking with Joe Gregory, captain of the Andromache, and Charlie Dansou, chief engineer of the Burman. Their steamers happened to be in port together, and Dick and Joe, two old chums of Uppingham School, had met for the first time for six years. They had spent a day together on shore, and had fallen in with Charlie during the afternoon, and had been taking a few turns on the bundar before parting for the night. Suddenly Dick became silent, and looked intently at a steamer with a blue funnel and black smoke-band, lying out in the harbour.

“What's up, Dick?” said Joe Gregory, seeing that something had taken his old comrade’s attention.

“I’d bet six months’ pay that that’s my old ship,” said Dick, pointing to the steamer.

“That’s the Sicilian, a London boat; I saw- her name as we came ashore,” said Gregory. “It’s the Madeline, if the Madeline’s afloat. I ought to know her,” Dick said, dogmatically.

"Well, what does it matter?” Dick turned to Gregory, with a queer, sheepish smile, which changed in an instant to a look of furious wrath.

“What in heaven’s name’s up, Dick?” said Gregory, struck by the change which had come over his old mate.

The look of anger melted and the look of sheepish confusion came back to the eyes of Dick Fairburn. He stood like some schoolboy who had been the victim of a mean trick and knew it.

"Queer that we should meet here at Bombay, Joe, after so long, and this thing crop up,” he said, with feeling. “You’ll say I’m a fool, but 1 don’t mind telling yau,” he added, as he stopped and looked down at his boots.

“Go on, man,” said Gregory, impatiently. Dick looked up again. He was red as the setting sun on a wild March day.

“Five years ago,” he began unsteadily. “I joined that boat as ‘second.’ She belonged to a new company, the North Brazilian Shipping Company. The manager was named Harry Musgrave. He used often to come on the boat, and would bring his wife and daughter and others to see her. Once he went with us to Monte Video, and took his daughter. I was ‘first’ then. She was the jolliest girl I ever met. She was interested in everything about the ship, and I had to tell her all about the compasses and the navigation. And, by heaven, before we got back to London —they came back with us—that girl was dead gone on me—” “And you?” interrupted Gregory. “Was deader gone on her. ’Pon my

life: I couldn’t help it, Joe; she was such a merry lass, you would have fallen in love with her yourself.” "What was her name?” ■ Madeline- —Madeline Musgrave. The ship was called after her.” "Why didn’t you marry her?” asked Gregory, laughing. Dick frowned. "Maybe 1 will yet. Her father said I wasn’t good enough for her. It was through that I left the ship.” "Did she care for you?” asked Charlie Danson, his eye twinkling with the fun of the thing. "Aye, as much as any girl ever did for a fellow.” "Then I'd marry her,” said Charlie decisively. “That’s the Madeline, I’ll swear,” said Dick,looking again at the steamer with the blue funnel. “You’re wrong,” said Charlie. "That the Sicilian sure enough, and I’d nearly bet a month’s pay she was Charnley’s Jungfrau four years ago. 1 know her bow and deck lines forward.” "I’ll bet you five sovereigns that a year ago that boat was the Madeline. Will you take it?” said Dick eagerly. “I "will,” replied Charley, laughing.

“Done.” “We’ll soon settle that. Here’s one of her boats,” said Joe briskly.

A newly painted captain’s gig bearing the name Sicilian was coming to the landing. In a minute Captain Paul Hermann stepped ashore. “Captain, what steamer is that?” said Gregory to Hermann. “Sicilian, of London.” “Wasn’t she the Madeline?” Hermann shrugged his shoulders, but only for an instant.

"No, she wasn’t. She’s the Sicilian.” -Before you had her she was the Madeline,” said Dick Fairburn, coolly. “Then you know a d sight more about her than I do, and. I’m her captain. I say she’s the Sicilian. If you don’t believe it take that boat and knock your head against her bows and open your eyes and see,” growled Hermann.

-By heaven, 1 will! Come on, Joe; come on, Charlie. I’ll prove it in five minutes,” said Dick Fairburn, stepping lightly into Hermann’s gig. Joe Gregory whispered to Paul Hermann that the other two had a bet on as to the identity of the steamer, adding, "We’ll take your offer, captain, and row round her bows. Seeing will be believing. “We’ll make it all right over a glass and a pipe on the old Dromache yonder if you’ll come aboard to-morrow night.” “Here, row those fellows to the devil,” snapped Hermann to the crew of the gig. Charlie Danson and Joe Gregory stepped into the boat and she was pushed off. The four oars dipped and she shot quietly through the still water.

Hermann stood on the quay red with rage. He would have hailed the boat and brought her back, but somehow he dared not. One of the three starngeis who had gone in her was evidently a captain, and the other two were officers. It would have looked bad to bring the boat back. And one of the three was suspicious as it was. Iteproaehing himself for his folly in leii.ng this man to go in his own boat ami see the ship, he walked to and Iro along the quay, a strange feeling of impending mischief creeping over him.

"There you are,” said Charlie Danson, as the boat shot up to the bow of the steamer. S-i-c-i-l-i-a-n. Isn’t that plain enough?” “No,” answered Dick Fairburn, doggedly. “Oh, well, if that isn’t good enough 1 give in. What more can you have?” “I’ll show you. Pull to the ladder, boys,” said Dick authoritatively. The boat’s head was turned and a couple of strokes put her alongside the ladder.

"Come on,” said Dick, grasping the ladder and mounting quickly. In half a minute Dick Fairburn stood on the deck of the Sicilian. In less than a minute more Joe Gregory and Charlie Danson stood beside him. The deck hands came round, looked at the strange officers and exchanged glances. “It’s all right, men. Your captain sent us aboard. We’re making a survey,” said Dick Fairburn to the men, who stood wishing for an order to pitch the intruders overboard. “Come on. captain, and you, Mr Danson. This way.”

Dick Fairburn walked towards the midship deck house, the other two and some of the ship’s hands following.

Entering the starboard alleyway he walked on until he reached the fourth door on the port hand. There was a little plate bearing the words “First Officer ’ over the door. Dick grasped the handle, turned it and gave a push. The door opened inwards. A coat hung from a rail and other articles lay about. Across the narrow end of the room there was a short seat. Dick Fairburn entered the room and walked to the seat and sat down. Joe Gregory and Charlie Danson followed him in.

“For nearly three years this was my room,” said Dick. "When I got sweet on Madeline Musgrave I thought I would like to have her name before me when I was sitting in here. So I did this. See.”

He stepped to the other end of the room and placed one hand upon each edge of a raised panel on the space by the door. With a light, upward jerk, the panel came away in his hands. On the woodwork which the panel had covered was carved the word: — “Madeline,” in clear, but quaint letters.

"There! I carved that when I was first officer of this ship, the Madeline, nearly four years ago. If that isn’t proof you can take the sovereigns, Charlie,” said Dick, replacing the panel on the little, concealed hook which supported it and hid the reversed name from an idle gaze. Dick led the way from the room, pushed through the men who now thronged the alley-way, and made for the ladder. The boat was still alongside.

"Come on; let us get ashore,” he said, turning to Gregory and Danson. who were behind him.

Tn five minutes they were being rowed to the quay. "How long has that ship been the Sicilian?” said Dick Fairburn to the mate, when they were close to the landing. "This voyage.” answered the mate without thinking. “There you are. What about the five sovereigns?” said Dick with a laugh, to Charlie Danson.

“Here; take them.” replied Charlie as his hand slid to his pocket. “Oh. blow it! Keep them for smokes. That ’s the Madeline, my old boat;

that’s the point,” said Dick as he rose and sprang on to the landing.

In looking over the first newspaper which came into his hand after the Leonidas reached Loudon, Dick Fairburn's eye fell upon a list of missing vessels. Fourth in the list was the name of the Madeline, of London, owner, Henry Musgrave. Like a lightning Hash the truth about the Sicilian broke upon Dick's mind. He knew that the Madeline was not lost, though missing under her old name, Unquestionably she was. He had left her out there at Bombay safe and sound, and known as the Sicilian. He saw that a rascally game was being played and that the prime mover in it was Henry Musgrave, the man who scorned him when he had loved his daughter and she had loved him in return.

Dick Fairburn’s first impulse was to take a cab for Bow-street or the underwriters’, and inform them that the Madeline was afloat, all taut and trim. Then a thought checked him. If he did that, Musgrave would be prosecuted and ruined and then what would become of the girl he loved? He might marry her. truly, but he would be marrying a felon’s daughter. No, that would not do. Early on the following morning, Dick Fairburn was ushered into Henry Musgrave’s private room. He waited patiently until the owner of the Madeline thought proper to give him an audience. "Well; what’s your business?” said Musgrave curtly, as he recognised the old first-officer of the Madeline. “To save you trouble. Mr Musgrave,” said Dick sternly. “What do you mean?” “What about the Madeline?” “Don't you know that she’s missing?” Musgrave’s voice was unsteady. It betrayed him. “No more missing than you are. and you know it.” Musgrave blanched. "How? —where is she?” he stammered. “Out at Bombay as the Sicilian, on a very pretty frolic. She’s a blue funnel with black top; black hull, pink on water line; Paul Hermann, master, and partner with you in as nice a bit of

villainy as was ever attempted on the seas. You are claiming for total loss here, aren’t you? and he’s trying to sell the ship there. Shall I bring you witnesses as to the identity of the ship?”

Musgrave was dumbfoundered. His face twitched nervously ami its colour came and went. At last he broke down, utterly. “Don’t—give us—away—Fairburn—don’t,” he faltered piteously. "Oh, you're run down. It is a case for law. You’ve done it,” said Dick severely. "No, no, Fairburn. For heaven’s sake don't give us away. For my wife's sake —for my daughter's sake, don't! Think of them; of Madeline.” "Of Madeline!” “Yes. You cared for her once, and I thought you wanted—to—to—honourable—” “What?” “Marry her.” “I did, and you spurned me. I wasn’t good enough for you.” “No, no, Fairburn. You're wrong. It s a mistake. See; will you have her?” “And compound a felony?” “Oh. no; you’re unreasonable. I say. Will you have her now?” “Are you willing for me to have her?” “Cer—tainly.” “And you'll report that the ship is all right?” Musgrave paused. “Oh, curse it! No. not that. Fairburn. If you only knew. I’ve staked all on this venture,” he said in despair. “Then you're in for a total loss. Let me have Madeline; report the ship as safe, and I’ll keep off.” Musgrave hung his head and was silent for a minute. “No. no. Fairburn; for heaven's sake take the girl, and let me settle the rest.” he urged pitifully. He was utterly helpless now. “No. Beport the ship safe or it’s hard labour for Herrman and you,” insisted Dick. “Make any othei- terms. Do. Fairburn.” “No—no—no! No other!” “Then take Madeline. Take her. curse you! Treat her well. I’m ruined.”