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CHAPTER V. – THE “CENTURION.”
“Hark!” cried Raynor, as the two boys exchanged glances.
“I have it,” exclaimed Jack the next instant. “That’s only the tolling of the ship’s bell as the schooner rolls on the sea.”
“My, it gave me a jump though,” admitted Raynor. “Hullo, they are slowing down. Must be going to board her.”
“Evidently,” agreed Jack, as the Sea Gypsy’s propeller revolved more and more slowly.
Captain Sparhawk descended from the bridge. The ponderous form of Mr. Jukes followed him. The millionaire’s face bore a look of strange excitement.
“Of course that can’t be the schooner,” the boys heard him say to the captain, “but still I can’t pass it unsearched.”
His eye fell on the boys.
“Lads, we are going to board that schooner and try to find out something about her,” he said. “Do you want to go along?”
These were the first words the boys had had with their employer in some days. Of course both jumped at the chance, and before many minutes passed, one of the yacht’s remaining boats was being sent over the sea at a fast clip toward the derelict. Close inspection showed the schooner’s condition not to be as good as it had seemed at a distance. Her paint was blistered and the oakum calking was spewing out of her sun-dried seams like Spanish moss on an aged tree. Her sails were mildewed and torn in many places and her ropes bleached and frayed. Mingling now with the incessant, melancholy tolling of the bell, came the monotonous creak of her booms and gaffs as they swung rhythmically to and fro.
No name appeared on her bow, although blurred tracings of white paint showed that one had once been inscribed there. But there was a yellow-painted figurehead; a stern, Roman-nosed bust of a man, apparently intended for an emperor or a warrior.
“We’ll row round the stern and take a look at her name,” decided Captain Sparhawk. “We’ll have to climb aboard from the other side anyway. There is no means of scrambling up from this.”
The boat was turned and rowed under the graceful stern of the derelict. On it, in bold, raised letters, surrounded by a fanciful design, stood out, in fading colors, the lost craft’s name.
“Centurion, San Francisco,” read out Jack, with an odd thrill. There was a sudden exclamation from Mr. Jukes, who had not yet been able to make out more than the first few letters.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed, in a voice so sharp and tense that the boys turned and stared at him, as did the boat’s crew and Captain Sparhawk.
Jack repeated his answer and, to his astonishment, Mr. Jukes, the iron-jawed, self-possessed business man, who had never shown signs of possessing any more emotion than a stone, suddenly sunk his head in his hands with a groan.
“Too late after all,” they heard him mutter unsteadily. But when he again raised his face, although it was ashy pale, he appeared to have mastered himself.
“Well, we’ve reached the end of our journey, Sparhawk,” he remarked in a voice that he rendered steady by an apparent effort. “Let us go on board, however, and see if we can find some trace of the unfortunates of the Centurion.”
The captain looked as if he would have liked to ask a great many questions, but something in Mr. Jukes’ face rendered him silent. He gave the necessary orders and the boat was pulled round to the other side of the schooner. Here they were glad to find some dilapidated ropes dangling which afforded a means of getting on board. Two sailors, after first testing their weight-bearing qualities, scrambled up them like monkeys, and, under the captain’s orders, went hunting for a Jacob’s ladder which would support Mr. Jukes’ ponderous weight. One was found and lowered, and soon all stood on the silent decks which for so long had not echoed the footsteps of a human being.
“Away forward and muzzle that bell, some of you,” ordered the captain briskly. “The sound of the thing gets on my nerves.”
“Send them all forward,” supplemented Mr. Jukes. “Tell them to search the forecastle, anything to keep them busy. We will examine the cabins and officers’ quarters.”
“Are we to accompany you, sir?” asked Jack hesitatingly.
For a fraction of a second the millionaire seemed plunged in thought. Then he arrived at one of his characteristic quick decisions.
“Why not?” he asked, half to himself it seemed. “Later I shall have something to say to all of you. You have wondered at the object of this cruise, no doubt?”
Captain Sparhawk nodded gravely.
“I have guessed you had some great end to serve in it, Mr. Jukes,” he said.
“An end which has now been reached, I fear,” said the millionaire solemnly. “But come, let us proceed with our examination.”
CHAPTER VI. – A MYSTERY OF THE SEAS
At first glance Jack saw that the main cabin of the Centurion was fitted up with a luxuriousness not common to mere trading schooners. A silver hanging lamp of elaborate design, silk curtains at the stern ports, book-cases filled with handsomely bound volumes and the thick carpets on the floor, clearly indicated that whoever had occupied it had been above the class of the rough and ready South Sea trader.
In one corner stood a desk as handsome in its appointments as the rest of the furniture. But it had been roughly dealt with. The front had been smashed in, drawers pulled out and papers and documents scattered about all over the cabin floor. The door to a sleeping cabin leading off the main apartment was open. Within was the same disorder. Even mattresses had been ripped open in a hunt for something, the nature of which the boys could not guess.
Mr. Jukes hastily rummaged through the contents of the desk, selecting some papers, casting aside others as worthless, and gathered up on his hands and knees those on the floor. Then every cabin was searched and in each the millionaire took a few papers, but the look of anxiety on his face did not change, and the boys judged he had not found what he was in search of.
“Not a solitary clue,” he exclaimed with a heavy sigh as, dust-covered and perspiring from his exertions, he sank down at the long dining table in the main cabin. For a time he appeared lost in thought and the others stood about silently. To Jack it was almost awe-inspiring, to see this over-mastering man of affairs, who bullied whole corporations into his way of thinking, sitting there in the cabin of the derelict schooner utterly at a loss, and apparently defeated. At length Mr. Jukes spoke. His first words were a surprise:
“I suppose you all have heard of my brother, Jerushah Jukes?” he asked.
“The traveler and explorer?” asked Captain Sparhawk. “I guess every one in America knows of him, Mr. Jukes.”
Paying no attention to the captain’s reply, the millionaire went on.
“The papers reported some months ago that he had set out for Central Africa.”
“I read the account,” said Jack, “but – ”
Mr. Jukes waved his hand. The boy fell into an abashed silence; in a second the millionaire had changed once more from a crushed, defeated human being into Jacob Jukes, millionaire and king of commerce.
“He did not go to Africa,” he said. “Instead, his destination was the South Pacific. He chartered this schooner, the Centurion, and the last I heard of him was when he set sail from San Francisco. If no news of him was received within a certain time I promised him to come in search of him. You see,” he added with a simplicity new from him, “he was my younger brother and I promised my mother on her death-bed always to look after him.”
There was a pause. In the silence of the long-deserted cabin they could hear the dismal creak of the neglected rudder and the bang-banging of the swinging spars above.
“We were poor then, miserably poor, and my mother never lived to see the rise of our fortunes, for as I advanced in business I helped my brother up, too. But his bent was not for finance. He had a streak of the adventurous in him. But I put it to paying purpose. I seldom lose on any venture.” Unconsciously as it seemed, the hard vein in Jacob Jukes had cropped out again. “I decided to put my brother on a paying basis. The results were good. Concessions in South America, gold mines in Alaska, and certain South African enterprises were put through, largely through his instrumentality.
“And now, to get down to the present time. The Centurion was chartered to obtain for Mrs. Jukes, who has a craze for expensive and rare jewelry, the ‘Tear of the Sea,’ the most famous pearl of the South Seas. I had obtained information of its whereabouts in the Pomoutou Archipelago through means which are not important to relate here. I thought that an expedition to purchase the ‘Tear of the Sea’ and, incidentally, other pearls, would be a good investment and keep my brother, who was getting restless, in occupation.
“In the meantime, however, a dishonest employee managed to get wind of what was about to take place and furnished the information to a firm of European jewelers with agents in New York and all over the world. From that moment, I rushed through the Centurion’s expedition with all possible speed, for I knew the conditions of competition in the Pacific. There is little more law among pearl traders than there is north of fifty-three. My brother knew this as well as I did and realised the necessity for haste. Moreover, we knew that the European firm was anxious to obtain, for a royal customer, the very pearl that I was after. In addition, this firm was known as one of the most unscrupulous in gaining its ends, and maintained, in the South Pacific, a system of spies and bullies which brought most of the pearl hunters’ prizes into their hands. Ugly stories have been told of their methods of gaining their ends – and – and I am afraid the fate of the Centurion will have to be added to the black list.”
“There is nothing in the papers to show what happened to your brother, sir?” asked Captain Sparhawk presently.
“Nothing. They are merely formal documents, ship’s papers, clearance bills and so forth. There is no memorandum relating to the pearl in any way.”
Captain Sparhawk knitted his brows. For a minute he appeared lost in deep thought.
“Do you mind telling us the name of that firm, sir?” he asked at last.
“There is nothing we can prove against them,” said the millionaire. “They work without their hands showing in any of their ugly transactions. Their name, however, is F – & Freres.”
“Of Amsterdam?” queried the captain.
“The same. They have practically a monopoly of the pearl trade of Europe.”
“I know that, sir,” said the captain, clenching his hands. “They tried to work their tricks on a ship-mate of mine who went a-pearl trading. But, sir, to change the subject, did you ever hear of ‘Bully’ Broom?”
The millionaire shook his head.
“I have; and have good cause to remember him,” said the captain. “But none of that at this time. Sir,” he continued earnestly, “your brother may be as safe and sound as we are. He may have the pearl. But if neither of these things have happened, Bully Broom is the man to look for if we have to hunt him all over the Pacific. I’ve sailed these seas and know that ‘Bully’ Broom did F – & Co.’s dirty work for them. He calls himself a trader, but, like lots of others doing business under that name in these waters, ‘Pirate’ would be a sight better name for him.”
“And you think that this man ‘Bully’ Broom, as you call him, has something to do with this mysterious disappearance of my brother?” asked Mr. Jukes, who had listened with deep attention, willing to hear of any clue, however slight.
“I ain’t dead sure,” said the captain, “but it’s my impression that if the firm you spoke of was after this ‘Tear of the Sea,’ then ‘Bully’ Broom knows where Jerushah Jukes is,” and he brought his lean, gnarled fist down with a thump on the table.
The old ginger came back into Mr. Jukes’ eyes, the wonted crisp authority into his voice as he snapped out:
“That being the case, we’ll find ‘Bully’ Broom.”
“No matter where we have to go?” asked Captain Sparhawk, raising his eyebrows.
“We’ll scour the whole Pacific if necessary. But nobody of the Sea Gypsy’s crew need accompany her against his will. All I ask is that they remain till we can touch at some civilised port, such as Papeiti or Honolulu and ship a man in his place. Do you boys wish to stick?”
“To the finish,” came from Jack, and Raynor, standing beside him, nodded his assent.
As for Captain Sparhawk, he simply reached out one of his brown hands toward the millionaire, who clasped it, and said:
“I’m with you till the bottom drops out of the ship.”
“Thank you, Sparhawk. It’s what I expected of you all,” said Mr. Jukes quietly, but his voice shook.
Thus, in the desolated cabin of the derelict Centurion, there was ratified a bargain that was to lead the boys into strange seas and stranger adventures.
CHAPTER VII. – AN OLD ENEMY ODDLY MET
The lads stood on the stern deck of the Sea Gypsy, gazing behind them. On the horizon hovered a tall, black column of smoke. It marked the last resting place of the Centurion, for Mr. Jukes, after ransacking the cabin of everything associated with his brother, had decided to burn the derelict, which, if she had drifted into the paths of navigation, might have proved a dangerous menace.
“Well, Billy, the mystery is solved at last,” said Jack.
“Yes, and in a way I’d never have guessed in a thousand years. Mr. Jukes must be very fond of his brother. It’s a new side of his character to me.”
“Same here,” agreed Jack. “While he has always been just and kind, I thought him a regular man of business, with ice-water instead of red blood in his veins, and his heart in his enterprises only.”
“Just goes to show that you are liable to run up against a streak of sentiment when you least expect it,” said Raynor.
“I see now why an embargo was put on the wireless,” said Jack presently.
“I can’t figure it out. I should have thought he would have used it to try and locate the Centurion.”
“I guess he figured that if he did so, some ship might pick up the message and it would reach the ears of that Amsterdam firm and they would find out about this expedition in search of Jerushah Jukes.”
“Perhaps that’s it. But there’s one thing sure and certain, Jack.”
“And that is – ?”
“That we can’t do much without coal.”
“Jove, that’s true; I’d forgotten that. What rotten luck! Where is the nearest coaling place?”
“Papeiti, in Tahiti, I reckon.”
“How close are we to that port now?”
“Well, to-day’s reckoning puts us in Latitude 29 degrees, 49 minutes.”
“I’ll have to look at the map, but that makes it quite a run.” The second mate came bustling up to Raynor.
“The skipper and Mr. Jukes want to see you in the captain’s cabin,” he said.
“Do you know what about?” asked Raynor.
“Coal, I think. How much have you got to keep those old tea-kettles of yours chugging?”
“Precious little since your gang on deck let that deck-load be washed overboard,” grinned Raynor, as he hurried off.
The consultation lasted a long time. But at length Raynor returned with the news that, for as long as possible, full speed was to be made with the coal in hand, and that then canvas would be spread, for the Sea Gypsy was schooner rigged and in addition carried a big square sail on her foremast.
For two days good time was made, but when Raynor, with a rueful face, announced that only a few shovelfuls more coal remained in the bunkers, they were still many weary sea-miles from their destination. However, sailors are proverbially inclined to make the best of things. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was bent, and under a spanking breeze they glided, at a fair speed, over the sparkling waters, while in the engine room the fires were drawn and the engines grew cold.
But a steam vessel, while she will behave fairly well under canvas, is not designed for sail and makes an astonishing amount of what sailors call “lee-way,” that is, the wind, if it blows a’beam, constantly drives her side-ways, or crab-fashion, of a direct course, so that for every mile she makes in a forward direction a considerable amount of lee-way has to be deducted. For this reason all hands looked forward to a long and tedious voyage before the highlands of Tahiti were sighted.
Now that there was no doubt as to the fate of the Centurion, and no danger of her being captured, the Sea Gypsy’s wireless was set to work again. But they were traveling a lonely tract of the Pacific, and no answer came to Jack’s messages, nor did he “listen in” on any outside conversations.
Captain Sparhawk was in hopes of encountering an English, French or German cruiser, for all those nations keep war craft in these Pacific waters to watch out for pearl pirates and other law-breakers, but the wireless failed to pick any up, although Jack worked it assiduously.
For two days the favoring breeze that was helping the crippled Sea Gypsy along held. Then there fell a flat calm, and the glass began to drop ominously. Captain Sparhawk went about with a grave face. Jack gathered from a few remarks the reserved seaman had let fall, that he expected another hurricane. Situated as she was, the Sea Gypsy’s predicament would be a serious one if such a tornado as the one she had safely weathered were to strike her now. The sailors stood about in little knots discussing the situation and casting anxious glances at the horizon. Mr. Jukes and the captain and officers spent long hours on the bridge in careful consultation.
Before the sun set, the question as to whether or no the Sea Gypsy was in for a second fight with the elements was definitely settled. Thunder and lightning deafened and blinded the voyagers. Rain descended as only tropical rain can, flooding the decks and blinding the look-outs and the officers on the bridge. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was reduced, only enough being kept on to keep her from literally rolling her hull under the towering water mountains.
The crew clawed their way about the decks by holding fast to life-lines which Captain Sparhawk had ordered stretched when the storm broke. Raynor, coming on deck to report that all was well below, met Jack on his way back to the lower regions of the ship.
“Well, old fellow, this is a corker and no mistake,” he observed, raising his voice in order to make it audible above the frantic battle noises of the storm.
“It’s the worst yet,” Jack agreed.
“And it will be worse than ever before it gets better, according to the way Captain Sparhawk put it when I reported to him,” said the young engineer.
“Hullo, what’s that?” exclaimed Jack suddenly.
“We hit something,” shouted Raynor. “Look at the watch running forward.”
“Storm or no storm, I’m going forward to see what’s up,” ejaculated Jack, and, followed by Raynor, he hurried toward the bow where several of the oil-skin coated crew were already clustered.
CHAPTER VIII. – “LAND, HO!”
It was a fight every inch of the way, but at last they reached the bow and found the sailors bending over the recumbent form of a youth.
“What has happened? What did we strike?” asked Jack of one of the sailors.
“Struck a small boat,” was the reply. “How it ever lived in this sea is a wonder. This fellow was in it.”
“Is he all right?”
“No; about half dead,” rejoined the third mate. “Carry him aft, men, and put him in one of the spare cabins. With care he may pull through. I’m going to notify the captain,” and he hurried off.
Several men picked up the form of the rescued one. Jack suddenly saw his face, pale as death, with his wet hair hanging over his forehead.
“Great guns, Billy!” he gasped.
“What is it? What’s the matter? Do you know him?” queried Raynor.
“Know him? I should say so. So do you. It’s Harvey Thurman.”
“Impossible.”
“Not at all. Take a look at him yourself.”
“By George, you are right. What a strange happening,” declared Raynor, after taking one glance at the youth the crew were bearing off.
“What in the world can he be doing in this part of the ocean in a small boat?” wondered Jack.
“I’ve no idea. We’ll have to wait till he comes to, if he ever does. I remember hearing now that he had got a job on a Pacific steamer. Perhaps it had been wrecked and he was a castaway.”
“Possibly,” agreed Jack. “I’m glad we saved him, although he has made a lot of trouble for us in the past.”
As readers of “The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Naval Code” will recall, it was Harvey Thurman who was assistant wireless man on the Columbia and whose dislike of Jack and Billy resulted in his joining their enemies in an effort to discredit them. After the stolen code was recovered, Thurman was not, like the rest engaged in the rascally business, sent to prison, but was allowed to go free at the boys’ behest, as they believed he had been badly influenced more than anything else.
“So you know him?” said Captain Sparhawk, as they all stood in the cabin to which Thurman had been taken and restoratives were administered to the unfortunate youth.
“Indeed we do,” said both boys, and they told the captain something of their experiences.
“He is not a desirable character then?” said the captain.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Jack. “We thought he was influenced by bad companions. But at any rate he had no liking for us. Is he going to get better?”
“I think so. See, he is opening his eyes.”
Thurman’s face, under the influence of the restoratives, had become suffused by a faint flush of color. He looked wildly about him. As his gaze rested first on Jack and then on Raynor he looked like a sleeper newly awakened from a night-mare.
“Gracious, am I dreaming?” he gasped.
“No, my lad,” said the captain, “but you had a close call from going into a sleep from which you never would have awakened.”
“But Ready and Raynor! What are they doing here?”
“Oh, we’re solid enough. Nothing ghostly about us,” Jack assured him, extending his hand. “Congratulations on your narrow escape from death, and – and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”
“I never meant to be really bad,” said Thurman weakly.
“Say no more about it,” advised Billy. “But tell us how you came to be adrift in such a fearful storm in that dinky little boat.”
“Better let him eat some soup first,” said the captain, taking a steaming bowl from the steward, from whom he had ordered it for the relief of the castaway, “he’s half starved.”
The way in which Thurman gulped down the grateful food showed that this statement was no exaggeration.
“That’s the first food I’ve had in two days,” he declared. “You see, when the Galilee, that was the schooner I was on board of, sank in the storm some days ago, I escaped in the boat. We launched two altogether, but I guess the other one was lost.”
“Begin at the beginning,” suggested Jack.
“All right then. It was this way, Ready: After my – er – my little trouble with you I came west. I got a job as assistant wireless man at a lonely station on one of the Caroline Islands. But I couldn’t stand the life and resigned. No regular steamers touch there, so I got passage on the Galilee, a little trading schooner for Papeiti. She sprang a leak and sank, and there was only a loaf of bread and a few cans of meat in the boat when I shoved off from the sinking hulk. It was all I had time to put in. What happened after that till you bumped into me and saved me is like a bad dream. I guess I was crazy most of the time. I never expected to be saved, and – and I guess it has been a good lesson to me.”
“If it has made you resolve to reform, it will not have been wasted,” said Jack. And he then told Thurman something about themselves. Captain Sparhawk promised that as soon as Thurman was stronger he would find a job for him, for the boys’ old enemy was penniless, having left his wallet behind him in his haste at fleeing from the sinking schooner.
All that night the tempest raged with unabated fury. At times it seemed as if the yacht must go to pieces, so sadly was she wrenched and buffeted by the giant combers. There was little sleep for any on board that night and the day broke wildly on a worried, harried-looking crew. Shortly before noon the foresail tore away from the bolt ropes, and split with a noise like the explosion of a cannon. This accident was almost immediately followed by a shout from the lookout.
“Land, ho!”
This cry, ordinarily one hailed with delight by sailors, was not thus received on the Sea Gypsy. Captain Sparhawk had been unable to get an observation during the days of storm, and what with this, and the heavy lee drift made by the yacht, he had no idea of his whereabouts.
At the shout all hands clambered to points of vantage to see what islands they could be approaching. As the Sea Gypsy rose dizzily on the top of a great wave Jack saw, with a flash of alarm, that they were headed straight for a large island dotted with tropical verdure and tall, wind-bent palms about which rocks bristled menacingly like hungry fangs awaiting to penetrate the Sea Gypsy’s stout hull.
