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Title: In the Sargasso Sea
A Novel
Author: Thomas A. Janvier
Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9906]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on October 29, 2003]
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE SARGASSO SEA ***
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Michael Lockey
and PG Distributed Proofreaders
IN THE SARGASSO SEAA Novel
BYTHOMAS A. JANVIER
AUTHOR OF“THE UNCLE OF AN ANGEL”
“THE AZTEC TREASURE-HOUSE”
“STORIES OF OLD NEW SPAIN” ETC.
*
1898
TOC.A.J.
CONTENTSI. I PAY FOR MY PASSAGE TO LOANGO
II. HOW I BOARDED THE BRIG GOLDEN HIND
III. I HAVE A SCARE, AND GET OVER IT
IV. CAPTAIN LUKE MAKES ME AN OFFER
V. I GIVE CAPTAIN LUKE MY ANSWER
VI. I TIE UP MY BROKEN HEAD, AND TRY TO ATTRACT ATTENTION
VII. I ENCOUNTER A GOOD DOCTOR AND A VIOLENT GALE
VIII. THE HURST CASTLE IS DONE FOR
IX. ON THE EDGE OF THE SARGASSO SEA
X. I TAKE A CHEERFUL VIEW OF A BAD SITUATION
XI. MY GOOD SPIRITS ARE WRUNG OUT OF ME
XII. I HAVE A FEVER AND SEE VISIONS
XIII. I HEAR A STRANGE CRY IN THE NIGHT
XIV. OF MY MEETING WITH A MURDERED MAN
XV. I HAVE SOME TALK WITH A MURDERER
XVI. I RID MYSELF OF TWO DEAD MEN
XVII. HOW I WALKED MYSELF INTO A MAZE
XVIII. I FIND THE KEY TO A SEA MYSTERY
XIX. OF A GOOD PLAN THAT WENT WRONG WITH ME
XX. HOW I SPENT A NIGHT WEARILY
XXI. MY THIRST IS QUENCHED, AND I FIND A COMPASS
XXII. I GET SOME FOOD IN ME, AND FORM A CRAZY PLAN
XXIII. HOW I STARTED ON A JOURNEY DUE NORTH
XXIV. OF WHAT I FOUND ABOARD A SPANISH GALLEON
XXV. I AM THE MASTER OF A GREAT TREASURE
XXVI. OF A STRANGE SIGHT THAT I SAW IN THE NIGHT-TIME
XXVII. I SET MYSELF TO A HEAVY TASK
XXVIII. HOW I RUBBED SHOULDERS WITH DESPAIR
XXIX. I GET INTO A SEA CHARNEL-HOUSE
XXX. I COME TO THE WALL OF MY SEA-PRISON
XXXI. HOW HOPE DIED OUT OF MY HEART
XXXII. I FALL IN WITH A FELLOW-PRISONER
XXXIII. I MAKE A GLAD DISCOVERY
XXXIV. I END A GOOD JOB WELL, AND GET A SET-BACK
XXXV. I AM READY FOR A FRESH HAZARD OF FORTUNE
XXXVI. HOW MY CAT PROMISED ME GOOD LUCK
XXXVII. HOW MY CAT STILL FURTHER CHEERED ME
XXXVIII. HOW I FOUGHT MY WAY THROUGH THE SARGASSO WEED
XXXIX. WHY MY CAT CALLED OUT TO ME
IN THE SARGASSO SEA II PAY FOR MY PASSAGE TO LOANGO
Captain Luke Chilton counted over the five-dollar notes with a greater
care than I thought was necessary, considering that there were only
ten of them; and cautiously examined each separate one, as though he
feared that I might be trying to pay for my passage in bad money. His
show of distrust set my back up, and I came near to damning him right
out for his impudence—until I reflected that a West Coast trader must
pretty well divide his time between cheating people and seeing to it
that he isn’t cheated, and so held my tongue.
Having satisfied himself that the tale was correct and that the notes
were genuine, he brought out from the inside pocket of his long-tailed
shore-going coat a big canvas pocket-book, into which he stowed them
lengthwise; and from the glimpse I had of it I fancied that until my
money got there it was about bare. As he put away the pocket-book, he
said, and pleasantly enough:
“You see, Mr. Stetworth, it’s this way: fifty dollars is dirt cheap
for a cast across from New York to the Coast, and that’s a fact; but
you say that it’s an object with you to get your passage low, and I
say that even at that price I can make money out of you. The _Golden
Hind_ has got to call at Loango, anyhow; there’s a spare room in her
cabin that’ll be empty if you don’t fill it; and while you’re a big
man and look to be rather extra hearty, I reckon you won’t eat more’n
about twenty dollars’ worth of victuals—counting ‘em at cost—on the
whole run. But the main thing is that I want all the spot cash I can
get a-holt of before I start. Fifty dollars’ worth of trade laid in
now means five hundred dollars for me when I get back here in New York
with what I’ve turned it over for on the Coast. So, you see, if you’re
suited, I’m suited too. Shake! And now we’ll have another drink. This
time it’s on me.”
We shook, and Captain Luke gave me an honest enough grip, just as he
had spoken in an honest enough tone. I knew, of course, that in a
general way he must be a good deal of a rascal—he couldn’t well be a
West Coast trader and be anything else; but then his rascality in
general didn’t matter much so long as his dealings with me were
square. He called the waiter and ordered arrack again—it was the
most wholesome drink in the world, he said—and we touched glasses,
and so brought our deal to an end.
That a cheap passage to Loango was an object to me, as Captain Luke
had said, was quite true. It was a very important object. After I got
across, of course, and my pay from the palm-oil people began, I would
be all right; but until I could touch my salary I had to sail mighty
close to the wind. For pretty much all of my capital consisted of my
headful of knowledge of the theory and practice of mechanical
engineering which had brought me out first of my class at the Stevens
Institute—and in that way had got me the offer from the palm-oil
people—and because of which I thought that there wasn’t anybody quite
my equal anywhere as a mechanical engineer. And that was only natural,
I suppose, since my passing first had swelled my head a bit, and I was
only three-and-twenty, and more or less of a promiscuously green
young fool.
As I looked over Captain Luke’s shoulder, while we supped our arrack
together—out through the window across the rush and bustle of South
Street—and saw a trim steamer of the Maracaibo line lying at her
dock, I could not but be sorry that my voyage to Africa would be made
under sails. But, on the other hand, I comforted myself by thinking
that if the Golden Hind were half the clipper her captain made her
out to be I should not lose much time—taking into account the
roundabout way I should have to go if I went under steam. And I
comforted myself still more by thinking what a lot of money I had
saved by coming on this chance for a cheap cast across; and I blessed
my lucky stars for putting into my head the notion of cruising along
South Street that October morning and asking every sailor-like man I
met if he knew of a craft bound for the West Coast—and especially for
having run me up against Captain Luke Chilton before my cruise had
lasted an hour.
The captain looked at his glass so sorrowfully when it was empty that
I begged him to have it filled again, and he did. But he took down his
arrack this time at a single gulp, and then got up briskly and said
that he must be off.
“We don’t sail till to-morrow afternoon, on the half flood, Mr.
Stetworth,” he said, “so you’ll have lots of time to get your traps
aboard if you’ll take a boat off from the Battery about noon. I
wouldn’t come earlier than that, if I were you. Things are bound to be
in a mess aboard the brig to-morrow, and the less you have of it the
better. We lie well down the anchorage, you know, only a little this
side of Robbin’s Reef. Your boatmen will know the place, and they’ll
find the brig for you if you’ll tell ‘em where to look for her and
that she’s painted green. Well, so long.” And then Captain Luke shook
hands with me again, and so was off into the South Street crowd.
I hurried away too. My general outfit was bought and packed; but the
things lying around my lodgings had to be got together, and I had to
buy a few articles in the way of sea-stock for my voyage in a sailing
vessel that I should not have needed had I gone by the regular steam
lines. So I got some lunch inside of me, and after that I took a
cab—a bit of extravagance that my hurry justified—and bustled about
from shop to shop and got what I needed inside of an hour; and then I
told the man to drive me to my lodgings up-town.
It was while I was driving up Broadway—the first quiet moment for
thinking that had come to me since I had met Captain Luke on South
Street, and we had gone into the saloon together to settle about the
passage he had offered me—that all of a sudden the thought struck me
that perhaps I had made the biggest kind of a fool of myself; and it
struck so hard that for a minute or two I fairly was dizzy and faint.
What earthly proof had I, beyond Captain Luke’s bare word for it, that
there was such a brig as the Golden Hind? What proof had I
even—beyond the general look of him and his canvas pocket-book—that
Captain Luke was a sailor? And what proof had I, supposing that there
was such a brig and that he was a sailor, that the two had anything
to do with each other? I simply had accepted for truth all that he
told me, and on the strength of his mere assertion that
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