"That's right, that's right," assented Mr. Nicklestick. "I don't know when I've met a more charming young lady, Mr. Landover."

"I didn't know you had met her," observed the banker coldly.

"Oh, yes," replied Mr. Nicklestick. "We were in the same lifeboat, Mr. Landover, you know,—all night, you know, Mr. Landover."



CHAPTER IX.

Early the next morning, Percival turned out long before there were any sounds from the galley or dining-room. The sun had not yet cleared the tree-tops to the east; the decks of the Doraine were still wet with dew. A few sailors were abroad; a dull-eyed junior officer moodily picked his way through the debris on the forward deck. Birds were singing and chattering in the trees that lined the shore; down at the water's edge, like sentinels on duty, with an eye always upon the strange, gigantic intruder, strutted a number of stately, bright-plumaged birds of the flamingo variety—(doubtless they were flamingoes); the blue surface of the basin was sprinkled with the myriad white, gleaming backs of winged fishermen, diving, flapping, swirling; on high, far above the hills, soared two or three huge birds with wings outspread and rigid, monarchs of all that they surveyed. The stowaway leaned on the port rail and fixed his gaze upon the crest of the severed hill, apparently the tallest of the half dozen or so that were visible from his position.

With powerful glasses he studied the wooded slope. This hill was probably twelve or fourteen hundred feet high. He thought of it as a hill, for he had lived long in the heart of the towering Andes. Behind him lay the belt of woodland that separated the basin from the open sea, a scant league away. The cleft through the hill lay almost directly ahead. It's walls apparently were perpendicular; a hundred feet or less from the pinnacle, the opening spread out considerably, indicating landslides at some remote period, the natural sloughing off of earth and stone in the formation of this narrow, unnatural passage through the very centre of the little mountain. For at least a thousand feet, however, the sides of the passage rose as straight as a wall. That the mountain was of solid rock could not be doubted after a single glance at those sturdy, unflinching walls, black and sheer.

"Well, what do you make of it?" inquired a voice at his elbow. He turned to find Mr. Mott standing beside him.

"Earthquake," he replied. "Thousands of years ago, of course. Split the island completely in two."

"Sounds plausible," mused the First Officer. "But if that is the case, how do you account for the shallowness of the water in the passage and out here in the basin? An earthquake violent enough to split that hill would make a crack in the earth a thousand fathoms deep."

"I have an idea that if we took soundings in this basin we'd find a section twenty or thirty feet wide in the centre of it where we couldn't touch bottom. The same would be true of the passage if we plumbed the middle. When we came through it the ship scraped bottom time and again. As a matter of fact,—the way I figure it out,—she was simply bumping against the upper edges of a crevice that reaches down God knows how far. We took no soundings, you will remember, until we swung out into this pool. I'll bet my head that that cut through the hill yonder is a mile deep. Earthquake fissures seldom go deeper than that, I've heard. Generally they are mere surface cracks, a hundred feet deep at the outside. But this one,—My God, it gives me the creeps, that crack in the earth does."

"Umph!" said Mr. Mott, his elbows on the rail beside the young man, his chin in his hands. He was looking down at the water. "Captain Trigger is planning to send a couple of boats outside to survey the coast. I dare say he'll be asking you to go out in one of them. You're a civil engineer and so he feels—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Mott, but what's the sense of sending boats out to explore the coast before we find out how big the island is?"

"What's the sense? Why, how are we to find out how big the island is unless we make the circuit of it? And how in thunder are we to find out that there isn't a village or some sort of trading port on it—What are you pointing up there for?"

Percival's finger was levelled at the top of the higher half of the bisected mountain.

"See that hill, Mr. Mott? Well, unless we're on a darned sight bigger island than I think we are, we can see from one end of it to the other from the top of that hill. It isn't much of a climb. A few huskies with axes to cut a path through the underbrush, and we might get up there in a few hours. I've been figuring it out. That's why I got up so early. Had it on my mind all night. The sensible thing to do is to send a gang of us up there to have a look around. Strange Captain Trigger never thought of it. I suppose it's because he's an old sea-dog and not a landlubber."

Mr. Mott coughed. "I fancy he would have thought of it in good time."

"Well, in case he doesn't think of it in time, you might suggest it to him, Mr. Mott."

The result of this conversation was the formation of a party of explorers to ascend the mountain. They were sent ashore soon after breakfast, well-armed, equipped with axes and other implements, boat-hooks, surveying instruments, and the most powerful glasses on board. Percival was in command. The party was made up of a dozen men, half of them from the gun crew, with an additional complement of laborers from the steerage.

Ruth Clinton, as soon as she learned of the proposed expedition, sought out Percival and insisted upon re-bandaging his hands.

"You must not go into all that tangle of brushwood with your hands unprotected," she declared, obstinately shaking her head in response to his objections. "Don't be foolish, Mr. Percival. It won't take me five minutes to wrap them up. Sit down,—I insist. You are still one of my patients. Hold out your hand!"

"They are ever so much better," he protested, but he obeyed her.

"Of course they are," she agreed, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You did not give me a chance last night to tell you how splendid you were in tackling that crazy mob. I witnessed it all, you know. Madame Obosky and I."

"Then, you didn't beat it when I told you to, eh?"

"Certainly not. What are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do? I can only say this: I'm glad Captain Trigger's opinion of me is based on my ability to reason with an ignorant mob and not on my power to intimidate a couple of very intelligent young women."

"I wouldn't have missed it for worlds," she said coolly. She looked up into his eyes, a slight frown puckering her brow. "Do you know, Madame Obosky had the impertinence to say that you would have turned tail and fled if those people had shown fight."

He grinned. "She's an amazing person, isn't she? Wonderful faculty for sizing the most of us up."

"You would have run?"

"Like a rabbit," he answered, unabashed. "That's a little too tight, I think, Miss Clinton. Would you mind loosening it up a bit?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is that better? Now the other one, please."

"Yes, I'm an awful coward," he said, after a long silence.

She looked up quickly. Something in his eyes brought a faint flush to her cheek. For a second or two she met his gaze steadily and then her eyes fell, but not before he had caught the shy, wondering expression that suddenly filled them. He experienced an almost uncontrollable desire to lay his clumsy hand upon the soft, smooth brown hair. Through his mind flashed a queer rush of comparison. He recalled the dark, knowing eyes of the Russian dancer, mysterious and seductive,—man-reading eyes from which nothing was concealed,—and contrasted them with the clear, honest, blue-grey orbs that still could fall in sweet confusion. His heart began to pound furiously, he felt a queer tightening of the throat. He was afraid to trust his voice. How white and soft and gentle were her hands,—and how beautiful they were.

Suddenly she stroked the bandaged hand,—as an amiable manicurist might have done—and arose.

"There!" she said, composedly. Her cheek was cool and unflushed, her eyes serene and smiling. "Now you may go, Mr. Percival. Good luck! Bring back good news to us. I dreamed last night that we were marooned, that we would have to stay here for ever."

"All of us?" he asked, a trifle thickly.

"Certainly," she replied, after the moment required for comprehension. Her eyes were suddenly cold and uncompromising.

"If I never come back," he began, somewhat dashed, "I'd like you to remember always, Miss Clinton, that I—well, that I am the most grateful dog alive. You've been corking."

"But it isn't possible you won't come back," she cried, and he was happy to see a flicker of alarm in her eyes. "What—what could happen to you? It isn't—"

"Oh, all sorts of things," he broke in, much in the same spirit as that which dominates the boy who wishes he could die in order to punish his parents for correcting him.

"Are—are you really in earnest?"

"Would you care—very much?"

She hesitated. "Haven't I wished you good luck, Mr. Percival?"

"Would you mind answering my question?"

"Of course I should care,—very much indeed," she replied calmly. "I am sure that everybody would be terribly grieved if anything were to happen to you out there."

"Well,—good-bye, Miss Clinton. I guess they're waiting for me."

"Good-bye! Oh, how I wish I were in your place! Just to put my foot on the blessed, green earth once more. Good-bye! And—and good luck, again."

"If you will take a pair of glasses and watch the top of that hill,—there is a bare knob up there, you see,—you will know long before we come back whether this island is inhabited or not. I am taking an American flag with me. If we do not see another flag floating anywhere on this island, I intend to plant the Stars and Stripes on that hill,—just for luck!"

She walked a few steps at his side, their bodies aslant against the slope of the deck.

"And if you do not raise the flag, we shall know at once that—that there are other people here?" she said, her voice eager with suppressed excitement. "It will mean that ships—" Her voice failed her.

"It will mean home,—some day," he returned solemnly.

The one remaining port-side boat was lowered a few minutes later and to the accompaniment of cheers from the throng that lined the rails, the men pulled away, heading for a tiny cove on the far side of the basin. The shore at that point was sloping and practically clear of undergrowth.

It was while Percival was waiting to take his place in the boat that Olga Obosky hurried up to him.

"I have brought my luck piece for you," she said, and revealed in her open palm a small gold coin, worn smooth with age and handling. "Carry it, my friend. Nothing will happen to you while it is in your possession. It was given me by the son of a Grand Duke. It was his lucky piece. It brought me luck, for he was killed zat very same day, and so I was saved from him. Keep it in your pocket till you come safely back and then—then you shall return it to me, because I would not be without my luck, no." She slipped her hand deep into his trousers pocket. "There is no hole. That is good. I have place it there. It is safe. Au revoir! You will have good luck, my friend."

Withdrawing her warm hand from his pocket she turned and walked swiftly away.

The throng on board the Doraine watched the party land; hats and handkerchiefs were waved as the adventurers turned for a last look behind, before they disappeared into the forest.

Hours passed,—long interminable hours for those who were not engaged in the active preparations for the landing of people and stores. Captain Trigger was making ready to transfer the passengers from the ship at the earliest possible moment. He was far from certain that the Doraine would maintain its rather precarious balance on the rocks. With safety not much more than a stone's throw away, he was determined to take no further risk.

At last a shout went up from some one on the forecastle deck. It was taken up by eager voices. Out upon the bald crest of the mountain straggled the first of the explorers to reach the goal. They were plainly visible. One after another the rest of the party appeared. The illusion was startling. It was as if they had actually emerged from the tree-tops. With straining eyes the observers below watched the group of figures outlined against the sky. They spoke in subdued tones. As time went on and the flag was not unfurled, they took hope; eyes brightened, the hushed tones increased to a cheerful, excited clatter, the tenseness that had held them rigid for so long gave way before the growing conviction that another flag already fluttered somewhere beyond the screening hills.

And then, when hope was highest, the Stars and Stripes went up!

Captain Trigger assembled the ship's company on the forward deck later in the day. The landing party returned about three o'clock. Acting on advance instructions, they made their report in private to the Captain, denying all information to the clamorous passengers. A brief conference of officers, to which a number of men from the first cabin were invited, was held immediately after Percival's return. A course of action was discussed and agreed upon, and then all on board were summoned to the open deck to hear the result of the expedition.

Percival reported the following facts and conclusions:

1. The island was approximately fifteen miles long and six or seven miles wide in the centre. The basin in which the Doraine rested was about midway between the extreme points, and about two miles inland from the northern shore. The southern slope of the range descended to a flat plain, or perhaps moor, some two miles across at its broadest point and ran in varying width from one end of the island to the other. It was green and almost entirely devoid of timber. The central eminence from which the observations were taken was the loftiest of a range of ten or twelve diminishing hills that formed what might actually be described as the backbone of the island. The eastern extremity tapered off to a long, level, low-lying promontory that ended in a point so sharp and wedge-like that it bore a singular resemblance to the forward deck and prow of a huge ironclad. The hills, as they approached the plateau, terminated altogether a couple of miles from the tip of land. The western half of the island (strictly speaking, it was a separate bit of land, cut off from its neighbour by the ribbon-like channel), was of a more rugged character, the hills, in fact, extending to the sea, forming, no doubt, steep and precipitous cliffs, rising directly from the water's edge.

(Since his return, Percival had painted on a large piece of canvas a fairly accurate outline map of the bisected island as it had appeared to him from the top of the mountain. This crude map was hung up in full view of the spectators, and served him well in an effort to make clear his deductions. His original sketch is reproduced later on in this chronicle.)

2. There was no visible sign of past or present human habitation. Absolutely nothing appeared to indicate that man had ever attempted to claim or occupy this virgin land.

3. The channel through the mountain was less than one hundred feet wide. The walls of this gorge at one point were fully seven hundred feet high, absolutely perpendicular, and of solid rock. It was as if the hill had been split wide open with one blow of a tremendous broad-ax. Beyond the elevation the channel spread out fan-fashion, creating a funnel-like bay or inlet from the sea.

4. There was no other land in sight. As far as the eye could reach with the aid of lenses there was nothing but water, a mighty waste of water.

5. The wind, which had veered around to the south, was cold and dry.

6. A curving beach of almost snowy whiteness extended for a mile or so along the northern shore, about half way between the entrance to the channel and the eastern point of land. Inside the fringe of trees that lined this beach stretched what appeared to be a long strip of rolling meadow-land, reaching far up the hillsides.

7. Monkeys, parrots and snakes abounded in the forest. An occasional gay-plumaged bird of the toucan variety, but larger than the ordinary South American species, was seen, while large numbers of plump birds of the tinamou family went drumming off through the forest at the approach of the party. Penguins strutted in complete "full dress" among the rocks of the southern shore. A dead armadillo of extraordinary dimensions was found near the foot of the slope. It was at least thrice the size of the common South American mammal. The same could be said of the single iguana encountered. This large lizard, which was alive, must have been fully ten feet from head to tail, and gave rise to the belief that the supposedly extinct iguanodon, described by the scientists as attaining a length of thirty feet, might any day be discovered in the fastnesses of this unexplored land. The mere existence of this rather amiable, unfrightened monster was of the greatest significance. If it were known to man, why had it never been reported in zoological or natural history journals?

8. The trees on the mountain-side were thick and stunted, with interlocking limbs that created a sort of endless canopy which the sun was unable to penetrate. The cool, dry wind that swept the slope would account, however, for the surprising absence of moisture in soil and vegetation in the dense shade of the trees. Oak, elm, spruce, even walnut, and other trees of a sturdy character indigenous to the temperate zone were identified. What appeared to be a clump of cypress trees, fantastic, misshapen objects that seemed to, shrink back in terror from the assaulting breakers, stood out in bold relief upon a rocky point to the south and west of the observation hill. Their gaunt, twisted trunks leaned backward from the sea; their shorn limbs, racked by gales, were raised as if in supplication to the sombre forest behind them. Trunks of enormous trees that had fallen perhaps a century ago were found half-buried in the earth, while scattered along the northern base of the range, overlooking the downs, a few of their gigantic counterparts, alive and flourishing, raised their lofty heads far above the surrounding forest, and stood like sentinels, guarding the plain.

9. A small river wound its devious way, with serpentine crooks and curves, through the downs and across the meadow, emptying into the ocean some distance east of the gleaming beach. That its source was far up in the secretive hills was not a matter of conjecture, however; the incessant hiss and roar of a cataract was plainly heard by the investigators.

Here is the crude, hastily sketched map of the island as made by Percival:

1. Position of stranded vessel in basin.

2. Entrance to channel from the north.

3. Entrance to channel from the south.

4. Narrow strip of woodland from channel almost to river's mouth.

5. Strip of meadow-land clear of trees.

6. River.

7. Stretch of lowland leading down to the water.

8. Crest of hill from which observations were taken with range extending east and west.

9. Point of rocks with cypress trees.

10. Buttress-like west end of island.

11. Dense forest reaching to channel.

12. Rocky cape.

13. Level plateau, without trees.

14. Beach.

15. Penguins.



CHAPTER X.

After the second reading of the foregoing report, the first being in English, Percival requested his fellow explorers to verify the statements contained therein. This they did promptly. He then went on:

"I am delegated by Captain Trigger and the officers of this vessel, after a conference just concluded,—and of which you are all well aware,—to put before you as briefly and as clearly as possible the decision that has been reached. I may as well confess in the beginning that this decision is based on the recommendations of the party who went to the top of the mountain. It is out of the question for the people on board this vessel to go ashore until further investigations have been made. For the present, we are all safe here on board the ship. We don't know what perils exist in the absolutely unexplored country that surrounds us. Additional parties are to be sent out to explore the island, especially the eastern section of it. There is no use mincing matters. We are confronted by a very plain situation. It is possible, even probable, that we are the first human beings ever to set foot on this land. If that be true, we are now so far out of the path of the few ships and steamers sailing these southern seas that there is small hope or chance of a speedy rescue. As a matter of fact, it isn't likely that we will be discovered until the island itself is discovered, if you see what I mean.

"There isn't the slightest chance that the ship we're now standing on will ever float again. Even if the engines could be put in order,—and that is possible, I am told,—the vessel cannot be raised. If anybody has been nursing that sort of hope, he may as well get rid of it. It's no good. We are here to stay, unless help comes from the outside. There's the plain English of it. We may have to live here on this island, like poor old Robinson Crusoe, for years,—for a great many years. I'm going to stop just a few seconds to let that soak into your brains. We've got to face it. We've got to make the best of it. It is not for Captain Trigger or me or any one else to say that we will not be taken off this island some time—maybe sooner than we think. Whaling vessels must visit these parts. That's neither here nor there. We've got our work cut out for us, friends. We've got to think of the present and let the future take care of itself. Now, here are the facts. We cannot remain on board this wreck. We've got to go to work, every man, woman and child of us. I don't know what can be cultivated on this island, but we've got to find out, and when we find out we've got to begin raising it. If we don't, my friends, we'll starve to death in a very short time. And what's more, if we do not get out there and put up houses to live in, we'll freeze to death when winter comes along.

"According to calculations, winter is still five or six months away. We won't get it, I dare say, before next April or May. All you have to do is to take a look at all these trees around here to realize that we are a long way from the tropics. It gets as cold as blazes here in the dead of winter, I can tell you that. We've got to build homes. We've got to build a camp,—not a flimsy, half-way sort of camp, but a good, solid, substantial one, my friends. There is what you might call a minority report in regard to the situation. Captain Trigger asked me to speak for him and others who look at it as I do. Mr. Landover, who is, I understand, one of the leading bankers in the United States of America, contends that we are well enough off as we are, on board the Doraine, where we've got cabins and beds and shelter from the elements. He may be right. All I have to say to him is this,—I don't believe I mentioned it at this conference, Mr. Landover, simply because I'm one of those unhappy individuals who always think of the brilliant things I might have said when it's too late to say them,—all I have to say is this: if Mr. Landover and his supporters expect to sit snugly on this ship while the rest of us build houses and plant crops, and then conclude to come out and bone the rest of us for a square meal and a nice warm place to sleep, they are going to be badly fooled. We're all equal here. A couple of million dollars, more or less, doesn't cut any ice on this little island. What counts here is muscle and commonsense and a willingness to use both.

"A little while ago I asked Mr. Landover how much money he has with him. He informed me that while it wasn't any of my business, he has about five hundred dollars in American money and a couple of hundred pesos besides, but that his letter of credit is still good for fifteen thousand. Mr. Nicklestick has about five hundred dollars in money, and so has Mr. Block and one or two others. They've all got letters of credit, express checks, and so forth, and I suppose there is a wheelbarrow full of jewellery on board this ship. Now, if money is to talk down here, I wish to state that the men and women from the steerage have got more real dough than all the first and second cabins put together. They haven't any letters of credit or bank accounts in New York, but there are a dozen men in the steerage who have as much as two or three thousand pesos sewed up inside their clothes. So far as I can make out, the only people who can afford to hire anybody to build a hut for them, and pay for it in real money, are the plutocrats from the steerage.

"Mr. Landover's letter of credit is good for fifteen thousand if he ever gets back to New York, but it isn't worth fifteen cents here. His life is insured for one million dollars, I am told. I don't know who the beneficiaries are, but, whoever they are, they are going to put in a claim for the million if he doesn't show up in New York pretty shortly. He is going to be declared officially dead, and so are all the rest of us, after a reasonable time has elapsed. Now, I don't say that we are never going to be rescued. We may be found inside of a month. Some of us don't quite realize the fix we are in. Mr. Codge, the purser, was saying a little while ago that a lady from the first cabin nearly took his head off when he told her it was impossible to send a cable message to her people in Boston. A number of passengers have already demanded that their passage money be refunded.

"You have doubtless heard how I came to be on board this steamer. I am a stowaway. I have no standing among you. I haven't a penny in my pocket,—aside from a luck-piece that doesn't belong to me. I wanted to get back to the States so that I could carry a gun or something over in France. I wanted to fight for my country. I wasn't thinking very much about my life when I started for home and France, but I want to say that I'm thinking about it now. I don't intend to starve or freeze to death if I can help it. I am going to fight for my life, not for my country.

"This is no time to be sentimental. It is no time to sit down and pity ourselves or each other. God knows I am just as sorry for myself as you are for yourselves, but that isn't going to get me anywhere. We've got to work. That means all of us. It means the women as well as the men. It means the women with soft, white hands and the men who never did a stroke of manual labour in their lives, just as much as it means the people who have never done anything else but work. Something will be found for every one of us to do, and, ladies and gentlemen, we will have to do it without whining.

"Captain Trigger is accountable for the cargo on board this ship. Naturally he is opposed to our confiscating anything that has been entrusted to him for safe delivery. He takes a very sensible attitude, however. He will officially protest against the removal of anything from the hold of his vessel, but he will not employ force to resist us when we begin to land stores, foodstuffs and all that sort of thing. He understands the situation perfectly.

"Now, here is what we will have to do. We must select a site for our camp,—or town, you may well say,—and we must build upon it without delay. That is to be our first step. Details will come later. There are over six hundred of us here. We represent a fair-sized village. We have mechanics, carpenters, farmers, surveyors, masons,—and merchants, to say nothing of cooks, housekeepers, and so on. The ship contains all sorts of tools to work with, canvas for temporary quarters, beds and bedding, cooking utensils,—in fact, we have everything that Robinson Crusoe didn't have, and besides all that, we've got each other. We are not alone on a desert island. We are, my friends, as well off as the Pilgrims who landed on Plymouth Rock, and we are better off than the hardy colonists who laid the foundation for the country that flies that flag up there. Centuries ago bold adventurers set out to discover unknown lands. They were few in number and poorly equipped. But they ventured into the wilderness and built villages that grew to be cities. They went through a thousand hardships that we will never know, and they survived.

"Captain Trigger and the others selected me to make this talk to you because I have had some practical experience in establishing and developing a camp, such as we will have to build. Experience has taught me one thing above all others: work, hard work of a constructive nature, is our only salvation. Unless we occupy ourselves from one day's end to another in good, hard, honest toil, we will all go mad. That's the long and the short of it. If we sat still on this boat for thirty days, doing nothing, we'd lose our minds. There isn't a man in this crowd, I am sure, who wouldn't work his head off to spare the women an hour of hardship. But the greatest hardship you women could possibly know would be idleness. There will be work for every one to do, and we can thank God for it, my friends. We will have to work for nothing. We will have to help each other. There is but one class on this island at present, and that is the working class.

"We've all got people at home waiting for us. By this time the whole world knows that the Doraine is three weeks overdue at Rio Janeiro, and that no word has been had from her. The ocean is being searched. Our friends, our relatives are doing everything in their power to get trace of this lost ship. You may depend on that. In a little while,—a few weeks, at best,—the ship will be given up for lost. We will be counted as dead, all of us. That's a hard, cruel thing for me to say, and I hate to say it,—but we've just got to realize the position we're in. It's best that we should look at it from the worst possible angle. I do not speak jestingly when I say that we may as well consider ourselves dead and forgotten. I am as full of hope and confidence as anybody and I am an optimist if there ever was one, but I don't work on the theory that God takes any better care of an optimist than He does of a pessimist.

"It will require months, maybe years, for us to construct a ship, and even then it will not be big enough to transport all of us. The most we can hope for is a craft that will be stout enough to go out and bring help to the rest of us. I am trying, at Captain Trigger's suggestion, to convince you that we can't build a ship, that we can't expect to get away from this island by our own endeavours, unless we go about it in the proper and sensible way. That means, first of all, that we must safeguard ourselves against time. We've got to live and we've got to keep our strength.

"Mr. Landover has made a very generous proposition. He agrees to give a hundred thousand dollars to any boat's crew that will take one of these lifeboats and make port somewhere. He fails to mention the compensation they are to receive if they never make port. He forgets that this big ship floundered around for a good many days without sighting anything but water. He would have been perfectly safe in offering a hundred million dollars, because he would never be called upon to pay it. I understand, however, that his offer still stands.

"Tomorrow morning surveying parties will be sent ashore to look for a possible site for our town. Volunteers will undertake this work. As soon as possible thereafter a temporary camp will be set up, and practically every one on board will be moved from this ship. Captain Trigger and a few chosen men will remain on board. It is his wish, ladies and gentlemen. He is the captain of the Doraine. He will not leave her. We are all here today, and alive, because Captain Trigger would not leave his ship. We owe our lives to him. This is not the time to propose three cheers for the gallant master of the Doraine. It is not the time to cheer for anybody or for anything. We do not feel like cheering. We've done all the praying that is necessary, we've offered up all the thanksgiving that the situation calls for, so now we've got to roll up our sleeves and go to work."

He, stepped down from the gun-platform. There were no cheers. Every voice was stilled, every face was set. Many seconds passed before there was even the slightest stir among those who had listened so intently.

Then the few English-speaking people from the steerage began to whisper hoarsely to their bewildered companions.



BOOK TWO

CHAPTER I.

The warm, summer season was well-advanced in this far southern land before the strenuous, tireless efforts of the marooned settlers began to show definite results.

Some six weeks after the stranding of the Doraine, staunch log cabins were in course of completion along the base of the hills overlooking the clear, rolling meadow-land to the north and east. Down in the lowlands scores of men were employed in sowing and planting. The soil was rich. Farmers and grain-raisers among the passengers were unanimously of the opinion that almost any vegetable, cereal or fruit indigenous to Argentina (or at the worst, Patagonia), could be produced here. Uncertainty as to the duration of the warm period, so vital to the growing and maturing of crops, was the chief problem. No time was to be lost if there were to be harvests before the cold and blighting weather set in.

It was extremely doubtful if the spring and summer seasons combined covered more than five months in this latitude. Assuming that the climate in this open part of the world was anything like that of the Falkland Islands, the rainy season was overdue. Midwinter usually comes in July, with the temperature averaging between 35 deg. and 10 deg. above zero over a period of four or five months. At the time of the wreck, the thermometers were registering about 70 deg. during the day, and dropping to 50 deg. or thereabouts after nightfall. This would indicate that spring was fairly well-advanced, and that midsummer might be figured on as coming in January. It was now the end of November. Warm weather probably would last until February or March. Possibly they would be too late with their planting, but they went about it speedily, determinedly, just the same.

All of them had had crop failures before. All of them had seen the labour of months go for naught in the blight of an evening's frost, or the sweep of a prairie fire. So here on this virgin isle, in soil whose sod had never been turned, they sowed from the bins of the slumbering ship. Wheat and oats and flax, brought from the Argentina plains; potatoes, squash and beet-root; even beans and peas were tried, but with small hope. And there were women ready to till the soil and work the gardens, women to draw the strangely fashioned ploughshares as willing beasts of burden, to wield the hoe and spade, and to watch for the cherished sprout that was to glorify their deeds.

The ring of the ax resounded in the forest; the clangour of hammer and nail, the rasp of the saw, the clatter of timber went on from dawn to dusk,—for there was no eight-hour law in this smiling land, nor was there any other union save that of staunch endeavour, no other Brotherhood except that of Man. There was never a question of wage, never a dispute as to hours, never a thought of strike. Every labourer was worthy of his hire,—and his hire was food!

The Doraine was gradually being dismantled. She was being stripped of every bit of material that could be used in constructing and furnishing the huts. The new camp lay not more than a mile and a half from the basin. A road had been cleared through the wood from the small, hastily constructed dock and runway on the eastern side of the basin to the open territory beyond.

Material, supplies, equipment were carried through the densely shaded avenue, and later on, after the warehouses and granaries had been built, the leafy lane witnessed the transportation of ton upon ton of stores, patiently borne in hundredweight lots, in bushel bags, in clumsy parcels, by men whose work seemed endless; wheat, barley, oats, sugar, coffee and other commodities entrusted to the steamship company for delivery in the United States. Tobacco, canned and refrigerated meats, olives, flour, figs and dates in large quantities were included in the vast cargo, to say nothing of the enormous supply of canned fruits and vegetables. Washed wool, tanned leather, homespun cotton and woollen cloth, silks, hides, furs, rugs, laces, linseed oil, blankets,—all these came ashore in course of time, but of the sinister treasure that had inspired the destruction of the ship, i.e., the manganese, the rubber, the nitrates, the copper bars, and the stacks of high explosives, not a pound was moved. All this was left for another and more leisurely day.

In the end, the once luxurious liner was to be reduced to "skin and bones," to employ a trite but eminently appropriate phrase. Ultimately she became a black, unlovely skeleton, bereft of every vestige of her former opulence. Her decks were torn up and the timbers hauled away to make floors in the huts; the doors, mirrors, stairways, windows, rails, carpets, pipes, bathtubs, toilets, lamps, every foot of woodwork from stem to stern, berths, washbasins, kitchen ranges, boilers,—in fact, everything that man could make use of was taken from the ship, leaving nothing of her but a hollow, echoing shell through which the wind howled or moaned a ghostly requiem.

Much of this material was carefully stacked or stored away against the day when it could be utilized in the construction of a small but sturdy ship, in which a chosen company of sailors were to fare out to sea once more in search of the world they had lost.

Tireless and indomitable engineers later on succeeded in transferring portions of the damaged machinery, including dynamos, to the camp, where in course of time their skill and ingenuity bade fair to triumph over seemingly insurmountable difficulties in the matter of restoration.

Fully six weeks elapsed, however, before the women were allowed to leave the ship for their new homes on the land, and even then they came but a few at a time and only as huts were ready and fully equipped to receive them. Each hut contained a combination kitchen and living-room, with a single bedchamber. A substantial fireplace, built of stone and mortar, with a tall chimney at the back, was a feature in every house. The cracks between the logs, and all chinks, were sealed with thick layers of mortar; the ceilings, made of stout saplings, were treated in a similar manner, while the roof, resting on a sturdy ridge-pole, and securely anchored, was of three layers of poles, interstices mortared and the whole covered with a vast quantity of seaweed, moss and reeds held in place by several well-fastened sections of iron railing from the decks of the Doraine.

While the huts were uniform in size, shape and construction, there was nothing to prevent the occupant from subsequently enlarging and improving his house. For the present, however, the interests of all were best served by speed and compactness.

The superintendent of construction was Algernon Adonis Percival. As a matter of fact, the end of the first week found him occupying the position of General Manager for the whole enterprise, an unsolicited honour but one which he was resolved that no one, great or small, should deride. He had one stormy "run-in," as he described it, with Mr. Landover and his group of satellites. This occurred about the middle of their first week on the island when practically every able-bodied man from the Doraine was at work cutting a way through the forest or in constructing the dock at the water's edge. As the incident is entitled to a very definite place in this narrative, a more or less extended account of it may be given here and now, even at the risk of being classed as a digression, or a step backward in the sequence of the history.

Mr. Landover, Mr. Block, Mr. Nicklestick and two or three other men were grouped on the after-deck early one morning decrying the brainless scheme to build a camp out there in the open. Their audience included several women, among them Mrs. Spofford, Ruth Clinton, Madame Careni-Amori, Madame Obosky, Mrs. Block and a couple of loquacious Rio Janeiro ladies.

Percival bore down upon this group. He wasted no time in getting to the point.

"We've been at work for two days out there, gentlemen, and up to date not one of you has turned to with the rest of us. The understanding was that—"

Mr. Landover whirled on him, white with anger. "That will do!" he exclaimed. "Clear out! I do not intend to allow any such riff-raff as you to order me to—Oh, pray do not be alarmed, ladies! This rowdy is not likely to assault me. Nothing will happen, I assure you. Clear out, you bum,—do you hear me?"

Percival was smiling. "I wish you wouldn't interrupt me, Mr. Landover. As I was saying, it was understood that every man on this ship who is well enough to—"

"Can't you see that there are ladies present? Haven't you an atom of decency about you?"

"—understood that every man on this ship was to do his share of the work laid out. I owe these ladies an apology for reminding you in their presence that the boats are leaving for shore and that if you do not get off in the next relay you will be compelled to swim to that landing over there,—and I doubt very much whether any of you can make it."

"Wha-what's that?" demanded Mr. Block.

Mr. Landover was speechless. A hard glitter came to Percival's eyes, the smile left his lips.

"You heard what I said, Mr. Block. I'll make it plainer, however. If you men don't get into the next boat leaving this ship, I'm going to have you thrown overboard and made to swim to your work. I regret exceedingly, ladies, that I have been obliged to resort to harsh words in your presence, but time is so precious that I can't afford to give them a private audience."

"Oh, my goodness gracious!" cried Mrs. Block, twisting her fat hands in an agony of alarm. "Maybe you better go, Moses. You vas nearly drownded twice yet in pool at White Sulphur."

"This is the most outrageous, high-handed,—" began Landover, explosively, but stopped short as Percival levelled his unlovely forefinger at him.

"Cut it out, Mr. Landover,—cut it out," he snapped, inelegantly. "Now, listen to me. For two days you and these boon companions of yours have been loafing on the job. While the rest of us have been working like dogs, you and your friends,—you needn't look insulted, because by the looks of things they are your friends,—you've been sitting up here talking to the ladies, smoking cigars, and telling every one how successfully you conduct a bank in New York. Now, Mr. Landover, you're not an old man. If you were, I'd be the first to suggest the easiest sort of work for you. You are under fifty and you're a strong, healthy man. You ride every morning in Central Park, you play golf in winter and summer, and you're one of the men who made Muldoon famous.

"You are able to work as the rest of us are working. Your hands are in a much better condition than mine. If we were in New York, I would take off my hat to you and admit that you are one of the greatest bankers in the world, and that you know your business. But we're not in New York. We're down here on a lonely island. You know how to build and conduct banks, I know how to build and conduct camps. We have no use for scientific bankers here, but we have considerable use for experienced camp builders. I have been put in charge of this work. I'm going to see it through. Up in the hills I got a full day's work out of my men,—and there were worse men among them than you will ever be. There were gunmen, knife slingers, cutthroats and bullies,—but they had to work, just the same. Just a minute, if you please. I'm not through. I think I appreciate your position, Mr. Landover.

"You regard me as a four-flusher, a tramp,—maybe a thief or worse. I am but little more than half your age and I am a person of absolutely no importance. That's neither here nor there. I have been selected to run this job because Captain Trigger, with Mr. Mott and virtually every other man on this ship, believes that I know how to handle it. But even that's neither here nor there. What I'm coming to is this. As long as I am in charge of this job, every man, woman and child has got to do something. Just at present there isn't much that the women and children can do, but there is work for every man who can stand on his feet. You needn't glare at me. I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Landover. You say you are going to stay on this ship. Well, I've come here to tell you that you are not going to do anything of the sort. The women and children are to remain on board until we've got houses built for them on shore, or until the time comes when there is work for them to do. If they choose to come ashore occasionally it will be to watch the men work and to cheer them up with their presence. But no man is to stay on this ship after we've once got the real job going out there. Now you've heard my statement, sir. I am willing to listen for a few minutes to your side of the question. Don't all speak at once,—and please be careful, there are ladies present."

While Percival did not take his eyes from Landover's face during this speech, he was aware that Miss Clinton and her aunt had turned abruptly away and were leaning against the rail a few yards distant, their backs to him. Olga Obosky and Careni-Amori were regarding him with shining, approving eyes, while Mrs. Block,—gulping furiously,—clasped her husband's arm and kept up a constant muttering. Something told him that Ruth Clinton and Mrs. Spofford had turned against him.

"I have nothing to say to you," said Landover, curtly. Turning on his heel, he joined the two ladies at the rail. He spoke a few words to them in a lowered tone, and then the three of them strode off without so much as a glance at the young man.

Percival flushed a dull red under his tan. His eyes followed them until they disappeared around a corner. Down in his heart he hoped that Ruth would not deny him a fleeting look of encouragement and approval.

Landover carried himself like a soldier. He was tall, well set-up, and almost offensively erect. He was a handsome man of perhaps forty-eight. His cleanshaven face was firm, aggressive, domineering. There was not a trace of grey in his dark hair. He typified strength, mentality, shrewdness and that most essential quality in the standards of wealth and power,—arrogance. In a word, he personified Finance.

"Now, see here, Percival," began Nicklestick, in a most cavalier manner, greatly encouraged by the lofty conduct of the Money King, "you know you can't do this sort of thing. We won't stand for it, not for a minute. We object to this high-handed business. You got to realize that—"

"Object and be hanged!" snapped Percival. "The next thing, you'll be calling yourselves conscientious objectors. Well, it's no use, Nicklestick. There's no such animal on board this Ark. I see a couple of boats returning from shore. You've got about fifteen minutes to shed that Stein & Bloch suit and jump into something that will never need pressing again,—your working clothes. I'm doing you a kindness. That gang out there won't stand for slackers. If you're wise you'll take my word for it."

He was turning away when Nicklestick intercepted him.

"What do you think they would do, Mr. Percival?" he inquired in some agitation. "We are gentlemen. We got a right to decide for ourselves vat we shall do. We can pay for—"

"You will find a lot of gentlemen out there who have already decided for themselves,—and very cheerfully, too. You will not be lonely. If you desire any further information as to the class of labourers you will come in contact with, Mr. Nicklestick, I would suggest a careful study of the first cabin list, the second cabin list, and finally the third cabin list, if you can find such a thing. You will also run up against some excellent material from the United States Navy, to say nothing of a fine lot of able seamen. They've adopted a common name. Do you know what they call each other?"

"No," said Nicklestick, wiping his brow. "Vat—vat do they call each other?"

"Men," said Percival, and walked away.

He was followed closely by Careni-Amori and Olga Obosky, and at some distance by the whispering, gesticulating Jews. The great soprano was profoundly agitated. Obosky, a pace or two behind her, was tense and silent. Her head was slightly bent. There was a strange, dog-like expression in her eyes as they regarded the back of Percival's head.

"But what will you do?" Careni-Amori was crying, as she clutched his arm. "He is a great man. He is a millionaire. He owns part of this steamship line,—so he have inform me. You will not throw him into the water,—yes?"

"As sure as you are a foot high, Madame Careni-Amori," said he, grimly.

"Oh, mon Dieu! You hear him, Obosky? He means what he have say."

"Be careful, my friend," said Obosky, drawing alongside of Percival. "Do you not see how the wind blows?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you count the cost of victory? You may lose more than you will gain."

Percival looked at her intently for a moment; then, in a flash, the meaning of her words was revealed to him.

"Even so, Madame Obosky," he returned, his jaw setting, "I am a good loser."

"The spoils do not always go to the victor," she warned him.

"I still have your luck-piece," said he, smiling as he slapped his trousers-leg.

"It has always brought me luck," she said, looking straight into his eyes. "It may continue to do so, who knows? Alas for you, my friend, you may yet have to turn to me for consolation. It is the ill-wind that blows nobody good. Am I not shocking, Mr. Percivail?"

They had lost Madame Careni-Amori, who was behind them, shrieking a command through a port-hole to her maid.

He looked at her in amazement. "I don't know what to think of you, Madame Obosky." Then he grinned. "Good Lord! You—you can't be making me an offer of marriage?"

"Heaven forbid!" she cried. "I have had all I want of marriage, my friend. You will never catch me doing anything so foolish as that again. No, no! I do not desire to marry you, Mr. Percivail. Nothing so dreadful as that! Suppose we would be married,—what zen? Poof! Because I am an honest woman I would have to tell you some time zat I have had ze honour to be once the mistress of a Crown Prince,—and then you would hold up your holy hands and cry out, 'My God, what kind of a woman is this I have marry?' and—Oh, but I would not tell you about zat Crown Prince until we have been married a year or two, so do not look so pleased! In a year you would be hating me so much zat you would rejoice to hear about the Crown Prince, and I would be loathing you so much zat I would probably have to kill you,—because I do not believe in divorce any more than I believe in marriage. You see? Most women hate their husbands. They never hate their lovers. It is so difficult to get rid of the one, and so easy to keep the other,—zat is the explanation. So! Now you may know zat love is the humblest thing in the world, and passion the noblest, for love is for the weak while passion is for the strong. Love is easily deceived, passion never. Love endures, passion conquers. Love is blind, passion is sight itself. Love rules the world, but passion rules love. Love consents, passion demands. Love is law, passion is life. I could go on forever, but I see you do not like my discourse. Zat is because you are already in love, my friend. Poof! You will get over that!" She laughed.

Percival was white clear through. He was red-blooded, but at the same time his heart was clean. Once more he found himself contrasting the honest-eyed, pure-hearted Ruth with this sensual scoffer. There was no denying the physical appeal of the lithe, sinuous Russian; there was no gainsaying the call of the blood. On the other hand, the American girl stood for everything his own mother exemplified in flesh and spirit.

As it is with all men, he was absolutely incapable of associating passion with the mother who bore him, or with sisters who marry and give them nieces and nephews to adore. It was impossible, utterly impossible that they should have possessed the instincts of this woman beside him. But even as the thought raced through his mind he experienced the sudden, almost staggering realization that after all the chief, probably the only difference between his women and Olga Obosky was that they were good!

"Do you want me to tell you what I think of you?" he inquired, his eyes hardening.

"Yes," she said calmly. "But not now. When you have more time, my friend. I shall be very much interested to hear what you think of me. In the meantime, I am troubled for you. You are in love with her,—oh, yes, you are,—and I am very much afraid zat you will lose her if you are not careful. I am your friend. Be warned in time, Mr. Percivail. She is sorry for him. Landover. You have humiliated him before all of us. He is the friend of her family. Go slow, my friend, or she will turn against you and you will lose her. You have still a good chance. She is more nearly in love with you than she suspects. A little good judgment on your part, my friend, and you will win. She will marry you, and when she have done so, zen you may with impunity toss Mr. Landover in the sea,—but not now, my friend, not now."

"By Jove, you've got me guessing, Madame Obosky," he exclaimed, frankly puzzled. "I can't make you out at all."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Zat is because I am a thousand years old and very, oh, so very wise, Mr. Percivail," she returned, with a smile. "Au revoir!"

Percival went straight to Captain Trigger.

"See here, Captain," he said at once, "I'm up against it with Landover. He refuses to take orders from me. I don't want to do anything drastic without consulting you. If you say I'm to let him off, that's the end of it so far as I'm concerned. Of course, I can't answer for the rest of the crowd. But if you say I am to go ahead along the line originally laid out, I'll do it."

Captain Trigger's eyes, red from loss of sleep, pinched with anxiety, rested for a few seconds on the three boats coming across the basin. Then he turned to the young man.

"Mr. Landover is one of the owners of this steamship line, Percival."

"So I understand, sir."

"He notified me this morning that he will see that I am dismissed from the service if I continue to support this silly, suicidal plan to build a camp on shore."

"Yes, sir. And you?"

"I promptly tendered my resignation as master of this vessel," answered the Captain.

"You did?" cried Percival, dismayed.

"To take effect when I have tied her safely up to her pier in New York," said the old man, striking the rail with his fist.

"Great!" cried Percival.

"He has just come to me with the complaint that you have threatened to throw him overboard. Is that true, Percival?"

"Yes, sir,—in a way. I mentioned an alternative."

"Mr. Landover is no better than any of the rest of us. You will proceed to throw him overboard, Percival, if he refuses to do his share of the work."

Percival gulped, and then saluted.

"Orders, sir?"

"Orders!"

The young man started away, but the Captain called him back.

"What are you going to do after you have had him thrown into the water?"

"Why, dammit all," exclaimed Percival, "what can I do but jump in and save his life? You don't suppose I'd let him drown, do you? And, God knows, nobody else would save it. They want to tar and feather him, as it is, or lynch him, or make him walk the plank."



CHAPTER II.

The first of the two boats came alongside, and men began to go clumsily, even fearfully down the ladders. Throughout the early stages of activity on shore, the passengers and crew went out in shifts, so to speak. Percival and others experienced in construction work had learned that efficiency and accomplishment depend entirely upon the concentration of force, and so, instead of piling hundreds of futile men on shore to create confusion, they adopted the plan of sending out daily detachments of fifty or sixty, to work in regular rotation until all available man power had been broken in and classified according to fitness and strength. For example, certain men developed into capable wood-choppers, while others were useless in that capacity. Each successive draft, therefore, had its choppers, its strippers, its haulers, its "handy men,"—and its water-boys. Moreover, this systematic replacement of toilers made it possible for those who were not accustomed to hard, manual labour to recover from the unusual tax on strength and endurance.

It should be explained, however, that this system was not applied to individuals selected for the purpose of exploration and research. Four parties, well-armed and equipped, were sent out to explore both sections of the island. These expeditions had numerous objects in view: to determine, if possible, whether the island had ever been visited or occupied by man; to determine the character of the fruits and vegetables; extent and variety of animal life; the natural food resources, etc. The groups were made up of men familiar with nature in the rough. Lieutenant Platt headed one group, Professor Flattner another, a Bolivian ranchman and an English horse buyer the remaining two.

Abel Landover was to have gone out with the first day's shift to work on the road through the wood. He refused point-blank to leave the ship. This state of affairs lasted through the next two days, the banker stubbornly ignoring the advice and finally the commands of Captain Trigger. In the meantime he had been joined in his rebellion,—a word used here for want of a milder one,—by half a dozen gentlemen who did a great deal of talking about how the Turks were maltreating the Armenians, but, for fear of being suspected of pro-Germanism, studiously avoided pre-war dissertations on the conduct of the Russians.

The first shift's turn had come around once more in the natural order of things, and practically all of the men had been landed. Landover had refused to go out with either of the other shifts. He had stood his ground obstinately. Percival's ultimatum, sweeping like wildfire throughout the ship's company, brought nearly every one on board to the rails to see whether he would carry out his threat. Would he dare throw the great capitalist, this mighty Croesus, this autocrat, into the sea?

The first boat carried off Nicklestick, Block, Shine and the other objectors. Landover was in his stateroom.

"Just a minute," called out Percival to the oarsmen, as they waited for him to take his place in the last boat. "We're shy a man, I see." His eye ranged the deck. His face was a sickly yellow. It would have been white save for the tan. "Where is Landover?" he demanded of the crowd.

Some one answered: "He went to his cabin a couple of minutes ago," and another volunteered: "It's Number 9 on the promenade deck."

Half a minute later Percival rapped peremptorily on the door of Number 9.

"We're waiting for you, Mr. Landover," he called out.

"Wait and be damned," came strongly from the stateroom. "The door is unlocked. If you put a foot inside this room, I'll shoot you like a dog."

"You will have the satisfaction of killing a mighty good dog," said Percival, and threw the door wide open. He did not enter the room, however. Standing just outside the door, he faced the banker. Landover stood in the centre of the luxurious cabin, a revolver in his hand.

"I mean exactly what I say, Percival. I will shoot the instant you put a foot through that door."

"I don't believe you would," said Percival, "but, just the same, I'm not going to chance it. If I ever conclude to commit suicide, I'll go off somewhere and blow my brains out with my own gun. At present, I have no thought of committing suicide, so I'll stay right where I am. I didn't come here to kill you, Mr. Landover. I have no gun with me. I simply came to tell you that the last boat is leaving, and we are waiting for you."

For many seconds the two men looked straight into each other's eyes.

"Are you coming?" demanded the young man levelly.

"Certainly not!"

Percival's shoulders sagged. His face wore an expression of complete surrender.

"Well,—if you won't, I suppose you won't," he muttered.

A triumphant sneer greeted this abject back-down on the part of the would-be dictator.

"I thought so," exclaimed Landover. "You're yellow. You can bully these poor, ignorant—"

He never finished the sentence. Percival cleared the eight or nine feet of intervening space with the lunge of a panther. His solid, compact body struck Landover with the force of a battering ram. Before the larger and heavier man could fire a shot, his wrist was caught in a grip of steel. As he staggered back under the impact, Percival's right fore-arm was jammed up under his chin. In the fraction of a second, Landover, unable to withstand this sudden, savage onslaught, toppled over backwards and, with his assailant clinging to him like a wildcat, found himself pinned down to the spacious, inset washstand.

The revolver was discharged, the bullet burying itself in the floor. An instant later the weapon fell from his paralysed fingers. With his free left hand he struck wildly, frantically at Percival, but with no effect. The broad back and shoulders of his assailant proved a barrier he could not drive past. And that rigid, merciless right arm, as hard as a bar of steel, was pressing relentlessly against his throat, crushing, choking the life out of him. He was a strong, vigorous man, but he was helpless in the grasp of this tigerish young fighter from the slopes of the Andes. He heard Percival's voice, panting in his ear.

"I can keep this up longer than you can. I don't want to break your neck,—do you understand? I don't want to break your neck, Landover, but if you don't give in, I'll—I'll—" The pressure slackened perceptibly. "Say it! Now's your chance. Say you've—got enough!"

Landover managed to gasp out the word. He could still feel his eyes starting from his head, his tongue seemed to fill his mouth completely.

Percival released him instantly and fell back a yard or so, ready, however, to spring upon his man again at the first sign of treachery. No more than sixty seconds elapsed between the beginning and the end of the encounter. It was all over in the twinkling of an eye, so to speak. In fact, it was over so quickly that the first man to reach the door after the report of the revolver rang out, found the two men facing each other, one coughing and clutching at his throat, the other erect and menacing. For the first time, Percival took his eyes from the purplish face of the banker. They fell first upon a head and pair of shoulders that blocked one of the two port-holes. He recognized the countenance of Soapy Shay, the thief. To his amazement, Soapy grinned and then winked at him!

"The boat is ready to leave, Landover," said the victor briskly. "We have no more use for this thing at present," he went on, shoving the revolver under the berth with the toe of his boot. The banker stared past him at the agitated group in the corridor. The man was trembling like a leaf, not so much from fear as from the effects of the tremendous physical shock.

Percival was a generous foe. He experienced a sudden pity,—a rush of consideration for the other's feelings. He saw the tears of rage and mortification well up in the eyes of the banker, he heard the half-suppressed sob that broke from his lips. Whirling, he ordered the crowd away from the door. "It's all right," he said. "Please leave us." He addressed Soapy Shay. "Beat it, you!"

Soapy saluted with mock servility. "Aye, aye, sir. I saw the whole show. It was certainly worth the price of admission." Having delivered himself of that graceful acknowledgment, he effaced himself.

"Just a word or two, Mr. Landover," said Percival as the crowd shuffled away from the door. "I am sorry this had to happen. Even now I am not sure that you fully understand the situation. You may still be inclined to resist. You are not in the habit of submitting to force, reason or justice. I am only asking you, however, to recognize the last of these. You will be happier in the end. I don't give a hang how much you hate me, nor how far you may go to depose me. I don't want your friendship any more than I want your enmity. I can get along very nicely without either. But that isn't the point. At present I am in charge of a gang of workmen. Every man on this ship belongs to that gang, you with the rest. I ask you to look at the matter fairly, honestly, open-mindedly. You accuse me of being high-handed. I return the charge. It's you who are high-handed. You set yourself above your fellow-unfortunates. You refuse to abide by the will of the majority. I represent the majority. I am not acting for myself, but for them. God knows, I am not looking for trouble. This job isn't one that I would have chosen voluntarily. But now that it has been thrust upon me, I have no other alternative than to see it through. You ought to be man enough, you ought to be fair enough to see it in that light. If conditions were reversed, Mr. Landover, and you were in my place, I would be the last to oppose you, because I have learned in a very tough school that it pays to live up to the regulations. Everywhere else in the world it is a question of capital and labour. Here it is a question of labour alone. There is no such thing as capital. Socialism is forced upon us, the purest kind of socialism, for even the socialist can't get rich at the expense of his neighbour. But I'm beginning to lecture again. Let's get down to cases. Are you prepared to go out peaceably,—I'll not say willingly,—and do your share on the job as long as you are physically able?"

"I submit to brute force. There is no other course left open to me," said Landover hoarsely.

"Very well, then. Come along,—we're wasting valuable time here."

"I will follow you in a few minutes."

"You will come now," said Percival levelly. "You and I, Mr. Landover, are jointly concerned in the establishment of a very definite order of discipline. We represent the two extremes." He stood aside. "Precede me, if you please."

After a moment's hesitation, the other lifted his chin and walked past the young man. The corridors were clear. Percival followed close behind. He kept up a glib, one-sided conversation.

"You see, there was no other way to handle you. I was obliged to resort to punitive measures. That's always the case when you are dealing with sensible, intelligent, educated men. It is impossible to reason with an intelligent, educated man. He invariably has opinions, ideas, viewpoints of his own. He is mentally equipped to resist any kind of an argument. Take our United States Senators, our Congressmen, even our Presidents. You can't reason with them. No doubt you've tried it a thousand times, you and the other capitalists. We've all tried it. You've got to hit 'em on the head with some sort of a club or big stick if you want to bring 'em to time. You have to club them to death at the polls, so to speak. Now, you take these wops. They can't argue. They haven't got that sort of intelligence. They're considerably like the common or garden variety of dog. No matter how much you beat them and scold them, you can always get along with them if you feed them and let them see that you're not afraid of them. If they once get an idea that you are afraid of them,—well, it's all off. They begin to be sensible right away, and then they form a labour union. And the more sensible and intelligent they become, the easier it is for the labour leaders, the walking delegates, and blood-sucking agitators to make fools of 'em. It's all a matter of leadership, Mr. Landover, as you will admit, any way you look at it. Well, here we are."

Landover paused before starting down the ladder to the boat. He turned to address Percival in a loud, clear voice.

"You will not long be in a position to browbeat and bully the rest of us, young man. Your reign will be short. I would like my fellow-passengers to know that I have never refused to work with them. I have merely declined to work under an outlaw. Life is as dear to me as it is to any one else on this ship. I am taking this step against my will, rather than subject myself to further indignities and the cruelties you would inflict if I held out against you. I am sorry to deprive you of the spectacular hit you might have made by throwing me into the sea, a treat which you doubtless led all of these people to expect."

He climbed down the ladder and dropped into the boat. As he took his seat, he ran his eye along the line of faces above. Finding the persons he sought, he smiled, shook his head slowly to signify a state of resignation, and then set his flushed, angry face toward the land.

Percival, following him, did not look up at the row of faces.

Careni-Amori sang that evening in the main saloon. Signer Joseppi, tired and sore after his hard day's work, wept, and after weeping as publicly as possible created a profound sensation by kissing the great prima-donna in full view of the applauding spectators. Then, to cap the climax, he proclaimed in a voice charged with emotion that Madame Careni-Amori never had sung better in all her life! This to an artist who had the rare faculty for knowing when she was off the key,—and who knew that she was very badly off on this particular occasion.

Percival was standing near the door as Ruth Clinton and her aunt left the saloon on the way to their rooms. He joined them after a moment's hesitation. The two ladies bowed coldly to him. He was the essence of decision. As usual, he went straight to the point.

"I can't take back what I did this morning, and I wouldn't if I could," he said, falling in beside Mrs. Spofford. "I know you are displeased with me. Can't we thresh it out now, Mrs. Spofford?"

The elder woman raised her chin and stared at him coldly. He shot a glance past her at the girl's face. There was no encouragement to be found in the calm, unsmiling eyes.

"I fail to see precisely why we should thresh anything out with you, Mr. Percival," replied Mrs. Spofford.

"It is barely possible that you are not quite clear as to my motives, and therefore unable to gauge my actions."

"I understand your motives perfectly,—and I approve of them. Your actions are not so acceptable. Good-night, Mr. Percival."

He smiled whimsically at Ruth. "My left hand is rather in need of attention, Miss Clinton. I suppose I am so deeply in your bad graces that I may not hope for—er—the same old kindness?"

She stopped short. "Is this a request or a command? Mr. Percival, I will be quite frank with you. Mr. Landover is our friend. I am not, however, defending him in the position he has taken. There is no reason why he should not do his share with the rest of the men. But was it necessary to humiliate him, was it necessary to insult him as you did this morning? He is a distinguished man. He—"

"Are you coming, Ruth?" demanded Mrs. Spofford, sharply.

"In just a moment, Aunt Julia."

"You will oblige me by coming with me at once. We have nothing more to say to this young man."

"I have asked him a question. I shall wait for his answer."

"I will answer it, Miss Clinton, by saying it was necessary," said he steadily. "There are other distinguished men here who are further distinguishing themselves by toeing the mark without complaint or cavil. Mr. Landover was appealed to on three distinct occasions by Captain Trigger and the committee. He ignored all private appeals—and commands. The time had come for a show-down. It was either Landover and his little band of sycophants, or me and the entire company of men on this ship. It may interest you to know that you and Mrs. Spofford are the only two people on board, outside of Mr. Landover's retrievers, who blame me for what I did this morning."

"You can hardly expect me to be interested in what other people think of my position, Mr. Percival," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"No more, I dare say, than Landover cares what they think of his," was his retort.

She lifted her chin. "I am beginning to appreciate Mr. Landover's attitude toward you, Mr. Percival," she said icily.

"And to justify it, I suppose," he said dejectedly. "I want your friendship, Miss Clinton,—yes, I want a great deal more than your friendship. You may as well know it. I'm not asking for it,—I'm just telling you. Please don't go away. I promise not to make myself ridiculous. You have been good to me, you have been wonderful. I—I can't bear the thought of losing your friendship or your respect. I just had to bring Landover to time. You may think there was some other way, but I do not. At any rate, it isn't a matter that we can discuss. Some day you may admit that I was right, but I don't believe I will ever see the day when I will admit that I was wrong. Won't—can't we be friends?"

"I do not believe I can ever feel the same toward you after witnessing what I did this morning," said she, shaking her head. "You deliberately, intentionally degraded Mr. Landover in the presence of others. Was that the act of a gentleman? No! It was the act of an overbearing, arrogant bully who had nothing to fear. You took advantage of your authority and of the fact that he is so rich and powerful that he is practically without a friend or champion. You knew only too well that ninety-nine per cent of the people on board this ship were behind you in your attack on him because he represents capital! You had nothing to fear. No, Mr. Percival, I don't believe we can be friends. I am sorry."

"You heard what Mr. Landover said to me this morning, Miss Clinton," said he, paling. "You heard what he called me. Do you believe these things of me?"

She was silent for a moment. "No, I do not," she replied slowly. "I believe that you are all you have represented yourself to be."

"Thank you," he said, with gentle dignity. "I am sorry if I have distressed you this evening. Please don't think too harshly of me when I say that I just had to find out how we stand, you and I. Now that I know, I can only promise not to bother you again, and you may rely on my promises. I never break them. Good-night, Miss Clinton."

He bowed to Mrs. Spofford, who ignored him, and then to Ruth, a wistful smile struggling to his lips and eyes as he did so. As he turned away, she spoke to him.

"You mentioned your hand being bad again. If you would like me to dress it for you,—under the circumstances,—I will do so."

"Ruth!" cried Mrs. Spofford in a shocked voice.

He put his left hand behind his back. It was the one with which he had gripped Landover's wrist that morning. The strain had reopened the partially healed wounds.

"I injured it this morning in an encounter with your friend, Miss Clinton. I can hardly ask you to dress it. Thank you, just the same."

"I know all that happened in Mr. Landover's cabin, but even so, I am ready and willing to do anything in my power to ease the pain you are suffering." She spoke calmly, dispassionately, almost perfunctorily.

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have spoken of it," he said. "It isn't so bad that I can't fix it up myself. Good-night."

She joined her aunt and they made their way in silence to the latter's stateroom. It was not until after the door was safely locked that Mrs. Spofford delivered herself of the thought that had been in her mind the whole length of the slanting corridor.

"I hope he will not take advantage of his position to—to bully us—to bully you, dearest,—he might, you know. He has shown himself to be perfectly capable of it. And we are so defenceless. No one but Abel Landover to look to for help if he,—for, of course, no one else would dare oppose this lawless young,—oh, you need not smile! He has the power and it is quite plain now that he intends to exercise it. He will brook no interference—"

"I am not afraid of Mr. Percival, Aunt Julia," said the girl, sitting down wearily on the edge of the berth. "He is a gentleman."

"A—a gentleman?" gasped Mrs. Spofford. "Good gracious!"

"He will not annoy me," said Ruth, absently study-ing the tips of her slim, shapely shoes. "Possess your soul in peace. I think I know him."

"Are you defending the braggart?"

"Not at all! I detest him," cried the girl, springing to her feet, her face crimsoning. "He is perfectly abominable."

"I—I wouldn't speak quite so loudly, my dear," cautioned her aunt, glancing at the door uneasily—"It would be like him to listen outside the door,—or at any rate, one of his men may have been set to spy upon—"

"Don't be silly, Aunt Julia. And don't be afraid. Mr. Percival isn't going to make us walk the plank for mutiny, or put us in chains,—or outrage us,—if that is what you are thinking. Now, go to bed, you old dear, and—"

"I insist on your staying in my room, Ruth. He is in love with you."

"He can be in love with me and still be a gentleman, can't he, Aunt Julia? Don't worry! I shall sleep in my own room. I may even go so far as to leave my door unlocked."

"What! And if he should come to—"

"Ah, I shan't send him word that it's unlocked, dear," scoffed Ruth, finding a malicious enjoyment in her aunt's dismay. "Good-night. Sleep tight! We must sleep while we have the opportunity, you know. Our lazy days will soon be over. He says we've all got to work like,—I think he said dogs."

"Oh, dear me. I,—I wonder what is to become of us?" moaned the wretched lady. "After what he tried to do to Abel Landover, there is no telling to what lengths he may go in—By the way, has Mr. Landover reported to Captain Trigger that the fellow attempted to shoot him this morning?"

"Of course not, Aunt Julia."

"Well, I think it is his duty to do so. Captain Trigger should take drastic means to curb this—"

"You forget that Mr. Landover maintains that Captain Trigger and all the other officers are like putty in the hands of Mr. Percival. I am beginning to believe it myself. He—he has got them all hypnotized."

"He hasn't got me hypnotized!" exclaimed Mrs. Spofford.

"In any case, he is in the saddle," sighed Ruth.

"He deliberately tried to kill Mr. Landover," said the other. "Is nothing to be done about it? We heard the shot,—every one heard it. And no one has the courage to say a word about it! What a lot of cowards we are! I don't see why he refuses to let me take the matter up with the Captain. Captain Trigger ought to know the truth."

Ruth was silent for a moment or two. "It's hard for me to believe, Aunt Julia, that he would attack a defenceless man with a revolver. It—it doesn't seem like him."

"But you have Abel Landover's word for it, Ruth. The bullet grazed his head. The coward would have killed him most certainly if he had not succeeded in knocking the pistol out of his hand and overpowering him."

"If I did not believe Mr. Landover to be an absolutely truthful, honourable man, I—" began Ruth, a little furrow between her eyebrows, "well, I might still believe a little in Mr. Percival."

"And what chance had poor Landover with that highwayman, or whatever he is, pointing a revolver at him through the porthole and threatening to blow his brains out if he did not throw up his hands and let Percival alone?"

Olga Obosky bandaged Percival's hand. She intercepted him on his way to Dr. Cullen's cabin.



CHAPTER III.

During the days and weeks that followed, Percival maintained an attitude of rigid but courteous aloofness. Only on occasions when it was necessary to consult with Ruth and her aunt on matters pertaining to the "order of the day" did he relax in the slightest degree from the position he had taken in regard to them.

In time, the captious Mrs. Spofford began to resent this studied indifference. She detested him more than ever for not running true to the form she had predicted; her apprehensiveness gave way to irritation. She resented his dignified, pleasant "good mornings"; she complained acidly to Ruth about what she was now pleased to describe as "disgusting superciliousness."

The truth of the matter was, he failed to take any account whatsoever of Mrs. Spofford in his calculations; he did not even make a pretence of consulting her in matters relating to the common good of the common people, and as she was in the habit of devoting a considerable portion of her time, energy and executive ability to the interests of the common or lower class people, the omission was an insult.

Nor was his cause benefited by the unnecessary and uncalled for deference he seemed to feel was due her on account of her age. What had her age to do with it? No one had ever deferred to her age in New York? She was one to be reckoned with, she was accustomed to the deference that hasn't anything at all to do with age. And here she was, shunted to one side, ignored, disregarded,—she who had been the brains and inspiration of a dozen charitable enterprises, to say nothing of war-work and very important activities in opposition to Woman Suffrage!

She found little consolation in Landover's contention that the upstart was bound to hang himself if they gave him rope enough, or in Ruth's patient reminder that Percival was getting results,—and getting them without bullying anybody.

Ruth accepted the situation with a calmness that exasperated her aunt. She announced her intention to obey any order the "boss" might issue, without recrimination, without complaint. And so, when the day came for her to go forth with other women to do her share of the cooking, washing, cleaning, and later on the more interesting task of putting the huts in order for occupancy, she went with a full understanding of what was required of her and without a word of protest. The women with whom she toiled from early morn till sombre dusk draped the land were under the immediate direction of a stewardess of many years experience, an Englishwoman whose husband, an engineer, had been killed at the time of the explosions.

Each night she returned to the ship tired and sore but uncomplaining. Her strong young body stood the test with the hardiest; her spirit was unflinching; her heart in the common cause. For she looked ahead with a clear, far-seeing eye, and saw not one but many winters in this vast, unguarded prison. And she wondered,—wondered day and night,—what was ahead of her.

She was young. The young do not dream of death. They dream of life, and of its fullness. What did fate have in store for her? Sometimes she crimsoned, sometimes she paled as she looked ahead.

Bare-armed, her heavy sport skirt caught up with pins, her bonny brown hair loosely coiled, thick golf stockings and sturdy shoes covering her legs and feet, she presented a figure that caused more than one heart to thump, more than one head to turn, more than one pair of eyes to follow her as she went about her work. Her cheeks and throat and breast and arms were browning under the fire of the noonday sun, her eyes glowed with the fervour of enthusiasm; her voice was ever cheerful and her smile, though touched with the blight that lay upon the soul of all these castaways, was unfailingly bright. And when she returned "home" at night from her wageless day of toil, she slept as she never had slept before.

Her aunt worked in what was known as the salvage corps. She was one of the clerks employed in checking out the cargo and other materials seized by the committee of ten, as the leaders in this singular enterprise were called. Captain Trigger having protested against the dismantling of the vessel and the confiscation of its cargo,—which was as far as he could go,—announced that he would abide by any satisfactory plan to salvage the property. He required an official, documentary report, however, in which every item removed was accounted for, with its condition and value set down and sworn to by responsible persons. The purser, Mr. Codge, and First Officer Mott represented the Captain in this operation, while the consignees were properly taken care of by Michael O'Malley Malone, the lawyer, James K. Jones, the promoter, and Moses Block, the rubber importer. It is unnecessary to deal further with this feature of the situation. Suffice it to say, the transaction,—if it may be so denoted,—was managed with the utmost regularity and formality. Elderly men and women were chosen for the clerical work which this rather laborious undertaking entailed.

On the crest of the loftiest hill there was established a permanent observation and signal station. Near the top a sort of combination dug-out and shanty was constructed by order of Captain Trigger, and day and night, week in and week out, watches were kept similar to those maintained on board ship.

While the entire company, high and low, worked with a zeal that eventually resulted in a state of good-natured though intense rivalry in skill and accomplishment,—while they were generally cheerful and courageous,—there was a profound lack of gaiety. In the eyes of each and every one of them lay the never-vanishing shadow of anxiety,—an eternal unspoken question. The hardest, fiercest faces wore a wistful expression; the broadest smile revealed a touch of sadness. Over all, however, the surpassing spirit of kindness and generosity presided.

Calamity had softened the hearts in the same crucible that hardened the hands. The arrogance of the strong mellowed into consideration for the weak; wisdom and culture went hand in hand with ignorance and brawn; malice and rancour left the hearts of the lowly and met half-way the departing insolence of the lofty; fellowship took root and throve in a field rich with good deeds. The heart of man was master here, the brain its humble servant.

Landover worked hard, doggedly. To all outward appearances, he had resigned himself to the inevitable. He affected a spirit of camaraderie and good humour that deceived many. Down in his heart, however, he was bitterly rebellious. He despised these people as a class. In his estimation, all creatures who worked for a living were branded with the obnoxious iron of socialism; he even went so far as to believe that they were, after a fashion, anarchists! His conception of anarchy was rather far-reaching; it took in everything that was contrary to his notion of a satisfactory distribution of wealth. He believed that every man who worked for a wage was at heart an enemy to law and order. He regarded the wage-earner as one whose hand is eternally against the employer, absolutely without honour, justice or reason. The workingman was for self, always for self,—and to Landover that was anarchy.

The thought that people,—men and women,—of the lower classes possessed physical and mental qualities similar to those possessed by himself, even in a modified form, was not only repugnant to him but incredible. They had none of the finer emotions,—such as love, for instance. He could not conceive of a labouring man loving his wife and children; it wasn't natural! He pictured the home-life of the lower classes as nothing short of indecent; there couldn't be anything fine or noble or enduring in the processes of birth, existence and death as related to them. Nature took its course with them, and society,—as represented by the class to which he belonged,—provided for the litters they cast upon the world. In a word, Abel Landover's father and grandfather and great-grandfather had been rich men before him.

He despised Captain Trigger for the simple reason that that faithful, gallant sailor was an employee of the company in which he was a director. It meant nothing to him that Captain Trigger came of fine, hardy, valiant stock; it meant less to him that he was a law unto himself aboard the Doraine. For, when all was said and done, Captain Trigger worked for just so much money per month and doubtless hated the men who paid him his wage. On board the Doraine,—as was the case with all other vessels on which he chose to sail,—the banker sat at the Captain's table. But he did not consider that to be a distinction or an honour; it was his due. As a matter of fact, he looked upon himself as the real head of the Captain's table!

Half a dozen persons in all that company comprised Landover's circle of desirables. Of the rest, most of them were impossible, three-fourths of them were "anarchists," all of them were beneath notice,—except as listeners. As for Percival, if that young man was not literally and actually a bandit, at least he had all the instincts of one. In any case, he was a "bum." Whenever Mr. Landover was at a loss for a word to express contumely for his fellow-man,—and he was seldom at a loss,—he called him a "bum."

The women on board were divided into three classes in Landover's worldly opinion: the kind you would marry (rare), the kind you wouldn't marry (plentiful), and the kind you wouldn't have to marry (common). He put Olga Obosky and Careni-Amori in this rather extensive third class, and even went so far as to set what he considered a fair value upon them as human commodities!

He worked with the gang of "log-toters," a term supplied by Percival. They were the men who carried or dragged the trimmed tree-trunks from the forest to the camp site, where they were subsequently hewn into shape for structural purposes by the more skilful handlers of ax and wedge and saw.

A certain man named Manuel Crust was the fore-man of this gang. He was a swarthy, powerful "Portugee" who was on his way to Rio to kill the pal who had run away with his wife. He was going up there to kill Sebastian Cabral and live happily for ever afterward. His idea of future happiness was to sit by the fireside in his declining years and pleasantly ruminate over the variety of deaths he had inflicted upon the loathsome Sebastian. In the first place, he was going to strangle him with his huge, gnarled hands; then he was going to cut off his ears and nose and stuff them into the vast slit he had made in his throat; then he would dig his heart out with a machete; then, one by one, he would expertly amputate his legs, arms and tongue; afterwards he would go through the grisly process of disemboweling him; and, then, in the end, he would build a nice, roaring fire and destroy what remained of Sebastian. Inasmuch as either of these sanguinary and successive measures might reasonably be expected to produce the desired result, it will be seen that Sebastian was doomed to experience at least six horrific deaths before the avenger got through with him. At any rate, if one could believe Manuel,—and there seemed to be no end of conviction in the way he expressed himself,—the luckless home-wrecker, if he lived long enough, was absolutely certain to die.