Dave Porter in the South Seas: or, The Strange Cruise of the Stormy Petrel

"Make it up with real sheets, messmate," put in Billy Dill, thinking it was a joke. "An' you might add a real feather piller, while ye are at it."

"Yes, sah," answered the porter, with a grin. "Please step to another seat, sah."

"Come," said Dave, and arose and took Billy Dill to the opposite side of the sleeping-coach.

The old tar dropped into a vacant seat and watched the porter as he began to make up the berths. From a smile his face changed to a look of wonder, and when he saw the clean sheets, blankets, and pillows brought forth he could scarcely control himself.

"Cables, capstans, an' codfish!" he murmured. "Thet beats the dinin'-room, don't it? Say, maybe they hev got a ballroom on board, an' a church, an' a – a – farm, an' a few more things."

"Not quite," answered Roger, with a laugh. "But there is a library, if you want any books to read."

"Beats all! Why, this here train is equipped like a regular ship, ain't she?"

"Almost," said Dave. "Here are two berths; you can take one and I'll take the other."

"Good enough, Dave. Which will ye have?"

The boy said he preferred the lower berth, and Billy Dill swung himself up in true sailor fashion to that above.

"Makes me think o' a ship!" he declared. "I know I'll sleep like a rock!" And half an hour later he was in the land of dreams, and then the boys also retired.

Morning found them well on their way to Chicago, and just before noon they rolled into the great city by the lakes. Here they had two hours to wait, and spent the time in getting dinner and taking a short ride around to see the sights.

"This is as far west as I have been," said Roger. "The rest of the journey will be new to me."

"I once took a journey to Los Angeles," said Phil. "But I went and returned by the southern route, so this is new to me also."

"I have never traveled anywhere – that is, since I can remember," put in Dave. "But I am sure I am going to like it – that is, if I don't get seasick when I am on the ocean."

"Oh, I suppose we'll all get our dose of that," responded the senator's son.

"Maybe not," said Billy Dill. "Some gits it, an' some don't."

Nightfall found them well on the second portion of their journey to San Francisco. There was an observation car on the train, and the whole party spent hours seated on camp-chairs, viewing scenery as it rushed past them. Now and then, for a change, they would read, and Billy Dill would smoke, and the boys often talked over what was before them.

"My father said I might tell you the object of my trip," said Phil to his chums. "But he does not want anybody else to know of it, unless it becomes necessary for me to say something to the captain. The supercargo of the ship is a man named Jasper Van Blott. He has worked for my father for some years, and my father always thought him honest. But lately things have happened which have caused my father to suspect this supercargo. He sometimes disposes of certain portions of a cargo, and his returns are not what they should be."

"Then you are to act as a sort of spy," said Roger.

"I am to watch everything he does without letting him know exactly what I am doing. And when he makes a deal of any kind, I am to do my best to ascertain if his returns are correct. If I find he is honest, my father is going to retain him and increase his salary; if he is dishonest, my father will discharge him, and possibly prosecute him."

"Have you ever met this Van Blott?" asked Dave.

"Once, when he called on my father two years ago. He is a smooth talker, but I did not fancy his general style. He is supposed to be a first-class business man, and that is why my father has retained him. I do not believe Captain Marshall likes him much, by the way he writes to father."

"Have you ever met Captain Marshall?"

"Oh, yes, twice. You'll like him, I know, he is so bluff and hearty. My father has known him for many years, and he thinks the captain one of the best skippers afloat. He has sailed the Pacific for ten years and never suffered a serious accident."

"In that case, we'll be pretty safe in sailing under him," observed Roger. "It will certainly be a long trip – four thousand miles, or more!"

"Do you know anybody else on the ship?" asked Dave.

"I do not, and I don't know much about the ship herself, excepting that she is named the Stormy Petrel. Father bought her about a year ago. She is said to be a very swift bark, and yet she has great carrying capacity."

"Will you please explain to me just what a bark is?" said Roger. "I must confess I am rather dumb on nautical matters."

"A bark is a vessel with three masts. The front mast, or foremast, as sailors call it, and the main, or middle, mast are rigged as a ship, that is, with regular yardarms and sails. The back mast, called the mizzen mast, is rigged schooner fashion, that is, with a swinging boom."

"That's plain enough. Hurrah for the Stormy Petrel! Dave, we'll be full-fledged sailors before we know it."

"We must get Billy Dill to teach us a thing or two before we go aboard," said the country boy. "Then we won't appear so green."

This all thought good advice, and for the remainder of the journey they frequently talked nautical matters over with the old tar. Billy Dill had his book on navigation with him, and also a general work on seamanship, and he explained to them how a ship, and especially a bark, was constructed, and taught them the names of the ropes and sails, and many other things.

"You'll soon get the swing on it," he declared. "It ain't so much to learn fer a feller as is bright an' willin' to learn. It's only the blockheads as can't master it. But I allow as how none o' you expect to work afore the mast, do ye?"

"Not exactly," answered Phil. "But there is no harm in learning to do a sailor's work, in case we are ever called on to take hold. Somebody might get sick, you know."

"Thet's true, lad – an' I can tell ye one thing: A ship in a storm on the Pacific, an' short-handed, ain't no plaything to deal with," concluded the old tar.

CHAPTER XVIII

SAILING OF THE "STORMY PETREL"

As soon as the party arrived at San Francisco, Phil set out to learn if the Stormy Petrel was in port. This was easy, for the firm of which Mr. Lawrence was the head had a regular shipping office near the docks.

"Yes, she is in and almost loaded," said the clerk at the office, as soon as he learned Phil's identity. "I'll take you down to her, if you wish."

"Very well," answered the youth, and soon he and his chums and Billy Dill were on board of the bark. A gang of stevedores were on hand, bringing aboard boxes, crates, and barrels, and in the midst of the crowd were Captain Frank Marshall and Van Blott, the supercargo, both directing operations.

"Well! well!" ejaculated the captain, on catching sight of Phil. "Got here at last, eh? Glad to see you. So these are the young gentlemen to go along? Well, I reckon you'll find the trip long enough. Glad to know you, Porter, and the same to you, Morr. Yes, we are mighty busy just now. Got a little of the cargo in the wrong way – tell you about it later" – the last words to Phil. "I shall be glad of your company. Go down into the cabin and make yourselves at home, and I'll be with you presently."

"Thank you," answered Phil. "But is that Mr. Van Blott over yonder?"

"It is. Want to see him? Trot along, if you do." And the captain turned to his work once more.

By his general manner Captain Marshall showed that he did not wish to come into contact with the supercargo just then, and Phil walked over to that personage alone. The supercargo was a tall, thin individual with a sallow face and a thin, yellowish mustache.

"This is Mr. Van Blott, I believe," said Phil.

"Yes," was the short and crusty answer, and the supercargo gave the boy a sharp look.

"I am Phil Lawrence. I guess you do not remember me?"

"Oh!" cried the supercargo, and his manner changed instantly. "How do you do? I didn't think you'd be here quite so soon. I hope your father is well?"

"Yes, sir. Then you got his letter, Mr. Van Blott?"

"Yes, this morning. I haven't read it very carefully yet. He said something about you helping me, if I needed help. Well, I won't bother you much. I have done the work alone in the past, and I can do it now."

"I am willing to do all I can to assist you," said Phil, politely.

"I don't doubt it. But I won't trouble you – so you and your friends can just lie back and enjoy yourselves," returned Jasper Van Blott, smoothly. "No use in working, when you are on a vacation."

"Oh, I shan't call it work. I want to learn a little about the business. Some day, you know, I am to go into my father's office."

At this a slight frown crossed the supercargo's face, but he quickly smiled it off. "As you please," he said. "But excuse me now, I'm very busy. We are trying to get ready to sail to-morrow by noon, and there is still a great deal to do."

In some way Phil felt himself dismissed, and he rejoined Dave and Roger, who were standing by the companionway. All went below, to find the cabin of the Stormy Petrel deserted.

"This is a fine cabin," remarked Dave, gazing around. "It's as cozy as can be."

"Where is Billy Dill?" asked Phil.

"He said he'd go forward and await orders."

"Did he say anything about the vessel?"

"Said she looked to be a first-class sailer and in prime condition," answered the senator's son. "He was delighted with her."

"What do you think of the captain?"

"I think I shall like him," returned Dave. "Roger thinks the same."

"I don't like that supercargo," went on Phil, lowering his voice. "I am afraid I shall have trouble with him before the trip is over. He doesn't want me to know a thing about what he is doing."

A little later Captain Marshall came in and showed them the staterooms they were to occupy – one fair-sized one for Dave and Roger and a smaller one adjoining for Phil. Then he introduced the boys to his first mate, Paul Shepley, and to several others. When he got Phil by himself he asked the youth if the supercargo had said anything about the loading of the bark.

"Not a word," answered Phil. "Why do you ask that question?"

"We had some trouble just before you came on board. Mr. Van Blott wanted some things done one way and I wanted them another. He thinks he can run things, but I am going to let him understand that I am master here. I tell you this, because I want you to understand how matters are going."

"From what you say, I don't think you like Mr. Van Blott," said Phil. "If so, let me say, I don't think I shall like him myself."

"Oh, I can get along with him, if he will mind his own business and do what is right," answered the captain of the Stormy Petrel. "But he must not attempt to dictate to me, even if he is the supercargo."

"Well, I trust we have no trouble," answered Phil, with a sigh. But the trouble, he felt, was already in the air.

Late that afternoon their baggage came on board, and the boys set to work to establish themselves on the ship which was to be their home for so many weeks to come. In the meantime Billy Dill reported to the captain, and was assigned to his place in the forecastle as an extra hand at full pay. The old tar was pleased mightily, and the smell of oakum and bilge water appeared to act on him like a tonic. He was one to make friends readily, and soon established himself as a favorite among the foremast hands.

In the morning the boys took a final run ashore, purchasing a few things they thought they needed and mailing some long letters home. Coming back to the bark, they caught sight of the supercargo coming, with another man, from a drinking place on a corner.

"Humph! that shows he drinks," muttered Phil.

"I think most seafaring men do," answered Roger.

"Captain Marshall does not."

They had to pass the supercargo, who stood on the corner with his back to them, talking to the other man. Just as they went by, they heard Van Blott remark:

"Don't worry; this trip is going to pay me big, Bangor, and when I come back you shall have all that is coming to you." This was all the three boys heard, but it set Phil to thinking.

"I'd like to know how this trip is going to pay him big," said the shipowner's son. "Father says he gets his regular salary and a small commission."

"Perhaps he has some private deal he wishes to put through," suggested Dave.

"No; by his agreement he has no right to do any outside work. His time belongs exclusively to the Stormy Petrel and her cargo."

They returned to the bark, and quarter of an hour later the supercargo followed, with a flushed face that showed he had been imbibing more liquor than was good for him.

"Are you ready to sail?" demanded Captain Marshall, striding up.

"All ready," was the surly response, and the supercargo walked down to his stateroom and disappeared.

Orders were given to cast off, and in a very few minutes the bark was on her way from San Francisco Bay toward the Golden Gate. It was a perfect day, and by nightfall the harbor was left behind and land became a mere speck in the distance.

The first night on the bark passed pleasantly enough for the three chums. At first the quarters on the vessel appeared small to them, but they soon grew accustomed to the change. All slept soundly and they were out on deck very shortly after sunrise.

"Well, how do you like life on Mother Carey's Chicken?" asked Phil, when they were gazing at the rolling ocean.

"Mother Carey's Chicken?" repeated Dave, with a puzzled look.

"Oh, I know what he means!" cried Roger, with a laugh. "A stormy petrel is a bird that the sailors call a Mother Carey's chicken."

"What a name! I think I like Stormy Petrel better," observed Dave. "But, I say, isn't this just grand! A fellow can open his lungs and drink in ozone by the barrel!"

"And hardly a cloud in the sky," added Roger. "If this is any criterion, we'll have the finest kind of a trip."

"Well, boys, I see you are up on time," came from a little behind them, and now Captain Marshall strode up. "Fine sea this, and a fine breeze, too."

"How long will this nice weather last?" asked Roger.

"Humph!" The captain humped his shoulders. "No man alive can tell that. A few days, at least, maybe a week or more. But, sooner or later, we'll pay up for it. The finer the weather, the bigger the storm to follow."

"I shouldn't mind an ordinary storm," observed Dave. "But I don't want to be wrecked."

"No danger of that, lad. The Stormy Petrel can outride any storm likely to blow in these parts. She is one of the best vessels I ever sailed in – a man couldn't ask for a better."

"How much of a crew have you, Captain Marshall?" asked Phil.

"I have sixteen men, all told, besides the tar you brought along." The brow of the shipmaster wrinkled slightly. "They are all pretty fair men, too, excepting four, and those four Mr. Van Blott brought in."

"What's the trouble with the four?"

"They drink, and they don't mind as they should." Captain Marshall turned to Phil. "After breakfast, I'd like to talk to you on business in the cabin," he added.

This was a hint that Dave and Roger were not desired, and, accordingly, after the meal they left Phil and the captain alone.

"I've been studying your father's instructions to me," said Captain Marshall to Phil. "As I view it, you are to be a sort of assistant to Mr. Van Blott."

"If he will allow it."

"And if he won't?" The captain gazed at Phil sharply.

"Then, perhaps, I'll do something on my own account."

"Are you going to keep your eye on him?"

"Yes, but you need not tell him so."

"Don't worry – I shan't open my mouth, Philip. I am glad to hear of this, for, I tell you privately, Van Blott needs watching. He is a sly dog, and I am satisfied in my own mind that he has something up his sleeve."

"Do you know a man named Bangor in San Francisco? He was with Mr. Van Blott just before we sailed."

"Ah! I thought so! Yes, I know him, and his reputation among shippers is none of the best. He used to be a supercargo for the Donaldson-Munroe Company, but they discharged him for some crooked work. What were he and Van Blott doing?"

Phil told of what he had overheard.

"That confirms my idea exactly!" cried the captain of the Stormy Petrel. "There is something in the wind. You must watch out, by all means, and I'll do the same. This man must not be allowed to do anything wrong, if we can possibly prevent it."

CHAPTER XIX

DAYS ON THE OCEAN

The weather remained fine for a full week, and with favoring winds the Stormy Petrel bowled along merrily on her course. The ocean rolled lazily in the warm sunshine, a few birds circled about the ship, and once they passed a steamer coming from the Hawaiian Islands, and a schooner from Manila, and that was all.

"Shall we stop at Honolulu?" asked Roger, of the captain.

"No. I thought of doing so at first, but now I shall make no stops until we get to Christmas Island, and from there we will go direct to Cavasa and then to Sobago. What we do after that will depend largely on what is done about a cargo."

So far none of the boys had experienced any seasickness, and they congratulated themselves on their escape, but Billy Dill put a little damper on their ardor.

"This ain't no weather to judge by," was his comment. "Wait till we get some cross-winds and the ships starts to roll. Maybe then ye won't be so settled in the stomach."

The few days on the ocean had done the old tar a world of good. His eyes were brighter and he was physically in the best of health once more. His mind, too, was clearer, and one day he announced to Dave that he had something to tell.

"I ain't quite sure as I have the exact straight on 't," he began. "A little on 't is still like a dream. But I know enough to make a putty straight story," and then he told his tale.

A good portion of it was not unlike the story of many sailors. When very young, he had had a strong desire to go to sea, and at his first opportunity had shipped as a cabin boy. From cabin boy he had become a foremast hand, and had been in such service more years than he could count. He had visited nearly every portion of the globe, and had been wrecked twice, once off the coast of Africa and once while trying to round Cape Horn.

Three years before had found him at Sydney, Australia, looking for a chance to ship. While down among the wharves, he had discovered a tramp vessel, the Mary Sacord, bound for Cavasa and other islands in the South Seas, and had signed articles for a year's cruise. The captain proved to be a brute, and there was fighting on the vessel from the time she left Sydney until Cavasa was reached. There, at the main seaport, Billy Dill went ashore and refused to go aboard again.

The captain of the Mary Sacord was very angry over the refusal of the seaman to continue on the trip, and threatened Dill with imprisonment, and even had the old tar arrested. But, at this juncture, two men came forward and aided the sailor in his trouble, and, as a consequence, Billy Dill was set free and the vessel went on her way without him.

One of the men who had helped Billy Dill was Dunston Porter and the other was Samuel Lemington. They were both Americans and fairly well-to-do. At first, they did not tell the old sailor much about their business, but they asked him if he wished to work for them, and he said he was willing, and they offered him thirty dollars a month and all his expenses.

The two Americans, so the tar discovered later, were after a treasure of precious stones, said upon good authority to have been hidden years before in the mountains by a former cannibal king of Cavasa and some other South Sea islands. The three journeyed into the interior of the island and spent months in looking for the treasure, but without success. Then came an earthquake and the volcano in the center of the island began to grow active, and all three had to flee to the coast in order to escape destruction.

It was on this treasure hunt that Billy Dill heard, through Dunston Porter, about the lost child that had been carried off by a nurse who was not mentally sound, although usually good-hearted. Dunston Porter had not said very much about the matter, for it seemed to hurt him a great deal – so much, in fact, that the old sailor did not think it best to ask for the particulars. But he knew one thing, that, try his best, Dunston Porter could not learn what had become of the woman and the little one, and he was half inclined to believe that both were dead.

"Well, did he say that the child was his son?" asked Dave, with deep interest.

"No, it was some relative of his, I think. I don't believe Dunston Porter was married."

"When you came back to the coast, what did this Mr. Porter do?"

"He and Mr. Lemington stayed in the town, trying to make up their minds as to what they'd do next. I got a chance to ship, and, as they didn't seem to want me any more, I sailed away, and then I did as I've told you before."

This was practically all the information Billy Dill could give concerning Dunston Porter and the missing child, although he told much more concerning the treasure hunt, and of several fights with the natives of the interior. He said the natives were a bad lot, and he wanted no more to do with them than was absolutely necessary.

"How old should you judge this Dunston Porter to be?" asked Dave.

"Forty to forty-five years old, my lad."

"Did he ever tell you where he came from?"

"Not exactly. But he was an American, and he knew a good bit about San Francisco, Chicago, and New York, and I remember he once told about hunting in the Maine woods and in the Adirondacks."

"He didn't say a word about coming back to the United States?"

"Not that I can remember."

With this information Dave had to be content. The story had been a strain on Billy Dill, and afterward he complained of a headache and of feeling dizzy. But a good night's rest restored him completely.

The sailor was at all times delighted to instruct the boys in the art of seamanship, and under his tutelage they learned rapidly, so that any of them could go aloft and make or take in sail whenever required. He also taught them how to make knots of various kinds, and many other things useful on board a ship. In the meantime Captain Marshall allowed them to read his works on navigation, and gave them a few lessons in steering, and in the use of the compass, sextant, and other nautical instruments.

"We'll be full-fledged sailors before this voyage is over," remarked Roger to his chums. "I declare, I almost feel as if I could handle a small ship already."

"Maybe you could, on the Leming River," rejoined Phil. "But when it came to a big storm on the Pacific, I rather believe you'd find it a different story."

So far, Phil had had but little to do with the supercargo, but now he asked the man if he could look over the books. Jasper Van Blott agreed, but the scowl on his face showed plainly that the move was not to his liking. Phil went over the accounts at his leisure, but could find nothing wrong in them. There were a few entries that looked odd, but the supercargo was ready with explanations concerning them.

"Well, have you found anything wrong?" questioned Dave, after Phil had spent three days over the books.

"Nothing much, Dave," was the answer from the shipowner's son.

"The supercargo isn't very friendly, I notice."

"Oh, he hates it, that I am going on this trip," answered Phil.

There seemed to be but one man on the ship with whom the supercargo was thoroughly friendly, and that was Paul Shepley, the first mate. The pair were together a large part of the time, and their conversation was frequently an animated one.

"I can't get it out of my head that those two are working together over something," said Dave. "Why, they are as thick as bees in a sugar barrel."

"I've noticed that, too," came from Roger. "Perhaps they are hatching up some mischief."

On the following day the weather became more unsettled, and occasionally the clouds showed themselves above the horizon. Captain Marshall gave orders to his mate that a strict watch should be kept for a blow.