The Pursuit of the House-Boat Page 5

  V

  A CONFERENCE ON DECK

  "Here's a kettle of fish!" said Kidd, pulling his chin whisker inperplexity as he and his fellow-pirates gathered about the capstan todiscuss the situation. "I'm blessed if in all my experience I ever sailedathwart anything like it afore! Pirating with a lot of low-down ruffianslike you gentlemen is bad enough, but on a craft loaded to the water'sedge with advanced women--I've half a mind to turn back."

  "'HERE'S A KETTLE OF FISH,' SAID KIDD"]

  "If you do, you swim--we'll not turn back with you," retorted Abeuchapeta,whom, in honor of his prowess, Kidd had appointed executive officer of theHouse-boat. "I have no desire to be mutinous, Captain Kidd, but I have notembarked upon this enterprise for a pleasure sail down the Styx. I am outfor business. If you had thirty thousand women on board, still should Inot turn back."

  "But what shall we do with 'em?" pleaded Kidd. "Where can we go withoutattracting attention? Who's going to feed 'em? Who's going to dress 'em?Who's going to keep 'em in bonnets? You don't know anything about thesecreatures, my dear Abeuchapeta; and, by-the-way, can't we arbitrate thatname of yours? It would be fearful to remember in the excitement of afight."

  "Call him Ab," suggested Sir Henry Morgan, with an ill-concealed sneer,for he was deeply jealous of Abeuchapeta's preferral.

  "If you do I'll call you Morgue, and change your appearance to fit,"retorted Abeuchapeta, angrily.

  "By the beards of all my sainted Buccaneers," began Morgan, springingangrily to his feet, "I'll have your life!"

  "Gentlemen! Gentlemen--my noble ruffians!" expostulated Kidd. "Come, come;this will never do! I must have no quarrelling among my aides. This is notime for divisions in our councils. An entirely unexpected element hasentered into our affairs, and it behooveth us to act in concert. It is nolight matter--"

  "Excuse me, captain," said Abeuchapeta, "but that is where you and I donot agree. We've got our ship and we've got our crew, and in addition wefind that the Fates have thrown in a hundred or more women to act asballast. Now I, for one, do not fear a woman. We can set them to work.There is plenty for them to do keeping things tidy; and if we get into avery hard fight, and come out of the melee somewhat the worse for wear, itwill be a blessing to have 'em along to mend our togas, sew buttons on ouruniforms, and darn our hosiery."

  Morgan laughed sarcastically. "When did you flourish, if ever, colonel?"he asked.

  "Do you refer to me?" queried Abeuchapeta, with a frown.

  "You have guessed correctly," replied Morgan, icily. "I have quiteforgotten your date; were you a success in the year one, or when?"

  "Admiral Abeuchapeta, Sir Henry," interposed Kidd, fearing a furtheroutbreak of hostilities--"Admiral Abeuchapeta was the terror of the seasin the seventh century, and what he undertook to do he did, and hispiratical enterprises were carried on on a scale of magnificence which iswithout parallel off the comic-opera stage. He never went forth without atleast seventy galleys and a hundred other vessels."

  Abeuchapeta drew himself up proudly.

  "Six-ninety-eight was my great year," he said.

  "That's what I thought," said Morgan. "That is to say, you got your ideasof women twelve hundred years ago, and the ladies have changed somewhatsince that time. I have great respect for you, sir, as a ruffian. I haveno doubt that as a ruffian you are a complete success, but when it comesto 'feminology' you are sailing in unknown waters. The study of women, mydear Abeuchadnezzar--"

  "Peta," retorted Abeuchapeta, irritably.

  "I stand corrected. The study of women, my dear Peter," said Morgan, witha wink at Conrad, which fortunately the seventh-century pirate did notsee, else there would have been an open break--"the study of women is moredifficult than that of astronomy; there may be two stars alike, but allwomen are unique. Because she was this, that, or the other thing in yourday does not prove that she is any one of those things in our day--infact, it proves the contrary. Why, I venture even to say that noindividual woman is alike."

  "That's rather a hazy thought," said Kidd, scratching his head in apuzzled sort of way.

  "I mean that she's different from herself at different times," saidMorgan. "What is it the poet called her?--'an infinite variety show,' orsomething of that sort; a perpetual vaudeville--a continuous performance,as it were, from twelve to twelve."

  "Morgan is right, admiral!" put in Conrad the corsair, acting temporarilyas bo'sun. "The times are sadly changed, and woman is no longer what shewas. She is hardly what she is, much less what she was. The Roman Gynaeceumwould be an impossibility to-day. You might as well expect Delilah to opena barbershop on board this boat as ask any of these advanced femalesbelow-stairs to sew buttons on a pirate's uniform after a fray, or to keepthe fringe on his epaulets curled. They're no longer sewing-machines--theyare Keeley motors for mystery and perpetual motion. Women have viewsnow--they are no longer content to be looked at merely; they must see forthemselves; and the more they see, the more they wish to domesticate manand emancipate woman. It's my private opinion that if we are to get alongwith them at all the best thing to do is to let 'em alone. I have alwaysfound I was better off in the abstract, and if this question is going tobe settled in a purely democratic fashion by submitting it to a vote, I'llvote for any measure which involves leaving them strictly to themselves.They're nothing but a lot of ghosts anyhow, like ourselves, and we canpretend we don't see them."

  "If that could be, it would be excellent," said Morgan; "but it isimpossible. For a pirate of the Byronic order, my dear Conrad, you arestrangely unversed in the ways of the sex which cheers but not inebriates.We can no more ignore their presence upon this boat than we can expectwhales to spout kerosene. In the first place, it would be excessivelyimpolite of us to cut them--to decline to speak to them if they shouldaddress us. We may be pirates, ruffians, cutthroats, but I hope we shallnever forget that we are gentlemen."

  "The whole situation is rather contrary to etiquette, don't you think?"suggested Conrad. "There's nobody to introduce us, and I can't really seehow we can do otherwise than ignore them. I certainly am not going tostand on deck and make eyes at them, to try and pick up an acquaintancewith them, even if I am of a Byronic strain."

  "You forget," said Kidd, "two essential features of the situation. Thesewomen are at present--or shortly will be, when they realize theirsituation--in distress, and a true gentleman may always fly to the rescueof a distressed female; and, the second point, we shall soon be on theseas, and I understand that on the fashionable transatlantic lines it isnow considered _de rigueur_ to speak to anybody you choose to. Theintroduction business isn't going to stand in my way."

  "Well, may I ask," put in Abeuchapeta, "just what it is that is worryingyou? You said something about feeding them, and dressing them, and keepingthem in bonnets. I fancy there's fish enough in the sea to feed 'em; andas for their gowns and hats, they can make 'em themselves. Every woman isa milliner at heart."

  "Exactly, and we'll have to pay the milliners. That is what bothers me. Iwas going to lead this expedition to London, Paris, and New York, admiral.That is where the money is, and to get it you've got to go ashore, toheadquarters. You cannot nowadays find it on the high seas. Moderncivilization," said Kidd, "has ruined the pirate's business. The latestnews from the other world has really opened my eyes to certain facts thatI never dreamed of. The conditions of the day of which I speak areinterestingly shown in the experience of our friend Hawkins here. CaptainHawkins, would you have any objection to stating to these gentlemen thecondition of affairs which led you to give up piracy on the high seas?"

  "Not the slightest, Captain Kidd," returned Captain Hawkins, who was arecent arrival in Hades. "It is a sad little story, and it gives me a painfor to think on it, but none the less I'll tell it, since you ask me. WhenI were a mere boy, fellow-pirates, I had but one ambition, due to myreadin', which was confined to stories of a Sunday-school nater--to becomesomethin' different from the little Willies an' the clever Tommies what Iread about therein. They was all good, an'
they went to their reward toosoon in life for me, who even in them days regarded death as a stuffy an'unpleasant diversion. Learnin' at an early period that virtue was its onlyreward, an' a-wish-in' others, I says to myself: 'Jim,' says I, 'if youwishes to become a magnet in this village, be sinful. If so be as you area good boy, an' kind to your sister an' all other animals, you'll end upas a prosperous father with fifteen hundred a year sure, with never nohope for no public preferment beyond bein' made the superintendent of theSunday-school; but if so be as how you're bad, you may become famous, an'go to Congress, an' have your picture in the Sunday noospapers.' So Ilooks around for books tellin' how to get 'Famous in Fifty Ways,' an'after due reflection I settles in my mind that to be a pirate's just thething for me, seein' as how it's both profitable an' healthy. Passin' overdetails, let me tell you that I became a pirate. I ran away to sea, an' bydint of perseverance, as the Sunday-school books useter say, in my badnessI soon became the centre of a evil lot; an' when I says to 'em, 'Boys, Iwants to be a pirate chief,' they hollers back, loud like, 'Jim, we'rewith you,' an' they was. For years I was the terror of the VenezuelanGulf, the Spanish Main, an' the Pacific seas, but there was preciouslittle money into it. The best pay I got was from a Sunday noospaper,which paid me well to sign an article on 'Modern Piracy' which I didn'twrite. Finally business got so bad the crew began to murmur, an' I was atmy wits' ends to please 'em; when one mornin', havin' passed a restlessnight, I picks up a noospaper and sees in it that 'Next Saturday's steameris a weritable treasure-ship, takin' out twelve million dollars, and thejewels of a certain prima donna valued at five hundred thousand.' 'Here'smy chance,' says I, an' I goes to sea and lies in wait for the steamer. Icaptures her easy, my crew bein' hungry, an' fightin' according like. Westeals the box a-hold-in' the jewels an' the bag containin' the millions,hustles back to our own ship, an' makes for our rondyvoo, me with twobullets in my leg, four o' my crew killed, and one engin' of my shipdisabled by a shot--but happy. Twelve an' a half millions at one break isenough to make anybody happy."

  "I should say so," said Abeuchapeta, with an ecstatic shake of his head."I didn't get that in all my career."

  "Nor I," sighed Kidd. "But go on, Hawkins."

  "Well, as I says," continued Captain Hawkins, "we goes to the rondyvoo tolook over our booty. 'Captain 'Awkins,' says my valet--for I was a swellpirate, gents, an' never travelled nowhere without a man to keep myclothes brushed and the proper wrinkles in my trousers--'this 'ere twelvemillions,' says he, 'is werry light,' says he, carryin' the bag ashore. 'Idon't care how light it is, so long as it's twelve millions, Henderson,'says I; but my heart sinks inside o' me at his words, an' the minute welands I sits down to investigate right there on the beach. I opens thebag, an' it's the one I was after--but the twelve millions!"

  "Weren't there?" cried Conrad.

  "Yes, they was there," sighed Hawkins, "but every bloomin' million wasrepresented by a certified check, an' payable in London!"

  "'EVERY BLOOMIN' MILLION WAS REPRESENTED BY A CERTIFIEDCHECK, AN' PAYABLE IN LONDON'"]

  "By Jingo!" cried Morgan. "What fearful luck! But you had the primadonna's jewels."

  "Yes," said Hawkins, with a moan. "But they was like all other primadonna's jewels--for advertisin' purposes only, an' made o' gum-arabic!"

  "Horrible!" said Abeuchapeta. "And the crew, what did they say?"

  "They was a crew of a few words," sighed Hawkins. "Werry few words, an'not a civil word in the lot--mostly adjectives of a profane kind. When Itold 'em what had happened, they got mad at Fortune for a-jiltin' of 'em,an'--well, I came here. I was 'sas'inated that werry night!"

  "They killed you?" cried Morgan.

  "A dozen times," nodded Hawkins. "They always was a lavish lot. I metdeath in all its most horrid forms. First they stabbed me, then they shotme, then they clubbed me, and so on, endin' up with a lynchin'--but Ididn't mind much after the first, which hurt a bit. But now that I'm hereI'm glad it happened. This life is sort of less responsible than thatother. You can't hurt a ghost by shooting him, because there ain't nothingto hurt, an' I must say I like bein' a mere vision what everybody can seethrough."

  "All of which interesting tale proves what?" queried Abeuchapeta.

  "That piracy on the sea is not profitable in these days of the checkbanking system," said Kidd. "If you can get a chance at real gold it's allright, but it's of no earthly use to steal checks that people can stoppayment on. Therefore it was my plan to visit the cities and do a littlefreebooting there, where solid material wealth is to be found."

  "Well? Can't we do it now?" asked Abeuchapeta.

  "Not with these women tagging after us," returned Kidd. "If we went toLondon and lifted the whole Bank of England, these women would have itspent on Regent Street inside of twenty-four hours."

  "Then leave them on board," said Abeuchapeta.

  "And have them steal the ship!" retorted Kidd. "No. There are but twothings to do. Take 'em back, or land them in Paris. Tell them to spend aweek on shore while we are provisioning. Tell 'em to shop to their hearts'content, and while they are doing it we can sneak off and leave themstranded."

  "Splendid!" cried Morgan.

  "But will they consent?" asked Abeuchapeta.

  "Consent! To shop? In Paris? For a week?" cried Morgan.

  "Ha, ha!" laughed Hawkins. "Will they consent! Will a duck swim?"

  And so it was decided, which was the first incident in the career of theHouse-boat upon which the astute Mr. Sherlock Holmes had failed to count.