What Happened
in the Thunderbolt

I was not what one would term literally hard up, for I had over fifty pounds in my pocket; yet I could see no prospect of getting more, so I thought it would be better to clear out and make a start somewhere abroad.

I had served my time—afterwards passing for second mate—some years previously, but had grown so heartily sick of the life that I had thrown it up, as I hoped then, for good. Yet, when I shipped in the Thunderbolt, I was glad enough for the chance. I little thought then to what it was going to lead.

My intention had been to leave the ship as soon as we reached ’Frisco, and I should have done so had it not been for a certain reason, of which presently I shall speak.

We had a quiet enough voyage out round the Horn. Fine weather and steady winds. The grub was good, for ship’s grub, and there was nothing particular to grumble about in the treatment we received at the hands of the after crowd, though I know now that this was due chiefly to the skipper, who was a decent sort of old chap.

The second mate, for whose watch I was picked, struck me as being a fellow who would bully if he got the least encouragement. He had one of the most sensual faces I have seen. I found later that he was a fiend.

The first mate was quite a different type of man. Tall and lean, as against the second’s burliness, he was mean-looking and unobtrusive in his manners. I could not stand him. Yet there was nothing I could say against him—then.

When we reached ’Frisco I went to the old man, and told him that I wanted to leave. I asked him straight whether he intended to do the right thing by me, and pay me off in full. He inquired why I was anxious to go, and I told him that I wanted to get a job ashore. He was decent enough, and suggested that I should not be in a hurry, but take time to think the matter over. And, because of this, I stayed by the ship while she was in port.

We were nearly three months before we got our grain, and then we had to go up to Crockett to finish loading. When we got down again to ’Frisco, I was surprised to hear that we were to have a passenger home—a lady.

She came off to us next day, accompanied by an awful old hag of a chaperon.

I helped to get her things aboard, and I took her portmanteau into the saloon to the cabin she was to occupy. She and her chaperon, whose name was Mrs. Wiggins, followed me, carrying various small parcels. In the doorway leading into the saloon we met the second mate coming out. I saw him look over my shoulder at Miss Vairne—so her companion had named her—and in that moment I saw the foul soul of the man flash out in his eyes. He seemed to be unconscious that he was blocking the way, so intense was his gaze. It annoyed me beyond endurance.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “This portmanteau is heavy.”

At that he stepped to one side, though with a grunt that was almost a snarl. The next instant, seeming to remember himself, he swung off his cap to the ladies, but Miss Vairne walked past him as though she were unconscious that he existed.

I carried the portmanteau into the cabin, and deposited it upon the deck of the berth; then I turned to go. The second mate had not gone on deck, but was fiddling about in the saloon. It seemed to me that he was waiting until I had gone. I had nearly reached the door opening out of the saloon, when I heard a quick patter of steps behind me, and someone touched me on the arm. I turned quickly, and saw, to my astonishment, that it was Miss Vairne.

“Thank you so much for carrying in my portmanteau, Mr.—”

She hesitated.

“My name is Kenstone,” I said. “But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, I’m one of the deck-hands.”

She laughed outright at that, and held out her hand to me. Over by the table I knew the second mate was glaring at me savagely.

I pretended not to see him, and shook hands with Miss Vairne.

“I’m afraid, Miss Vairne,” I said, smiling, “you do not realise that I am only one of the common sailors.”

She laughed—a merry little laugh. Yet there was a sense of defiant scorn in it that I knew was intended to show the lowering second mate that she would thank whom she pleased, even though he were a common sailor.

“Might I ask you, Mr. Kenstone,” she said, “if you would mind just loosing the straps of my bag? The buckles are rather stiff.”

“Certainly,” I said; and hurried to do her request.

Yet, as I bent over it, I kept my ears open, listening intently towards where the second mate stood. I expected every instant to hear him break out, for I knew that he must be just raging at her action in shaking hands with one who was but a deck-hand, while he, the little tin god, was utterly ignored.

His anger broke bounds as I finished loosing the straps, and stood up. Miss Vairne had just given me a mischievous little smile of thanks, when he broke in:

“Here, you, Kenstone! You’d better get on deck! This ain’t your part of the ship!”

I would have answered him back pretty smartly had I been still of a mind to leave the ship, but all at once I found that this was the last thing I wished to do, and so, with a slight bow to Miss Vairne, and taking no notice of the second, I went on deck.

Later in the same day I went to the old man, and told him that I had changed my mind, and would prefer to make the passage home with him, if he cared to have me. He seemed quite pleased, and told me that he had felt sure I should change my mind, as there was nothing at which to grumble in the treatment received in his ship. I assured him that I was quite satisfied with the ship and the treatment, and so nothing more was said about my leaving. This arrangement suited him all the more in that he had not, as yet, signed on a hand in my place.

Three days later we sailed. During those three days I had seen Miss Vairne several times, yet never once to speak to. On two occasions she caught me looking at her, and replied by a bright little nod. I think that she had begun to realise that it would make trouble to treat me with the open, frank friendliness of our first meeting. Nevertheless, I was more than a little anxious to speak with her again could I but manage it without the officers being aware of the fact. Also, I was desirous that none of the men should see her speak to me, for I could not stand their remarks on certain subjects.

We had got well away from the coast before I again had speech with her. It was one day in the morning watch, about seven-thirty. Seven bells had been struck some minutes. We had been washing decks, and I was coiling down the braces on the lee side of the poop, when I heard her come up out from the companionway. I knew that it was she without looking round, though I did not show my knowledge, but just went on coiling. The second mate had gone for’ard along the main-deck to see Chips, and the next thing that I knew she was there standing beside me, watching me as I flaked the ropes down upon the deck. Still, I did not take any notice of her, but pretended to be so busy at the job that I had not seen her. At that she gave her foot a stamp, which pleased me greatly, seeing that I am a man. Yet still I paid not a bit of attention to her, just went on coiling down the main topsail brace, doing it very carefully and exactly. I guessed this would make her speak, especially as she was sure to know that the second mate would be back before long. And I was not mistaken.

“You’re being rude on purpose,” she said.

I looked up at that, but her eyes were not in my direction; instead, she was gazing away over the lee rail with an indifferent expression on her face. This made me think that someone might be looking, and I glanced towards the fellow at the wheel, but was relieved to notice that he could not see me where I stood, owing to the companionway being between.

Then I spoke.

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

At that she turned and looked at me for one short moment, and there was no anger in her eyes; nothing, it seemed to me then, save roguishness and something else that I did not then understand.

Before I could speak again, I heard the second mate coming aft from the carpenter’s shop. She, too, heard him. Yet, at the risk of being seen, she bent towards me.

“Good-morning, Mr. Common Sailor,” she said prettily, but in a low voice.

The next instant she was leaning over the lee rail, and looking innocently at the expanse of sea. I was conscious of a queer sense of happiness. Then, though not unpleasantly, I realised that I had omitted to wish her “Good-morning.” She had intended to rebuke my forgetfulness. I wondered how she knew that I was not a common sailorman, and yet I felt that I was a wretched hypocrite to pretend to wonder. I fell to picturing myself saying “Good-mornin’, Miss,” and touching my forehead to her. I believe I must have laughed out loud at the thought, for the next thing the second mate sang out to know what I was making that donkey-row up on the poop for. I made no reply, though I felt angry at his cursing me before her. I felt that he was on the look-out to do a bit of showing off. He wanted to lower me in her eyes. All the same I made no reply, but finished straightening up the ropes, and then walked down on to the main deck just as eight bells went for my watch below.

I saw Miss Vairne every day after that, but somehow, one way or another, nearly a fortnight passed before I had further word with her, and then only by sheer audacity. For, though I had not been able to exchange speech with her, something in the look on her face at times had told me that she was not quite happy, nor easy in her mind—that something was troubling her. I had seen this expression of uneasiness several times. I also noticed that she had got into the way of spending the greater portion of her time on deck, and that she deliberately avoided the first and second mates on every possible occasion. I wondered how it was that her chaperon was never visible, and I took occasion once to ask the steward, but he—an evil-looking little beast—grinned and said the old lady was keeping to her bunk, as she was unwell. Even then I began to have a smattering of suspicion, but I was soon to learn for certain, more than ever I should have guessed; for on the night of the very day on which the little, lying object of a steward had told me that the ugly old chaperon was ill in her bunk, I came across the old lady herself talking to the second mate in the shadow under the break of the poop. I saw them only by chance, and I did not give any sign to show that I had spotted them, but quietly strolled forward again as though I had seen nothing.

Yet from that time forward I kept a strict watch on every possible occasion and in every possible way—even to the extent of spending much of my watch below on the fo’c’s’le head, so as to be able to keep an eye on the poop. In this way I observed that Miss Vairne seemed to offer no objection to the company of the third mate. Yet, in all conscience, she must have found him monotonous enough; for he was a great, dull, fat—also good-humoured—plough-boy sort of fellow—an apprentice just out of his “time.” Still, it was a comfort to me to feel that she had this friend among the afterguard, though it was poor enough when pitted against such a man as the second mate. As regards the skipper and her, I observed that they appeared to be great friends; but he was getting an old man, and turned in early and rose late—often spending his afternoons sleeping in his bunk; besides which, he was not altogether free from the friendship of the whisky bottle. Thus there were many long hours when she was absolutely companionless. This was especially evident later—I am referring now to the first mate’s watch—when the first mate kept the third busy in other parts of the ship, so—as it seemed to me—to keep him away from her. This apparently purposeful keeping of the third mate from her I gathered at odd times during those portions of my watch below when I sat smoking upon the fo’c’s’le’ head.

As I have said, it was only by means of sheer audacity that I at last got speech again with her. It was in this wise. I had been sent up the mizzen to grease down the spanker gaff. While I was busy at this, Miss Vairne came up on deck. She did not see me, and I had time to notice how worried she looked. It seemed to me that the girl was actually looking thinner, and at the thought of this a great sense of anger rose within me. I determined I would see and speak to her in one way or another. Yet, puzzle as I might, I could not see how I was to accomplish this without attracting attention. Suddenly, when I was about half-way down the gaff, an idea came to me, and, with a view to carrying it out, I cast off the lanyard of the slush-pot from which I was dipping, and waited for the next heavish roll.

It came, and I gave a shout, and slid round on the gaff, so that my crossed feet were uppermost; at the same moment I let go the pot of grease, which fell with a bang on to the lee side of the poop, scattering grease in all directions.

Down on deck I heard Miss Vairne cry out sharply in fear, and somehow, even as I hung there feet uppermost, a feeling of pleasure filled me at the concern in her voice. The next moment I had reached up to the spanker head outhaul, and was making my way swiftly down to the deck. As I dropped on my feet I heard the second mate’s voice below the break of the poop. His head came into view. When he saw me standing on the deck wiping my greasy hands on a bit of shakins, he wanted to know what the blazes I was doing there. Then his eyes caught sight of the grease-bespattered decks, and he fairly gasped.

“By gad,” he roared, “you’ve made a mess here, d—n you! Get some waste and your knife, and get it cleaned up. You’re worse than a rotten ordinary!”

I replied nothing. This was the very thing for which I had aimed in dropping the grease-pot. I knew that I should have to clean it up, and I knew that it would take time. I intended that it should take time, and during that time it would be very hard luck indeed if I did not get a chance to have a talk with Miss Vairne.

For some ten minutes I scraped away busily, without raising my gaze from the deck. Then I heard the second mate go down the poop ladder, and I knew that it would be safe to look round. I now saw that Miss Vairne was sitting on the lee side of the cabin skylight. From the wheel, neither of us could be seen, so that I felt safe in smiling and raising my cap; yet I did not attempt to rise to my feet, but kept on busily scraping. At my salutation, Miss Vairne smiled a rather wan little smile. Then she rose slowly and walked towards me. Reaching the rail, she stopped, and I spoke.

“Aren’t you well, Miss Vairne?” I asked.

^“Yes,” she replied. “You might have been killed.”

“Oh, this!” I replied. “Why, I’ve done it on purpose, so as to get a chance to speak to you while I am cleaning it up.”

“But you slipped—you all but fell. That—that—”

“Yes,” I said; “that was done purposely, so as to make the dropping of the slush-pot appear an accident.”

She looked at me a moment; then, slowly, a little wave of colour passed across her face—and grew.

And at that, as it were in an instant of time, I knew, and knowing, I cried almost inanely:

“You cared?”

The colour grew gloriously in her face, and suffused her throat and temples. She turned and looked out across the sea. For my part, I was filled with a tumult of wonder and unbelief, and, deeper than these, joy.

“Miss Vairne—Miss Vairne!” I cried.

She turned now and faced me, and her eyes were like love stars.

“Eina,” she said. “Call me Eina. And you?”

She paused.

“Eina! Eina! Eina!” I repeated, in a sort of delirium.

“You haven’t told me yours?” she reproached.

“Mine!” I said, with a sort of little gasp. “Mine! Just John.”

“John Kenstone?” she said.

“Yes,” I replied stupidly.

“And you’re one of the deck-hands—common sailors?” she added joyously.

“Nay,” I said, gathering my wits somewhat, “but your sweetheart.”

She laughed splendidly, and seemed intending to add some new impertinence; then, suddenly changing her mind, said:

“But you have not told me that you love me. You have not asked me. You—”

“You know that I do—since the very first moment in which I set eyes upon you. I believe you knew—then.”

I would have stood up to embrace her there upon the poop before all, but she beckoned me with her hand not to move.

“Nay, Mr. Common Sailor,” she answered. “Stay you and scrape up your grease-spots—”

She paused, caught her breath with a naughty little gurgle, and bent towards me, her eyes fairly dancing.

“John Kenstone,” she said, “you’re a naughty boy, and a silly boy, and you don’t know one bit how to make love. You gave me a horrid fright, and you’re afraid to say that you love me; but I’m not afraid. I love you. I loved you at first, and I shall always love you.”

She bent lower.

“Quick!” she said. “Now!”

Something touched my lips for the briefest part of an instant, and then she was standing demurely a yard away.

She had kissed me! It had been no more than like the breath of a summer wind; yet she had kissed me, and with the very thought, almost, I was overwhelmed.

I looked up at her confusedly. She was looking back at me with a funny little droop of the lids, and round her mouth it seemed to me there lurked a shadow of tenderness that was only for me.

Abruptly her mood changed.

“What was it you wanted to say when you risked your life?”

She nodded with her head towards the gaff.

“I didn’t—” I began; but she interrupted me with a queer air of sternness.

“What was it?”

I felt momentarily confused.

“Oh, lots of things!” I said. Then, remembering more particularly; “You seemed unhappy.”

“I was,” she put in, “but I’m not now! Oh, I have wanted you, but I’ve been afraid of getting you into trouble with that—that brute!”

“The second mate?”

“Yes. He seems to have kept you away from me at the other end of the ship, and I didn’t know—”

“That I loved you?” I said, as she hesitated.

She nodded.

“I’m afraid of that man and the first mate! They’ve—they’ve—”

“They’ve not said anything?” I asked, feeling suddenly savage.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I told the captain, and he’s had an awful row with the second mate. I keep out of their way as much as possible.”

“Your chaperon?” I questioned.

“I can’t stand her!” she returned passionately. “I believe she’s a bad woman. She’s false to me, and she and the steward and the second mate talk together. She watches me.”

I told her what the steward had said to me, and how afterwards I had seen her chaperon talking to the second mate under the break of the poop.

“You must take a stand,” I said. “Ask the skipper for a cabin for yourself. Lock yourself in at nights; you’ll be safe then. And, besides, there’s always the skipper. He’s the boss, you know.”

“And now I’ve got you,” she added.

“Yes,” I said.

“What a great man you are!” she went on, looking down at me as I knelt there upon the deck.

“Only six foot,” I said apologetically.

“No, not only that way—broad. And your arms; I noticed them that first day. I love your arms!”

I laughed, for I was very strong, and she seemed to sting all the virility in me to greater life.

“I do love a man!” she said, as though to herself. Then, quite gravely: “You could kill the second mate!”

I stared at her.

“I don’t know,” I said, with equal gravity. “He’s a great, thick-set brute.”

She gave a gesture of dissent, and abruptly dropped her serious air. A ripple of mischief ran across her face and stirred in her eyes. She came a step towards me, and bent her face dangerously near.

“Wouldn’t you like to?” she said.

I caught her with my great hands.

“Yes,” I replied; and kissed her full on the lips.

I released her, and she stood up, her hair tossing in the wind and her cheeks gloriously rosy. On my part, I knelt upon the deck almost at her feet and looked up at her manfully. Then I caught the sound of the second mate returning along the main-deck. She also heard him, and walked away to the side and leant over. I went on with my scraping.

During the rest of that watch the second mate stayed on the poop, so that I had no further chance of speaking with Eina. Yet, in spite of his presence, our eyes met more than once, and that was something.

That same night Eina and I had a long, cautious talk as I stood at the wheel. She managed it by leaning over the taffrail and staring down into the wake, as though lost in thought. Yet all the time that she kept her face turned away she was talking to me in a low voice.

My gad! I was happy. She spoke unhesitatingly, and told me that I was the one fellow on this earth, and the sea, too—I heard her laugh naughtily to herself at that—whom she should ever love. And once, when the second mate had gone down on to the main deck to give the yards a cant, she stepped swiftly over to where I stood and kissed me on the lips. I had not become inured to such surprises, and it was done so quickly that she was back again by the rail and staring down demurely into the waters before I had recovered my wits. Yet she had left me tingling, so that I was possessed with a blind desire to leave the wheel and take her into my arms.

Even as I comprehended my wish, the second mate’s head appeared over the top step of the poop-ladder. He came aft and stared into the binnacle. Fortunately, the ship’s head was steady on her course. As he turned away, he gave one sharp, almost suspicious glance into my face; but I was prepared for him, and my features were set in an expression of complete indifference, while my eyes bore steadily on the compass-card swaying within the lighted binnacle.

I think he was satisfied, for the next instant he went for’ard and resumed his interrupted tramp to and fro across the break of the poop.

As soon as he was gone, Eina began again to talk to me, though still taking the utmost care never to turn her face in my direction. Indeed, once she even left her place and went to sit on the saloon skylight some distance away; but presently she came back to her former post.

It was after her return that I put into execution an idea that had occurred to me since the morning. This was to take from my pocket a peculiar little whistle that I had used years previously when second mate. The tone of this whistle was extraordinarily piercing, and I knew that I should be able at any time to recognise its note were it blown.

“Eina,” I said, “I’ve a whistle here that I’m going to throw over to you. See you catch it.”

I waited until the second mate was on the opposite side of the deck; then I threw. It struck her dress and tinkled down on to the deck, but in an instant she had it.

“Look you, Eina,” I called, in a low voice, “if ever you want me at any time—want me badly—blow that whistle, and I will come to you, if I am alive.”

It was the following day, in the afternoon watch, that a great sensation went through the ship. This was neither more nor less than the sudden death of the captain. He had complained soon after dinner of feeling unwell, and had gone to his bunk. Then, a little before four bells, he was discovered by the steward lying there dead.

I was convinced, as soon as I heard the news, that the poor old chap had been done to death. I remembered how the steward and second mate had colloqued together. It would have been but a very simple matter for the steward—at someone’s instigation—to doctor the skipper’s grub. I felt sure that the second mate was not the sort of chap to stick at anything, and there had been that row between him and the skipper. I thought of Eina, and grew afraid for her, alone amongst the crowd aft. I thanked God for the thought that had prompted me to give her the whistle. At least, it gave her a means of communicating with me, should there be need. And then there was the third mate. He, I felt sure, was to be depended on. The idea came to me to try and get a few words with him, and this I managed at the end of the second dog watch that night. At first he was inclined to be on his dignity, but I showed him my second’s ticket, and he came round then, I spoke of Eina, and told him how that the second mate had acted towards her in an insulting manner.

At that the good fellow’s blood boiled up in a heavyish sort of way, and I knew that it would be safe to talk to him straightly. I hinted at my suspicions that the skipper’s death had not been natural, but this he would not have. Yet I know that he was impressed in spite of himself, and he agreed to act with me in mounting guard as much as possible over Miss Vairne. Then I left him, and returned for’ard.

The next day the second mate started in to show the sort of stuff of which he was made. He ran the men round like a lot of slaves, and when one or two of them grumbled, came down on to the main deck, and laid them out with a belaying-pin. In his own watch, and in his own particular way, the first mate was just as bad, and for a week the ship was more like a floating prison than aught else.

At the end of that time, being a crowd of Britishers, they were just ripe for mutiny, and when at last the second struck me, and in return I laid him out upon the deck with a blow in the face, they would have torn him to pieces and mutinied outright, only that I bade them “hold on” and wait.

After that time the second went armed, though never again did he venture to touch me. I had taught him one lesson. And all these weary days I listened and listened perchance the whistle should call me to rescue my darling from vile hands.

It was two nights later, and in the middle watch, that the call came. I was lying half dressed in my bunk, and, though asleep when the note went, it thrilled in my ears like a bugle. In one instant of time I was upon the deck, and racing aft in my stockinged feet. As I ran I thought I caught a faint scream from aft. Then I was at the saloon doorway that opens on to the main-deck under the poop. The door was open, and I leapt into the short passage, my stockings making no sound. Even as I entered, from within there came a man’s voice raised in anger. It was the third mate’s. Then a pistol-shot, and a cry of agony from him, and a curse in the second’s voice, accompanied by the colder, more deadly laughter of the first mate. Immediately afterwards there rose a short, despairing scream from Eina, and then I was among them. My gad! I am a quiet man, but then I was mad. They—the first and second mates—had hold of her. In the first mate’s left hand there still smoked a revolver. Standing by, holding a candle, was the hideous steward, an evil grin on his monkey face.

He sung out something, and the mate glanced round. He saw me, and raised his revolver; but in the same instant I struck him, and his face disappeared from sight. The second mate staggered back, loosing Eina, and reaching back to his pistol-pocket. Yet he, like the mate, was too late. Once, and then again, I struck him with my clenched hands; and after that there was scarcely life, let alone fight, in him. He collapsed with a crash on to the now diddering steward, and the two rolled helplessly on to the deck.

Then I turned to her, and caught her into my arms just as she fell senseless. I carried her out on to the deck, and laid her on the after-hatch. The crew had come aft, hearing the firing and the shouts. To some of them I shouted to go into the saloon, and make the steward hustle out with brandy; yet I had scarcely spoken before the cringing object stood beside me with a decanter half full.

Presently, when my sweetheart was revived, she told me how that she had waked to find the second mate in the doorway of her berth. Evidently he must have got in by means of a master key, probably obtained from the rascally steward. She had blown her whistle, and, before she could do so again, he had snatched it from her. Then the first mate had appeared upon the scene, and almost directly the third mate. The third had interposed, but him the first had shot down like a dog without a word. Then—I had come.

The tone in which she said that thrilled me. Yet she called me to myself, by asking whether anything had yet been done for the poor third mate. I told her no, but that I would go at once. At that she said she would come with me.

We found him lying on the port side of the saloon table, and a short examination showed that he had been shot through the chest. Yet he still lived, and we carried him into his berth and laid him in his bunk, and left him in Eina’s charge, while I, with some of the men, carried the second into a spare berth and locked him in; first, however, removing from him his pistol. When we came to the mate, there was need of nothing but some old canvas, for he was stone dead. I directed them to carry him out on to one of the hatches for the present. As they went, I caught a man’s voice.

“My Gawd!” it said. “That’s where ’e ’it ’im!”

And when they came back, quite naturally for further orders, they eyed me with awe-stricken glances.

There is little remaining to be told. I took charge of the ship, and worked her home. The third mate, under the unremitting care and attention of Eina, recovered. Indeed, he acted as my best man at a certain ceremony that Eina and I went through soon after our return. With regard to the second mate and the steward, the newspapers have already told what happened to them, and I will leave it there. There would I also leave all the flattering things that were said about my unworthy self, but that I cannot resist quoting one line:

“Mr. John Kenstone is indeed to be envied in his bonny wife.”

And I am.