CHAPTER IV The Jinx
THERE was an interval of silent tension during which both men peered at each other. The Eastern Gull pitched and rolled, creaking in every plate. Outside you could hear the scream of the monsoon, the uproarious crashes of giant waves. It seemed to me that Captain Cook must have lost his mind—to ask this man to take the bridge.
Rassel probably had the same thought. He asked in a strained low voice: "Do you realize what you're saying, Captain Cook? You know my reputation."
"To hell with reputation! Neither my mate nor I are in any shape to take the Eastern Gull through this storm. We need somebody with steady nerves, somebody who can hold his feet up there. You've been a master in your own right. What do you say?"
"You know that on two other occasions I failed to bring my ship through?"
"I'm not talking about other occasions," rapped out Captain Cook. "How about now?"
Again there was an instant of uncertain stillness. Then, of a sudden, Dan Rassel tugged down the peak of his cap, sent a swift glance through a porthole into darkness. Lightning flashed vividly. He must have had a glimpse of the rugged Sumatra coast. He went doggedly to the door.
"I'll take over," he said. "That is, if the men will take orders from me."
"I'll see that they do," the captain promised grimly.
With Dan Rassel on the bridge, I stood at the porthole in the captain's quarters and gaped out in increasing terror. Whenever lurid lightning flared, I had a momentary glimpse of the rocky, boiling shore. It seemed nearer than ever. It was like a magnet, irresistibly drawing the Eastern Gull toward doom. Perspiration was dribbling down my cheeks.
"Captain," I said hoarsely, "this is crazy!"
"Leave it to me." His voice was curt. He, too, was at a porthole, watching the coast.
THE ship heaved more wildly. It seemed to me that the seas had grown higher, more eager to overwhelm us. I'd never known the Eastern Gull to roll and pitch as madly as she did this night. Occasionally a man passed the porthole, his hands desperately clinging to whatever he
Hoodoo of the Sea
11 could seize for support.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded.
Captain Cook shook his head. His face was tense and drawn and determined.
"Do you realize what you're risking?" I shouted. "It isn't only the Eastern Gull—it's the men that are on board!"
"We'll be all right."
"With a hoodoo on the bridge—"
"He isn't a hoodoo. He'll pull us through." Captain Cook looked at me in a strange way. "If we get too close to those reefs," he added softly, "there's nothing to prevent my going up on the bridge. But meanwhile— I intend to give him his chance."
"To wreck us!"
"To get us through this storm."
"But why?" I expostulated. "Why? What interest have you in him?"
To that he said nothing.
That night seemed the longest I'd ever known. It dragged through centuries. Time after time men lurched into the captain's quarters to report trouble. Something was wrong in the engine room. Two lifeboats were carried away. Part of the after rail vanished over the side. Each time a sailor appeared Captain Cook pushed me into the bed, made me lie there. He himself, with his right arm in a sling, sat down and received reports gravely. "Better go up and tell it to Captain Rassel," he said quietly. "He's running things for the time being—while I rest."
You could tell that the men thought something had gone wrong with Captain Cook's brain. To rest in a storm of this kind was unheard of. Yet the training of seventeen years stood him in good stead that night.
Captain Jerry Cook had taught men to respect him, to trust in his judgment. In seventeen years he had never been wrong. And so, even when he placed a jinx on the bridge, our men were inclined to accept his action with a kind of mute, doglike trust. Yet they were terrified. You could see it in their eyes.
And whenever I rose to look out of the porthole I couldn't blame them. It seemed to me that the reefs of Sumatra, with white foam smoking over them, were scarcely a quarter of a mile off our port. The Eastern Gull, though her screws heroically churned the seas, was making pitifully little headway against those tremendous waves. Inexorably, steadily, we were being pushed toward the rocks.
"For God's sake, Captain," I pleaded harshly, "get out there and take charge! We're riding straight to hell!"
"I'm taking full responsibility."
"But the lives of these men—"
"They'll be all right."
And then came the maddest hours I had ever known—hours during which I waited in agonizing suspense to feel the Eastern Gull hurl herself upon the reefs. Once, as she quivered, it seemed to me that I could feel rocks graze her hull. With a cry I started toward the door. But Captain Cook seized my shoulder, flung me back violently.
"My orders are that you stay here!" he rasped.
"But those reefs—"
"Those weren't reefs. Be quiet!"
He was insane. I felt almost positive of it. To hand his ship over to a man like Dan Rassel, while he himself remained inactive at a time like this—it wasn't human. I had a feeling that as first mate I ought to overpower the captain—mutinous as it might seem. For the sake of the crew I ought to—
But I didn't do it. I couldn't because I knew Jerry Cook wasn't insane.
He knew exactly what he was doing and why—though he wasn't telling anyone. There was anxiety in the deep lines of his countenance as he peered out of the porthole. He, too, saw how close we came to those reefs. He, too, must have been praying throughout that night. But he never lost his
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12 poise.
He could be deprived of his command for an act of this sort. And he must have realized it. Yet he remained stubborn and determined. And I stayed with him—waiting in anguish to hear the crash—
The miracle happened. We didn't smash.
At dawn the wind died as suddenly as it had swept across the seas, and the huge waves began to subside. Gaping out of the porthole, I could see that we were now more than a mile from the coast of Sumatra—a mile that was eloquent of safety. I turned, exhausted and dizzy, to gape at Captain Cook. He sat wearily, his arm still in a sling, and smiled at the floor. It was a queer smile, utterly unlike anything I had ever seen on his features. And he looked very old.
"He's pulled us through," I whispered.
"I knew he would."
For a while I couldn't speak. As the morning brightened, the Eastern Gull's screws seemed to take a firmer hold on the seas. We forged ahead with greater speed and steadiness, pitching regularly over rhythmic swells. It was half an hour later that the door unexpectedly opened to frame the red-haired Dan Rassel.
He looked ready to collapse. His face was soaked. His red hair lay pasted to his forehead. He'd lost his seaman's cap, and his coat hung open. He leaned limply against the door.
"Well, Captain, looks like we came through the night safe enough," he said hoarsely.
"Thanks, Rassel."
The red-haired man grinned twistedly. His eyes swung to me. "Feeling better?"
"Why, I—yes, thanks," I stammered. "I'm all right now."
"Well enough to take over on the bridge?"
"Eh? Oh, yes—yes, sure."
"Because if you are, I'm going below for some coffee—and a bit of sleep. We'll be all right now."
Captain Cook didn't speak at all. He continued to stare at the deck, while Rassel turned and staggered out of our sight. It was only after the man was gone that Cook drew a long, audible breath. "First port we get to," he said in a tired voice, "I'll put Dan Rassel ashore."
FOUR months almost passed before we returned to unload another cargo of copra at Surabaja. We worked hard that day, and when it was all over Captain Cook invited me as usual to join him in a drink ashore. We walked through the moonlight to Gan How's pasangrahan on the waterfront.
Captain Cook and I went to the bar, swallowed a couple of whiskeys. And we had been in the place scarcely half an hour when Dan Rassel entered. I put down my glass and stared at him in surprise.
He had changed. No longer were his deep-set eyes embittered. They looked lively now, even gay. When he saw us he came straight to the bar with a boyish grin and thrust his hand out to Captain Cook.
"Hello!" he said cheerily. "I heard your ship had come in. I've been hunting you for the past hour. How are you?"
Captain Cook slowly thrust his glass aside and wiped a hand across his mouth.
"No hard feelings for the— shanghaiing?"
Rassel laughed. He sought the captain's hand and pumped it heartily. He ordered whiskey for the three of us. Then, comfortably leaning his elbow on the bar, he said:
"Maybe you don't realize what you've done for me. That night when you had me take the Eastern Gull through the storm—actually lifting her off the reefs, as it were—you broke my reputation for being a jinx. I saved the ship
Hoodoo of the Sea
13 that night, and you gave me my chance to do it. Don't think I don't appreciate the fact that you spread the news all through the Eastern seas. You even cabled your owners. Oh, I heard about it! You told them that if it hadn't been for me the Eastern Gull would have gone to smash. Well, the news got around."
RASSEL paused to pick u£ his glass. He raised it toward the captain, as if in toast.
"It got around," he went on easily. "Men began to laugh at the reputation I used to have before that night. A month ago I got another ship. She's out in the Kali Mas now. I'm sailing tomorrow for Adelaide."
I watched Captain Cook and I could see a light of joy glow in the depths of his eyes. He smiled—the first genuinely happy smile I'd seen on his countenance in months. He caught Dan Rassel's hand in a mighty grip.
"I'm proud to hear, it," he said softly. "Good luck to you."
And that was all.
We had several drinks. Then the captain and I started back for the Eastern Gull. Apparently Cook had had a few too many, because his steps weren't too steady. In fact, I had to hold his arm.
"Why did you do it?" I whispered at last.
"Do what?"
"Give Dan Rassel his chance."
Captain Cook didn't immediately reply. He gazed away across the moonlit Kali Mas. For a time I thought he wasn't going to answer at all. So I told him:
"You're not fooling me. You shanghaied him because you wanted him on board if a storm came up. You wanted to give him that chance—to break his reputation as a jinx. I'm asking—why did you do it?"
"Yes," Captain Cook agreed softly, slowly. "I guess maybe you are entitled to know." He hesitated, and glanced at me obliquely with eyes at once searching and uncertain. "I'll tell you, Warden. But if you ever open your mouth about this to a living soul—if you ever mention it anywhere, at any time, to Dan Rassel, or anybody else—so help me, I'll break every bone in your body."
"Go ahead," I said quietly.
Captain Cook drew a long breath. His jaws hardened.
"Warden," he said huskily, "some thirty years ago, when I was much younger, I—I did something mighty rotten. I had a wife and son then. I deserted them at Singapore."
I gaped at him. In my astonishment I all but stopped.
"Deserted them," he grated. "A couple of years later I learned that my wife had died. I didn't know what had happened to the boy. Somebody took care of him. In fact, I didn't hear of him again until—well, until two-three years ago, when he got into trouble on the reefs of Borneo." Captain Cook gulped. "I don't mind telling you, Warden, that after I deserted my wife and kid, I—I changed my name. Had to do it to keep out of trouble. In those days, you see, my name was—Rassel."