This Book is the Property of 
 
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 Books will be resfcfvSFon the 
 of Five CenL,. TIprlSayment 
 
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 notice to you that d^Bbok 
 held for three days TOli sefi 
 date of
 
 The Bottle-Fillers
 
 The Bottle-Fillers 
 
 By 
 
 Edward Noble 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 THE RIVERSIDE PRESS, CAMBRIDGE 
 1916
 
 First Printed . . . September, 1915 
 New Impressions October, 1915 ; January, 1916 
 
 Printed in Gnat Britain
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PHASE THE FIRST: THE CRIME 
 
 CHAPTEK PAGB 
 
 I. THE RIDDLE ..... 3 
 
 II. ALL HANDS AHOY ! . . . .7 
 
 III. KISMET . . . .14 
 
 PHASE THE SECOND: THE SENTENCE 
 
 I. A CHALLENGE . . . * ! . 29 
 
 II. WE CONCUR 48 
 
 III. LUCY . . . U&i.'- . . 54 
 
 IV. YESTERDAY . . #.;'- IL M> . 63 
 V. AND GOD HAD MADE THEM ONE . 68 
 
 VI. ONE IN A CROWD . -H** . . 74 
 
 VII. THREE LETTERS 80 
 
 VIII. THE BILLET . , * * U ; . . 86 
 
 IX. AT THE GANGWAY . :^7 . . 92 
 
 X. CAPTAIN WORSDALE .... 97 
 
 XI. THE MEANING OF IT . . . .104 
 
 XII. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 116 
 
 PHASE THE THIRD : TICKET-OF-LEAVE 
 
 I. DOCKWALLOPING . . . .129 
 
 II. THE ISLE OF DOGS . . . .186 
 
 III. WILLIAM TIPTON 147
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAQB 
 
 IV. MILESTONES 155 
 
 V. A PROBATIONER 166 
 
 VI. GLASGOW 175 
 
 VII. THE CHANCE 182 
 
 VIII. HEADING SOUTH . . . .198 
 
 IX. A LEGEND AT DAWN .... 205 
 
 X. LAVS DEO ...... 210 
 
 XI. THE WAY TO THE STARS . . .217 
 
 XII. THE CLOSING OF GATES . . . 226 
 
 PHASE THE FOURTH: EXPIATION 
 
 I. PETER WITTERSPOON .... 247 
 
 II. " I TRUSTED YOU " . . . . 265 
 
 III. NO. 45, BEARSTED ROAD . . . 273 
 
 IV. CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE. . . 285 
 
 v. "POSTED" 298 
 
 VI. TIDE-TIME. . . >i*:f! . . 810 
 
 VII. DUST OF THE CITIES . <Jifc> \/A. . 322 
 
 VIII. THE SAILING OF GRISSLDJ. jl . . 828 
 
 IX. A THIN SHEET OF STEEL . . . 841 
 
 X. THE STAR ?..... 859 
 
 XI. THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND . . 869 
 
 XII. MINATORY ';-^P*,f .... 884 
 
 XIII. SPLSNDIDE MENDAX . . . .393 
 
 XIV. DAWN . . 410
 
 NOTE 
 
 A YEAR ago to-day I completed the revision of a typed 
 MS. which now goes to press entitled, as I desired, " The 
 Bottle-Fillers." That is to say, as a Yankee once ex- 
 pressed it, diving straight to the bedrock of fact, sailors of 
 the red ensign and of the blue. 
 
 They were peaceful enough men in the days with which 
 this story is concerned, engaged in extracting, unsung, 
 such nourishment as may be obtained from a nearly dry 
 crust, and the nation was unaware of them. 
 
 To-day they are warriors even as their brothers of the 
 white ensign, and have given their quota of blood without 
 chaffering commanders, lieutenants, midshipmen of the 
 R.N.R. and Fleet Reserves ; men for mine-sweeping, 
 mine-laying, trailing lures for submarines, patrolling, 
 trooping, fighting anywhere where the seas roll and 
 Britain's need was greatest. Men from the depths lifted 
 to the heights ; men without promise alive suddenly to 
 the wording of His Majesty's order given last May " The 
 King realises what magnificent work has been done by 
 the brave officers and crews of his Merchant Service during 
 the past months of war." 
 
 The King realises ! And the question arises, does the 
 nation also realise ? 
 
 One goes back to this story of the all too common events 
 of our sea history during the smug and soul-stifled days 
 of a harnessed and peaceful competition. It has nothing 
 more warlike in its structure than the war against odds, 
 ashore and afloat, which is the perennial business of 
 seamen. It treats of certain factors which belong to the 
 dormant past, the stupid leadline and stupider deckload 
 which we tamely adopted at the bidding of our competi- 
 tors ; of the officers and men, accoutrements rusty or flung 
 aside, wearily engaged in directing great ships hither and 
 
 2137444 '
 
 viii NOTE 
 
 thither upon the seas, and in the process filling the 
 pantries and cupboards of the British nation. It touches 
 on the attitude of that nation which has lately risen from 
 its sleep, honour and justice on its lips, to strike an enemy 
 who long had strangled it. It touches, too, on the 
 attitude of Authority ... an attitude which must never 
 again obtrude ; which must remain buried, as the war has 
 buried it, deep deep as the seas which lie over murdered 
 Lusitania. 
 
 E. N. 
 ORE, 
 July 23rd, 1915.
 
 Phase the First 
 The Riddle
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE RIDDLE 
 
 Gutterin 1 through the dark 
 
 Climbin', not fer joy, 
 Rollin' like the good old Ark 
 
 Just fer to annoy ? 
 Quakin' like a naspen tree 
 
 Tossin' in the wind, 
 Everytime she 'its a sea 
 
 Flat, wiv 'er be'ind. 
 
 Dollopin', wallopin', blindly 
 
 Over the sea we go 
 Buttin' at mountains gaily 
 
 Just as if we's a Show ! 
 Wallopin', dollopin', bashin' 'em, 
 
 Bound fer 'Amburg they say, 
 Wiv a deckload playin' Ka-fu-salem 
 
 Like as if she's a dray. 
 
 A STEAMER rolled mammering in the lap of a grey sea 
 which welled on her quarter. 
 
 She seemed to be in doubt of her builder's intention. 
 Whether, for instance, she should remain under water or 
 above water, sidelong upon it or sidelong beneath it, upon 
 her head or upon her tail whether indeed it would not be 
 well to turn turtle and try the effect of that. 
 
 They called her the Sphinx, which was inappropriate, 
 seeing she had neither the head of a woman nor the body 
 of a lioness still, she was inscrutable, enigmatic as the 
 dainty personage who christened her. 
 
 In 1902, when she was born, she was something to look 
 at. She had a shiny, pink belly and a shiny, grey back. 
 White and buff had been adopted for her scheme of 
 ornamentation, and men who flourished stencil plates had 
 worked patterns on the three turrets she carried for housing 
 her crew. She shone mellow and rotund on that day as a 
 cheese ; but her managing owner, when he saw her stand- 
 ing out to sea, loaded, and with an orange dawn for back- 
 ground, decided she looked like a castle. " A picture of
 
 4 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 battlements and straight, stiff spars, beautiful to see," was 
 the figment he found for her. 
 
 Perhaps he was right ; but this happened six years ago. 
 Since then she had essayed the problem of carrying deck- 
 loads, her crew had learned to call her the Riddle, and 
 William Tipton, master mariner, had decided to come out 
 of her. Of course this necessitated finding a new skipper, 
 and presently Denis O'Hagan, lately an officer in the mail 
 service, applied. The managing owner, or, to speak by 
 the book, Messrs. Sharum, Fit & Co., Ltd., said he liked 
 the look of him. He added in a ruminating fashion en- 
 tirely his own, that if Captain O'Hagan cared to invest 
 in the Sphinx, he thought he could promise him the job. 
 Captain O'Hagan, with a snug little legacy burning a hole 
 in his pocket, thought he could. There were pourparlers 
 in consequence, and Denis O'Hagan presently stood in the 
 shoes of William Tipton, master mariner, late of the 
 Sphinx, without in any way consulting him. 
 
 This was a pity. Indeed it may be taken as the initial 
 mistake unless you are a misogamist and are prepared to 
 attribute all that follows to Lucy, who at this moment was 
 making ready to marry Denis O'Hagan ; or are prepared 
 to assert that sailors should remain unmarried. 
 
 As a matter of fact Captain Tipton was at some expense 
 just then and was engaged in the process of " getting 
 back his money " from Sharum, Fit & Co., Ltd., an 
 exceedingly difficult task, so it seemed. Captain Tipton 
 had come to his command in very nearly the same fashion 
 four years earlier. Sharum said he rather liked the look 
 of him, adding after a little circumlocution, that if he was 
 in a position to invest, he thought it possible his partners 
 would consent to his appointment. 
 
 If, therefore, Denis O'Hagan had happened to meet 
 William Tipton over a gin cocktail before consenting to 
 invest, he would not have been at the pains to pu/zle 
 things out now that he commanded the Sphinx. 
 
 During his first trip to the West, O'Hagan wondered 
 why Tipton resigned ; on his return with a deckload the 
 Sphinx made it plain. Still, he remained in command, 
 because, you see, he had resigned the mail service, had 
 married Lucy and taken a share in the Riddle the mad, 
 wild Irish gossoon that he was. 
 
 This, then, was O'Hagan's second voyage and he thanked 
 God he was nearing the end of it. Whether, when he
 
 THE RIDDLE 5 
 
 arrived, it would be possible to get out of this vessel and 
 into another was see-sawing in his mind. He was tethered, 
 in effect, by that investment he had made. Nearly five 
 hundred cool British sovereigns were sunk in the Sphinx. 
 He marched the bridge considering how he could recover 
 them. Since the first day out from New York the ship's 
 uneasy movements had become a burden to him. He had 
 formulated no opinion why. Had he been asked, he 
 probably would have said, " I don't like the feel of her," 
 and that, after all, is no reason. 
 
 He also prayed they might have decent weather. Last 
 voyage was millpond work ; but now September had 
 come in, there were signs of early equinoctials, and he 
 didn't like that deckload they carried. Nor did the 
 Sphinx. It made her sulky, in O'Hagan's phrase, which 
 means that she cared very little whether she answered to 
 his call, or turned sidelong to examine the seas. 
 
 She seemed to have acquired a habit of declination 
 which rather amused her. Like a child with a new toy, 
 she was always fiddling with it. At the perpendicular she 
 openly scoffed. Any little gust, or helm action, was 
 sufficient to tilt her. She swayed as she slouched towards 
 the dawn, and Zephyr smiled upon her effrontery. 
 
 The stark Atlantic skies stooped over her, marking the 
 line she drew. America had done with her and sent her 
 forth packed to the bridge. Gentle winds from the 
 sou'-west had blown upon her, without aim or concentra- 
 tion, pushing her channelwards. Sometimes they had 
 provided a curtain for her ; sometimes held it up so that 
 the sea and the birds, the grampus and blackfish and 
 porpoise which followed her, might learn new tricks of 
 dive and pirouette. 
 
 For two thousand six hundred miles she had moved on 
 her bee-line track towards the rising sun ; her decks 
 awash in the swell sent down to tend her ; and for one 
 thousand additional miles she must continue plodding. 
 The ship of Sahara twists grumbling when too heavily 
 laden, but refuses in spite of blows to rise ; the ship of the 
 Andean plateau speaks her mind in similar conditions ; 
 but the ship fashioned by man is inarticulate until her 
 master leads her to the playground. Then she looks 
 round and becomes explanatory but the hour for words 
 has gone by. 
 
 It was only a sluggish line the Sphinx had drawn hither
 
 6 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 from New York. A little over two hundred miles a day, 
 occasionally rather less. If a gale came her way she waited 
 until it was tired if it happened to blow in her face. 
 She was one of the new carriers, of easy coal consumption 
 and large capacity ; a ship which could be worked with a 
 minimum of hands those people of the deck and the 
 Black squad who had dubbed her the Riddle, who knew 
 precisely of what she was capable and damned the moment 
 which had seen them sign on in her. 
 
 New York pushed her out on the last day of August, and 
 on the 12th of September, 1907, she was still one thousand 
 miles from Hamburg. To be precise her position when 
 night closed in was 42 21' N., 12 46' W. Fastnet was a 
 point one hundred and seventy-five miles distant on one 
 bearing and the Lizard three hundred miles ahead on 
 another, or, as O'Hagan put it, on a bearing N. 78 E. 
 true. All this, of course, provided the ship's reckoning 
 was correct. 
 
 From her bridge it was possible only to see discoloured 
 water, seas which ran lumpily for no apparent reason, a 
 dim green mistiness which increased as the day waned. 
 Sailors know these as some of the signs that England and 
 her Channel is near at hand ; fishermen, that they are in 
 the neighbourhood of the Great Sole Bank, and that the 
 Little Sole Bank lies farther down there in the greyness. 
 Now O'Hagan and those with him on the bridge were not 
 concerned with sole, but with the fact that the glass was 
 falling still, that the thin mist had become rain, and the 
 movements of the Sphinx unpleasant to recognise. 
 
 So night fell upon her ; the black night of an English 
 autumn, moonless, starless, but pricked on all sides with 
 phosphorescence . . . dull globes of it, comet-like flashes, 
 and, wherever the sea broke or the ship's side touched it 
 there fell stars and dim flame most wonderful to observe. 
 
 She moved swaying upon a sea which increased in 
 lumpiness. She came up to the wind now on this side, 
 now on the other, but the busy helmsman forced her back. 
 The seas that boarded her struck fire out of the sodden 
 cases and casks with which her well-decks were cumbered. 
 Sometimes there came a jerk, sometimes a prolonged 
 growl, sometimes a tin-pot squeal. 
 
 And over all and above all the wind hummed its 
 majestic and impersonal diapason.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ALL HANDS AHOY ! 
 
 Down by the edge of soundin's 
 
 That's where the sailors lie ; 
 Flat on the floor like groundlin's 
 
 To hear the ships go by ... 
 Lift their 'eads to 'ail us 
 
 Wave their arras awhile, 
 There the dead men watch us, 
 
 There the dead men smile. 
 
 AT eight o'clock the Sphinx, when somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood of the Great Sole Bank, performed that 
 evolution which is known among sailors as " turning 
 round to have a look at herself," but as it was black night 
 only the phosphorescent swirl she made with her wake 
 was to be seen. A green sea, though, which had been 
 chasing her up the floor of the playground decided to 
 make a sweep, leaped the rail and attacked the deckload. 
 That was cowardly. On consideration, however, it was 
 just the sort of thing sailors expect of the sea when a new 
 hand has come to the wheel and he has not had time to 
 rub the sleep out of his eyes. 
 
 Captain O'Hagan crossed from his place behind the 
 dodger and said 
 
 " Starboard there ! What the devil are you doing with 
 her ? " 
 
 " 'Elm's 'ard hover," said a personage from the slums 
 of Whitechapel. " Comes up, she do, against 'er 'ellum, 
 sir." 
 
 " Watch her then. Keep the wheel moving and don't 
 let her run wild," said O'Hagan shortly. 
 
 " Bloornin' compass don't move," growled the man. 
 " Looks as if it's glued." 
 
 " Then watch her head." 
 
 A crash in the well-deck, somewhere in that growing 
 chaos they faced, recalled O'Hagan to his post of observa- 
 tion and Cockney was free to swear himself blind. He
 
 8 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 was incompetent, that made him angry. He was afraid 
 that made him vociferent. The wheel was stiff he 
 damned the wheel. No one heard. 
 
 O'Hagan stood looking out into the night. Rather 
 different to the old life was his thought ; rather rough on 
 Lucy if he brought her next trip and it was like this. He 
 wondered. Then a sea rolled gurgling and cluttering past 
 the rail as the Sphinx leaned down to greet it. " Hum ! 
 Going to blow . . . we seem to be in for dirt ! " was 
 O'Hagan's comment. 
 
 There was very little doubt on that score . . . but 
 what in the world was that noise ? Something adrift ? 
 He paused by the bridge rail listening. He could not see 
 what it was. The world he faced was black and humming ; 
 but " Little Steel," as he was called, because he was big, 
 was down there somewhere going the rounds. Presently 
 he would be up with his report and the matter must be 
 investigated. The noise settled into a steady thudding, 
 a drumming which could be felt. O'Hagan sounded his 
 call. 
 
 Then out of the blackness, wet to the eyes, came Little 
 Steel with his burden of news. 
 
 " Deck cargo's adrift, sir. We must get all hands at 
 it." He shouted the sentences, his head inclined against 
 the wind. 
 
 " Forward or aft ? " O'Hagan questioned at once. 
 
 " Forward, sir. Those big cases abreast of number 
 two." 
 
 Number two was a hatch in the well across which the 
 sea broke with monotonous regularity. 
 
 " Very good. Tell the mate and turn the hands out." 
 
 He stood after Steel had gone considering the meaning of 
 this order. All hands ! It sounded important, it con- 
 jured a rush of men who would presently arrive rubbing 
 the sleep from their eyes, keen to discover what danger 
 confronted them ; but the number which would dash 
 from the fo'c'sle on the Sphinx could be counted on the 
 fingers of their captain's hands. Six men and two mates, 
 eight. That was the total. There were also the folk 
 known as " Idlers " on board ship, the cook, steward, and 
 bo'sun-lamp-trimmer, who might be used at a pinch ; but 
 they were scarcely equipped to wrestle with cases of 
 machinery adrift in that swirl. To grapple with weights 
 it is necessary to know something of cargo work, something
 
 ALL HANDS AHOY! 9 
 
 of the movements of this she-devil they footed, something 
 of the perils of darkness, thin rain and the punch of 
 a sea. 
 
 Captain O'Hagan crossed to glance at the compass. 
 Again he marched to windward and stood behind the 
 dodger, peering over its drumming rim, ready to give 
 orders if necessity arose. 
 
 They were in the track of vessels moving to and from 
 the Atlantic. Ships from the north and south would 
 presently be crossing them ; yet, so far, no lights had been 
 seen. Perhaps O'Hagan was more to the south than he 
 supposed ; perhaps it was thicker than appeared. These 
 are matters on which it was impossible to dogmatise. 
 They form part of the risk which is ever present at sea. 
 
 One thing, however, was plain to any intelligence. The 
 sea was getting up, the wind had increased and the weather 
 remained thick enough to make men swear. There was 
 no fog yet, no mist ; only that thin drizzle which blots 
 out even the smoke-cloud which drives before a vessel 
 running with the wind. Dirt, as sailors concisely put it. 
 
 This is scarcely a matter to cause anxiety to the com- 
 mander of a vessel to which the quality of seaworthiness 
 may be applied. It demands caution, a keen look-out and 
 the use of the lead. O'Hagan was prepared to pit his wit 
 against the weather. Dirt, per se, was not a condition of 
 affairs for which he yearned ; still, it arrives and must be 
 met. There is glory in fighting a gale, personal glory in 
 out-manoeuvring seas rolling to smash ; glory of the 
 highest in circumventing the devilry of fog and mist and 
 gale-driven seas when a man can give his whole soul to 
 the encounter. But here O'Hagan was handicapped from 
 the outset and he knew it. 
 
 The ship swayed under him. She was top-heavy. 
 Cargo which should have been beneath hatches cumbered 
 the deck, and some portion of it was adrift. The danger 
 was one which scarcely troubled O'Hagan at that moment ; 
 but it would become a burden if the gale increased, and 
 would hammer for solution should those perils coincide 
 with the conditions known as dirt. 
 
 At dusk the sky had flared its warning in lavish and 
 magnificent colouring. Red, amber, green, mauve, purple 
 with fiery wisps smoking low across the dark ; the sea 
 a heated and luminous indigo, rolling and flecked with 
 cressets of fire.
 
 10 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 No sail anywhere, no land ; only the Sphinx climbing, 
 lurching, inscrutable as she lolled in her foam-bed, the 
 sole spectator of that masterpiece in scenic fury. 
 
 Lonely she lay deserted even by the gulls and molly- 
 mauks which had watched her gambols. She looked like 
 a dray carrying three altars for sacrifice ; three cromlechs, 
 one forward, one amidships, one aft a plume of black 
 smoke wind-driven over all. The horizon was dark 
 because of that smoke. It was circumscribed for the same 
 reason, yet was it the essence of her power. 
 
 Her decks were full of the water she spilled over them ; 
 water not still but incessantly charging and recoiling, 
 bashing at the rail, eddying and aswirl amidst the cases 
 of her deckload. Since she left New York the seas had 
 not ceased striving to lick her clean, to scrape the rust 
 from her sides. Sometimes the sun had peeped to tinge 
 the scene, sometimes the stars ; but generally the dull 
 grey-green of the playground glazed her ugliness. 
 
 Now it was black night and the wash at either end of the 
 bridge was dappled and rimmed with a phosphorescent 
 glow which never remained still, which never burned long, 
 which was born and slain by the lurchings she endured. 
 With decks of steel, with houses and rails of steel, each sea 
 that boarded her gave out the note of a monstrous drum. 
 In the forecastle, when she plunged, the boom of it was 
 accompanied by a squelching squeal as the ports acknow- 
 ledged the sea pressure ; so, too, in the bridge section 
 where lived the men who drove her, kept her fires going 
 and questioned with each reverberating thud, " What in 
 God's name is she up to now ? " 
 
 Yet no one came to ask. There were men on deck who 
 knew their business and would call if necessity arose still, 
 that last lurching crash was something to remember. 
 The engineer when he came off watch at eight o'clock 
 registered the fact in his log in red ink. One never knows 
 what it may be necessary to swear in evidence. 
 
 This gale which caused so much squirming was one of the 
 sort for which the clippers of old time prayed when once 
 the Western Islands were passed. Frequently they waited 
 a week or more whistling for it and when it came they 
 ran smoking up Channel, revelling in the glory of it, the 
 fiery wake they drew, the hum and throb of the wind roar- 
 ing in rounded canvas. Had she stun's'ls ? out with 
 them ; would the fores'l pull better with the mains'l lifted
 
 ALL HANDS AHOY ! 11 
 
 to windward ? up with the weather clue ; roll up that 
 crossjack, down with those stays'ls there . . . give her 
 every stitch that will draw and keep your eyes skinned 
 forward. ... So she ripped before it, her crew awake, 
 swearing the girls had got hold of her and were pulling her 
 home. Fifteen, sixteen knots was her speed no seas on 
 her deck. 
 
 And here came the Sphinx no sails set or required ; a 
 monster carrying the freight of three clippers, laden to 
 the hatches and, by the mercy of those who guide us, able 
 also to carry a picking on deck. Eight knots was her 
 pace ; a lumbering, punching, doddering eight, rising when 
 MacAlister was on watch to nine ; her breath lying in 
 great blobs of blackness upon the horizon obscuring the 
 vision even of so shrewd a skipper as young O'Hagan. 
 
 Ten o'clock. The man at the wheel left his place and 
 struck it four mellow strokes ; but no answer came from 
 forward neither the cry of Lascar nor British Jack, for 
 were not " all hands " busy in that cauldron " securing 
 cargo " ? No one on the look-out, no one coming to 
 relieve the wheel, no officer marching the bridge 
 O'Hagan alone, keen in spite of his all day vigil, keen in 
 spite of the three days and nights he had seen in harness 
 since the weather began to mutter ; and a Cockney soul 
 tired of wheel-twisting, urgent for relief. 
 
 Again the man struck the bell this time with bottled 
 anger to assist him. Then he looked out of the wheel- 
 house and shouted into space, " I wants relief ! 'Ow 
 much longer d'ye expeck a man to stand grindin' 
 'ere . . . ? " He added other comment which gave force 
 to his argument fireworks he would have termed them, 
 things to which a commander takes exception. 
 
 O'Hagan came from his corner at once and advanced to 
 the wheel-house faster than was consistent with dignity. 
 The Sphinx had lurched to aid him, that is all ; but it 
 added sting to his tongue, if that were necessary. 
 
 " Don't you let me hear your voice like that again. 
 Don't you let me hear you damning either ship or crew 
 on my bridge. The men are at work securing cargo. 
 Take hold of the wheel and wait till you are relieved. . . ." 
 
 " I will wiv a bloomin' 'ook ! " said the helmsman in 
 the diction he had learned. He gave the wheel a twist 
 and stood with folded arms, ready to *' down tools," ready
 
 12 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 to " strike," as he would have termed it, ready to go the 
 whole hog in defence of his " rights " as he understood 
 them. 
 
 O'Hagan moved round to the wheel-house door and 
 entered. He was quiet, for he knew his strength ; he was 
 still, for he knew how to use it. 
 
 " Take hold of that wheel ! " he said in the tone of one 
 who is prepared to go all lengths. 
 
 " 'Oo the 'ell are you wiv yer tike 'old . . . ? " 
 
 Cockney squared to attack, but O'Hagan took him in 
 his arms and planted him with a thud against the casing 
 " Take hold ! " he ordered. " No back talk or I will 
 twist the soul out of you. Quick ! by the Lord I mean it 
 get hold ! " 
 
 The man drew breath with a sob ; but he obeyed. He 
 knew strength when he met it. When it was too con- 
 siderable to oppose, he knuckled down, as he expressed it. 
 He looked up at the big form standing over him. 
 
 " A'right," he gave back, " that's one to you. My turn'll 
 come." His voice shook. 
 
 " Look to your helm meet her ! " said his captain and 
 passed to his place on the bridge. He put his whistle to 
 his lips and blew one call. 
 
 Then a great sea rolled over the quarter and came 
 gurgling and eddying through the alley- ways. 
 
 The Sphinx swayed before this attack. She seemed of 
 two minds, uncertain whether to pick herself up again or 
 to lie down and take her ease ; undecided whether it was 
 worth while getting up only to be knocked over again, 
 whether . . . 
 
 Barlow, the mate, came up the bridge ladder and fought 
 his way to windward. 
 
 " One of the men has got knocked down," he shouted. 
 " I've taken him aft. His leg's broken." 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 " Olsen, sir. He was coming to relieve the wheel." 
 
 "Very well. We shall have to set it," O'Hagan 
 decided, then added, " Can you set it ? " 
 
 " Afraid I'm not much use I got my hand jammed, 
 you see . . . right, too, sir a bit awkward, I'm afraid," 
 the mate explained. 
 
 " Got it dressed ? " O'Hagan shouted, lifting his voice 
 as the wind set the dodger thrashing. " Got it dressed ? " 
 he repeated, as the mate stared.
 
 ALL HANDS AHOY! 13 
 
 " Oh yes. That's all right, sir ; but you see it would 
 rather botch me at surgery." 
 
 " Of course. Well, I must go down. I don't like the 
 look of things out there," he indicated the quarter whence 
 the wind roared, " but Steel can't get away. . . . Yes I 
 must go down." In his throat he anathematised the 
 necessity. " Anyhow, keep a good look out and have that 
 beast relieved from the wheel. She steers like a barn in 
 his hands. Course is S. 85 E. No lights in sight . . . 
 cargo secure yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir and won't be," said the mate. " Some of 
 it's gone," he added in the voice of one thankful for small 
 mercies. 
 
 " Overboard ? " 
 
 " Clean washed out of her half the port side of her 
 with it." 
 
 " The devil ! Well, note it in the log. I will get back 
 as soon as I can." Again he shrugged over the necessity. 
 " Surgery, by the Lord ! Dressing abrasions and set- 
 ting limbs in this kitchen. . . . Whew ! She is rather a 
 beauty." 
 
 O'Hagan was wrong there. She was not " rather " 
 anything. She was on the contrary, as the mate at this 
 moment was announcing, a hog, a scatter-brained, idiotic 
 trollop that didn't know enough to keep herself warm. 
 He embroidered the idea in phrases which should have 
 sobered the trollop, but she answered him with a sea which 
 spread gurgling to the bridge. 
 
 And when she had rolled herself free she hung quivering 
 with the weight of that sea ; tilting a little, sidling a little, 
 puffing under the black canopy at that solid top-dressing 
 she had brought on herself. 
 
 The mate thrust his head over the dodger and hailed 
 the forward well where Little Steel and five others strove 
 to rectify the blunders of Whitehall. 
 
 " Below there ! " 
 
 " Hel-lo ! " 
 
 " Anyone damaged ... all hands there ? " 
 
 " Right-O ! All aboard the lugger," came back in 
 reply. 
 
 The mate moved muttering into shelter. 
 
 " I wish to God it was day," he said in his teeth.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 KISMET 
 
 Squitt'rin' through a blizzard 
 
 Blowin' just fer fun ; 
 Lookin' out fer Lizard 
 
 Feelin' just on done ; 
 Blinded in a stone black night 
 
 As come to 'elp us in ; 
 So we crawled by Bishop Light 
 
 An' never see the glim. 
 
 DAWN on the morning of September 14th, 1907. A 
 ragged split in the eastern greyness, low down and tinted 
 in the yellow-green of the playground. Wind steadily 
 increasing, sea more lumpy than at nightfall a wilderness 
 of hills all charging up Channel, all pressing after that 
 Sphinx, which a night's harrying had failed to hide. 
 
 Human endurance flagging, too, and in the face of it 
 Nature alert flourishing the whip ; the god of sea and 
 wind vigorous, spurring for triumph. 
 
 Gaps were revealed to that complacent dawn gaps 
 which the sea had torn. 
 
 Down there before the bridge were yawning plates, 
 rails twisted and buckled and flattened to give entrance 
 to the sea. Winches battered, iron twined and bent into 
 a fantastic image of pipes and plates ; guiding rods 
 plucked bodily away, drumheads awry. The litter here 
 of torn cases, casks there which had disgorged their con- 
 tents upon the steel of the decks and made them effec- 
 tually slippery. Tallow, resin, chemicals, ropes, staves 
 all spluttering about in a gurgling sloppiness. The turret 
 fronts were knee deep in it, the hatch covers torn and 
 unbattened. 
 
 And abaft the bridge was a replica. 
 
 Work here for a gang armed with scrapers and buckets, 
 with shovels and nippers and crowbars. Work for men 
 with screwjacks, chisels, hammers and the serene atmo- 
 sphere of a graving dock. But over it all was a vigilant
 
 KISMET 15 
 
 and scornful enemy ; the sea in a rollicking mood, laugh- 
 ing at man's tin-pot efforts ; laughing at his armoury of 
 steel and girder and rod and tie, scoffing at the whole 
 thin-strung gamut of defence swaying and plunging in the 
 trough of the seas. 
 
 Work for an army of fitters if anything like symmetry 
 or protection were desired and here crawled seven sea- 
 wrung sailormen, German and English Bottle-fillers of 
 the Nation. Men these who should have been taking 
 soundings in that maze of banks they traversed, who should 
 have been divided into two watches, one asleep while the 
 other worked ; men who should have been alert, not dead 
 with fatigue. Navigation was the necessity here, and to 
 aid navigation when stars and sun are blotted out 
 soundings are essential. A definite track of them. A 
 punctuated, systematic sequence of them, so that the 
 bridge may judge by the " casts " whither it is heading 
 in the murk. 
 
 But here was no time for soundings. All hands, 
 including now the ship's idlers, were pressed into the 
 business of repairing damages, re-covering hatches, 
 battening and fighting to keep out " of the cellar " which 
 yawned, licking lips over the morsel it visualized. 
 
 Cold men, hard as nails, but sodden, ready to sleep in 
 spite of the sea, worked there in the gloom. Cargo ? Let 
 it rip and be damned to it, so that it went clear of the side. 
 Cases of machinery for reaping the fields ? Well, down 
 there they would lie unoiled, untended, unpainted, a 
 harbour for crustaceans, a holdfast for limpets or barnacles 
 who cared what ? Casks of tallow ? Lord ! that was 
 the last thing in maladroit lading. Too heavy to lumber 
 bodily through the gaps, rotund, busy as a ball on a 
 lurching deck, swift as a plummet to the laws of gravity. 
 A whole regiment had vanished, but some in fragments 
 and the slush-spattered decks stood on the side of Force, 
 on the side of the gods who waited, Neptune angry, Pluto 
 brooding, all the galaxy who stood arrayed against man in 
 his fight with the everlasting sea. 
 
 And to them came Hermes with his message 
 
 " Lash and spare not ! They are tired, wearied of effort. 
 They no longer seek of the sea-bed evidence of their progress. 
 The islands are near they do not see them. The rocks 
 stand sentry they heed them not. They are torn and 
 battered and water gushes in upon them from rents which the
 
 16 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 sea hath made. Some lie in their beds with straight, stiff 
 wood to hold their limbs in place. They are concerned, 
 Jove, to tend their wounded, forgetting the crowding perils 
 which encompass them. . . . 
 
 " Therefore, let the winds blow ! Call to the rain god, call 
 to the mist god . . . to the god of subtlety and stealth call. 
 Let them prepare ! " 
 
 Noon saw men working waist high in a spume which 
 never left them, which was their habitat, even as its com- 
 panion the rain. Sodden ? Oh, yes. Wrists raw with 
 the chafe of oilskins, knees stiff with salt-water boils, 
 lips cracked, hands cracked, great sea-cuts in the bends of 
 toe and finger . . . who of them for a champion ? Who 
 ready to stand and fight who could scarcely crawl for 
 batterings . . . who had become quiet, a little stupid, per- 
 haps, a little dazed by the wind-god's song, by the sea-god's 
 drone ? Who of them awake enough to see what passed ? 
 
 Then words came on the wings of the gale " Get up 
 here a couple of you. Flags ready ! " and they straggled 
 to reply. 
 
 " Somethin' comin' . . . ? " 
 
 " Somethin' in sight I Lord send it's a mailboat ! " 
 
 A mailboat it was, blue in the distance to leeward, her 
 great bulk pushing through the seas in a smother of spray ; 
 but steady, in comparison, as a lighthouse. 
 
 " Get up our number," O'Hagan gave as an order. 
 " Get out the signal, ' I desire to communicate.' Quick ! 
 There are other things to say . . . bend on and hoist ! " 
 
 But the flags presently flicking aloft were end on 
 unreadable. Only the new force was possible here 
 wireless, the work of that glorious Italian. But for the 
 Tramp there is no wireless, no submarine method of 
 signalling,* only the flags, the old-world flags of Nelson's 
 and Drake's fine leisure. 
 
 " Gone ! " said one of the men, " wivout so much as 
 damn yer." 
 
 They stood for a moment together upon the bridge ; 
 they stood expectant, perhaps questioning whether that 
 racing ship would turn about and come to examine their 
 distress. They lowered the ensign to half-mast and re- 
 mained watching. 
 
 * An instrument set in the bow for picking up signals sent out by 
 Lightships and Lighthouses,
 
 KISMET it 
 
 Out of the greyness of the north she had come, into the 
 greyness of the south she disappeared ... a mailship 
 which would kiss the eastern seas. 
 
 " Down flags and grog oh ! " said the mate as he came 
 to them. "She was beyond us. Couldn't see in this 
 blather." 
 
 " Naa . . . not 'er couldn't," one answered. 
 
 "Lookin' fer wots in front of 'im," said another, " not 
 wot's be'ind. I wish the mate of 'er 'ad me by the 
 bloomin' scruff." 
 
 " Ja me too, mein friendt," said a Hamburger. " Go 
 on, get down mit ze flag an' gome for a shmile." 
 
 Back from the bridge they clustered, entered again the 
 waist, crept by staunchion and holdfast to the alley- way, 
 where, in a sack beside McAlister's bunk, was the "shmile," 
 ready to the chief's un wounded hand. 
 
 They stood on a steampipe whence the platform had been 
 ripped, dodging the sprays, leaping before seas, and in 
 turn swallowed their portion. Good ? Lord ! it made 
 men of them for half an hour. Then again came inertia, 
 sleep, weariness, bemused faculties, the strain and torture 
 of bruises sans rest. 
 
 Three o'clock, four o'clock saw them still fighting, still 
 dragging at lashings, passing along planks, nailing, 
 battening, sheathing, while light remained. Then in the 
 half dusk, a squall towering over them, Bill Smith lost his 
 hold and came, heaped up, to leeward as though he dived. 
 
 And to greet him was the steel of ravaged bulwarks 
 through which the sea grinned and sent specimens for 
 tasting. 
 
 Small hope for man in such straits, small chance even 
 where hospitals stand ready and surgeons live at the end of 
 a telephone wire. Here mere waste of time, waste waste 
 . . . yet was he disentangled from the cage which had 
 received him and carried through leaping seas, shoulder 
 high to the cabin. And then for Captain O'Hagan's 
 dexterity, for his sense of touch, the fine drawn essentials 
 of surgery in the hands of a man a week without rest if 
 by rest you understand sleep in bed between sheets or 
 blankets and no soul-torture of doubt to disturb you, no 
 drum-note to awake you to the swish of seas tumbling in 
 the well. 
 
 Snatches of sleep come to all men, on the bridge, at the 
 B. P. c
 
 18 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 wheel, aloft after a certain consumption of vitality and 
 expenditure of force. The wind roar alone is sufficient to 
 bring drowsiness, the sting of it on face and eyes and 
 mouth a certain draw ; but when to that is added the 
 sodden misery of wet clothes, of cold, of seas which are 
 always struggling to flatten man out, then in spite of all 
 hazards sleep comes in snatches. 
 
 Necessarily in face of these handicaps Bill Smith failed 
 to recover consciousness. So they strapped him to the 
 settee and got out on deck to face what came. 
 
 Darkness came. An intolerable drone of wind and 
 patter of rain and hail perhaps sleet ? Who knows ? 
 
 Darkness came. Darkness which could be felt. Seven 
 o'clock came, and with it a cup of tea steaming from the 
 donkey-room where men had brewed it. 
 
 O'Hagan sat against an angle of the bridge beside the 
 dodger. A canvas sling supported him, and about his 
 middle was a lashing of rope. 
 
 " Here you are, sir, try this cup," said the voice of one 
 who brought it. 
 
 "Eh? Eh? What's that ?" O'Hagan started 
 visibly, shocked because of this drowsiness, a lapse which 
 all men might see. 
 
 " Tea, sir a good strong cup. . . ." 
 
 " Ah . . . thanks. Yes ... by Jove though, I 
 believe I dozed. Barlow there ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Did I doze ? " he questioned again, " did you notice 
 whether I dozed ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Why, a minute ago you told me to get a cast 
 of the lead." 
 
 " Aye, of course . . . did you get it ? " 
 
 " I wasn't able," said the mate. " The machine is 
 washed out of her." 
 
 O'Hagan received this with the same apathy that had 
 been noticeable in his acceptance of the tea. It was plain 
 to see that he was worn out, yet because he could not 
 insist on this aspect, Barlow decided not to touch it, but 
 droned on, his head tilted to assist the words " She's a 
 beast with this new loadline, in any case, but with a 
 deckload thrown in, she's dangerous," he raved. " I've 
 been in her since she was launched . . . but this is my 
 last trip. I'll have to find another job. . . ."
 
 KISMET 19 
 
 " Eigh I That shouldn't be hard, Barlow. . . ." 
 
 " No, sir no, I agree there. It's easier than it was, if 
 your papers are clean." He returned doggedly to the 
 plaint that the sounding machine had been swept out of 
 her. He announced that a fact of that sort spoke volumes 
 to a man who knew the ship before, " Why, sir, that gale 
 off Hatteras the trip before you joined us would have 
 blown this to a standstill ; but she didn't kick up this 
 dido." 
 
 " Pick up who ? " 
 
 " Didn't make this mess, sir," Barlow growled, his back 
 to the wind as a squall broke screaming over them. 
 
 " No, no ... Yes, it is a mess," O'Hagan assented. 
 " I shall take her into Falmouth if the weather is no better 
 at daybreak. How are the pumps going ? " 
 
 " Holding our own, McAlister tells me, no more." 
 
 " Hum ! And you think she was dryer in the old days, 
 eh?" 
 
 ' Not a doubt of it." 
 
 " If we had a receiver in her nose * I shouldn't worry," 
 O'Hagan admitted. " I can't understand why we have 
 seen nothing. Gad ! " he faced the grey-haired mate 
 with a gust of anger, " it's rather a change from the 
 Eastern Mail." 
 
 " I'll bet it is," Barlow agreed. " I should like to have 
 the Plaster Saint lashed down on our main hatch to 
 see it." 
 
 " The Plaster who ? " 
 
 " Saint, sir ... Board of Trade, you know." 
 
 " Aye ! I had forgotten. Getting a bit fuzzy, I 
 suppose." He crossed to his corner and stood staring 
 over the dodger. He had heard Jimmy Barlow on this 
 theme before and knew every anathema he could utter. 
 He refused to be bothered with Plaster Saints. The ship 
 held him. Straight ahead was the smoke-cloud they made 
 but could not see. Sometimes the blunt angle of the ship's 
 bow soared high as a sea creamed past them, sometimes 
 it sank as though the Sphinx had decided to take a header 
 and end matters. She rolled as she burrowed and she 
 rolled as she climbed. Rails down she scooped at the 
 seas and the seas answered her, flicking pieces from her, 
 whittling her for assault. 
 
 * Submarine signal apparatus. 
 
 C2
 
 20 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Suddenly O'Hagan stumbled against the dodger and in 
 a moment he understood that again he had dozed. That 
 was terrible. He dared not give way to it, he dared not 
 give way. He said it in his teeth, his brain dizzy at the 
 notion. He called to the mate and shouted behind a 
 curved hand precisely as though no interval had elapsed 
 " That handicaps us " 
 
 Barlow twisted to hear more plainly. O'Hagan 
 repeated the phrase and added " We shall have to stop 
 her and use the hand lead. We have one, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes yes ... I see yes, in my room, sir." 
 
 " Better send Steel up here and bring it into the chart- 
 room. I must work her up ... ought to be in touch 
 with the Bishop or St. Agnes before this. If we could get 
 a few soundings it might tell us something." 
 
 The mate moved off acknowledging the necessity, but 
 dubious of the result. Steel climbed to the bridge and 
 O'Hagan was free to examine his charts. 
 
 With compasses and parallel ruler, with bemused 
 faculties and the stiffness brought by contact with wind 
 and cold, he went over their course from that point which 
 figured in his brain as " my departure." He stooped 
 over the crisp figured sheet examining the dots and 
 splashes of red which mark the lighthouses and stood back 
 tapping with his pencil. 
 
 " Bishop Rock abeam at six-fifty," that was his thought, 
 " distance about eight miles." It was now nearly 
 eight o'clock and no light had been seen. " Curious ! " 
 
 That might mean they were farther south than he 
 imagined, or it might mean that a haze lay over the land 
 and the lights were not visible at full range. Still, eight 
 miles ! Soundings were necessary . . . but the machine 
 was gone . . . and . . . 
 
 The mate entered and found him leaning over the chart, 
 his face very near his hands ; but he looked up quickly and 
 gave the result of his calculations. 
 
 Barlow agreed that there should not be much haze with 
 this wind. " Much more likely we are bein' set to the 
 southard, sir. If we had been ' in any ' * we should have 
 come across vessels bound west," he argued, " but we've 
 seen none." 
 
 This could not be denied. That they were off the line 
 
 * Inside the course.
 
 KISMET 21 
 
 of shipping was plain. " Still," O'Hagan decided, " I 
 shall not haul in. We shall make the Lizard anyhow. 
 We can't pass that unless we are in mid-channel. Try a 
 cast of the lead. I'll stop her. You will have to get all 
 hands on it." 
 
 He returned to the bridge while the two mates, with those 
 who were fit, crept aft and stood clinging to the rigging 
 until the ship no longer had way. Then, fumbling over 
 the torn rails, scrambling under lashings they had placed, 
 they approached the lee quarter, cast the lead and stood 
 to haul it inboard. 
 
 Somebody chanted a minor song of the sea as they pulled 
 and the sea leaped up to look upon its children. Not 
 quiet yet ? Still moving . . . still squirming ? Phit ! 
 The sea sent a messenger to brush them away ; but the 
 Sphinx dodged it, wallowing in the splash it made. It 
 drenched those sodden workers, made them clutch and 
 gasp and swear, but presently the song broke out again 
 and the lead came home. 
 
 They moved towards the bridge carrying it and, being 
 gifted with the eyesight of all wild things, reached it just 
 as a roller creamed under them, pushing the stern high, 
 high, as though the Sphinx had at last made up her mind 
 for the dive ; then with a sulky inclination stooped and 
 scooped the crest as a trophy. For fifteen minutes they 
 had remained without the turn of a propeller ; now, stung 
 to life by the salt sea tang the small group climbed back 
 to the bridge and handed their report. At this ebullition 
 of the sea they jeered. Were they not wet already ? 
 
 " Fifty- two fathoms, sand and shell," said the mate. 
 "-Two casts in the hour will be about our limit ; and now 
 you have it, sir, it may be fifty-two or fifty-three or fifty- 
 one. The Lord knows which." 
 
 Plainly the mate looked upon the precaution as high- 
 flown nonsense, suitable if you had a machine and need 
 not stop ; but useless in such conditions as those they faced. 
 A waste of time and strength. O'Hagan passed into the 
 chart-room in his company. They carried the arming for 
 reference. Sand and shell, fine and coarse sand mixed 
 with broken shell. That was their guide. 
 
 They searched along the track they had come for this 
 magic figure, 52 s, sh, and found it. In a dozen places 
 O'Hagan found it. Off Ushant was 52 s, sh, off Bishop, 
 off the Wolf 51 s, sh, off Lizard 52 s, sh, in mid-channel,
 
 22 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 O'Hagan replaced the chart, covered the light and went 
 out. 
 
 " A solitary cast like that," said the mate, " is no guide. 
 And we're all dead beat." 
 
 " I admit it. Still, we had to see whether it could be 
 worked. No it's too dangerous as things are and and 
 the men must get a rest." O'Hagan spoke with new 
 briskness. He turned to the second mate. " Away and 
 get a sleep, Mr. Steel. We shall want you up here at 
 eight bells. Mr. Barlow, if you care to take an hour or so 
 in the chart-room do so. I will take a spell up here." 
 
 " Sir," said the chief, " I'll keep my watch. I'm not 
 dead beat as you are . . . better take a few hours yourself 
 sir she can't hurt this side of mornin' . . . won't you go 
 down, sir ? 
 
 " Thanks, Barlow. No I guess I'll stay." 
 
 Nine o'clock. Less wind, less rain, a more definite haze 
 over those shallows which block the Atlantic's sweep, 
 hold up its swell and break its seas. Nine o'clock. A 
 curious, far-away sound. Somebody striking a bell some- 
 where. Somebody as certainly standing near. Some- 
 body ..." Good Lord ! What's that ? " 
 
 O'Hagan, alert again and vigorously asserting the fact, 
 glared at the man who stood over him. 
 
 " That you, Barlow ? . . . why, where ..." 
 
 " You are dead beat, sir. She shook you out of it easy 
 as shellin' peas better get inside and lie down, sir. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan staggered to his feet and stood swaying. 
 
 " Any lights about . . . anything in sight ? " he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 " No, sir nothing. She's to the southard, in mid- 
 channel, like as not. It won't do for us all to be knocked 
 out together." 
 
 Again O'Hagan swayed and would have fallen, but 
 Jimmy Barlow gripped his arm and supported him. 
 
 " Lord ! I believe I am done this time ! " O'Hagan 
 grumbled. " Luck, eh ? " 
 
 " Get a sleep, sir. Five or six hours would do you no 
 end of good and there's nothing to hinder it, unless, of 
 course," said the mate, " you don't care to leave me in 
 charge of her." 
 
 " Barlow," said O'Hagan, " I didn't think of that but 
 I'm captain you see, and I want to be on deck when we
 
 KISMET 23 
 
 make the the land. It's thicker, isn't it ? Yes, I'm 
 sure of it and there's less wind. That's better. Well, 
 you will have to sound our horn if it gets worse. You 
 know the the course, eh ? " He spoke with the thickened 
 accent of one stupid, drugged, drunken for want of sleep. 
 Then quite suddenly he collapsed. 
 
 Barlow and a man he summoned carried him without 
 struggles to the chart-room. They removed his oilskins 
 and sea-boots. He made no effort to stay them. They 
 placed him upon a settee which ran beside one bulkhead. 
 They pulled up the weather board and fixed it, placed a 
 pillow beneath his head, covered him, put out the light and 
 shut the door upon him. 
 
 Then again Jimmy Barlow went on deck and took 
 charge. 
 
 Ten o'clock. The wind failing somewhat and backing 
 to the south. Low-strung clouds racing like smoke from 
 the same quarter, spume still mingled with the drizzle 
 but lacking sting, lacking the shot-like precision which 
 makes it deadly. No ships in sight, no lights of any 
 character. A rather drowsy hour following so close on 
 the burr of the gale. A rather somnolent personage at 
 the wheel, another at the look-out . . . nothing in sight, 
 nothing to keep them alert, the man on the look-out 
 obviously dozing. 
 
 Barlow moved up and down using his glasses. He had 
 better have trusted his naked vision. There is nothing 
 which tires a tired man more completely than the unin- 
 telligent use of night glasses. No Bishop Rock, no St. 
 Agnes ; and now, by the Lord Harry I no Wolf. They were 
 out of the range of everything clean out. It was thick, 
 but there were no fog signals. Nothing but their own 
 brazen outcry, and that fell flat, as though it were sounded 
 in a well. 
 
 Barlow plodded on. Up and down, down and up. The 
 bridge swayed to port, then swayed to starboard. It 
 hung longer to this latter. It gave him a push which 
 settled him in a corner behind the dodger and for ten 
 minutes Jimmy Barlow dozed. 
 
 The steam whistle brayed automatically over them, and 
 every time it brayed there came a stir of activity at each 
 corner of the bridge and in the wheel-house. Then after 
 a, season, perhaps at eleven o'clock, it ceased to bray, and
 
 24 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 there sounded afar off the ghost of a signal, a dim, sunken 
 note, first high, then low. 
 
 Neither Jimmy Barlow nor the look-out heard that 
 signal if signal it were. The man grinding at the wheel 
 was perhaps the most alert of the trio. You cannot hold 
 a kicking wheel and sleep without learning that you have 
 slept. Yet dozing or alert the man at the wheel heard 
 nothing. 
 
 The Sphinx, true to her calling, plunged wallowing in a 
 .sea which no longer stung her. She drew a wake once 
 more. Something had happened to the sea. . . . Up 
 there for the fraction of a minute surely was a red glow. 
 No ? The fog moved denser to give it the lie. It hid the 
 light precisely as it lapped the coast with cotton-wool. 
 It was that which deadened the sob of the horns. 
 
 Nine knots ! McAlister on watch for a dollar, pushing 
 her round, getting the last ounce out of her steam. The 
 black squad who worked with him shut down out of reach 
 of the sea, hot when those matelot people shivered, dry 
 when they were wet. " Give her beans, sons ! Good for 
 you walk her through it for the Ratcliff 'Ighway, walk 
 her along 1 " 
 
 And the Sphinx answered to their call in strangely still 
 seas. A swell existed which caused her to lurch and sway 
 as before ; but seas no longer broke heavily on deck. 
 
 The men sheltering to leeward of the fidleys might have 
 explained the difference ; but they did not perceive it. 
 Like the sea and the Sphinx and the horn which had 
 brayed over them, all those who were on watch seemed to 
 doze. 
 
 Twelve o'clock. Eight bells, thank God! The hour 
 when men go below and turn in for honest sleep, the sleep 
 they have earned. 
 
 The man who steered leaned out of his window and 
 struck it. There followed an echo, very precise, very near. 
 Something aroused Jimmy Barlow, the grey-haired mate, 
 and as he stumbled from his seat a sound quivered which 
 for ten minutes had been audible. A horn giving two 
 notes high, low, but far off, very far off. 
 
 Jimmy Barlow decided this as he crossed swiftly to the 
 compass to localize it. He was confused. His senses were 
 dim. "Far off," he said again, "and where away ?" He 
 waited two minutes. No sound disturbed him. Again
 
 KISMET 25 
 
 two minutes, and then once more the signal he expected 
 but out there, to the south, far, far in the south. 
 
 He twisted the binnacle top and took a rough bearing 
 of the sound. " South-east . . . absurd ! " said Jimmy 
 Barlow. " That's caused by the fog. Deflection there 
 anyhow . . . shouldn't be surprised if we hear it some- 
 where else presently." 
 
 But he heard it again as before. 
 
 The Sphinx pounded on her way insensible to the por- 
 tents as were her crew. 
 
 Dim, far off, blurred, the signal fell on the ears of the 
 listening mate. His faculties were coming to his aid. 
 He became alert. Vast possibilities loomed suddenly in 
 the haze through which they bored. What if it were 
 true ? What if there were no deflection ? " Then, then 
 ... oh ! by the Lord, no." 
 
 And still the Sphinx pounded on her way insensible to 
 the portents which stood over her. 
 
 Barlow came from the compass burdened by a new 
 thought. It occurred to him that a fresh note was in 
 being, something connected with their march through 
 space. He listened, leaning over the bridge rail and heard 
 a rush as of waves breaking ; a long drawn hiss which 
 could only be made by a vessel drawing astern, or by the 
 surf. 
 
 He moved to the whistle and pulled the cord. The 
 blast it gave produced an echo plainly near, plainly 
 overhead. 
 
 Then Jimmy Barlow recognised his danger and jumped 
 into the wheel-house to avert it. " Wheel over, there ! 
 Hard a-port . . . over with her . . . over with her ! " 
 
 The helmsman seemed to consider his officer mad, but 
 Jimmy Barlow reached the bridge, and at one turn set the 
 engine-room telegraph at full speed astern. Then again 
 he vanished, this time to call his commander. 
 
 The helmsman leaned on the wheel grumbling anathe- 
 mas. " 'Ow long was ee to bloomin' well keep 'er 'ard 
 hover ? The bloomin' mate was like a bloomin' paper 
 man in a squall . . . " ; but the mate in question entered 
 the chart-room and shook O'Hagan without ceremony. 
 " Quick, sir ... out on deck ! " he shouted. " She's 
 head first into somethin' . . . head first. Yes, and by 
 God ! it's my fault. I dozed." 
 
 He came out to watch the Sphinx swing. The engines
 
 26 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 no longer throbbed ; but they were not going astern. In 
 the arena where steam is lord, it is recognised that you 
 cannot switch from full speed ahead to full speed astern 
 without playing the devil with your machine. That is a 
 sine qua non therefore the mode is more leisurely. 
 
 And Jimmy Barlow stood to watch her swing, imagining 
 she was slowing ; imagining brick walls, reefs, shoals 
 waiting for the blow. His eyes were blinded now, but not 
 by sleep. He stood gripping the rail, his teeth clenched. 
 " What lay out there in the mist ahead of them ? What 
 were the odds that she would twist clear." 
 
 There were no odds. 
 
 The Sphinx answered by swinging him past unseen 
 cliffs ; cliffs which seemed to stand over the ship, but 
 without touching her. The god of the underworld had 
 done his work well. The cliffs were wrapped in mist. 
 The rocks which lay off them were decently screened. 
 Nothing visible to scare a man from his place on the 
 bridge. 
 
 She came round in a smother of spume and, before the 
 engines had mastered her, butted at the rocks and sud- 
 denly stopped. Butted and in a moment lay over guzzling 
 the brine, stretching after that star which in her lifetime 
 it had been impossible to win. 
 
 A solitary rocket soared presently into the fog and broke 
 in a shower high up as the Sphinx tilted sidelong upon her 
 bed.
 
 Phase the Second 
 The Sentence
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A CHALLENGE 
 
 The Council Hall is dim, is dim, 
 
 A Judge sits glum to claw, 
 Some lawyers stand the case to trim, 
 
 A Sailor waits in awe . . . 
 
 For you have no right to get on the rocks, 
 
 And you hace no call to collide, 
 You're supposed to keep on top with your box, 
 
 And never to sleep when outside, 
 
 THE Jake Hall of Notherton was engaged, therefore on 
 January the fifteenth there commenced in an adjacent 
 building the trial of one of the Nation's Bottle-fillers for 
 the loss of his ship. 
 
 It was not termed a trial by those who took part in it, 
 but an inquiry, which sounds better ; and the defendant 
 was called neither a Bottle-filler, which suggests a pub- 
 lican, nor a captain, which suggests an officer. They 
 called him Mr. Denis O'Hagan, master of the S.S. Sphinx, 
 otherwise were no vagaries. 
 
 The room was close. A commendable twilight brooded 
 between browned windows. The men who stood and sat 
 at the long table, which occupied so much floor-space, 
 partook of their surroundings. They seemed drowsy, 
 tired, ready to scuttle off home and get to bed ; but that 
 was impossible. The hour forbade sleep, although it 
 encouraged it. The men remained fumbling with ques- 
 tions, seeking to discover the cause of this catastrophe 
 which had brought them together. 
 
 Ranged on two sides of the room were chairs standing 
 against the wall in readiness for those members of the 
 public who desired to be present at the hearing ; but with 
 the exception of a small cluster of witnesses grouped 
 together immediately behind the lawyers engaged on the 
 case, no one had sought admission. 
 
 The room was a court without any of its appurtenances. 
 One entered it from a blind alley abutting on a main street
 
 30 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 where electric cars rumbled in a yellow gloom. The door 
 was guarded by two policemen who were prepared, if 
 required, to admit any member of the public who wished 
 to enter. But there were no robes, no gowns, no wigs, no 
 scandal nothing savouring in any degree of the law's 
 omnipotence ; nothing to attract a man from the street ; 
 nothing to thrill him ; nothing to warrant the production 
 of pictures or great headlines in the papers he read. 
 
 Yet a captain in the British Merchant Service stood on 
 trial here for the loss of his ship. Officially, the proceed- 
 ings were known as " An Inquiry," which at all events 
 suggests that calm state of suspended judgment which it 
 is our boast at post-prandial speeches to depict. Yet 
 when you consider the punishments meted out, Trial 
 seems the more appropriate designate. At all events, 
 that may be taken as the view of Captain O'Hagan and 
 Jimmy Barlow, master and mate of that box of engineering 
 mysteries known now only as a star on the British Wreck 
 Chart, but once as the S.S. Sphinx. 
 
 Now there were two magistrates sitting with assessors 
 to hear this matter. The junior was a retired school- 
 master, a scholar of definite attainments ; but the senior, 
 whose province it would be to pass judgment, was one of 
 those persons who, had he been questioned, would have 
 admitted that he knew nothing of the sea. It is entirely 
 credible also that he had but a bowing acquaintance with 
 the law. He was accustomed, as was his confrere, to a 
 prompter who sat, when he was adjudicating on the drunk 
 and disorderly, as town clerk, to advise him ; and when 
 he was hearing inquiries, as twin assessors men grown old 
 in the service of the sea. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the chairman, sitting in the centre 
 seat on this bench, was one of those personages whom 
 authority had knighted because, in a world of competition, 
 he had succeeded in amassing a fortune by selling knick- 
 knacks. Inadvertently he had, of course, expunged quite 
 a number of smaller knickknack sellers. To be quite 
 accurate he was an importer who knew what the nation 
 wanted and provided it without stint ; but he knew no 
 more of the sea, the men who navigate the ships, and 
 the cargoes they carry than may be gleaned from an 
 acquaintance with bills of lading. 
 
 In theory, of course, the two nautical assessors were
 
 A CHALLENGE 31 
 
 here to put him right on all technical points, precisely as 
 a town clerk sat beneath him to advise on questions of law 
 in those other courts over which he presided. But theory 
 is a jug which in practice rarely holds water. It is impos- 
 sible to put into the mind of a man, be he never so able, 
 the knowledge which it has taken a lifetime for another 
 to acquire. He can but assimilate a part, even from 
 assessors who are gifted. What he may gather from those 
 who are somnolent may be known, perhaps, at the Bar of 
 a Court which, one day, all men will attend. 
 
 It was a grey day. Outside there was fog the heavy, 
 yellow fog of a great city ; inside there was fog also the 
 fog physical and fog mental ; fog which made dim the 
 lights and rolled oppression on faculties already tired by 
 argument. 
 
 The assessors especially seemed to find the conditions 
 provocative. One of them was very old and very tired ; 
 the other hale, but a trifle deaf and without experience 
 of service in Tramps of the Sphinx class. He seemed 
 inclined indeed to resent the fact that Tramps exist. He 
 punctuated the inquiry with staccato cries of, " What ? 
 What ? " hand at ear. And O'Hagan faced this tribunal 
 seeking to explain conditions which had weighed him down 
 when in command of his ship. 
 
 It is always difficult to reproduce tragedy in the bland 
 environment of a court ; but in so stagnant an atmosphere 
 the difficulty was intensified. For that reason, then, if 
 for no other, O'Hagan was once more on his feet seeking to 
 make clear why he had not been on the bridge at the time 
 of the catastrophe. He was in the midst of a detailed 
 explanation when the elder of the two assessors leaned 
 back in his chair and quite confidently gave vent to a 
 sound which is usually known as snoring. His white 
 beard was lifted, his head rolled. 
 
 O'Hagan turned upon him with a note of annoyance 
 which seemed to suggest that he had lost sight of the fact 
 that he was a Bottle-filler. 
 
 " What is the use of explaining technicalities to an 
 assessor who is asleep ? " he cried out. 
 
 " What ? What ? " exclaimed his brother assessor, 
 with hand curved to convey sound. 
 
 Somebody pinched the sleeper, who awoke with a jerk, 
 and O'Hagan's adviser said " I really must call attention 
 to the fact that . , ."
 
 32 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Then the chairman, wriggling judicially with finger in 
 ear, intervened with bland comprehension. " Yes, yes," 
 he said, " the atmosphere of the court is heavy a 
 unwarrantably heavy . . . and a to open the windows 
 would make it no better. I shall make a note of it and 
 send it to the a proper authority when I have done 
 with this case." 
 
 He leaned forward when he had pronounced this for- 
 mula, and scribbled with a quill which spluttered. Then 
 he looked up and said brusquely to O'Hagan : 
 
 " You were saying something about it being impossible 
 to remain on duty longer than you did. I don't pretend 
 to understand why yet ; but I have no doubt from what 
 has fallen a hitherto, that you committed a blunder in 
 leaving the bridge when you did." 
 
 " You seem to think," O'Hagan urged with a gust of 
 impatience, " that a man can remain on watch for ever. 
 You take the view that if he goes down to rest he is guilty 
 of carelessness or w r orse. I can't see how you can expect 
 a man to remain keen after twenty -four hours of it and 
 I had been on the bridge for thirty-two without a break. 
 I was not fit for more. I could have slept where I stood 
 easily." 
 
 He might perhaps have added, " as your assessor slept 
 just now," for he was very young ; but at that moment 
 the door opened to admit a member of the public who had 
 heard of this trial. 
 
 A young girl, slim, dark, quietly dressed, entered and 
 sat down on a chair by the wall. As on the two previous 
 days so now she was the sole occupant of that row of 
 chairs. She looked small, microscopic, pathetic, against 
 that dim expanse of wall which shadowed her, well-nigh 
 blotting her out. Her entrance had caused but little stir ; 
 but it was sufficient to attract O'Hagan. He paused in 
 the swing of argument and for a moment seemed to con- 
 template going to her aid. Then the constable who had 
 introduced her sidled out, moving with immense caution 
 in heavy boots and the door closed behind him sans sound. 
 Even in the gloom of that court it was possible to see 
 that a glance passed between the two young people the 
 man who stood to speak and the girl who came to hear ; 
 but the magistrates and assessors engaged on this inquiry 
 had sterner business to consider than any usually known 
 to woman.
 
 A CHALLENGE 33 
 
 O'Hagan drew himself up and resumed, a new note 
 evident " I could have slept where I stood, sir. Faith ! 
 I mean it. Sometimes I may tell you that is the only form 
 of sleep that comes to a British shipmaster but on this 
 occasion it was impossible. I left the ship in charge of my 
 chief mate a man fully qualified to relieve me, qualified 
 by the Board of Trade and by experience. I don't wish 
 to shuffle out of my responsibility, or to throw the burden 
 from my shoulders to those of the mate. He did his best 
 in very difficult conditions. He, too, was dead beat. I 
 don't suppose I could have done any better. I might 
 have done worse God knows . . . but I wish to point 
 out that there are limits to physical endurance. I had 
 reached those limits. You might as well have stuck a 
 paper man on the bridge as left me there after thirty-two 
 hours. . . ." 
 
 " What ? What ? " questioned the assessor who was deaf. 
 
 The chairman raised a sleek hand carrying a signet and 
 a diamond which gleamed. 
 
 " I don't think you do yourself any service, captain," 
 he remarked frowningly, " by giving way to temper here. 
 I would urge you very seriously to leave explanation and 
 a generalisations, on one side and give your attention 
 to the questions which are put to you. ..." 
 
 " I want you to understand the position, sir," quoth the 
 Bottle-filler. " I want you to recognise that a man is not 
 made of cast-iron because he happens to be in command. 
 I agree, in the light of what transpired, that it might have 
 been better for us if I had taken a spell off sooner, and 
 come up fresh to make my landfall. But we had been in 
 difficulties " he phrased it so with calm intonation. 
 " You see, our deck cargo had broken adrift and I was 
 rather put to it to know how to secure it ... what I 
 could anyhow, and save the ship. ..." 
 
 " I admit," he said argumentatively, " that I might have 
 left this to the mate, but I was anxious. You can never 
 be certain what will happen when your deckload is 
 slithering about. Then two of our poor devils had got 
 smashed up while trying to secure it ... and I had to 
 mend them. It isn't easy to explain what all this means ; 
 but you must understand it was blowing a gale and the 
 seas were sweeping over us. A man could not move across 
 the deck without running the risk of being washed over- 
 board or knocked silly. ..." 
 
 B.F. D
 
 84 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 "No life-lines rigged, captain ? " questioned the aged 
 assessor. 
 
 " No, sir. At least not of the sort you suggest. You 
 can't fix life-lines on decks cumbered by cases of machinery 
 and casks of chemicals. ..." 
 
 " I don't admit that," quoth the assessor, drawing one 
 hand slowly down his face to conceal a yawn. 
 
 " Nor do I," asserted the deaf assessor. " We found 
 it essential to fix them always in my day." 
 
 " Did you carry deckloads in the P. & O. ? " came crisply 
 from the Bottle-filler. 
 
 " What ? What ? " 
 
 O'Hagan repeated his question and the assessor smiled 
 indulgently. 
 
 " No, no," he said. " I was referring to an earlier stage 
 of my career." 
 
 " Fifty years ago, sir. Precisely," O'Hagan commented. 
 
 The chairman, after several attempts to evade the desire 
 he felt, yawned brazenly. Two lawyers facing him 
 followed suit. That passed it back to the deaf assessor, 
 who yawned also. The room seemed to jibber and mouth 
 with a shadowy attempt at imitation, monstrous and 
 indefinite to consider. The still figure of the girl seated at 
 the back of it seemed more far off than ever, remote, 
 absorbed by twisting veils of fog. 
 
 " As a matter of fact, sir," O'Hagan resumed, " I was 
 trying to make you see the position we were in, and with 
 all deference, I do not consider that life-lines affect the 
 issue. ..." 
 
 " I had been on deck for thirty-two hours fighting for 
 our lives." He emphasised this by a swing of his hand. 
 " All our lives, you understand, and I gave very little 
 thought to questions of fatigue until . . . well, until I 
 found I was done. So I say now, that if it had not been 
 for the deckload the Sphinx would have been afloat 
 to-day." 
 
 The junior magistrate moved in his chair. He seemed 
 puzzled, perhaps oppressed. Somewhere at the back of 
 his mind, in spite of the fog, Moliere's phrase stirred in an 
 altered form " What the devil was this man doing in 
 that galley ? " 
 
 He leaned back tapping with his fingers on the arm of 
 his chair. A man who could defend himself in this fashion 
 should not be in a vessel of the Sphinx class. He was
 
 35 
 
 about to speak, perhaps to suggest this, when the voice of 
 one who sat with him intervened. 
 
 " How ? " said the bearded assessor, who had dozed. 
 " I don't quite follow you there, captain." 
 
 " Well it broke adrift," the Bottle-filler announced. 
 " It smashed the rails, port and starboard on the foreside 
 of the bridge. It smashed up two of my men and kept me 
 going until I was fit to do no more." 
 
 " I understand you signed a paper expressing your 
 satisfaction with the manner in which this cargo was 
 secured ? " said the assessor. 
 " Certainly I signed it." 
 
 " Without comment or any sort of protest ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Was that wise if you were not satisfied ? " 
 " I was satisfied that the thing was as secure as lashings 
 could make it. I was not satisfied with the cargo 
 itself." 
 
 " I gather," said the chairman, leaning forward in his 
 place, " that you do not consider the deckload was 
 excessive ? " 
 
 " It is difficult to say what is and what is not excessive, 
 sir. I was bound to Hamburg. I could not have brought 
 that cargo into a British port but I could take it to the 
 Continent without breaking any regulations. If we had 
 had fine weather we should have come in sound ; but we 
 had gales bad gales of the kind you may expect on the 
 Atlantic in winter time." 
 
 " Hum," said the chairman, deep in his throat. " And 
 I am to understand you made no protest, captain, of any 
 sort or kind ? " 
 " None officially." 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " 
 
 " That I expressed my dissatisfaction to my agents and 
 could do no more. If a British ship is bound to a foreign 
 port the Board of Trade appears to have no jurisdiction. 
 She may carry a deckload which she would not be allowed 
 to carry into a British port. I objected to it as I shall 
 always object. Ships are not intended to carry deck- 
 loads, if you want my opinion. What can a man do when 
 great cases of machinery, or casks of tallow break adrift ? 
 How can he secure them against the scend of a ship in a 
 sea-way ? If he lives to tell his experience he is lucky. 
 Half the trouble at sea is caused by carrying deckloads." 
 
 D s
 
 86 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 The assessor, alert still and burning to retrieve his 
 position, drummed on the table with his pencil. 
 
 " The Board of Trade statistics do not bear you out, 
 captain," he remarked with pursed lips. 
 
 " The Board of Trade authorise deckloads, sir, because 
 shipowners demand it," said the Bottle-filler with point 
 and emphasis. 
 
 " I gather, then," said the chairman, " that you would 
 be prepared to place the onus of this matter on your 
 owners, Captain O'Hagan ? " 
 
 " I think I have made it plain that . . ." 
 
 The lawyer who defended this Bottle-filler plucked at 
 his coat tails, but he refused to sit down. 
 
 " I think I have made it quite plain," he reiterated, 
 " that if the deckload had not broken adrift I should have 
 been on deck myself when we made the land ... as it 
 was I was on my sofa. ..." 
 
 " I cannot defend you, Captain O'Hagan," the 
 lawyer pressed, " unless you are prepared to be guided 
 by me." 
 
 " I think," said the chairman, " that Captain O'Hagan 
 is unwise to allow himself to be carried away in this 
 a fashion. It can do him no good . . . indeed," he 
 frowningly admonished, " it may do him harm." 
 
 " I am on my defence," said O'Hagan. " I must make 
 myself clear." 
 
 " You assert," said the assessor who had been caught 
 drowsing, " that the Board of Trade authorises deckloads 
 because shipowners demand it. I do not agree with you. 
 I think the statement should not have been made." 
 
 The lawyer who represented the Board of Trade rose 
 and said 
 
 " I should, perhaps, have taken notice of that remark, 
 had I wished unduly to press Captain O'Hagan as it is, 
 I do not intend to add to his burden." 
 
 Again the defence plucked at straws. 
 
 "Withdraw it, captain . . . withdraw," whispered the 
 law. 
 
 And the Bottle-filler, smarting under a sense of oppres- 
 sion he could not define, answered 
 
 " I had no desire to offend anyone when I made that 
 statement, much less the Board of Trade, but it is true. 
 You see, sir," he addressed the chairman directly, 
 " foreign ships run in competition with our ships, and
 
 A CHALLENGE 3? 
 
 foreigners carry deckloads. So we have to do the same, 
 or get wiped off the slate. ..." 
 
 " Wiped off the slate ! Really, captain, I think you are 
 making a mistake there. Competition is a healthy state 
 of affairs a generally. Without competition we should 
 degenerate into something too supine for words. Com- 
 petition keeps us keen. It invigorates the masses a 
 gives a chance to new men, vivifies their brains, clarifies 
 their a vision and enables them a to compete with 
 other a men. You take me ? You see the drift ? 
 But I should not pursue that line of argument, captain, if 
 I were you. It really isn't worthy your consideration, 
 because, you see, it has been considered, thrashed out in 
 the schools, hammered into shape and set forth in the 
 form of a of essays." 
 
 The chair was away on one of its pet theories and the 
 question at issue stayed. 
 
 The lawyers looked bored. The grey -bearded assessor 
 closed his eyes, his brother assessor stared at the brown 
 window he faced. He yawned openly. 
 
 " I believe in freedom of exchange," said the chair, 
 " and to obtain that you must have competition. The 
 principle of the thing was set forth long ago by the genius 
 of a Bas . . . Bastiat," he covered his face to hide the 
 yawn provoked by this name. " I doubt," he resumed 
 frowning, " if you have ever heard of him, or of Cobden 
 and those of his school whom he a so wonderfully 
 paraphrased." He glanced over the gold pince-nez he 
 had assumed waiting for the captain's reply, and that tried 
 man gave it in the language he knew 
 
 " If he went to sea, sir, and had any knowledge of deck- 
 cargoes, I'll bet he didn't believe in carrying them until 
 he chucked the sea and became a shipowner." 
 
 The chairman looked solemnly over folded hands at 
 this Bottle-filler and said, in the phrasing for which he was 
 famed since that day when he had received knighthood at 
 the hands of his party 
 
 " I hoped to do you a service, captain " his intonation 
 was sepulchral " and to persuade you, if possible a to 
 consider this matter from the a point of view of the 
 man in the street ; but " he moved his hands and the 
 diamond gleamed " it seems useless . . . quite useless." 
 
 He stared at the row of sorrowing lawyers who con- 
 fronted him, singled one out and said acidly
 
 38 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " You were saying, Mr. Bashelan, something of calling 
 certain members of the crew . . . when a this inter- 
 lude occurred. Will you go on ? Captain, perhaps you 
 will be good enough to sit down ? " 
 
 The Bottle-filler, with the air of one tired of protest, sat 
 as desired. The lawyer in a matter-of-fact way got on his 
 feet and began to speak. Out of the first sentences there 
 fell a word which made O'Hagan burn. Intemperance ! 
 The last resort of a hard-pressed defence. The article 
 one can produce, at a price, with the precision of all 
 machine-made things, be they lies or merely evidence. 
 O'Hagan leaned towards his adviser with a touch 
 which showed the strain he endured, and received his 
 answer. 
 
 " Keep cool, captain . . . keep cool. They generally 
 bring it forward in cases of this sort," he added after a 
 small pause. 
 
 " It's a lie ! " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Then why in Heaven's name ! " 
 
 " Wait . . . we'll scotch them." 
 
 Bashelan completed his introductory remarks, then 
 turned and jerked his head in the direction of the group of 
 witnesses. A Belgian who spoke sufficient English to 
 pass the test on sailing day, but at no other time under the 
 sun, crowded to the front and with the aid of an inter- 
 preter was sworn. In the hands of the owners' lawyer 
 it appeared from this person's evidence that Captain 
 O'Hagan was constantly drunk. So, too, were the first 
 mate and the chief engineer. " On the night of the wreck," 
 said the lips of the translator with due unction, " the 
 captain was so drunk that he could not stand ! " 
 
 O'Hagan was already on his feet when a cry arose from 
 that blank wall space which held one lonely figure upon 
 its dim expanse. 
 
 " Oh ! It's not true . . . it's not true ... it couldn't 
 be true, because . . . because " 
 
 " Lucy ! For God's sake. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan pushed back his chair with a haste which sent 
 a scroop through the high room and in one instant he was 
 at her side. 
 
 " For God's sake, Mem-sahib ! " he reiterated, speaking 
 low, holding her hands, staring into her face, " don't let 
 them think you can feel. It's a lie. I can prove it.
 
 A CHALLENGE 39 
 
 Stand firm, oh, dearest, and see me jump on them." He 
 squeezed hands as she looked up, checking the sob which 
 had risen. " Now I must go back," he whispered. 
 " Laugh at the beasts . . . they can't hurt us ! " 
 
 He returned to a place beside his lawyer as the chairman 
 opened his mouth to give utterance to that well-worn 
 sentence which threatens to clear the court " if this 
 unseemly conduct is resumed." 
 
 A dim threat given in a dim light against a dim personage 
 who might or might not hear it ; given and pushed aside 
 both by the court and by the offender, because it was 
 obvious obvious that a dim smudge amidst the wall 
 space could work no harm. 
 
 O'Hagan's lawyer was on his feet to turn the tide. He 
 took no notice of his client's dash or of his return. He was 
 immersed in the study of a Belgian sailor who had pro- 
 vided a sensation which might perhaps focus people's 
 attention on this case of subornation, if on no other phase 
 of the trial. The papers might help here. He glanced 
 round but with the exception of a young journalist who 
 " did pars " for the shipowners' organ, no representatives 
 of the Press had faced the dullness. 
 
 With a touch of anger, the first that had appeared, the 
 lawyer Hargreaves turned to cross-examine his witness. 
 He explained that this sailor had been roughly handled 
 by Captain O'Hagan on the night in question because he 
 insisted on climbing into a boat when ordered to prepare 
 her. He showed in point of fact that the Belgian had 
 been drilled by experts in the art of finding evidence, and 
 that he was an individual who did not understand the 
 duties for which he had shipped. He sent him back with 
 a skirl of indignation and O'Hagan breathed hard. 
 
 Then came two additional witnesses, members of the 
 crew whom O'Hagan had saved, who spoke with monkey- 
 like definition to certain acts of drunkenness. They swore 
 it, one through an interpreter, the other in genuine cock- 
 ney, and again Hargreaves was set to it to prove malice, to 
 prove indeed that this thing had never occurred. To 
 prove, you will understand, a negative which is im- 
 possible, if not, as Euclid would say, absurd. 
 
 The Bench listened in bored silence. There was no 
 occasion here for assessors to be on the alert. This part of 
 the thing was to be judged, yea or nay, on the view the court 
 took of a witness's veracity. Doubtless Captain O'Hagan
 
 40 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 would be prepared to produce individuals who could swear 
 with precision meanwhile wise men marked time. 
 
 Then from the owners came evidence of a more subtle 
 character. It appeared that they had for some time been 
 doubtful of Captain O'Hagan's competence, and had 
 written to their agents in New York, and other places at 
 which the Sphinx had touched, raising this same question 
 of insobriety. True, each of the agencies replied that it 
 had not observed anything to lead it to suspect that 
 Captain O'Hagan drank more than was good for him ; but 
 the suggestion remained a very damning one until 
 O'Hagan's advocate, now thoroughly on his mettle, tore 
 it to shreds. He pointed out with considerable fire that 
 it was not until after a dispute had occurred between this 
 Bottle-filler and his owners that his owners became 
 afflicted with any qualms as to his insobriety a thrust 
 this which set O'Hagan smiling and the far-off face 
 against the wall quivering with hope and fear. 
 
 Oh ! he was very young, this British shipmaster who 
 filled the bottles of his countrymen, yet he was on trial 
 for his life- nearly as young, indeed, as that sweet-eyed 
 girl-woman who sat in the shadow of the wall thrilling 
 when he thrilled, smiling when he smiled. 
 
 The magistrates consulted over this point and then the 
 chairman put questions which elicited that the dispute had 
 reference to certain repairs which were considered essential 
 by the captain and his chief engineer, and unnecessary by 
 the owners. 
 
 Hargreaves considered he had scored in this bout and 
 ventured to impress the fact on his client, but it appeared 
 that the chairman frowned on the explanation. He did 
 not like it. It seemed to suggest animus on the part of 
 the owners as well as on the part of the crew. No no. 
 That must not be pressed. Unwise quite unwise, if I 
 may say so. The deaf assessor seemed to concur. He of 
 the long beard drew pictures of the futility of " a captain 
 bein' at variance with his owners." An unwise policy in 
 truth. 
 
 So the thing see-sawed now finding points for the 
 Bottle-filler ; now for his owners. Each lawyer discovered 
 something pertinent to his client, each witness left the box 
 more or less uncertain what he had sworn, but smudged ; 
 and no soul of all who sat in that fog-bound court could 
 have said authoritatively how the case would go. As a
 
 A CHALLENGE 41 
 
 hazard it was worthy the spin of a coin. It usually is 
 when mud has been flung with intent. 
 
 But when the lamps outside browned windows com- 
 menced to waver and grow dull, Hargreaves sought an 
 adjournment. He considered, in view of the aspersions 
 which had been showered on his client, that he was 
 justified in asking to be allowed to call evidence as to 
 Captain O'Hagan's character. And to this the court agreed. 
 " We concur," it said in parenthesis; " oh, yes, we very 
 certainly concur." 
 
 And wise men applauded their decision if others 
 squirmed. The gloom was a burden. Even the magis- 
 trate who had questioned what O'Hagan did in that galley 
 was weary and confused, tired, a little petulant and 
 anxious to be rid of puzzles. His head ached. 
 
 That is the usual end of legal arguments in any weather ; 
 but on a dull day only the lawyers can do without 
 phenacetin. Perhaps that is the reason why they exist. 
 
 O'Hagan went under with the fire of that mutual con- 
 currence, unspoken as it was. Nature fought against 
 him here as on the high seas. Individual forces were in 
 the scales, privilege, convention the law which alters not. 
 If O'Hagan had been merely intelligent he would have 
 made no stir about deck-loads. He would not have 
 challenged an assessor obviously in need of a nap. He 
 would have encouraged him to sleep. He would have 
 found a pillow for his head. Without noise or fuss he 
 would have made him exceedingly comfortable in his 
 chair, and so earned his blessing. 
 
 But O'Hagan was an Irishman and without intelligence. 
 He was ready to fight at any moment. He would never 
 consider the odds. He had no subtleties. He was 
 unaccustomed to consider the end. " Let the end take 
 care of itself " might, with some relevancy, have stood as 
 his motto. The strain of Celtic blood in his veins com- 
 pelled him to challenge, even on this day of yawning and 
 lassitude, when brazen men were weary and a network, 
 filmy but definitely clogging, had been spun about his 
 path. 
 
 O'Hagan's keen eyes flashed when he heard the result 
 of his lawyer's appeal. He was unaware of any toils. 
 Subornation was a factor too remote to touch him. He 
 did not know its name. 
 
 The room was sepulchral when at length they filed out
 
 42 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 of it ; a woman's face the one unsullied of all who had 
 endured the day's fencing. 
 
 " They can never prove it, my darling," she whispered 
 as O'Hagan joined her. " No one in the world would 
 believe them if they did." 
 
 And this was the opinion of the one member of the public 
 who for three days had been content to listen to the 
 wordiness of the lords of creation.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WE CONCUR 
 
 THE three days granted by the court fizzled out to the 
 accompaniment of fog and the black drizzle known in 
 towns as rain. Then came a gale to clean the air and make 
 men brisk. 
 
 Snow stretched out a hand trying to whiten things and 
 retired to brood in face of the salt men strewed. The 
 broad river bustled seaward, swept by the smoke of the 
 eastern chimneys. Steamers wailed in dismal iteration of 
 the fact that smoke blinded them ; ferry boats hustled 
 hither and away crossing the traffic. Tram-cars clanged 
 on gongs as they passed laden with passengers ; teams of 
 giant horses crept with straining thews up from the docks, 
 and up and down the pavements hastened those pedes- 
 trians whom business had called from their homes. 
 Telegraph boys careened on red bicycles, messengers ran 
 hither and thither, darting amidst the courts and subways 
 of a city. Jangle, clang and hustle. The roar of a giant 
 busy tending the wants, stocking the pantries, filling the 
 cellars of a nation grown clamorous for comfort. 
 
 And amidst it all, taking small heed of the snow, the 
 pall of leaden air, the mud and salted slush, darted the 
 newsboys, bare of head usually, bare of feet and legs in 
 nearly all cases ; unconscious yet of tragedy and shouting 
 shrilly of the tragedy they sold. 
 
 O'Hagan waiting in the narrow street for his witnesses 
 came forward and took a paper. Twopence changed 
 hands. The boy spat on the coins and garnered them 
 amidst his rags. He seemed elated at his luck and dashed 
 off, reiterating piercingly his tragic cry 
 
 " Loss of a liner . . . great shippin' disaster . . . boats 
 dashed to pieces . . . loss of a liner. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan opened the sheet and presently discovered far 
 down the page a brief telegram from Corunna stating that 
 the mailship Atrick had struck an uncharted rock between 
 Villano and Finisterre and had sunk almost immediately.
 
 44 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " The loss of life," said the final paragraph, " will probably 
 be large. Rescuing steamer reports several boats missing. 
 Details later." 
 
 " The Atrick," said O'Hagan, as he rejoined Hargreaves. 
 " Good Lord ! one of the Eastern Mail. I knew all the 
 men in her poor devils ! " 
 
 The lawyer caught at the paper and scanned it. 
 
 " That is your old service, then ? " he commented. 
 " Good heavens, I hope it will not prevent Captain 
 Worsdale giving us the benefit of his presence." 
 
 " No fear of that if I know him. Besides, this is only 
 just out ... he can't have heard." 
 
 Hargreaves shook his head over this. " It will rush him 
 when he does come," he asserted, ruffled. " What a 
 bother ! Well we had better get in and face the music." 
 Then as they tramped the passage he halted and, looking 
 O'Hagan in the face, said " Oh, by the way, I hope the 
 lady, if she comes to-day, will manage to control herself 
 better. That sort of thing is all very well in jury cases, or 
 where there are reporters to pass it on to the papers . . . 
 but here, it doesn't do ... waste of steam, if I may say 
 so. . . ." 
 
 " She will not come again. I have seen to that," said 
 O'Hagan, then with a swift turn " Good Lord ! you don't 
 mean to suggest that you think it was got up for effect ? " 
 
 " My dear captain," the lawyer smiled, " I am here in 
 the character of adviser. Certainly I do not suggest it ; 
 but there are those who will. That is why I spoke why, 
 in point of fact, I felt it was my duty to warn you." 
 
 " I am in a world I don't pretend to understand," 
 O'Hagan threw back, frowning. " Out there " he indi- 
 cated the direction of the sea " it is all clean and straight 
 in comparison with this beastly business of lies and 
 shuffling and innuendo. No one can hold up a finger here 
 by the Lord ! but everybody gets up to see what is hidden 
 behind the finger. You shore-going folk don't give us 
 fair play in your courts. There is too much subtlety 
 suggested. Sailors are not subtle they are white men. 
 White and straight as a die." 
 
 Hargreaves took his arm as they entered. " Don't get 
 on edge," he urged. " Perhaps some day we shall get the 
 court you desire. I admit it is necessary." 
 
 " Necessary ! " O'Hagan challenged. " Oh, yes and 
 for that reason it will not come. We are too busy to be
 
 WE CONCUR 45 
 
 rational. When we have driven sailors off the sea we 
 shall begin to offer inducements to people who have never 
 heard of the sea to send their boys to man our ships. But 
 the boys won't stay. Mark my words they won't stay," 
 he hissed it out " unless somebody begins to make it 
 possible for men like me to exist." 
 
 They took their places and presently faced the music 
 with the calm of all driven souls. 
 
 This sudden announcement of the loss of one of his old 
 ships had stirred O'Hagan more than he was aware. The 
 knowledge that it might prevent Captain Worsdale appear- 
 ing as he had promised made him dread the rush of that 
 final chorus which would echo about his ears. Men of the 
 British Merchant Service are not given a chance. This 
 mud-slinging business, it appeared, was no new thing ; 
 but it was rarely urged in cases where so little evidence 
 was on the side of the slingers. Hargreaves admitted as 
 much. At the same time he stated that it was common 
 where these pettifogging shipowners were on the defence. 
 " One- ship companies like these people of yours have no 
 conscience," he announced. " They are there to make 
 money. How they make it doesn't come within inquiry. 
 What are you doing with them, anyhow ? Get out, 
 my friend, while there is time." 
 
 Hargreaves, O'Hagan perceived, had no respect for 
 shipowners of a certain rank and status. His life was 
 spent fighting them, and he knew more of their methods 
 than he cared to admit. 
 
 Well and here was the music begun already. Someone 
 was on his feet proclaiming that lie afresh. A cockney 
 accent intoned it. The suave facility with which the words 
 rolled was exasperating. But O'Hagan, now that the 
 orchestra had finished tuning up, sat calm to listen. He 
 leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin on hand, ready 
 to quarrel, ready to give back, with a trowel if necessary, 
 anything flung. 
 
 The music was before him. He glanced over the score 
 he faced, noting the gradual move towards crescendo, the 
 sorrowful phrasing of the horns, thrust in, as it were, to 
 plead, and came in imagination to the wrath and turbulent 
 maze of a chorus which suddenly sprang out, drowning all 
 protest ; which marched triumphant and vibrating to the 
 death then crept in with small wailing arpeggios which 
 wriggled into silence as the victim lay still.
 
 46 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 He saw himself still. Very small and very flattened, 
 prone at the end of a vast plateau where no other soul 
 stirred. The dim air was kept moving by the wings of 
 birds which hovered over him, swooping down, waiting, 
 chattering. It was all very far off, and in the distance 
 gleams of light played. The sea was somewhere near. 
 He could hear its roar, the solemn monotone of surges 
 charging the granite coast which faced them. He saw 
 nothing of this yet it passed as other phantoms pass 
 when man is at war with faith, when hope no longer 
 stands as a possible adjunct, and lies have driven forth 
 charity. 
 
 It shaped in his brain at length as the disaster which had 
 overtaken him. By some it was suggested that he had 
 committed barratry. Cast away his ship ! God ! how 
 he had fought in that blinding whirr of spray and driven 
 spume. How Barlow had striven poor little Steel, too, 
 who now was a ghost, perhaps on that plane he had seen, 
 with all his crew of seaboys pulling, straining at the oars 
 to reach land which receded as they rowed. He could see 
 Steel as he stood there in the stern sheets waving a cheery 
 farewell to men who would never encounter his anger 
 again, nor his smile, nor the reek of his too rank pipe. 
 Steel a ghost ! One of the lost rising from the sea with 
 a tangle of hair and seaweed clogging him ; the fourteen 
 who were with him clamouring to get back into their boat. 
 
 Striven ? Of course they had striven. Did any fool- 
 magistrate imagine that men voluntarily put themselves 
 in danger of hell fire for the sake of a fifty pound note, or 
 a hundred, or ten thousand, if any shipowner existed 
 who could pay it ? Did he imagine, by the Lord ! that a 
 captain who had lives in his keeping, who had a ship in his 
 keeping, was likely to be drunk at a moment when he was 
 brushing sleep from his eyes and struggling to find, in 
 a blackness which roared, what hit his ship ; why she 
 staggered and thumped and tilted with the seas pouring 
 over her . . . ? 
 
 Did he imagine anything ? Could he imagine or was 
 he so steeped in the attitudes of the drunk and disorderly 
 he judged, that he must apply the same arguments to men 
 of the sea . . . ? 
 
 O'Hagan breathed hard. His chin was sunk on his 
 hands, his eyes fixed on an object he did not see ; his 
 thoughts, his memory, his vitality coping with scenes far
 
 WE CONCUR 47 
 
 from the ken of courts, far from the drone of cars and 
 trollies away in a land he could people or blot out as he 
 desired. Dreamland. The beautiful land we harness and 
 govern at will. 
 
 Hargreaves touched his elbow and he looked round. 
 
 " That's the worst of you people," said the lawyer. 
 " You are all imagination." 
 
 " If I had not an imagination," O'Hagan returned, " I 
 should not have gone to sea. Bow before imagination, 
 my friend it feeds you." 
 
 " At the moment it would pay you better to take note 
 of what is being said." 
 
 " Exactly," O'Hagan countered, " but payment is just 
 one of those questions which never enters one's cosmos." 
 
 There came a sound of wheels and brakes and O'Hagan 
 was alert and on his feet in a moment. 
 
 The owners' lawyer was reeling out a speech and Har- 
 greaves taking notes. O'Hagan bent down and whispered 
 " That's Worsdale for a dollar. I'll go and meet him." 
 
 He crept away on tiptoe and came to the door. He was 
 alert enough now. The advent of Worsdale meant so 
 much to this stern-faced man from the sea perhaps 
 salvation. If he could not save him from the effect of 
 this mud-throwing then no one could. He might give it 
 up, blow out his brains, or go and find a patch and hoe it 
 for a livelihood. Oh ! the whole business of sailoring was 
 wiped out as far as he was concerned ; wiped off the 
 slate, completed. And he loved the sea. 
 
 Besides, there was Lucy to consider . . . that sweet 
 girl whose cry yesterday would, it appeared, be twisted 
 into an appeal. 
 
 He came down the passage and encountered Worsdale 
 shaking the snow from his coat. 
 
 " Well," questioned the great little man, " What in 
 God's name are you here for ? " 
 
 " I lost my ship, sir and . . . and they want to prove 
 I was drunk and disorderly." 
 
 " Of course. That's the magisterial mind. Were you ? " 
 Worsdale's eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Faith ! " O'Hagan smiled, " I was but a minute out 
 of my pew (bunk) when she struck. There wasn't time 
 to get a drink, let alone get drunk, or God knows I might 
 have been. . . ." 
 
 " I know. I read your evidence. You attribute it to
 
 48 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 deck cargo and are up against the law. Well let us get 
 in and ask your man to put me up as soon as possible. 
 I can't stay more than " he glanced at his watch 
 " fifteen minutes. If my word is necessary, and I suppose 
 it is or you would not have troubled me, it must be taken 
 quickly." 
 
 He came into court and moved briskly to the table. 
 Hargreaves at once assimilated the position, and touching 
 his friend the lawyer, who still argued, rose and addressed 
 the chair. He asked leave to be permitted to call Captain 
 Worsdale, who at great inconvenience had come from 
 Town to speak for Captain O'Hagan. He urged acquies- 
 cence on the ground that as the marine superintendent 
 of the Eastern Mail Service it was imperative that Captain 
 Worsdale returned at once. 
 
 There was a small buzz of talk on the Bench. " The 
 Eastern Mail Service . . . yes, yes, owners of the Atrick, 
 which had taken a short cut to Corunna . . . another case 
 for someone to try . . . Yes, yes, certainly. The court 
 has no desire to keep Captain Worsdale longer than is 
 essential." 
 
 Captain Worsdale in a trice was in the box, sworn ; the 
 preliminary questions as to his status answered. Then 
 Hargreaves, leaning slightly on one arm, said 
 
 " You know the defendant ? " 
 
 " For about ten years," came back instantly. 
 
 " You had him at one time as an officer under you ? " 
 
 " Yes as fifth, fourth and third officer in the Saladin 
 of the Eastern Mail Service." 
 
 " Have you ever seen him drunk ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Hilarious shall we say ? " 
 
 " At no time." 
 
 " You have no doubt at all as to his sobriety ? " 
 
 " I would stake my life on it, sir." 
 
 " And your opinion, Captain Worsdale, on his capacity 
 as a seaman ? " 
 
 Worsdale glanced at his watch and said at once 
 
 " I found him always a good and zealous officer. A 
 careful navigator. A man on whom I could rely. It was 
 with considerable reluctance I acquiesced in his desire to 
 change into cargo boats. If he had remained in our service 
 after I became marine superintendent I would have had 
 him in command in twelve months. And now, sir," he
 
 WE CONCUR 40 
 
 addressed the chair, " if I may claim indulgence I shall be 
 very glad to get back to my cab." 
 
 The bench acknowledged the position in fit terms, 
 and Worsdale bustled towards the door, accompanied 
 by O'Hagan. 
 
 " I should like to express my gratitude, sir," O'Hagan 
 commenced when they reached the passage, but the great 
 little man would have no thanks. 
 
 " You have given me a rush," he said. " I'm getting 
 too old to look on that with indifference. I have a ship 
 on the rocks, too, somewhere between Corunna and Vigo 
 . . . devil of a business, I fear. Well and what were 
 you doing in the Sphinx ? " 
 
 " Trying to make a bit of money, sir." 
 
 " Money ? You can't make money out of vessels of 
 that class, unless you own them." 
 
 " Yes, but I took some shares in her, sir ... I 
 thought " 
 
 " Shares in the Sphinx . . . Sharum, Fit & Co. ? " 
 
 ' Yes why not ? " 
 
 " Better have taken shares with the Scarlet Woman ! 
 Good Lord ! and I have just given you a certificate for 
 sanity and sobriety . . . Sharum, Fit & Co. ! Man, you'll 
 lose every cent you put in. They run ' One Ship Com- 
 panies ' . . . get out of it and come to see me in town." 
 
 He stepped into his cab, ordered the driver to keep his 
 horse on his pins and acknowledged O'Hagan's salute. 
 He glanced sidelong at one of the newly produced taxi-cabs 
 buzzing at the pavement, decided that when " those 
 things ' were perfected quiet would be dead, and lay back 
 to watch the heave and fall of the horse's quarters as 
 he sped towards the station. 
 
 O'Hagan, with a sense of impending trouble weighing 
 on him, returned to the court. 
 
 The case droned on. A parson friend arrived and gave 
 evidence as to O'Hagan's sobriety. He spoke quietly, 
 stating that he had known the defendant from childhood 
 and that his conduct had always been irreproachable. 
 Pressed by the owner's lawyer he admitted that he knew 
 nothing of his life at sea ; but of his life on shore he could 
 speak with absolute certitude. 
 
 And at the luncheon hour the talk fizzled out. The 
 court gave those whom it concerned to understand that 
 it must take time for consideration. There were many 
 
 B.F. K
 
 50 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 points on which it would be necessary to read over the 
 evidence and confer with the assessors. Judgment would 
 be delivered on Monday next at ten o'clock in the Jake 
 Hall. 
 
 Three days' suspense given in the magisterial manner as 
 to a delinquent " caught in the act " ; but no cells, no 
 police supervision, freedom, absolute freedom to O'Hagan 
 and Barlow to go where they would, drown thought as 
 they would, or get into the river. Three days of wintry 
 weather in a town which Lucy O'Hagan desired never to 
 see again. A gale whistling over the North Sea laden with 
 hail and rain and black darkness ; each morning bringing 
 its quota of disaster here a commonplace collision, there 
 a foundering. Then on Sunday night with the gale at 
 its height screaming through leaden streets, rockets came 
 from the sea and presently the cliffs were lined by those 
 who could stand there. 
 
 A big ship was in trouble that was all. Why she was in 
 
 trouble a thing for surmise among landsmen, certitude 
 
 among sailors. The Jake Hall with an odd magistrate or 
 two and a pair of assessors would be ready, when the hour 
 struck, to advise men what was the cause, why it operated, 
 and in beautifully balanced phrasing to admonish those 
 men of the sea who were saved what they should have done. 
 
 In the interim the ship, in full sight of those watching 
 clusters of wind-driven citizens, gave up the business of 
 trying to get anywhere, rolled over and sent messages no 
 longer either by flag or gun. Far off shiverings appeared. 
 A whiter blotch amidst the spume of that iron coast. All 
 quiet. All tucked away, pushed out of sight by creaming 
 seas. No cries, no wailings nothing in any sense 
 unpleasantly realistic in the methods of the tucker. 
 
 Seen from the cliffs it appeared as though Nature were in 
 league with Jake Hall to smother all those stupid sailor 
 folk with whom she came in contact. The sea itched to 
 be rid of its burden of ships. It awaited only the oppor- 
 tunity and instantly moved when opportunity struck. 
 
 It seemed that there was nothing further to be said on 
 the matter. The men who had manned this ship had failed 
 to keep her upright. That was most stupid. In the 
 language they spoke she had " turned turtle " well, but 
 they had conspired to make her " turn turtle." First, it 
 seems, they had taken her to sea in very bad weather,
 
 WE CONCUR 51 
 
 with a few locomotives and things for a deckload. Then 
 when the sea became irritable they failed to keep the 
 machinery in place. That was grossly stupid. Then, for 
 no very plain reason they had allowed the ship to become 
 unmanageable, had even failed to keep water out of 
 hatchways which the seas and locomotives had torn open. 
 
 Could anything be more stupid ? 
 
 If you allow water to pour into the holds you may expect 
 to go down the cellar. The cellar is there always. It is 
 no use pretending you did not know it was there. 
 
 And very naturally, seeing that men are unable yet to 
 breathe water, as the ship rolled over her crew was 
 drowned. 
 
 That, in effect, was very nearly the opinion of those 
 magistrates and assessors who sat on Monday morning at 
 Jake Hall to pronounce sentence on Denis O'Hagan and 
 Lucy O'Hagan and any baby O'Hagan which might be 
 stupid enough to get itself born only they said it in 
 better phrasing ; the sleek, cock-sure phrasing of all 
 departmental papers, as those may read who desire 
 
 (No. 0000.) 
 
 "SPHINX" (S.S.) 
 
 THE MERCHANT SHIPPING ACT, 1894. 
 
 In the matter of a formal Investigation held at Jake Hall on the 15th, 
 16th, 17th and 21st days of January, 1908, before Sir Carl Froester, 
 Knight, F.R.G.S., and William Jones, M.A., F.R.G.S., Esquire, 
 two of His Majesty's Justices of the Peace, for the City and 
 County of Northerton, assisted by Captain O. K. Barness and 
 Captain James Arthur Thomas (Nautical Assessors), into the 
 circumstances attending the loss of the British steamship Sphinx, 
 of Northerton, with fifteen members of her crew, on Pradanack 
 Point, Cornwall, on the night of September the 15th, 1907. 
 
 Report of Court. 
 
 The Court having carefully inquired into all the circumstances attending 
 the above-mentioned Shipping Casualty, finds, for reasons stated 
 in the Annex hereto, that the Sphinx went ashore on Pradanack 
 Point, during a S.W. gale of considerable force, on the night of 
 September the 15th, 1907. 
 
 The Court is of opinion that the Sphinx was not navigated with proper 
 and seamanlike care. There was no proper and efficient use ot 
 the lead. At the time of the wreck it appears that the ship was 
 in charge of the Mate, and that the Master was in his room. 
 
 The Court is of opinion that considering the state of the weather it 
 would have been wiser if the Master had remained on deck, 
 
 2
 
 52 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 especially when it is remembered that no very reliable observations 
 had been taken in order to fix the ship's position before making 
 the land. 
 
 The Court is of opinion that the Master failed to exercise that wise 
 discretion which experience has taught it to expect of British 
 Shipmasters, and with great reluctance has come to the conclusion 
 that it is necessary to mark its sense of his failure. The Master's 
 Certificate is therefore suspended for a period of six calendar 
 months. 
 
 The Court is of opinion that the Mate acted unwisely in continuing to 
 steer the course set by the Master without at any time attempting 
 to verify his position by the use of the lead. In view of these 
 facts the Court finds that the Mate committed a very serious 
 error of judgment in not calling the Master, in not hauling off the 
 coast, or heaving to until it became possible to ascertain the exact 
 position of the ship. In these circumstances the Court has no 
 option but very reluctantly to suspend the Mate's certificate for a 
 period of nine calendar months. 
 
 The Court finds that the Sphinx was in good and seaworthy condition 
 when leaving New York. She was well and efficiently equipped 
 and laden in accordance with the Regulations. 
 
 Dated this 25th day of January, 1908, 
 
 CARL FROESTER ) T , 
 WILLIAM JOXES j **** 
 
 We concur in the above Report, 
 
 O. K. HARNESS ) . 
 
 JAMES ARTHUR THOMAS j Auunr >- 
 
 The annex to this report was set forth in many pages of 
 closely typed matter. In it the court explained the reasons 
 which guided it, tore to shreds the captain's allegations 
 concerning the deckload, ruled out of court the sugges- 
 tions of barratry, expressed the opinion that it was unwise 
 to over-insure seeing how open such a course was to mis- 
 conception, then with a scuffle of importance decided that 
 the question of insobriety should never have been made 
 on the evidence adduced ; but, with a back hander, 
 pointed to the fact that Captain O'Hagan had called no 
 witnesses from the crew of the ship. 
 
 And when these matters had been made plain in Jake 
 Hall, O'Hagan rose and, standing to confront these busi- 
 ness men with their satellite advisers, said 
 
 " I protest against your sentence. It is unjust and 
 unwise. If any appeal is possible in a case of this kind, 
 I give notice that I shall appeal." 
 
 The chairman, frowning on this stupidity, advised 
 Captain O'Hagan to consult his lawyer and not waste the 
 time of the court.
 
 WE CONCUR 
 
 53 
 
 Even a Bottle-filler should have known what answer 
 would be his. 
 
 O'Hagan moved away to consider this view, and with 
 him went Hargreaves and grey-haired Jimmy Barlow 
 all manifestly sobered by this sentence which is no 
 sentence. 
 
 A squall broke over the town as they stood together to 
 discuss it and they crowded back for shelter. Hail, sleet 
 and a blinding gale drove through the street ; the towns- 
 men disappeared swiftly to await a lull ; but out there, 
 farther east, groups of men struggled to disentangle from 
 casks and cases and spars, the bodies of sailormen who, 
 having no alleyways or passages for escape, must needs 
 stand and take what Nature provides of chastisement.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LUCY 
 
 O'HAGAN was not on the cliffs watching dead sailors 
 fished out of the surf on that day of days ; he was marching 
 streets where the traffic was densest, contemplating this 
 blow which had fallen upon him. It meant not only sus- 
 pension, but the patent fact that he had been found guilty 
 of negligence. As a corollary, of course, there lay at his 
 door the death by drowning of Little Steel and the fourteen 
 he was attempting to save. 
 
 That should have weighed heavily on O'Hagan, but it 
 did not and for the very valid reason that he understood 
 why the Sphinx had become a wreck and the court did not. 
 The phase that troubled him was that personal note which 
 arrives in cases of unjust punishment. Who, for instance, 
 would believe that he was any other thing than a fool ? 
 Who would credit, in the face of that sentence, that the 
 fault lay on other shoulders than his ? Does not the world 
 always wag tongue over the poor devil who has gone down 
 before its courts ? Was it concerned with the blazoned 
 stupidity of magistrates when sitting with assessors to 
 judge sailors ? Has it any thought at all for the men who, 
 when presently it is engaged in war, will be there, sword 
 drawn to defend it ? Was it not comfortable and snug 
 and blind ; busy squabbling over the right to strike, the 
 right to free food and the right to make some other body 
 pay for it ? 
 
 The clamour of a world too busy to be just stood over 
 this man, pushing him to earth. 
 
 The devil of it all was that O'Hagan did not know what 
 he faced. He was concerned with his own humiliation, the 
 wreckage of that scheme for personal success and advance- 
 ment which he had mapped out. Before he met Lucy he 
 had not been very much stirred by ambition. He was in 
 comfortable quarters. He had a sufficiency. He met 
 decent people, and the work, if monotonous, was not 
 exasperating ; but with the advent of Lucy Faulkner all
 
 LUCY 55 
 
 that was changed. He became anxious to provide her 
 with pretty things. He desired success that she might 
 honour him, and above all that he might give the lie to 
 that old croaker, Colonel Faulkner, who, it seemed, had 
 ventured to disparage him. And now this judgment 
 which had been passed upon him would give the man a 
 handle ; perhaps the very handle he required. 
 
 He turned abruptly from the great shops of a main 
 street and sought seclusion in the dingier quarter. He was 
 raw and whipped and angry. The whippers were people 
 who had no right to wield whips. They knew nothing, 
 nothing, as God stands over us, of the conditions which 
 make for wrecks and collisions and disaster at sea. Then 
 what right had they with the whips ? Why had they 
 singled out him, and that unfortunate mate of his, for 
 punishment ? 
 
 He came suddenly to a standstill over a question which 
 appeared as he marched suppose these magistrate fools 
 were in league with shipowners with his owners. They 
 were all men of the same kidney. Swollen in pocket and 
 swollen of head. " Shore-going sharks." People who 
 had a " natural down on sailors," people of the same type 
 as the flunkeys and underlings who seize upon a ship as 
 soon as she comes alongside, by Jove ! and hang to her 
 skirts until she moves away again. 
 
 He walked on because men and boys stared. He walked 
 on because he must do something and did not know what. 
 Because he could not go home yet, could not face the streets 
 where he was known while it remained light. Because he 
 would rather not face Lucy, with his news, until the dusk 
 had come. 
 
 An older man would have been stunned by the sentence 
 meted out by these magistrates of Jake Hall. He would 
 have known just how hard he had been hit by it. He 
 would have acquired, in a life singularly proficient in snubs, 
 the knowledge that if a man is suspended in the mercantile 
 marine he may as well end matters speedily. The shock 
 of that sentence might have sent him home reeling or it 
 might have found him at the beginning of a gentle slide 
 into oblivion ; at the top of a pleasant hill at the bottom 
 of which cadgers stand fully revealed, shameless. 
 
 O'Hagan entered a shop where they catered for those 
 who desire lunch and sat behind the paper he had pur- 
 chased, turning pages to seek evidence that his name was
 
 56 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 on the tongues of all. A small paragraph at the bottom of 
 a page reciting the judgment should have advised him 
 how little it mattered ; but it added fuel to the already 
 blazing fire. He could not eat. He sat there toying with 
 food, his thoughts busy piecing together this fact and that 
 fact ; going over the evidence which had been produced 
 for his undoing, angry, humiliated, ready to quarrel with 
 his shadow. 
 
 That is where a man young as O'Hagan feels his hurts. 
 His pride is touched. Later, when he has recovered from 
 repeated blows he discovers that pride is a mistake ; that 
 pride, when a man happens to belong to the merchant 
 service, is a quality best carried in his pocket. 
 
 O'Hagan was sensitive that, too, was a mistake for a 
 man who aspired to make money by commanding a tramp. 
 He required the hide of a walrus and Nature had dealt 
 him a skin which could flush. He had come from a fine 
 Service into the service of the small, and he had not yet 
 learned the whole gamut of his descent. It was like 
 resigning from the managership of the Bank of England 
 and taking the managership of a small provincial branch of 
 a joint stock bank. 
 
 And he had not yet learned the difference. 
 
 He came away from the restaurant because he could not 
 well remain there longer. He came out and found that 
 the January light was already failing. The tired sun was 
 on its way to bed through a glow of crimson and blue. 
 Behind him the river ran grey on its way to the sea. Once 
 that picture had reminded him of his home in the south 
 where for the past ten months he had been able to call 
 himself a householder ; but with the exception of one or 
 two aspects, common to most seaports, there was little 
 resemblance between the two towns. This north-land 
 city was sturdy as are the western dalesmen. It stood 
 regally above its river. It was busy, intent on money- 
 making and very competent to hold its own. 
 
 Ships were being built across there on the northern shore 
 for the service of England. Ships of war, giant and pigmy, 
 ships intended to carry food for the nation, ships intended 
 to fight the nation's battles. 
 
 The clang of steel and iron rang out as O'Hagan moved 
 up the slope. The grey streets echoed with the noise of 
 blows. Steam came out in sudden jets which hissed far 
 up amidst the houses. There followed interminably the
 
 LUCY 57 
 
 jar of shunting, little staccato whistles, the puff of engines 
 in a great hurry to start hauling. 
 
 O'Hagan scarcely heard these sounds. They were as 
 far off as the noise of rockets, the wind swirl by the cliffs 
 and the roll of the surf out there where the sea strove. He 
 walked with less elasticity than was usual. He seemed 
 uncertain, perhaps of his way yet during the weeks he 
 had stayed here, he had learned to know each step ; each 
 trick and turn of the roofs, precisely as he knew the 
 landmarks which led to his home at Riverton. He was 
 tired and he was dazed. 
 
 Lucy awaited his coming, otherwise the streets would 
 not have held him. Her presence up there drew him on. 
 It also made his progress slow. 
 
 Occasionally she came to meet him, but to-day he was 
 alone. He was glad for the first time. The hour was 
 boisterously intent on proving that the gale was not dead ; 
 that the night would hear its voice even as the day. It 
 would press screaming at the windows, shaking the sashes, 
 compelling the smoke to stay where it was born. Oh ! a 
 fit day and a fit hour for that slow recognition of the blow 
 which had brought him suddenly from the clouds, made 
 him think, set a puzzled frown upon a brow usually cheery 
 as the stars. 
 
 Two hours, three, four hours ago, he knew not what 
 space of time had elapsed, his trial came to an end in the 
 breezy atmosphere of Jake Hall, where crowds waited 
 the Monday's toll of the streets. The sleek magistrate 
 pronounced sentence and passed on to deal with the 
 drunk and disorderly. 
 
 O'Hagan insisted on that word. It was, in spite of 
 departmental definition, in spite of the report it issued, a 
 Trial and Sentence of absolute humiliation to O'Hagan. 
 You could see it in his downcast eyes, in the way he looked 
 at people who passed, as though he carried the certificate 
 of stupidity, the credentials of negligence and ignorance, 
 of attempted barratry on his person and anyone could read 
 them. Tradesmen standing in the doors of their shops 
 received no recognition of their habitual courtesy. The 
 captain moved on as though he would have avoided any- 
 thing in the form of salutation. " Perhaps his Trial " 
 they, too, spoke of it in police court phrasing " was 
 over." An evening paper must be purchased to establish 
 this.
 
 58 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 You may call this a tragedy or a farce, as you will ; but 
 to those who have endured it, it is a Trial and nothing 
 less. 
 
 Hypercritical ? Not at all. The end may see a man 
 triumphant or prostrate ; but he has come through courts 
 which tackle the drunk and disorderly. It may be the 
 making of him, or it may be the death of him morally, 
 professionally, physically. You cannot grasp its results 
 from newspaper comment you must have endured it to 
 understand quite how devilish are the blows it may deal. 
 
 And here, climbing through the gale-swept streets, came 
 O'Hagan at last, hands in the pockets of his coat, his collar 
 turned up, his lips very straight. He had decided, you 
 see, and Lucy had agreed, that there could be no aftermath 
 of sorrow, no pushing home of the indignity he must suffer. 
 All the sorrow, for Lucy, had been crammed into that night 
 when O'Hagan's ship had gone to pieces in Mount's Bay ; 
 all the dread into the few succeeding days. 
 
 Until that hint had fallen at the trial, of insobriety, 
 no real anxiety disturbed the girl. She understood that 
 there must be an Inquiry, and commonsense told her it 
 would be unpleasant for her husband but there it ended. 
 And now O'Hagan stood before the door of his sitting- 
 room wondering what he must say how he could tell 
 her his news ; stood, without turning the latch. 
 
 Lucy heard his step on the stairs. She heard him halt 
 on the landing. The rest was a lightning process in 
 divination. She knew that dear old Den had got it pretty 
 badly. She knew that something had come of that mud- 
 slinging. She knew he was hurt, and in a second the door 
 between them stood open and Lucy's arms were about his 
 neck. 
 
 She hummed rather than sang 
 
 " Come in, dear dearest it's cold and blust'ry in the 
 street. . . ." 
 
 He checked her with kisses, whispering 
 
 " Arms down, my Mem-sahib. . . . No, no, right down. 
 You promised . . . and if you don't try to remember I 
 shall have to " 
 
 With her lips she silenced him. Her arms slipped 
 obediently to a safe level while with her fingers she 
 straightened his tie. 
 
 There was no one on that shabby landing, no one peep- 
 ing, no maid, no landlady, nothing more intrusive than
 
 LUCY 59 
 
 a cracked Toby jug standing on a macrame-work bracket 
 to grin at them. 
 
 " I promise again," she answered smiling, radiant 
 despite the setting. " I'll promise anything you ask me 
 because you are you, and I love you ; and because I am 
 going to be very good always now . . . until 
 
 " Poor little woman ! " he ventured, holding her close. 
 
 " Happy little woman ! " she retorted, her head on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 They entered their small sitting-room with the air of 
 people without difficulties, from whose lives problems 
 were banished ; who had pushed fear, sorrow and all other 
 stupidities, as Lucy called them, into the cupboard with 
 Den's coat and hat. 
 
 " And now have tea, dearest," said the voice of Mrs. 
 O'Hagan gaily from the other side of a table. " It's ready, 
 you know. I have the kettle here, the pot here, and your 
 chair and slippers are there." She pointed tragically at a 
 small footstool beside her and O'Hagan slipped down to it 
 and leaned back seeking her eyes. 
 
 " Tea first, my husband," she flashed, reading without 
 difficulty a confirmation of the guess she had made on 
 meeting. " It has been a horrider day than ever. I tried 
 to go for a walk . . . but I couldn't stand . . . and when 
 it didn't rain it hailed or ' snawed,' as they say up here, 
 and so I just gave it up and sat watching the fire. . . ." 
 
 She filled the teapot and set it on its tray. 
 
 " It's curious," she went on as he made no sign, " what 
 pictures you can see in the fire if you look long enough, 
 and how they always belong to one as it were. ... I 
 mean," she explained, leaning towards him so that her 
 cheek touched his hair, " in a personal sense. You, for 
 instance, may be reading quite a long story there, but I, 
 who am very near, cannot tell what it is, you see. 
 
 " In a way, you know, that is sad " she spoke with the 
 reasoned accent of thirty, when the sum total of her sins 
 had been accomplished in something less than nineteen 
 years " but on the other hand, perhaps, one should be 
 glad, because, you know, one would not care to think 
 that everybody could tell what one was reading if it 
 was very, very secret. ..." 
 
 He looked up. He could not resist that touch, that 
 mother touch, so light, so caressing on his brow. She let 
 her hand remain quite still in his.
 
 60 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " But you have no secrets, sweetheart ? " he said with a 
 slight mitigation of the frown. 
 
 With a smile on her lips, a caress in her glance, she 
 advised him of his fatuity 
 
 " As though one could help having secrets hopes, 
 wishes, longings, you know, for the people one loves . . . 
 yes, and perhaps for oneself. You have, haven't you, 
 Den ? " 
 
 " That sort ? " he smiled, in hand at last. " Lord, yes 
 acres of them." 
 
 " All about success, and and doing things ? " 
 
 " Yes even about that." 
 
 " And never being beaten, my darling ? " she whispered, 
 close, close in his ear. 
 
 " Rather." 
 
 He choked over the word and she leaned towards him, 
 her head bowed upon his shoulder. He slid one arm about 
 her waist and held her. 
 
 *' I've got it pretty badly, little woman," he said quietly. 
 
 She snuggled closer in his arms. 
 
 " As though I couldn't have told you that," she said 
 through sobs, " as though ... as though anyone 
 w-w-with half a heart and n-n-no eyes at all couldn't have 
 told. . . ." 
 
 " Please ! " he begged, his arm tightening. 
 
 44 Yes ... in a minute. Oh ! I'm such a little fool 
 I've been saying it over and over and over ' I won't cry 
 I won't ... I won't ' . . . and here I am simply 
 
 howling like a ... a ... tabby " She wrenched 
 
 free and found a small handkerchief. " I won't cry," she 
 reiterated. " I won't. We'll have tea and I won't be a 
 fool any more." 
 
 He captured her hands and held them to his lips. 
 " Better get it over and have done with it," he urged. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, her cheek resting against his. 
 
 He took a deep breath and said in a voice she scarcely 
 recognised 
 
 "They have suspended me, my darling and, and 
 Jimmy Barlow, too. . . ." 
 
 " Suspended ? " she faltered, scarcely the wiser. 
 
 " Taken away our tickets, you know ; mine for six 
 months, Barlow's for nine." 
 
 " Your tickets ? " She forced a way to peer into his 
 eyes, her own startle^ .
 
 LUCY 61 
 
 " They call them certificates of competency at the 
 Board," he explained, " and as it seems we are incom- 
 petent they have taken them away." 
 
 "Incompetent you?" she flamed instantly. "How 
 dare they ! How dare they ! What do you mean, dear 
 . . . you aren't laughing at me ? No, no, I know you 
 are not. Oh ! my poor darling, what does it mean ? I 
 can't understand very well. I know about the Army and 
 Navy ; but not this. I am stupid, I expect and my 
 head throbs. . . . Tell me what it means." 
 
 He rose from the low seat she had prepared for him and 
 took her in his arms, seeking to minimise the blow that 
 had fallen. He kneeled beside her, marking her pallor, 
 trying to inspire hope when hope was dead. 
 
 " It means that for six months I mayn't go to sea as 
 captain, little woman, that is all. . . ." 
 
 " But but," she interrupted, " you won't have to go 
 to prison will you ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " he nearly laughed at this, but the terror in 
 her eyes restrained him. " I am free free as the air. I 
 may do anything I like but be a captain, for six months, 
 that is all." 
 
 The cloud lifted. Lucy looked up sighing. 
 
 " I was so frightened," she whispered. " I thought 
 perhaps they would put you in prison." 
 
 " No," he assured her, calm in the knowledge that his 
 burden was shared, " we haven't quite reached that stage 
 yet." He might have added that he was not sure how long 
 officers were likely to remain immune in this respect, but 
 he dared indulge in no cynicism with that clinging delicate 
 touch upon his breast. Instead he said with a fine show 
 of indifference " I shall have to get something else to 
 do, for a while . . . get a berth, you know, and try to 
 earn a bit of money." 
 
 She watched him in awe. 
 
 " Of course it can be done," he resumed. " There are 
 all sorts of billets to be had for the seeking, and I have my 
 shares, you remember, and the rest of my legacy. Oh ! 
 we can peg out all right if only I can manage to pick up a 
 job in the interval. ... I am pretty fit, and ..." 
 
 " You are my husband, darling." 
 
 " Rather a failure, so far, Mem-sahib," he threw back, 
 rueful. 
 
 " I won't hear it. . . ."
 
 62 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " True, though. . . ." 
 
 " No it is not true. You were splendid in your 
 wreck . . . the papers said so, and you were splendid in 
 court I heard that myself. ..." 
 
 " I was snuffed out in court," he ventured, still anxious 
 that she should not build too lightly. 
 
 " People don't get snuffed out if they have grit," she 
 answered, the colour again in her cheeks, the firelight 
 accentuating it. 
 
 " A man fights," said O'Hagan grimly cognisant of the 
 future. " When he has a wife he fights harder . . . but 
 if he fails . . ." 
 
 " He never fails, my husband. He may go under but 
 if he fights he has not failed." 
 
 And that they sealed, as children seal a compact ; then 
 Lucy, lingering still in his arms, whispered 
 
 " After all, I believe I am glad, Den." 
 
 " Glad ? " 
 
 " Well," she explained, the colour slowly mounting, 
 " if you had sailed again you you could not have been 
 back by the time ... by April. And oh ! my darling, 
 I don't think I could have let you go just when I should 
 have . . . have wanted you. ..." 
 
 With a swift turn she broke off and hid her face on his 
 shoulder.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 YESTERDAY 
 
 THE trouble for these two was not that they were with- 
 out resources, but that in a world of leaping expenditure 
 those resources were so slender on the side of what is 
 termed unearned increment. 
 
 Their joint income as a matter of fact, apart from any 
 provided by O'Hagan in his capacity as a Bottle-filler, was 
 about seventy-five pounds per annum. Denis, you see, 
 held a few shares in an Argentine railway which brought 
 him in twenty-five pounds yearly, and Lucy had a small 
 jointure from her mother which produced fifty pounds 
 in four quarterly payments. 
 
 A revenue this which is scarcely more than pin-money ; 
 but a godsend to people suffering under the award of a 
 departmental inquiry. It was not indeed a very safe 
 provision, as times go, whereon to assume the cares and 
 duties of housekeeping ; yet they faced them without 
 qualms, very much as Englishmen face even sterner 
 affairs. They could worry through. 
 
 Their friends almost without exception were loud in 
 their prophecies of disaster. They said that Lucy must 
 be mad, and her uncle, a shelved veteran of the Army, told 
 her she was a fool. 
 
 " If you want to marry anybody, why not take on Peter 
 Witter spoon ? " he inquired. 
 
 To which Lucy replied that Mr. Witterspoon had not 
 asked her to marry him, and that if he did she would 
 refuse. 
 
 " Then," said Colonel Faulkner, " you should sit tight. 
 Better marry a Sub without a stiver beyond his pay, by 
 gad ! than a skipper in the merchant service. In either 
 case you'll spend your days packing your kit and following 
 your man if you want to see him up and down the 
 seven seas ; but a Sub has a position and that is more 
 than one can say for these poor devils in the merchant 
 service."
 
 64 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 And of course Lucy very disdainfully replied to the 
 shelved veteran that if she could not be the wife of Denis 
 O'Hagan she would be the wife of no one which is not 
 quite what she meant to infer. Yet it was sufficiently 
 definite to persuade Colonel Faulkner to withdraw his 
 opposition. Indeed, he went so far as to find a hundred 
 pounds " for fallals " and promised to do his best to keep 
 " that mortgage of hers alive." 
 
 Thus between them these two enjoyed " unearned 
 increment " to the tune of seventy-five pounds a year in 
 addition to the unplumbed and uncharted depths of a 
 skipper's pay, and share in the wall-sided tramp now 
 lying rusty and broken amidst the granite outposts of our 
 island. 
 
 To be precise O'Hagan's pay at the time of his marriage 
 was two hundred and forty pounds per annum twenty 
 pounds a month ; but it was given on the understanding 
 that he invested which made it a horse of another colour 
 yet Denis O'Hagan took the risk. 
 
 A one-sixty-fourth share, then, stood against O'Hagan's 
 name in the books of Messrs. Sharum, Fit & Co., and 
 Mr. Sharum, a large person of the clean-shaven brand, had 
 no difficulty at all in showing that an additional hundred 
 or so could easily accrue on this. 
 
 " Take it at the worst, Captain O'Hagan, and it will 
 work out in round figures with your salary at three hundred 
 and forty pounds per annum ; at its best four hundred 
 and fifty or five hundred. And all found," he emphasised 
 this as was his fashion, by rolling it sonorously in his 
 throat. " All found ! That isn't bad for a young man, 
 if I may say so. Better, far, than anything I was able to 
 achieve at your age what do you say ? " 
 
 And here again, in spite of a chorus of disapproval from 
 those who knew, O'Hagan decided to say yes. 
 
 Since that jovial day of expectation O'Hagan had 
 flaunted the seas for nearly a year in the gaunt creation 
 known once as the Sphinx and his dividend seemed 
 difficult to obtain. 
 
 But the joy of it at the time was a thing to be remem- 
 bered. Four hundred a year plus your unearned incre- 
 ment of seventy-five blessed pounds sterling, was nearly 
 five hundred a year, by Jove ! Five hundred and it 
 might be nearer six I Why as second officer of the 
 sedate and well-groomed Saladin, where he first met Lucy
 
 YESTERDAY 65 
 
 Faulkner, he was barely able to finger fifty. Again, to be 
 precise, although his pay was ten pounds a month, his 
 uniforms and travelling expenses plus the essential whisky, 
 tobacco and tips left him less than the sum named. 
 
 O'Hagan had never studied these questions before that 
 one memorable trip from Bombay to London when Colonel 
 Faulkner came finally to take his place on the shelf at 
 Bournemouth, at the order of a paternal Government. 
 Colonel Faulkner resented the shelf. He was good for 
 twenty years, by gad ! Mrs. Faulkner resented it. What, 
 she asked plaintively, could she do with two maids and a 
 cook when she had been accustomed to a retinue ? And 
 Lucy, whose father, Major Faulkner, had gone on his last 
 hill war only twelve months earlier, acknowledged that 
 life in Bournemouth or Boscombe or any other place 
 beginning with a B would scarcely be entrancing with 
 Aunt Mary in command. 
 
 You see, it had all come about in the most romantic 
 fashion. Lucy and her father had gone to India in the 
 Saladin, and quite by chance, Major Faulkner had come 
 across young O'Hagan, who also was of Army stock. The 
 two men talked in spite of the law which forbids passengers 
 to take cognisance of the fact that there are persons on 
 board termed officers. They found a common kinship, 
 rather distant but wholly glorious, and O'Hagan came in 
 time under the influence of Miss Lucy's battery. 
 
 Just how strong was that battery may be gauged when 
 it is made plain that O'Hagan paid a short visit on more 
 than one occasion to Major Faulkner's quarters, and 
 finally, when Colonel and Mrs. Faulkner were disestab- 
 lished by Government law, and that age limit beyond which 
 a man is understood to be a fool, Peter Witterspoon had 
 taken himself off to Simla. Lucy " rather liked " him 
 that is all. Her aunt pressed his attractions, not forget- 
 ting his purse, which rumour said was flooded ; but Lucy 
 determined to escape, choosing once more the Saladin as 
 a means of exit from the land of rains and plains and dak- 
 bungalows. 
 
 So far, you perceive, without a thought of consequences ; 
 so far at all events without evident intent. A kinship, 
 distant, glorious, and on the spindle side ; a recollection 
 of Dad's outspoken praise and Lucy, before Aden was 
 reached, had managed to let O'Hagan know that she had 
 not forgotten. 
 
 B.F. F
 
 66 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 People often sleep on deck during the hot passage to Ras 
 Aluleh. the cape of the wind's death, and afterwards for a 
 while there is no sleeping below and overhead, perhaps, 
 there marches an officer on watch, a man to whom one may 
 not speak at any time. 
 
 People go ashore, though, in Aden, Suez, Port Said. 
 The coal dust is an excuse quite valid even when dust of 
 another quality is in the air. People meet in the bazaars, 
 or on the sands by the edge of the desert. People talk. 
 They wander far. The evening comes swiftly and it is 
 essential to help people back through streets where one 
 must not blunder nor allow tout-people to approach too 
 near and it is easy to remember, easier, far easier than 
 ever it will be to forget. 
 
 The colour is so vivid ; the witchery of that brilliant, 
 star-strung sky so impressive ; the songs escaping half 
 closed doors so alluring and on every hand the lithe 
 grace of dusky figures which glide, arms jangling, ankles 
 jangling, a shimmer and a hint of gauze their dress. And 
 the scent comes up from the desert, the eastern dreamland 
 beneath whose calm veil lie devilry and bottomless sin. 
 Hooded men, half veiled women pass and repass, the clang 
 of the bazaar goes on, the chant and thrum of tom-toms 
 never to be forgotten, never to be forgotten by those who 
 have supped with the East. 
 
 Here on the sands below Suez with the mountains of 
 Sinai blue in the distance, and the hill country about Jebel 
 Zafarana which blushes with each dawn and lies veiled 
 by day in shimmering waves of heat ; near where the 
 palms end ; where the promenade fades into a track and 
 only the shadows of Arab huts stand against the skyline, 
 Denis O'Hagan took Lucy in his arms and, for the first 
 time, kissed her. 
 
 That was a wonderful moment to Lucy. The thrill of 
 it held her still. The violet mystery of an Eastern night 
 had been theirs and was hers for all time. The waters of 
 the gulf came nearly to their feet as they stood to take that 
 kiss ; the lights of the Saladin were dimmed by distance ; 
 the sigh of palm and tamarisk moved towards them on the 
 wings of a breeze which whispered. They were alone and 
 God was their Father. The cry of the sons of the desert 
 rose to proclaim it La ilaha . . . ilia 'llah ilia 'llah ! 
 
 A dream so splendid, ending in a reality so vivid, does 
 not fade soon from the memory of a man ; how much less
 
 YESTERDAY 67 
 
 it is likely to fade from the memory of a girl, the history 
 of woman's love shows. For Lucy was a girl in years ; 
 but a girl endowed with so fine an imagination that it 
 seemed that the heavens had opened and that choirs of 
 angels sang pseans of joy over her betrothal there amidst 
 the sands. 
 
 The hot, clean sands which beginning here stretch on 
 and on in undulating waves, like a sea held fast in a mould, 
 until the Atlantic rolls to meet them nearly three thousand 
 miles from Suez. 
 
 Thereafter the desert held as great a charm for Lucy as 
 the sea which is its sister. It held the beginning of her 
 life as the sea, perhaps, was to hold the end. And it had 
 the same characteristics. As the sea holds islands in its 
 keeping, white rimmed, green to the lapping waves ; so 
 the desert holds oases, little clusters of palms, a few huts 
 amidst the rolling dunes. As the sea carries ships on 
 its bosom, so the desert carries the tawny, fleet-footed 
 Bisharin, and the long-strung line of a caravan. As the 
 sea broods over the enemies which it has slain, so the 
 desert buries or leaves to the glare of its pitiless sun the 
 men it has vanquished and their voices remain in each 
 sphere. 
 
 The voice of the wilderness is but the cumulative cry of 
 those who have succumbed to its force. It has myriad 
 tones. It can play on any heart. It is the voice of those 
 who have lived and fought and died. It is the whispering 
 spirit which touches us and is not. Which comes upon 
 us in the midst of a great peace and fills us with a dread 
 too great for speech ; which beckons to us across the gulf 
 which presently will swallow us. 
 
 It is the voice which cries out in warning, which laughs 
 and cajoles, and makes mock of men's anguish ; even as 
 the sea laughs, having mastered him and blotted him out. 
 
 F 2
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AND GOD HAD MADE THEM ONE 
 
 THE O'Hagans were at home again. The stuffy 
 lodging-house rooms had given place to a palace facing 
 south, high up on the slope of Windle Hill, with adjoining 
 palaces or villas it depends largely on your outlook how 
 you label them in pairs all down the road. 
 
 This road was called Glenview ; but it bordered a rolling 
 and nearly flat tableland overlooking other houses or villas 
 or palaces on the opposite side of the way. There was 
 nothing glen-like anywhere within the limit of that horizon. 
 Far off, on the right, were chimneys tall, thin shafts which 
 pierced the sky ; on the left was the hill of Riverton where 
 once a mill had swung arms grinding corn for the towns- 
 people ; to the north was the river and a maze of roofs. 
 
 The O'Hagan's palace was called Chatsworth when they 
 took it ; but Lucy, with memories of India in her brain, 
 suggested The Deodars, and The Deodars it became to 
 the surprise of neighbours whose palaces were correctly 
 styled, apparently from the latest list of the " Country 
 Homes of England." York Cottage was among them. 
 Its name flourished on a marble tablet beside a little iron 
 gate. It might have been the sign of a " monumental 
 mason," but was the " residence " of a pilot. 
 
 To tell the truth the houses had nothing of the palace 
 about them but their names. They were simple exposi- 
 tions of the jerry-builders' art of fudge. The roofs were 
 ruled in lines of blue and red, the eaves were furnished 
 with a lace edging ; the windows were supported on either 
 side by moulded pillars. Stars and diamonds in shiny 
 brick suggested the various floor levels. The walls were 
 of alternating blue and red bricks, and a staring pavement 
 of tessellated squares and angles led from the little iron 
 gate to each front door. 
 
 The sense of some of those who lived in this row of 
 " semi-detached dwellings " was exhibited by those who 
 had striven with ampelopsis to hide their ugliness from
 
 AND GOD HAD MADE THEM ONE G9 
 
 the sun. The sense of others by the addition of variegated 
 window boxes, plaster vases, and in one instance a bevy 
 of terra-cotta statues disporting at the corners of a grass 
 plot, guarded by a pair of terra-cotta lions, diminutive, 
 sad of mien. 
 
 Of course it is impossible to obtain exactly what you 
 desire when you are prepared to pay merely thirty-eight 
 pounds annually as rent in addition to rates and taxes ; 
 so Lucy O'Hagan had contrived to tone the exuberant 
 fancy of the builders by subduing the colour within, and 
 Denis had completed it in a fashion more eloquent of 
 mankind. 
 
 He had arrived home after his first voyage hale and 
 jubilant and when Lucy presently sat down in a chair 
 alone, Denis discovered that the left side of her face w.'.s 
 painted green and the side nearest him yellow. There 
 was a patch of red, too, farther over upon the right 
 shoulder of the chair nearest her ear. Denis recognised 
 that this colour scheme was inappropriate to cheeks and 
 hair so beautiful as Lucy's. Then he found that it came 
 from a fanlight which the builders had inserted above 
 the window, and on consideration determined that it 
 suggested " the charnel fires of dead and gone tenants." 
 That would not do. It was quite impossible. It was 
 absolutely impossible. . . . And having reached this stage 
 after various examinations he marched to the window, 
 climbed a chair and smashed the glass methodically with 
 a hammer. 
 
 Later in the evening it became apparent that it would 
 be necessary to replace the glass. But O'Hagan was 
 jubilant in those days, just home from a voyage of three 
 months, and full of worship for that beautiful girl-wife of 
 his who had awaited his coming. Therefore he took her 
 in his arms and kissed her and told her he wouldn't be 
 gone a minute, and went out to engage a glazier man who 
 came the next day, did as he was told and went away 
 licking his lips. 
 
 And now these two were at home again, trying experi- 
 ments in household economy. It seemed, after the first 
 fortnight, that it would be very difficult to find that billet 
 on shore which had been suggested as a possibility while 
 yet they had been domiciled in the north. Alternatively 
 there was the question of living on " unearned increment "
 
 70 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 which meant, in their case, about thirty shillings a 
 week. 
 
 Lucy had no experience of this kind of thing. Nor had 
 Donis. Yet they entered upon it with a joke as though, 
 indeed, the problem of life had no terrors for them, no 
 rate-collectors, tax-collectors or debts of any sort or kind 
 which could affect the serenity of their heaven. 
 
 Now it was a heaven in spite of the inelastic quality of 
 their income. A heaven so alluring that it had been 
 decided Denis must not go away, even if it became possible, 
 before the summer came. In a moment of supreme 
 exaltation Denis decided that he would sink a bit of capital 
 rather than go just when Lucy most required his presence. 
 And when Lucy pertinently asked where the capital was, 
 he reminded her of his share in that defunct old tramp, 
 Sphinx, which had cost him about five hundred pounds 
 and soon would be paid over. 
 
 Of course there was no questioning that. Lucy would 
 have doubted her own existence as readily as Denis' 
 word. Did he not stand in her sight as the ideal for all 
 time, the one entirely great and splendid man w r ho may 
 or may not exist in reality, but who lives and breathes 
 for the woman in all true marriage ? How then could 
 she dream that he was misinformed ? The idea never 
 stirred. Nor did the expected payment of capital. 
 Even the interest appeared loath to wander from the 
 coffers of the firm who guarded it. 
 
 The two were occupied at this time in searching the 
 columns of various papers for those billets which were 
 going begging for shorefolk. They were busy writing 
 letters of application and furnishing the open sesame 
 references, busy going to town to interview business men 
 who required secretaries, firms who asked for travellers, 
 firms who offered in return for a day spent kicking heels 
 in the mud a tray of Brummagem jewellery, which at a 
 price could be hawked by the applicant. 
 
 Oh ! it became beautifully plain with time that the 
 majority of those who offered one, two or three pounds a 
 week as an easy " addition to your income," were persons 
 engaged in catching gulls with claptrap ; that the secre- 
 taryships and junior partnerships were mythical as the 
 verbiage with which an applicant was received was false. 
 These advertisements had their origin in the brain of the 
 person or company running the agency. The situations
 
 AND GOD HAD MADE THEM ONE 71 
 
 did not exist but, on payment of a certain fee, sometimes 
 large, sometimes small, Denis would be advised from time 
 to time of any vacancy which might occur. 
 
 Indeed, it was all admirably slick and glib and vague 
 and evanescent. Money was the desideratum always and 
 at each fresh juncture money, the ringing, beautiful 
 sovereigns of our Lord the King which came so reluctantly 
 into Denis' keeping and escaped so fast. Sovereigns 
 which he dared not spend because of the long halt which 
 had come to that payment which was due from the owners 
 of the Sphinx, Sovereigns which were required for food 
 and rent and rates and taxes by a brave little housewife 
 who presently would be unable to bustle and cook and pat 
 the dust out of carpets and cushions which were spotless. 
 Time ran creakingly in those days for Denis, it ran 
 creakingly also for Lucy ; but when Denis came home 
 tired, ready to own himself beaten, Lucy's arms went 
 round him as he drew her close and nothing of the fear of 
 either escaped. 
 
 Had they not each other ? Had they not their home ? 
 And if the small maid had given notice were there not 
 other small maids somewhere on the horizon, and would 
 it not be quite easy to find one. Youth, you see, was with 
 these two ; love which belongs to youth ; strength without 
 which either love or youth is vain. 
 
 They discussed at this moment, with March nearly 
 upon them, and increasing difficulty for Lucy, the problem 
 of doing without a maid entirely. But Denis would not 
 hear of this. He decided that if a maid was to be found 
 in Riverton she should be engaged at once then as he 
 was going out Lucy took the lapel of his coat between her 
 fingers, lifted her face and said 
 
 " Oh Denis . . ." and halted. 
 
 He kissed the white face so nearly level with his own 
 and questioned " Yes, dearest ? " 
 
 " But I have no money 1 " 
 
 " None ? " 
 
 " About two pounds, really . . . but, but it's nearly a 
 month to the 25th, you know, and what are we to do until 
 that comes ? " 
 
 Denis turned out his pocket and counted the coins, 
 Lucy clinging to his arm. 
 
 " Fifteen bob in silver," he said, " and ' He pro- 
 duced a sovereign purse, clicked out two and looked up
 
 72 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 blank. " I could have sworn there were three," he 
 announced, " if not four." 
 
 " Couldn't have been, my darling," Lucy decided, 
 " because you see there's a spring there and they couldn't 
 jump out." 
 
 Denis replaced the coins and took Lucy's face in his 
 hands. She seemed scared. 
 
 "But I thought" he stooped and kissed her lips 
 " you had eight pounds on Saturday " he looked, 
 smiling, into her dark eyes. " Perhaps there's a hole in 
 your pocket or you haven't got it all out ... or there's 
 been a burglar in the house . . . or 
 
 She met him at once, her fingers again on the lapels, 
 twining, twisting, her eyes alight. 
 
 " The rate man came yesterday," she told him, " and 
 he ate an awful lot, Den." 
 
 *' Went away gorged, eh ? " 
 
 " Five pounds fourteen shillings and ten D.," said Lucy. 
 
 " Monstrous and you gave it ? " 
 
 " Had to, dearest, or be carted off to the lock-up or 
 somewhere dismal where they make you pick oakum and 
 break stones for your breakfast and " 
 
 " No no not stones, sweet not stones," Denis 
 laughed, his arms about her, their cheeks touching. 
 
 " Really," she decided. " I asked Mrs. Portland Lodge 
 what happened if you didn't pay rates and she told me. 
 And the man said he had sent us the usual form two months 
 ago, Den, and that since then he had sent us a pink paper, 
 and a yellow paper, drawing our attention to the fact that 
 we had not paid ; and that if I didn't pay now he would 
 be compelled to send in the green paper . . . and that," 
 said Lucy with a quick pull at the lapel, " means that you 
 would have to go down and pick oakum while they came 
 and sat on our sofa so I paid, Den . . . that was right, 
 wasn't it ? " 
 
 He crowed his satisfaction. " Right, little girl ? Of 
 course it was right. . . . Faith ! and if it were wrong who 
 am I that I may fling stones ? " 
 
 " You couldn't at me, Den." 
 
 "Oh! couldn't I!" 
 
 " I should hold your arm," she decided, her eyes 
 flashing. 
 
 " And I should . . . no, I wouldn't I should kiss you 
 instead."
 
 AND GOD HAD MADE THEM ONE 73 
 
 And this having been decided Lucy questioned in her 
 turn 
 
 " Now tell me what has happened to yours ? " 
 
 " My what ? " 
 
 " Money, dearest ? You said there ought to be two 
 more." 
 
 " So there ought." 
 
 " Then where is it ? " 
 
 Denis shook his head. With one hand he searched his 
 pockets, with the other held Lucy. She made no com- 
 plaint. He examined his waistcoat pockets, even turned 
 them inside out and found no store of gold lurking to 
 confute him. He patted his outer pockets, considered 
 the question of testing again the accuracy of his count in 
 the sovereign purse, and looked at Lucy. 
 
 " I expect you've blewed it, Den," she said without a 
 quiver. 
 
 " I expect I have," he admitted, rueful. 
 
 " Looking for a billet is an awful expensive thing." 
 Lucy smiled because he looked grave. 
 
 " Awful, Loo." 
 
 " Just see what you have brought on yourself by 
 marrying me," she whispered, clinging. "No no, I'm 
 not going to put my arms up I'm not going to make it 
 more difficult for you . . . and, and, Den we'll have to 
 do without a maid when Jane's time is up."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ONE IN A CROWD 
 
 DENIS left home that morning vowing to expedite 
 matters, and before starting for town sent a message to 
 Hargreaves urging him to press for payment of the long- 
 deferred share. To his measureless optimism it seemed 
 that he had only to express a determination to wait no 
 longer and the thing was done. Yet, when he reached 
 London the answer he found said tersely 
 
 " Inadvisable. Writing," a stupidity signed, he dis- 
 covered, by Hargreaves. 
 
 O'Hagan turned this over as he left the West Strand 
 telegraph office. He could not understand why it was 
 inadvisable to press for payment. He had, you see, 
 merely a bowing acquaintance with business or the methods 
 of those who seek to evade their responsibilities. It was 
 no part of his credo to walk mincingly with trust. He 
 would never attempt to " do " a man himself ; how, there- 
 fore, should he be suspicious ? On the whole he was 
 rather inclined to think Hargreaves " a bit of a slacker." 
 It had been the same when hot-foot he promised to appeal 
 against the magistrates' decision but at that time, 
 O'Hagan remembered he owed Hargreaves a bill of costs 
 for his defence which presently swallowed every penny of 
 reserve he had at the bank. 
 
 True, that was paid off, but surely Hargreaves could 
 not have known how nearly " it coiled up " the poor devil 
 who footed the bill ! O'Hagan had much to learn. Any 
 business man could have told him that Hargreaves knew 
 his position to a decimal long before he actually undertook 
 his defence. And the upshot of it all was that as O'Hagan 
 now had no bank account, the proceedings for appeal were 
 stayed. In fact, such is the quality of your hot-brained 
 Celt, now that his anger had cooled, O'Hagan had nearly 
 forgotten his threat ; but it was likely to spring forth 
 again, as anyone may testify who has attempted to roll a 
 strong man in the mire.
 
 ONE IN A CROWD 75 
 
 Meanwhile Denis had come to town on another will-o'- 
 the-wisp jaunt, and moved off west to present his cre- 
 dentials. The question of Hargreaves he banished. lie 
 walked briskly across Trafalgar Square and came to an 
 office at the foot of the Haymarket which had dared to 
 proffer, by advertisement, a salary of three hundred per 
 annum, " duties nominal." 
 
 O'Hagan was very busy planning what he would do with 
 that salary and wondering whether it would be necessary 
 to give up the palace at Riverton and take a flat in town. 
 He rather liked the idea of the flat; but felt rueful at having 
 to give up his garden. He wondered what Lucy would say 
 to it when he told her. It would be rather jolly to be able 
 to go home and say, " Guess what I've got hold of," and 
 watch her while she guessed. She was such a sweet soul 
 at guessing. She never, for instance, when he said, " Guess 
 what I paid for that," suggested sixpence or two shillings, 
 or anything obviously possible, but climbed to the 
 millionaire at once with, " Oh, perhaps a sov. ? " and 
 when he said, " Good gracious, my dear child ! why, you 
 know . . ." she would break in with, " Not two, Den. 
 Oh ! you didn't ..." and he would lead her by by-paths 
 to the dreadful and commonplace actuality. 
 
 " But this," said Den, as he turned upon his tracks 
 after consulting a policeman placed on point duty specially 
 to guide him, " this will be something worth keeping 
 secret. Good Lord ! if only I can get it ! Three hundred 
 and duties nominal ! " 
 
 A crowd were gathered about the door when he came to 
 it. He rather wondered what was going on and strove 
 to edge his way though. A man wearing a tall hat and 
 heavy coat took exception to this and said " Don't you 
 poose by me," with the accent of a German. 
 
 " But I want to get in there," O'Hagan answered. 
 
 " So alzo do I," said the German, " an' zese, an' zese." 
 He nodded left and right indicating the crowd. 
 
 " Do you mean to say they are all here as as appli- 
 cants ? " O'Hagan gasped. 
 
 " So," the German nodded, " and we take our durn. 
 He will see us all everyone, and me he will engage." 
 
 " You seem jolly cocksure, anyhow," O'Hagan smiled 
 as they approached by a gradual process that open door. 
 
 " Vy not ? I speak English " he shrugged over this 
 " since I was a boy. I speak alzo German and French
 
 ?6 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 and Spanish. If he require Italian or ozzer language I 
 learn them in one monse from when I begin." He 
 examined O'Hagan's sunburned face and added, " Vot 
 language can you speak ? " 
 
 " I speak English," said O'Hagan, " and I find most 
 people do the same. Of course," he added, as the German 
 seemed to crow, " I know a bit of French." 
 
 " And Latin ? " said the German ; " alzo Greek, per- 
 haps ? " 
 
 " I learned them at school," O'Hagan admitted, " and 
 I dare say I could furbish them up if he wants them." 
 
 " He vill not," said the German. " He vill require one 
 who speak the language of to-day." 
 
 They came into the passage way and passed with a 
 shuffle of feet into a large ante-room, perhaps two hundred 
 applicants for a position which evidently was desirable. 
 The majority were weedy youths, but there was also a 
 considerable proportion of men with grey hair and others 
 who were quite bald sedate fathers of families perhaps. 
 
 They filed slowly to a table at the end of the room where 
 a young man, clean shaven, keen, sat to receive them. 
 There were two doors at the top of this room, and O'Hcigan 
 noticed that the stream of applicants parted as they left 
 the table, some going to the right, others to the left. He 
 saw also that the majority passed to the left. 
 
 It was a long while before O'Hagan, who was next to the 
 German still, came near enough to hear what was said at 
 the table. Then it became apparent that a weeding out 
 process was going on. Sometimes a keen look sufficed to 
 turn the applicant to the left, sometimes a few questions. 
 O'Hagan heard presently one which made him quake 
 " Do you speak French and German ? " What answer 
 was given he did not hear ; but the German, who was in 
 front, seemed to dilate and stand more erect as he turned 
 with the phrase" What did I tell you ? " 
 
 And then at length the German approached the table 
 and stood like a soldier at attention. The man at the 
 table looked him up and down and at once said in the 
 language of the Fatherland " You are German, I see. 
 You speak French also ? " 
 
 The German answered in the tongue desired. 
 
 " English, of course ? " 
 
 Again came the bowing acknowledgment " Otherwise 
 I would scarcely have ventured to intrude."
 
 ONE IN A CROWD 77 
 
 There came a signal which turned him to the right and 
 O'Hagan stood to take his turn. The man at the table 
 searched his face He leaned back considering, his chin in 
 his hand. Then he said quietly 
 
 " I can see you are English -do you speak either French 
 or German ? " 
 
 " A very little French hardly enough to swear by," 
 said O'Hagan. " Latin I was rather fond of at school, and 
 Greek enough to get me into the fifth." 
 
 " I see " 
 
 " And I have been about the world a great deal. I 
 know something of most countries outside Europe 
 America, Australia, India ... for instance " 
 
 " Public school boy ? " 
 
 " Winchester." 
 
 " That's interesting but you don't know French or 
 German hum. My father makes that a condition." 
 
 O'Hagan's hopes fell. 
 
 " He is rather deaf and you would be required to travel 
 with him, arrange hotels and all that kind of thing but 
 if you don't know French or German one would do I 
 expect I think it is rather hopeless." 
 
 Denis nearly at zero said in a fumbling monotone : 
 " Of course the travelling would be child's play to me . . . 
 but, even if I got the chance, there's my wife." 
 
 " I am afraid that decides it. No I am awfully sorry. 
 The advertisement was inexcusably stupid in form. We 
 
 have given you a journey perhaps " Then, seeing 
 
 O'Hagan flush, he added swiftly, " Give me your name and 
 address, will you ? I will talk it over and send you word. 
 . . . Winchester rather appeals to me . . . oh, thanks, 
 so much ! " O'Hagan had produced and handed his card. 
 " Yes I could have sworn you were an Irishman er . . . 
 good-day." 
 
 And with that Denis found himself set to the left and 
 presently in the street. A crowd of those who had passed 
 out before him stood about the pavement, others were 
 moving away a dejected, and for the most part a shuffling 
 group. O'Hagan moved by those who waited, head in aif . 
 He felt that he must do something. He would have 
 shouted, but the stolid aspect of the houses saved him that 
 madness. They said to him plainly " Go home. Go 
 home. Go and read up French or, go round the corner 
 there and tumble into that school where they will prime
 
 78 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 you in an hour, make you a foreign correspondent in a 
 week and a member of the academy in a year go, and 
 don't fool away your time." 
 
 But Denis took to the road at full pace. He marched 
 because he might not shout, marched as though for a 
 wager until when halfway up Regent Street he suddenly 
 remembered that he had not the remotest idea who it was 
 he had seen. 
 
 Then again he turned and retraced his steps, came down 
 to Regent Circus at a hand trot, slowed to cross and at the 
 tube exit put on speed once more. His haste seemed to 
 imply that he feared forgctfulness might overtake him, 
 when indeed it was just exaltation, the glimmer grown 
 to a beacon and looming larger with each minute. 
 
 The house still stood where he had left it, a crowd still 
 surged about its doors, old men, young men, cripples, 
 straight, tall, short all types and sizes ; men of education, 
 youths of none ; men with top hats, youths with Homburgs 
 tilted jauntily ; men smoking cigarettes, youths without 
 exception smoking, dangling or holding the cigarette they 
 would presently light, or relight, or suck unlighted. 
 
 Oh ! the house was beautifully plain and easy to find. 
 Denis could have found it blindfold by the shuffling of 
 feet. He stood and looked upon it. Noted the number 
 afresh. Saw that the ground floors were occupied by 
 people of the name of Brazer, Furley, Hammond & Co., 
 and that beneath the name on each blind was the one 
 word Solicitors. 
 
 A grey old house standing back from the road. Nothing 
 pretentious about it. No flaunted trappings. Nothing 
 to attract or to warn or to dazzle ; but immensely 
 respectable. 
 
 Denis returned to Riverton that night wondering 
 whether he had seen Brazer, or Furley, or Hammond 
 whether indeed he had seen either. Yet what did it 
 matter ? Had he not seen a man who had rather gone 
 out of his way to encourage him, who had promised to 
 write when, with a word, he might have sent him to the 
 right about ? 
 
 The man had taken to him, as the saying goes. Denis 
 had taken to the man. There were possibilities behind 
 so fine an augury, far-reaching, tremendous possibilities, 
 and Denis was of the nation which springs lightly in 
 pursuit.
 
 ONE IN A CROWD 79 
 
 Lucy did not understand what had happened, for Denis 
 refused to enlighten her partly for the pleasure of seeing 
 her smile when he was in a position to announce his 
 success, partly for fear he might be compelled to dash her 
 hopes. To shatter his own was sufficiently terrible ; but 
 to shatter Lucy's was the last pain a man would willingly 
 endure. 
 
 Lucy sang that night as she had not sung for weeks. 
 Something of Den's exhilaration, subdued as he supposed 
 it was, came into the girl's attitude, into her voice, into 
 the beautiful trust she gave so fully. Den was so strong, 
 so capable, something would happen to help him . . . 
 something had happened. She was sure of it. Victory 
 rang in her soft contralto as she gave him the songs he 
 loved. 
 
 He sat beside her turning the leaves. Kisses were her 
 payment. She asked no more. He had nothing else to give. 
 
 She took them with a delight which seemed to acknow- 
 ledge the coming of ease ; yet she knew that between 
 them and difficulty stood but a small sum. Less than 
 five pounds. Sufficient provocation here to reduce some 
 women to tears, others to scorn ; sufficient to send man or 
 woman to the seclusion of a room, there to end matters 
 for all time. 
 
 And Lucy leaned towards her husband singing. She 
 smiled in his face, her fingers running bravely over the 
 keys 
 
 Chatter nonsense, chatter sense, 
 Kiss my eyes and do not fence, 
 
 Take my hand, please, 
 
 Pull me near, Tease . . . 
 I will not plague a man so dense. 
 
 Whisper boldly, whisper why 
 You believe that love can die, 
 
 Sit down here, please, 
 
 From your own, Tease, 
 You can scarcely wish to fly ? 
 
 Chaff me gently, arms entwined, 
 Let me see how much you mind ; 
 
 Turn the lights down 
 
 Draw my face down . . . 
 I am yours, and love is blind. 
 
 Five pounds in the world and that song from her heart ! 
 She was a child, even as he was. A pair of them, God 
 knows, facing the valley of shadows without fear.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THREE LETTERS 
 
 HARGREAVES allowed no grass to grow under his feet in 
 this matter, but wrote as he had promised, in this strain : 
 
 " I received your wire and have noted contents. I 
 do not consider it expedient to press for payment against 
 Sharum, Fit & Co., because it seems likely that 
 such action on your part would compel the firm to 
 suspend payment immediately when, I need scarcely 
 point out, your claim would not rank as a first charge 
 on the assets. If Messrs. Sharum, Fit & Co. are in 
 a position to satisfy the creditors of the S.S. Sphinx, 
 you would no doubt rank pro rata with other share- 
 holders in any further payments which may be made ; 
 but as the S.S. Sphinx was fully mortgaged, I do not 
 think it likely that the shareholders will be able to 
 recover. I should perhaps explain that having taken 
 shares in the S.S. Sphinx Co., Ltd., you are able 
 only to claim against that concern. Any proceed- 
 ings you may feel constrained to take must be directed 
 against Messrs. Sharum, Fit & Co. for their action 
 in selling to you a share in a concern which was fully 
 mortgaged at the time, without, I presume, drawing 
 your attention to the fact that it was so mortgaged. 
 You might, of course, combine with other shareholders 
 in this matter ; but in my opinion, and I give it here 
 for what it is worth, I think that unless your object be 
 the exposure of Messrs. Sharum, Fit & Co. pro bono 
 publico, you will be well advised to risk no further 
 expenditure." 
 
 With all his limitations O'Hagan had no difficulty in 
 comprehending this. The letter was couched in liar- 
 greaves' most impressive style. There was no doubt at 
 all as to his meaning. All that talk of mortgages and 
 creditors and pro rata payments when boiled down meant 
 simply that O'Hagan had put his money " on a wrong
 
 THREE LETTERS 81 
 
 'tin." In other words, the whole thing was a swindle. A 
 swindle, by Jove ! of the kind no white man would attempt. 
 It came, in effect, to this in addition to the loss of his ship 
 and his certificate, O'Hagan stood to lose both his capital 
 and the interest which was due upon it. Interest which was 
 required Lord ! how desperately at this moment. 
 
 Lucy was not downstairs. He dared not show her that 
 letter when she came ; he dared not allude to it. He 
 had the doctor's word that she must not be allowed to 
 think ; but if she knew this, then how would it be possible 
 to maintain sunniness ? With the letter locked carefully 
 in his desk Denis O'Hagan sat down to consider his reply. 
 
 " I have no money to spend," he wrote. " If other 
 shareholders make a fuss let me know and I will try to 
 join in but get me my interest if it is possible to do so 
 in any way. I need hardly tell you that after my 
 heavy expense it is most urgently required." 
 
 And having posted this he marched with a set face to 
 plan his day. But a question throbbed which he could 
 not still, a question which touched on the actual position, 
 long hidden but now imperative. " What was to be 
 done ? They had less than five pounds between them and 
 nothing coming in. What was to be done ? " 
 
 It was impossible to dull the dread which accompanied 
 that question. It was a new sensation one born partly 
 of fear, partly of inexperience. In a few days the rent 
 must be paid. In his desk a notice from the Water Com- 
 pany threatening to cut off the supply reminded him that 
 if he paid they would be penniless. What would be done 
 if he failed to comply with demands such as these ? Would 
 they be turned out ? Would they be sold up ? How 
 far was it possible for landlords and water companies and 
 rate collectors to go ? Surely they would not move at 
 such a time as that he faced ! 
 
 He walked in greater distress than had been his lot 
 hitherto. Action, movement, the pursuit of his calling 
 would have saved him. But this was the one thing 
 debarred by the attitude of authority. If he had been 
 without home ties he would have shipped away " before 
 the stick " as the phrase goes, and put in the interregnum 
 in any capacity rather than kick heels in miserable in- 
 eptitude on shore. The broom and the crossing which men 
 
 B.P. Q
 
 82 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 adumbrate when afloat as a means of escape from nearly 
 intolerable conditions are not easily found by those who 
 seek. There are other people in the world. Most of the 
 crossing places are filled by attendant sweepers. Those 
 left for sailor applicants are of the dregs passages 
 leading to no-man's land ; passages on the way to 
 oblivion. 
 
 Oh ! it was all intensely complicated and wickedly 
 designed to scotch those who are of the nation's best 
 men of the army and navy ; men of the mercantile marine. 
 Without these men the nation could not exist. It would 
 never have come to be a nation but the officer in either 
 force who has been compelled to order his men to fire on 
 rioters is hauled before a bench of magistrates to defend 
 himself ; and the sailor who has lost his ship is laid by the 
 heels on the judgment of the Great Unpaid for " faults " 
 they do not pretend to comprehend. 
 
 O'Hagan came back after a while, his mind again busy 
 with the inequalities of reward and of punishment. For 
 weeks this had remained quiescent. He was prepared, 
 seeing he was set desperately to husband his resources, 
 to acquiesce in what reason told him was unfair. But 
 now his resources were like to break in spite of his caution, 
 the fact that he had been sentenced unjustly and turned 
 loose to browse or starve returned with increasing force. 
 He damned the moment he had walked into the office 
 of that tribe of sharks known to him as Sharum, Fit 
 & Co., Ltd. He damned the innocence with which he 
 had succumbed to their flattering and echinated phrases. 
 He damned the law which permits overloading and deck 
 loading ; the flabby-faced tribe who administer the law, 
 if it be a law. He damned the " Plaster Saint " who from 
 his place on high nods acquiescence and approval, while 
 dealing out sentences to the men who are compelled 
 to work these ships sentences which in effect mean 
 starvation. 
 
 All the blows a man has received sting and tingle afresh 
 when he is hit covertly from behind the ambush of the law. 
 Because O'Hagan lacked the means to prosecute his cause 
 apparently he must go under. Aye ! but would he ? A 
 picture of him marching down the tier of palaces with their 
 tin-pot decorations and grandiose names would give the 
 lie to that. A suggestion yes. But definitely no. 
 O'Hagan was too mercurial to be easily led to the slaughter
 
 THREE LETTERS 83 
 
 chamber, too vigorous to succumb before this facer, too 
 tenacious, too much in love with that sweet girl who 
 practically fettered him to know that he was fettered, to 
 consider it, to hint at it. And there you have the heart 
 of his character, the soul of him the undying force 
 which guided and helped him at the very moment that it 
 held him chained. 
 
 So he came down the slope beside the palaces and 
 entered his own tiled pathway to his own front door 
 questioning whether Lucy were yet awake. The sight of 
 the open window of her room had driven anathema from 
 his brain. He was calm in spite of -the stress he endured, 
 ready to greet his girl with a cheery word, ready to fight 
 for her if only and this puzzled him he could see exactly 
 where to begin. No other soul in the world, apparently, 
 trusted him or cared to help him, only Lucy. How then 
 should it be possible to consider defeat ? He pushed it 
 from him with both hands as he entered his house. 
 
 The small maid who had given notice in orthodox terms 
 stood in the passage to greet him as he closed the door. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, sir," she said, " Mrs. Sykes, the 
 lady at Portland Lodge, sent in some letters." She handed 
 them with the phrase, " They were took there by mistake 
 and they are very sorry they weren't sent in last night 
 but everyone seemed in bed." 
 
 Almost without heeding this explanation Denis took 
 the letters and re-entered the dining-room. The first he 
 opened had on the envelope in small black type : 
 
 " BRAZER, FURLEY & HAMMOND, 
 SOLICITORS." 
 
 and he thanked God Lucy was still in her room. He 
 unfolded with a thrill of apprehension. So much depended 
 upon it so much. 
 
 And this is what he read 
 
 " I am sorry to be compelled to disappoint you ; but 
 as I informed you on Tuesday, my father makes one 
 condition with which, I understand, you are unable to 
 comply. French he must have, French and German if 
 possible, as owing to his dependence now on whoever 
 accompanies him, it is essential that one language in 
 addition to English is a qualification. 
 
 " I may add, if you will allow me, that if I personally 
 
 a 2
 
 84 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 required help of the kind stated, I should choose you. 
 That may be cold comfort ; yet, in spite of it, if you 
 think I may be able to help you to obtain an appoint- 
 ment in some other direction, I will gladly do what I 
 can for the sake of Winchester, if you will call." 
 
 This was signed by Stephen Hammond, and O'Hugan 
 lingered over the name seeking to recall it. But at the 
 moment it escaped and he turned with a sigh to the second 
 letter. This said in the ungrammatical English of one 
 more accustomed to use the hammer than the pen 
 
 " SIR, A man told me you was on the look-out fer a 
 job and so i take the leberty of writin' to say as i know 
 of one. And if you feel like takin' it on an' pying a far 
 cormision say 10 fer each hundred you get Well wire 
 me to 15, Standish Street E. and i will Meet you an' 
 arrange fer the introduction. 
 
 " Yours trulie, 
 
 " BILL THOMAS, 
 
 " Enginer Fiter. 
 
 " P.S. Say where wen you wire." 
 
 Denis had read this strange epistle twice and was 
 frowningly considering what he should do when the door 
 opened and Lucy, clad in a loose-fitting, rose-coloured 
 trousseau gown, came into the room. 
 
 " Letters ? " she smiled as he rose and shuffled with the 
 envelope containing Stephen Hammond's tantalising 
 epistle. 
 
 " One," he said, " which I can make neither top nor 
 tail of. Come and dekko hai, Mem-sahib, and tell me 
 what to do." 
 
 He put his arm about her, worries forgotten, her 
 beautiful eyes the lodestar which spoke of hope, even now 
 when hope had seemed to be dead. 
 
 " Mem-sahib has silly head this morning," she joked, 
 her cheek against his shoulder ; " read it to her." 
 
 " Bad ? " he questioned, facing her, the letter pushed 
 aside. 
 
 " Nothing a cup of tea will not cure, oh dearest. Read 
 it, please." 
 
 He crossed and rang for breakfast, took her to a chair 
 and, sitting on the arm of it, read what was said. 
 
 Lucy looked up as he concluded and asked at once
 
 THREE LETTERS 85 
 
 " What will you do, Den ? " 
 
 " Think it's worth while risking five bob on it ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Her eyes rather negatived this, but she said 
 
 " I wonder where Standish Street is do you know ? " 
 
 " Poplar way, I guess." 
 
 " Where you took me when you joined the Sphinx, 
 Den, down by East India Dock Road ? " 
 
 " I expect so very likely one of the little streets run- 
 ning down to the docks." 
 
 " Um ! " said Lucy with a frown growing ; "it's not quite 
 the sort of place I should expect to find a job for my 
 husband in. Oh ! I can't think. My head's stupid 
 to-day . . . toss for it." 
 
 " 'When in doubt play trumps,'" Denis quoted and sought 
 a coin. " If I were flush I shouldn't hesitate. . . ." 
 
 " If you were flush, oh dearest, I should not let you go. 
 Go on. Spin for it." 
 
 " Right. Heads I go, tails I don't go. Savvy ? " 
 
 She nodded and he tossed the coin. It fell at her feet, 
 a head of His Majesty King Edward by the grace of God 
 Rex et Imperator, and as Denis stooped to recover it he 
 said 
 
 " Well that's settled anyway. I shall wire before I 
 go to town. Come and have that cup of tea, dear dearest, 
 and cure your poor head." 
 
 And fifteen minutes later he kissed her and started to 
 catch the 9.45 train, the train which a merciful railway 
 company has decreed shall be cheap each day from 
 River ton.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE " BILLET " 
 
 THE moan of wind sweeping past the house compelled 
 Lucy to shiver as she lay waiting for Den's return. It had 
 the eerie quality of a personal assault. It never died. 
 It was persistent, increasing, malignant. It kept up a 
 burr of horrid comment which had the effect of spite. It 
 seemed to glory in the attitude Lucy presented to the 
 forces which whelmed her, together with that strong man 
 who was her husband. They were bent both of them. 
 The wind boomed in the chimney reiterating this fact. It 
 shook the windows in mere devilment. It seemed to insist 
 that it could enter, but chose the more fascinating pastime 
 of scare. 
 
 And Lucy lay still listening to it, waiting, waiting as only 
 those do who understand the wind's power. Yet she did 
 not lack courage. The fact that she lay still in that buzz- 
 ing room may be taken as a signal to her lack of fear. 
 
 There was a day when she had raced her pony full pace 
 to try to ride under the rainbow, in order that she might 
 come out on the other side a boy ; but that was far off 
 now, far as the hill country which had seen the ride. Now, 
 if she had her way, she would have ridden into the valley 
 of shadows, if by enduring its torture she might have 
 emerged on the farther hillside, well and able to take her 
 part in the fight, her child in her arms. But the valley 
 remained to confront her, even as the wind which sought 
 to terrify her. All day it had boomed. Her head ached 
 with its assault. 
 
 She saw difficulty before them and recognised the 
 handicap which her illness must bring. She saw Den 
 shouldering his end of the burden, but looking round found 
 no one at the other. Her place was empty. Den could 
 not carry the whole burden without coming to the centre 
 of it and that made it too heavy for him to bear. That 
 thought made her more fearful than the wind. 
 
 She considered it from every coign. A strange fluttering 
 assailed her. She seemed to struggle for breath yet she
 
 THE "BILLET" 87 
 
 knew she had not moved. Then mercifully, from afar off 
 came the shriek of an engine, a hiss of steam borne gustily 
 to the hillside, and she recognised that the train which was 
 to bring Denis back from town had started once more on 
 its way. 
 
 Presently Denis would be here. Presently she would 
 be able to shake off this lethargy which held her. 
 Presently he would come in, strong in his manhood, and 
 take her in his arms so that she might regain courage. 
 
 A clock whirred out ten silver strokes. Someone called 
 " Coo-ee ! " from the road, and there followed firm foot- 
 steps running on the tiles, yet Lucy did not stir. 
 
 " Where away, oh Mem-sahib ? " Denis cried as he 
 closed and locked the door. 
 
 " Here, dear dearest ... in the drawing-room ! " 
 Lucy trilled from behind lath and plaster walls, and with 
 a shock he recognised that for some reason, in spite of her 
 playful rejoinder, she was not coming to greet him as was 
 her custom. 
 
 He looked bronzed and hearty as he entered ; his eyes 
 sparkled, his face was whipped red by contact with that 
 breeze which boomed so menacingly in Lucy's ears. He 
 looked strong. She looked fragile but her eyes 
 brightened as she stretched out hands to greet him. He 
 crossed to her side and sat down in the space she prepared 
 for him. Then he tucked one arm about her and leaned 
 to kiss. 
 
 " Not very fit, dearest ? " he questioned, looking into 
 her eyes, a scare thrilling him. 
 
 She reached up and pulled him near enough to make him 
 understand. 
 
 " Dear dearest ... I fink you'll have to carry me 
 upstairs to-night," she whispered. 
 
 He half disengaged himself, more frightened than before. 
 
 " Now ? " he asked. 
 
 " No no. Presently ... I had to to call the doctor 
 this afternoon and he told me to go to bed at once . . . 
 and I didn't because I wanted you to come first . . . 
 and then I felt better and so I stayed to see you and 
 now I think I couldn't manage all by myself. Isn't it 
 stupid . . . you aren't cross, are you, Den ? " 
 
 " Cross ! " He leaned over her, his fingers in her 
 luxuriant hair. " Why did I seem impatient or any- 
 thing, my Mem-sahib ? "
 
 88 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 She captured his hand and drew it to her lips. 
 
 " No, no, no. You are always kind and gentle and 
 loving " she choked over the word " but I'm such a 
 little fool. I I can't help you . . . and you are so 
 bothered . . . and I do want to be of some use. . . ." 
 
 " You are my wife, dear heart," he whispered, trembling. 
 " You are braver than I. ... You help me every minute 
 of the day." 
 
 " Sure ? " she faltered, her eyes lifted to his, her face 
 flushed. 
 
 He sought her lips and gave the assurance she desired. 
 Her arms went up about his neck and held him. The 
 wind moaned in the chimney. It wrestled with the shrubs 
 just outside their window and passed on singing, trium- 
 phant the force which had helped to bring this man low 
 and now would hold him chained. 
 
 With a sigh Lucy released him and, looking steadfastly 
 into his eyes, whispered " I wish sometimes babies had 
 never been invented, Den . . . don't you ? " 
 
 " No, dearest," he lied bravely, holding her close. 
 
 " Sure ? " 
 
 " Quite, quite sure." 
 
 " Then that's all right . . . but I did think they rather 
 make me no use, you know . . . and, and I can't afford 
 to be no use now, Den. I've got to be a real help to you 
 . . . for better or for worse, it said and, and this is a bit 
 of the ' worse ' part come when you weren't ready. . . . 
 Oh ! dear dearest, I do wish it was all over and I could let 
 you go or come with you if the stupid ship people would 
 let me. I would if I could, Den . . . Oh ! I would, I 
 would . . . but I ... I'm frightened to let you go now, 
 if that is what you've come to tell me ? It is that 
 isn't it ... it is ... it is. .. ." 
 
 He smiled, facing her, playing still with her beautiful 
 hair, while the wind rolled booming without, the victor 
 crooning his thanks, laughing about the eaves and 
 buttresses, sobbing, bubbling and in triumph. 
 
 " I could take it," he said, " if I like ... but I refused." 
 
 She snuggled closer in his arms, asking why. 
 
 " I should have had to sail in about a fortnight, oh 
 dearest . . . and I couldn't do that, could I ? " 
 
 For a moment Lucy lay very still, then with a sudden 
 thrill of fear she cried out " Not unless you could take me 
 with you, Den. Wouldn't they let you ? . . . Couldn't
 
 THE "BILLET" 89 
 
 you persuade them ? I shouldn't mind if you were with 
 me, you know. We should manage somehow but not 
 if you had to leave me at home." 
 
 " I couldn't do that," he answered at once. " She's a 
 wee bit of a thing with no room for passengers, scarcely 
 enough for the half dozen or so who will have to take her 
 out." 
 
 " So small as that ! " She had grown suddenly calm with 
 his explanation. She seemed puzzled and added : 
 
 ' Den, tell me all about it. Is she a ship ? " 
 
 ' A tug-boat, dearest." 
 
 ' A tug-boat, Den ? " 
 
 ' A very small one . . . about five tons. . . ." 
 
 ' Five tons ! How big was the Sphinx ? " 
 
 ' About three thousand, dearest." 
 
 ' And she was a dot to the Saladin . . . Oh ! I am so 
 glad you decided not to take her. Where were you to go ? 
 What could they do with her at sea ? " 
 
 " I was to take her to South America Valparaiso as a 
 matter of fact and I was to get two hundred pounds for 
 the job. . . ." 
 
 " Two hundred ! Oh, Den and you had to refuse." 
 
 " Yes. But it wouldn't have been all beer and 
 skittles." 
 
 Lucy considered this, then asked 
 
 " Why were they going to pay such a lot ... it is a 
 lot, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Well you see, she's rather small and ... it might 
 take some time to get her out. There's a risk, too, that 
 
 doesn't come in ordinary voyages " 
 
 " Because she is so small ? " 
 
 " Mainly that but also because she is not quite fitted 
 for ocean traffic. She's for the docks or harbour work, 
 you see and as she has been built here, they have to get 
 her out. . . ." 
 
 ' And they wanted you to take her ? " 
 
 ' They offered me the billet." 
 
 * Had they offered it to anyone else, Den ? " 
 
 ' I expect so very likely." 
 
 ' I am sure of it," Lucy commented. 
 He laughed in her face. 
 
 " It would be no use trying to bamboozle you, Mem- 
 sahib. You know too much. Of course, it isn't a job for 
 a man with with anyone dependent upon him. They
 
 90 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 didn't know I was married, you see. It is one of the risks 
 that come in the way of poor devils on their beam ends. 
 I am supposed to be more or less desperate and so I got 
 the offer " 
 
 " But how could you go you are still suspended, 
 Den ? " 
 
 " Oh, they get over little difficulties of that sort if they 
 take to the man. She will hoist the Chilean flag and her 
 skipper will sign Chilean articles. A ship can go to sea 
 one way or another pretty much as her owners choose to 
 send her. And this sort of craft is just dodged along from 
 port to port, and when it blows she must get in somewhere. 
 I would have taken it like a shot," he added, with a touch 
 of the fight that was in him, " if there had been no Mem- 
 sahib to worry herself ill over it." 
 
 " But would it have been safe, dearest ? " she whispered, 
 clinging to him, her inability to help him again stifling her. 
 
 " It would have been a fight," he said at once. " And 
 this will be a fight, too, little woman . . . but we'll win 
 out here, and Jimmy Barlow will do his best with the 
 tug- boat." 
 
 " Jimmy Barlow ! " 
 
 " Yes he jumped at it, poor beggar ! " 
 
 " Why is he very stony ? " 
 
 " He has been working in the docks, oh dearest 
 humping cases at twenty-eight shillings a week, for I 
 don't know how long. Then it appeared someone objected 
 to him, because he wasn't a trade unionist. And the 
 whole gang threatened to strike if they didn't take him off, 
 so Barlow got a week's pay in lieu of notice and had to 
 quit. Of course he was pretty stony and he was no end 
 thankful to me for giving him the chance to apply." 
 
 Then rather suddenly a gust of wind took hold of the 
 window and rattled it so fiercely that Lucy clung to Den's 
 arm trembling. 
 
 " Take me up, dear dearest," she whispered. " It's 
 that awful gale when you were in the Sphinx that makes 
 me frightened. I never minded before . . . perhaps 
 presently I won't mind it again , . . but it has been 
 doing its best to break me down all day, Den . . . 
 and I can't bear it. I can't ... I can't ! " 
 
 He gathered her in his arms and stood swaying much as 
 a mother does her child, and his strength calmed her. She 
 put out one arm and twined his neck.
 
 THE " BILLET " 91 
 
 " I am such a little fool ! " she whispered, her face 
 tucked close to his shoulder. 
 
 " Shure ! " he answered, bending to reach her lips. 
 " You aren't heavy enough for a fool. By the weight I 
 should judge ye for a spirit a spirit, bedad ! so fine and 
 trim, that naught av fear can enter in." 
 
 " Den, I was afraid. I was I was. . . ." 
 
 " But now you're laughin'," he answered, refusing to be 
 serious. 
 
 " That's because you are with me, dear dearest. Take 
 me upstairs. I was afraid you would have to go and 
 leave me . . . and I couldn't bear it. ... So I was a 
 little fool, you see. And I'm awfully sorry that Jimmy 
 Barlow will have to take it. It isn't fit. Fancy anyone 
 daring to offer you a ship that can only carry five tons ! 
 
 " Yes, a bit of a drop, isn't it ? " he laughed, and carried 
 her upstairs.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 AT THE GANGWAY 
 
 MARCH nearing its end. A grey day screening the grey 
 Thames, the farther Kentish hills diaphanous in their 
 misty trappings. 
 
 Thin rain falling, air nearly stagnant, the docks a blur 
 of smoke and steam and slow-driving moisture. On 
 every hand the clang and jar of winches, the hiss of 
 hydraulic cranes, the rattle of trains moving up the dock 
 railway, the crash of buffers, and occasionally the boom of 
 a horn far down where the river rolled sluggishly sea- 
 ward. 
 
 O'Hagan came from the dock-side where one of the 
 eastern mailships lay preparing to face a new voyage. 
 For an hour he had waited about the sheds at the foot of 
 her gangway watching the men who wheeled trucks and 
 tilted cases which were caught and swung inboard by 
 a crane which suffered as with asthma. Sometimes he 
 stared at the grey outlook, sometimes stamped a few paces 
 up and down before the gangway ; but generally he kept 
 out of sight of those men up there on the mailship's deck, 
 who might perhaps have recognised him. 
 
 O'Hagan had been marching London streets and London 
 docks for some weeks, and he was beginning to compre- 
 hend his position. He had made no attempt to see 
 Captain Worsdale, although once, in a rare burst of 
 optimism, he had gone so far as the company's office 
 in Leadenhall Street, and had retired with equal rapidity. 
 The commissionaire on duty had recognised him. That 
 was all. 
 
 But now, driven by the persistent ill-luck, as he termed 
 it, which had attended his various attempts to find employ- 
 ment elsewhere, driven indeed by a sort of desperation 
 which was becoming, in a sense, his metier, he had decided 
 to beard the great little man at the docks. 
 
 He would feel freer there, he argued. Those grim office 
 fronts always threw him out of gear. They were like
 
 AT THE GANGWAY 93 
 
 Jake Hall, and the stuffy court house which had seen his 
 trial. They smelled, too, of soft soap and polish. There 
 were too many barriers and screens, and the counters 
 were too wide for sympathetic speech. That commis- 
 sionaire fellow had a way with him, too, that was exas- 
 perating. Rather familiarly pointing to the fact that he 
 remembered O'Hagan as an officer who came up in 
 charge of the specie not so long ago and fancied 
 himself a bit of a swell. 
 
 Perhaps these notions scarcely redounded to O'Hagan's 
 credit. They seem to suggest a pride which was unwar- 
 ranted ; but they may also suggest that feeling which is 
 much more difficult to define, which arises when a man 
 knows that he has been knocked down for a fault which was 
 no fault in the eyes of his compeers. And now that he had 
 come to the docks, it seemed there were others whom he 
 would rather not face. 
 
 A stumbling-block, this question of acquaintanceship for 
 men on the down grade ; one which O'Hagan had not 
 thought out. For that reason he marched the dock-side 
 and stared at the grey drizzle which searched the quality 
 of that coat he wore. 
 
 A train ran clanking to a halt at the station, and 
 presently a small procession of men came over the bridge- 
 way which spanned the head of the dock, and moved down 
 the slopes to reach the shipping. Five or six passed 
 O'Hagan and climbed the mailship's gangway ; but he 
 still waited, eyeing the bridge. 
 
 When it seemed certain that no other passengers had 
 arrived by this train, O'Hagan opened his coat and shook 
 the moisture from it. He appeared undecided. He 
 glanced at his watch, again buttoned up, turning the 
 collar high, and with a sudden twist moved off towards 
 the canteen which stood upon the bridgeway. 
 
 It was cold, raw, and the steaming rain was of a quality 
 which pierces any coat not waterproofed. 
 
 O'Hagan entered the canteen, approached the bar and 
 said in his deep voice " I'll trouble you for a drop of 
 Irish hot and a biscuit and cheese." 
 
 A goddess of the counter glanced up at him as she pre- 
 pared the drink and said " You are wet. Miserable 
 outside, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Miserable inside, too, at present," O'Hagan replied. 
 He patted his coat and a shower fell on the floor.
 
 94 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " If you go on like that," said the goddess tartly, 
 " we'll have to mop the place up when you're gone." 
 
 O'Hagan was too much occupied to take heed. The 
 goddess pushed a tumbler across the counter, brought 
 biscuits, cheese and plate and presented them without 
 further talk. She seemed for a moment not to see the 
 shilling O'Hagan tendered ; she was glancing up at him 
 as though meditating speech ; then his eyes caught hers 
 and in a great hurry she accepted the coin. She pushed 
 four coppers across the counter, passed from his presence 
 and sat down in a little room with other goddesses. 
 
 " It's Cap'n O'Hagan," she confided to a friend, who 
 occupied a chair beside her, and stared at the crochet she 
 held. " I didn't think it would run to Irish hot to- 
 day. He's been out of a job nearly six months they 
 say." 
 
 " Oh ! " said her friend ; but she continued busily to 
 make holes in white cotton. 
 
 " He was in the papers a lot at the time remember ? 
 I don't think he improves, do you ? " 
 
 The friend peered for one moment through the small 
 door and returned to her work " He's got good eyes," 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh ! his eyes are all right, he's Irish." The goddess 
 tossed her head. 
 
 ' But he hasn't got a ship ? " 
 
 ' No and won't." 
 
 * Why not ? " 
 
 ' 'Cause he's on the Black List, ducky." 
 
 ' What's that ? " came without fire from the goddess 
 who worked. 
 
 " The List at Lloyd's, of course." 
 
 She rose from her chair with a movement of impatience 
 and went out to refresh a group of three who required, on 
 the opposite side of a glass partition, pints of " four-'alf " 
 and countered the coin to pay for it. 
 
 They were British workmen from the lower reaches of 
 Riverton, and Denis O'Hagan contributed to the cost of 
 education and maintenance of their children. The tram 
 fares necessary to bring them to and from school without 
 the exertion of walking came also out of Denis O'Hagan's 
 pocket in common with all other ratepayers. 
 
 The men consumed their pints to the accompaniment 
 of a blood-spattered jangle of talk, or what passes for talk,
 
 AT THE GANGWAY 95 
 
 and demanded additional pints. Again one laid the 
 essential price on the counter. The goddess swept it into 
 one hand, dropped it in a machine which rang a bell, 
 tendered the change and served again three " four-'alfs " 
 whatever that may be. 
 
 She returned to her friend and to her subject with the 
 air of one who had missed an opportunity. 
 
 " I wouldn't take a penny from him if I could manage 
 it," she confided, " but there that sort are so bloomin' 
 proud you can't do anything with them." 
 
 " Him " obviously referred to Captain O'Hagan. The 
 goddess took up a stocking, inserted her hand, and drew 
 it slowly across a clenched fist. 
 
 " What's he down here for ? " her friend questioned, 
 briskly making holes while the other searched for them. 
 
 " Dockwallopin', of course." 
 
 " What's that ? " 
 
 " Why lookin' for a ship in the docks. My ! haven't 
 you tumbled to that ? " 
 
 Her friend sniggered. 
 
 " Looks like it, doesn't it ? " Then, after a small 
 silence, " An' why can't he get one ? " 
 
 " Be-cause," said the goddess with extreme deliberation 
 as she drew the foot of her stocking round her hand, " he's 
 on the Black List." 
 
 " Yes but how did he get on your ' Black List,' as you 
 call it ? " 
 
 " 'Tisn't mine, ducky it's Lloyd's, and he got on it as 
 usual, be-cause he lost his ship." 
 
 Even this slow enunciation failed to stay curiosity. 
 The girl who had remarked on the quality of O'Hagan's 
 eyes glanced up and said " Did he try to lose it ? " 
 
 This appeared to irritate the goddess. She answered 
 swiftly 
 
 " So you've got hold of it, too 1 I don't believe it ... 
 go an' ask him with your ' try ' ! Does he look like the 
 sort that would try ? " she flamed. " You are green ! " 
 She threw down the stocking and found another. 
 
 There came a cry from the bar and she rose to provide 
 matches for the drinkers of " four-'alf." 
 
 " They all go on the Black List," she said with the calm 
 of an angry woman on her return, " if they lose their ships. 
 I call it downright murder." 
 
 "' Seems to me, dear," her friend commented, her head
 
 96 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 on one side as she examined the holes she had made, 
 " that you are sweet on him." 
 
 " Sweet ! " said the goddess. " I like that. Oh ! I 
 do like that . . . why " she rose expressionless to face 
 her friend " he's married." 
 
 " Sorry," said the friend, and resumed her work as the 
 goddess on duty went out. " For you," she added when 
 she sat alone within the small room. 
 
 O'Hagan finished his whisky, buttoned his coat and 
 passed, unconscious of the interest he had inspired, once 
 more into the drizzle. 
 
 And outside the canteen he came suddenly upon the 
 great personage for whom he had waited, got wet and 
 broken his rule. 
 
 " That you, O'Hagan ? " 
 
 The dapper little man halted for a brief moment, and 
 with a swift glance added " Want to see me ? " 
 
 '' Yes if you can spare a minute, sir." 
 
 " Presently. Come on board." 
 
 They marched side by side in the direction indicated. 
 Captain Worsdale's lips were firmly set.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 CAPTAIN WORSDALE 
 
 THE marine superintendent of a mailship service is a 
 man of some consequence when he is at the docks or on 
 the fine promenade of one of the vessels which shine at his 
 bidding ; but in the city, among magnates who rule the 
 shipping, he stands on a lower pedestal. He is, in point 
 of fact, the go-between who makes palatable unpalatable 
 orders ; who conciliates both officers and surveyors ; who 
 is benign and bland even when things have gone irrevo- 
 cably to the devil. He is a man of parts. He wears a top 
 hat and carries an umbrella as regularly as does a Babu. 
 
 Captain Worsdale went farther from the sea in the mere 
 matter of attire than do most of his confreres, but, then, 
 he was also a shipowner. He wore spats and dangled an 
 eyeglass ; but he was smart and kindly a man who knew 
 quite well that given certain conditions accidents were 
 inevitable. Who acknowledged indeed that to-day most 
 of those conditions are present. 
 
 But Worsdale had detected O'Hagan emerging from the 
 door of the canteen and he was not pleased. 
 
 " I got your note," he said a little stiffly. " I shall be 
 occupied for some time ; but come up and find shelter 
 from the rain." 
 
 He led the way at a smart walk down the slope and along 
 the quay. O'Hagan recognising his disadvantage followed 
 at heel. The attitude of the British shipmaster when 
 seeking rehabilitation at the hands of those who rule was 
 already in some degree O'Hagan's. But for the fact that 
 these two men had come together when they did, O'Hagan 
 would in all probability have been at Worsdale's side. 
 
 They came to the mailship's gangway, climbed it, and 
 the marine superintendent became immersed in the 
 business which called him daily to the docks. For half 
 an hour O'Hagan cooled his heels on the lee side of a house 
 upon the promenade ; then a quartermaster approached 
 and led him to the presence. 
 
 B.F. a
 
 98 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Captain Worsdale was seated and at his ease in the 
 commander's room when O'Hagan entered. He looked 
 up and said suavely 
 
 " Sit down " ; then added, " it's a beast of a day." 
 
 O'Hagan interpreted this as a hint that his friend was 
 less friendly than when he had served under him. He 
 decided to be brief. 
 
 " If you don't mind, sir," he answered, " I think I had 
 better stand. I'm rather damp. I need not keep you a 
 minute." 
 
 " Nonsense," came irascibly from the stern lips. 
 " Take off your coat and sit." 
 
 O'Hagan complied. He had an uncomfortable feeling 
 that in spite of his hope, in spite of Lucy's persuasion, all 
 would not be well with him at this interview. Worsdale's 
 crisp phrase confirmed this as he sat down 
 
 " Yes it is wet. You look drenched . . . well, what 
 can I do for you ? " 
 
 " I thought, sir," said O'Hagan with what precision he 
 could summon, " that you might perhaps be able to take 
 me on again. I've had very little luck lately, and I am 
 beginning to need it." 
 
 The marine superintendent, not an unkindly man as 
 events have shown, sat nevertheless with pursed lips over 
 this. 
 
 " You resigned the service," he said at length, " against 
 my advice." 
 
 " I did," O'Hagan admitted. 
 
 " You wanted to better yourself, as the saying goes ? " 
 
 " I had the chance of command, sir and I was engaged 
 to be married. I couldn't marry on my pay as second 
 officer here. ..." 
 
 " Precisely. You wanted to better yourself . . . and 
 you have not bettered yourself. You have come a cropper 
 a pretty bad one, too and now you want to come back 
 into the service. ... It is the old story. I have heard it 
 until I am tired. ..." 
 
 O'Hagan made no response. 
 
 " The fact is that you young men will never learn 
 patience," said Worsdale, his manner less hard, more 
 persuasive. " You are always in a hurry to get command 
 or to get married. What use is a wife to a sailor ? What 
 earthly use is a sailor to the woman fool enough to 
 marry him ? Can he guard her ? Can he give her com-
 
 CAPTAIN WORSDALE 99 
 
 forts can he even lock up the house at night for her ? 
 When he is at sea, what is there for her to do what can 
 she do . . . ? " 
 
 " Faith ! not much bar pray for him," O'Hagan gave 
 back, sore at this tirade, as he termed it. 
 
 " Pray ! " The marine superintendent crooned over 
 this, nodding his grey head. " And that means that her 
 eyes will be red for him if she is the right sort ; hard if 
 she is the wrong . . . well, are you married ? " 
 
 ' I am, sir." 
 
 ' Hum ! Had any chance of work since the inquiry ? " 
 
 ' None, sir." 
 
 ' Any children babies, for instance ? " 
 
 ' No." 
 
 O'Hagan might have trusted that grey head farther, 
 but for some reason he had not analysed he could not 
 speak of the moment now so near. 
 
 " Lucky for you that is so," Captain Worsdale com- 
 mented. " And now, as I understand it, you want to 
 come back here. . . . Well I must be quite candid, 
 O'Hagan. I can't put you on. It would not be fair to 
 you if I did for, with your record, your late record," he 
 added with a frown, " you could never get command in 
 this service. I question whether my directors would 
 sanction your employment even as an officer after what 
 has occurred and, of course, in your case I should be 
 compelled to consult them." The frown grew in intensity. 
 He looked straight into the younger man's eyes. " You 
 see that, don't you ? " he added, to break the silence. 
 
 O'Hagan, sitting very still, his mind on Lucy's dis- 
 appointment when this should be made plain to her, 
 admitted that he saw. 
 
 " You are broken, my boy," the marine superintendent 
 thundered, leaning forward and striking the arm of his 
 chair. " I would not trouble to tell many men that but 
 you . . . well, it is the truth of this matter. . . . 
 " Broken," he added with swift explanation, " by events. 
 And the man who is broken at sea might just as well 
 be dead. They have suspended your certificate," he 
 enunciated, calmly satirical. " Do you suppose you can 
 live that down ? They have put you on the Black List 
 at Lloyd's. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan moved slightly under the blow, but remained 
 quiet. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Do you suppose you can live that down without 
 help ? '* he leaned back facing the light, his eyes stern. 
 " They have done all they can to break you and you have 
 helped them to do it. Man ! " he became irascibly the 
 adviser at this stage -"if you wish to remain at sea . . . 
 if it is necessary for you to earn your living in future as a 
 sailor, go and induce authority to issue a V.C. which men 
 of the sea may win and when you have done that go out, 
 by the Lord ! and win it yourself. Win it ! Then if you 
 still wish to get back into the Eastern mail service I think 
 I could induce my directors to overlook that bit smudge 
 you've got on your qualifications." 
 
 O'Hagan shuffled his wet feet on the deck. He squared 
 his shoulders with the phrase which leaped. 
 
 " Faith ! " he said, " that will take me a month of 
 Sundays anyhow." 
 
 Worsdale eyed him with large perspicacity. 
 
 " It's a thing you can do if my recollection is not at 
 fault," he said in comment. " I wasn't your commander 
 for nothing. I knew my officers and if you hadn't been 
 such a fool I would have had you chief officer now in the 
 old ship. . . . Chief, man, a gentlemanly billet, a respon- 
 sible one . . . and well on your way to command. And 
 here you are ex-master of a wall-sided tramp with a 
 marked certificate and no prospects, just because you 
 couldn't rest content without dragging a woman to the 
 altar. Man ! it was the halter you were after the halter," 
 he reiterated again with heat, " and you have it round your 
 neck." 
 
 O'Hagan scarcely moved under this criticism. The rain 
 gurgling in the gutters ran past the open door and fell in 
 rusty streams upon the dock wall. Greyness surrounded 
 them. They were the centre of it ; perched high up, 
 examining its effect on their lives. 
 
 O'Hagan scarcely took Worsdale literally. He had 
 served under him and was accustomed to what used to be 
 termed " the old man's gassing." Nor can you, if you 
 consider the matter, convince a man young as O'Hagan, 
 thrilling still with the romance and beauty of his marriage, 
 that he has made the mistake of his life. Indeed he had 
 decided this long ago and was scarcely in the mood for 
 retraction. 
 
 He knew (as who does not ?) that the wife of a man in 
 a subordinate position is termed an encumbrance ; that
 
 CAPTAIN WORSDALE 101 
 
 children are the last straw. For that reason he had come 
 out of the mail service and taken command in a tramp 
 where it seemed probable he would be able to earn enough 
 to keep a wife, if not children. 
 
 Of course it was a blunder ; but what sailor worth his 
 salt would be prepared to admit it ? Certainly not Denis 
 O'Hagan, master mariner in the great feeding department 
 of the British nation ; now with a smudged certificate 
 and nearing difficulty. The dark eyes of Lucy Faulkner 
 came for ever between him and recantation ; the know- 
 ledge that she would welcome him even now that he was 
 beaten. 
 
 "What in the world induced you to leave us?" 
 Worsdale grumbled again, his eye on the well-set-up figure, 
 the clean face and cultured mien. " They don't want 
 gentlemen in tramps, they want a chap who will kow-tow 
 to owners and agents and all the small fry who run them. 
 They want men without pride, or independence, or brain, 
 by gad ! . . . a sort of guard to slam the doors for the 
 engine-driver who runs the train. ..." 
 
 " I don't know that they want gentlemen in the mail 
 service, sir," O'Hagan countered. " At all events they 
 don't pay for accent if they require it. . . ." 
 
 " No I grant that . . . but it is a gentlemanly billet, 
 my boy." 
 
 " A man can't live on that, captain." 
 
 " You could, O'Hagan," Worsdale enunciated as he 
 rose to close a port past which the rain sobbed, " but now 
 you are married you must take the first job that comes your 
 way. And if you wish to get back into the Eastern Mail 
 Service" he resumed his seat "you must do something 
 big to show shipowners, and Lloyd's, by Jove ! you aren't 
 the fool that inquiry showed you to be ... and you must 
 be in command to do it. . . ." 
 
 " You think I was a fool, too, sir," O'Hagan blurted, 
 red to the eyes. 
 
 " I know you are not but there are others who do not 
 know you, and they read the evidence ..." Worsdale 
 commented, watching. 
 
 " If you hadn't come and spoken for me, I should 
 have been damned," O'Hagan ventured, leaning forward. 
 " I don't think it was quite the fair thing to pill a 
 man. . . ." 
 
 " They were defending themselves. You said the ship
 
 102 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 was unseaworthy as very likely she was . . . but, good 
 God, man ! hadn't you sense enough to see that it wouldn't 
 do to say so ? ... Didn't I tell you years ago that only 
 millionaires can afford to speak the truth. You have the 
 whole ring on your back. You have a Government 
 department on your back. . . . Pish ! Don't talk of it. 
 Tell me what you are going to do quickly, too, as I have 
 but little spare time. . . . ' 
 
 O'Hagan replied meekly enough that he hoped to get 
 a berth somewhere, and that if he might use Captain 
 Worsdale's name. . . . 
 
 " Certainly. Use it by all means. Refer anyone you 
 like to me. I will do my best . . . but about your 
 sentence, man your six months', or whatever it was, 
 suspension . . . what are you doing about that ? " 
 
 " I threatened to appeal, sir but I'm afraid the funds 
 won't run to it." 
 
 " Then you must find funds. It is essential. What 
 about the share you spoke of in this tin-foil ship company ? 
 Have they paid you yet ? " 
 
 " No I am told the underwriters have not settled the 
 claim yet. ..." 
 
 " And you believe that ? " 
 
 " I have no option, as far as I can see." 
 
 " You have. The thing is a lie. The underwriters 
 have paid. Get your lawyer on these people . . . and, 
 look here now . . . not a word, mind but if you can't 
 raise the funds draw on me and pay me back when you 
 have recovered. ..." 
 
 O'Hagan rose, flushed as a boy, to stammer out his 
 thanks. He had forgotten the more pressing necessity, 
 the main reason which had brought him to see Worsdale, 
 and in the enthusiasm of the moment gave vent to 
 his gratitude in full measure. But Worsdale halted 
 him. 
 
 "Never mind that," he said. "It is imperative to get 
 that damned sentence annulled. The judgment was 
 biassed you helped to bias it. ... 
 
 " It was a drab case, my boy," he went on more quietly, 
 but very seriously, " a drab case on a drab subject heard 
 amidst drab surroundings by a man with a drab title who 
 was aided and advised by assessors with drab stipends. 
 I would quash the whole system if I had my way. I would 
 break any magistrate body who ventured to take away
 
 CAPTAIN WORSDALE 
 
 103 
 
 the certificate of a British shipmaster. What does he 
 know of the questions involved ? What does he know of 
 what lies behind ? . . ." 
 
 He put on his hat and marched towards the door, which 
 he opened. O'Hagan stood to thank him, then again the 
 great little man turned and said in his ear 
 
 " And if I may give you a word of advice, it would be, 
 keep out of the canteen over there." He jerked his head 
 to indicate the bridge to the dock station, and O'Hagan 
 met him at once 
 
 " I had to get a bit of lunch somewhere, sir . . . 
 There's " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know ; but you had something stronger 
 than beef tea, and there are those allegations of the 
 inquiry to be remembered." He took him by the shoulder 
 and checked the quick answer which would have fallen. 
 " Keep cool, man. Go canny, and if it is necessary to eat 
 or drink when you are at the docks, carry a sandwich and 
 a flask of cold tea ... let people see that it is tea." 
 
 " You know me, sir it doesn't matter two straws " 
 
 O'Hagan commenced. 
 
 " It does. I can't help you if you do not help me to 
 help you. You have the brand of Cain on you. Put 
 there, by gad ! by a person who made a fortune by selling 
 knick-knacks. Go away and get it wiped off ... then I 
 can do something for you and that meddlesome person 
 who got you out of my power and married you. ..." 
 
 Again the hot flush on O'Hagan's keen face and the 
 swift rejoinder 
 
 " She will thank you, even if I can't. If you back me 
 it will be easy . . . easy as shelling peas." 
 
 " Will it ? " said Worsdale, as he faced the rain going 
 towards the bridge. 
 
 He frowned over the words but O'Hagan rubbed 
 hands. He was jubilant jubilant.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MEAXINO OF IT 
 
 COMMANDER WORSDALE, R.X.R., as he was officially 
 designated, occupied chambers within a few minutes' 
 walk of Lancaster Gate station when in town. He was a 
 bachelor of considerable wealth who for many years had 
 been Commodore of that line of splendid vessels known 
 here as the Eastern Mail Service. Since his retirement he 
 had acted as marine superintendent of the fleet. One 
 could not well imagine the moment when of his own will 
 Worsdale would sever his connection with ships. Had he 
 desired to " move up higher " he might have taken his 
 seat as a director in virtue of his holding hi the company ; 
 but he refused to be bothered with business, as he termed 
 it. He said he did not understand business, that he did 
 not wish to understand it ; but if the directors had no 
 alternative scheme, he wished to keep in touch with the 
 ships by commanding them when hi dock. 
 
 And so, as was set forth, Captain Worsdale retained his 
 office. 
 
 Now several days had elapsed since his meeting with 
 Denis O'Hagan, and the fact that he had heard nothing 
 from him rather troubled the great little man, as his 
 officers called him. Each night on his return from the 
 city he had made inquiries as to whether a Captain 
 O'Hagan had called, and had received a reply in the 
 negative. To-day, however, a message had reached his 
 office asking whether he would be at home to-night. He 
 replied hi the affirmative ; then came word that Mr. 
 Stephen Hammond would run round after dinner to see 
 him with reference to a certain Mr. O'Hagan. 
 
 Naturally Worsdale had very little difficulty in coming 
 to the conclusion that O'Hagan by some chance knew 
 his friend Hammond, and it increased the interest which 
 he already acknowledged in that young reprobate as he 
 called him. 
 
 It was nine o'clock. Worsdale, comfortable in an arm
 
 THE MEANING OF IT 105 
 
 chair before his fire, occupied himself with an evening 
 paper. He smoked with the enjoyment of one who could 
 afford a good brand. On a table near at hand was the 
 essential liquid. Behind it, opening the door. Jenks 
 saying in his best manner " Mr. Stephen 'Ammond, 
 sir," and vanishing in silence. 
 
 Worsdale rose and grasped his friend's outstretched 
 hand. " So good of you to come round to cheer me up 
 what is it, eh ? " 
 
 " A mutual liking, I gather. Denis O'Hagan, to speak 
 by the book but I should have called in any case in a 
 few days to tell you about the poor old father." 
 
 " Ah ! How is he ? " 
 
 " Better, I'm thankful to say but it has been a wrench 
 to turn out after all these years." 
 
 " I can well imagine it. It would kill me," Worsdale 
 commented. " Come over and make yourself comfortable 
 choose your chair, there are cigars, cigarettes, whisky ..." 
 
 " Thanks, awfully. I'll turn on a pipe, if I may." 
 
 " Do by all means . . . well, what about this boy ? " 
 
 The lawyer's face became more serious. He stuffed 
 tobacco into his pipe, lighted a match and said " I don't 
 quite like it," and commenced to pull. " As a matter of 
 fact, the thing looks pretty dangerous for him." He 
 dowsed the match and leaned back in full blast. 
 
 " What do you know of him I don't remember your 
 name in the case ..." Worsdale threw out. 
 
 " No. We had nothing to do with that. I wish we 
 had. . . . No he and I were at the same school 
 Winchester, you know . . . and of course that counts." 
 
 " But how did you happen to know that you weren't 
 contemporaries, I should say." 
 
 " No. I was at Oxford in his time. He came to apply 
 for that secretaryship for my father, you remember. We 
 had about five hundred applications. Took us a week to 
 clear up and I happened to see him. He has rather a 
 good face don't you agree ? " 
 
 " He is as strong as they are made," W T orsdale replied. 
 " I wish we could officer the fleet with his type. We don't 
 get many parsons' sons in these days they seem as shy 
 of the merchant service as of the church. It was a good 
 type. We thought it was going to last for ever, so we 
 starved it out, and now we would give our ears to see it 
 back."
 
 106 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " How ? I don't follow quite," Hammond questioned. 
 
 " There was a day, my friend," Worsdale returned, 
 " when shipowners openly bragged that they could flout 
 officers with impunity. ' Officers ! ' a very big personage 
 once said in my hearing, ' Phit ! I could man my fleet with 
 them by holding up my little finger in Fenchurch Street.' 
 And that was so. But it no longer is so, and if that 
 gentleman were alive to-day he would be the first to own 
 it and, between ourselves, to curse the new conditions." 
 
 " I gather, then, you are inclined to think our friend 
 O'Hagan has been harshly treated," Hammond suggested, 
 between puffs. 
 
 " Leading questions, eh ? " Worsdale chuckled, enjoy- 
 ing himself immensely, his Scottish descent in evidence. 
 " Man ! You would seduce Auld Nick himself wi' your 
 inceedious method of speech. It's well I know ye it's 
 well I knew your father and have respect for ye as well. 
 Hoot ! man, fill up your glass and I'll tell you fast enough 
 what I think fast enough, because I believe you are 
 anxious to read what I know . . . what I learned when 
 you and that young fool, O'Hagan, were at school." 
 
 Hammond laughed and complied " I should not have 
 ventured to draw you," he said as he set down the decanter, 
 " but O'Hagan came to see me this morning and I tried 
 
 to help him " he put it so as he added Apollinaris to 
 
 his whisky, " but I might have saved my time ..." 
 
 " Urn ! " Worsdale broke in. " I tried that myself, but 
 he didn't chip in. Is he in monetary straits, do you think ? " 
 
 " He told me this morning someone has put in a distraint, 
 landlord or tax people I don't know which." 
 
 " Poor devil ! " 
 
 " It is very shocking, of course, but I gathered he had 
 nothing to say against the fairness of his trial, as he calls 
 it. . . ." 
 
 " Fairness no. It's the system he objects to and I, 
 as a master mariner of forty years' standing, object to. 
 Why, he was tried before magistrates magistrates, man 1 " 
 
 " With assessors, of course." 
 
 " Assessors ! I like to hear you glib lawyer folk talk. 
 You know what you are speaking of, Stephen Hammond 
 and I know, too, what I am speaking of. We are a pair 
 of expairts, mind you a marine lawyer, top notch, I a 
 marine shellback, top notch, too in the days that 
 were. .
 
 THE MEANING OF IT 107 
 
 " Fair ! Of course the inquiry was fair. No one in his 
 senses goes out of his way to assail His Majesty's Commis- 
 sion of the Peace. But we do say magistrates don't know 
 a damned thing about the sea, or sailors or cargo, or mails 
 and they never will know. How can they ? It took 
 me thirty years, my friend, to learn the first thing about 
 ships . . . an' they are supposed to imbibe it fra 
 assessors. . . . 
 
 " It can't be done. A position crops up at every 
 inquiry that requires elucidation by the assessors eh ? " 
 
 " Granted." 
 
 " An' there are perhaps forty-five assessors an' each one 
 will find a new and explicit vairsion o' the problem, an' 
 every one o' them is the guide of your magistrate. I say 
 you can't work out problems on a chart in court with or 
 without a pencil and parallel ruler . . . at least, if you do, 
 each man will come to a new conclusion from the same 
 elementary facts. . . . 
 
 " The sea, Stephen, my friend, is like nothing else on 
 God's world. It has a mind of its own. It works in its 
 own way. Currents come out of no ordered scheme. 
 The cause of them is intermittent and varying in degree. 
 To-day they are here, flicking us sidelong ; to-morrow 
 they are gone, and to-morrow they may be setting from 
 the opposite quarter. No two assessors think alike on 
 the subject how, then, is it possible that they should 
 give any sort of coherent advice to magistrates who know 
 nothing. ..." 
 
 " Yes. I admit that. I see the difficulty." 
 
 " Of course you do ... but there's more to consider 
 yet. There's the question of how many men constitute 
 a well-manned ship, and per contra how many men an 
 under-manned ship ; how deep shall a vessel be loaded in 
 winter time, how deep in summer. There is the question 
 whether it was wise to send a ship built for the West India 
 trade on the Great Circle between the Cape and New 
 Zealand ; whether it is honest to send a Mediterranean 
 tramp, manned by Chinese coolies, across the North 
 Atlantic in winter time. . . . And there is the question 
 whether deckloads are safe or whether they are a mere 
 bribe to open the gates o' heaven to her crew. . . . 
 
 " How can assessors instil factors like these into the 
 minds of men whose whole concern with trade is to make 
 it pay. Make your assessors judges put them in the
 
 108 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 chair of authority and pay them a wage commensurate 
 with their duties. It is a cheap thing this advisory 
 business, and there is too much of it. Mind, I am not 
 hitting at our magistracy ; but on the other hand I hold 
 no brief for them. They do what they can in extremely 
 difficult conditions, and I would modify that difficulty by 
 moving the finer men from our services, not to assessor- 
 ships, but to judgeships. That would be better than 
 retiring them on an allowance granted ' by the grace of 
 their board of directors ' when their nerve has gone." 
 
 Worsdale leaned back in his chair and pulled for some 
 minutes at his cigar, then, as if Hammond had challenged 
 him, he came back with 
 
 " I know what I am talking of, my friend. I have been 
 asked to sit at certain inquiries as assessor ; but I have 
 refused. It is an honour I do not covet. ... It is a 
 responsibility I do not intend to undertake and the fees 
 a man may earn provoke laughter from the big-wigs of 
 your cloth who share the plunder. ..." 
 
 Again he flung back in his chair to enjoy that cigar, to 
 note Hammond's laughter which followed that point he had 
 made, and to sip from the glass which stood at his elbow. 
 
 It was easy to see that he felt deeply in this matter. 
 The Scot appeared only when he was greatly moved, and 
 then it rang beautifully. It was easy to read, too, that 
 he had a strong liking for O'Hagan. And as if the thought 
 which lurked in Hammond's brain had passed straight to 
 Worsdale, the great little man broke out afresh with 
 
 " Damned young fool ! I would have had him in 
 command in no time, but he must needs give me the slip 
 and get married to some woman thing who should have 
 known better than to make love to a sailor. ..." 
 
 " And why not a sailor ? " Hammond commented, 
 amused beyond words. 
 
 " If you care to know exactly my opinion," said 
 Worsdale with clean-cut phrase, " I should say that there 
 are two classes of men whom no woman with any respect 
 for herself should think of marrying. One is a sailor . . . 
 he's always at sea ; the other is a literary man . . . he's 
 always at home. You ask any woman what these things 
 mean and ..." 
 
 There came a knock on the door and Jenks appeared 
 carrying a salver, which he presented to his master. Upon 
 it was a card.
 
 THE MEANING OF IT 109 
 
 'Talk of the devil," Worsdale quoted, half rising in his 
 chair. 
 
 " Not O'Hagan ? " Hammond questioned. 
 
 Worsdale blinked and turned to Jenks. 
 
 " Ask him to come in. Bring him in at once." 
 
 Jenks moved to obey. 
 
 " Something wrong, ' Worsdale whispered. 
 
 Hammond admitted the suggestion without speech. 
 Then in a moment O'Hagan entered. He looked pale. 
 There was a drawn look about his eyes ; but directly he 
 saw that Captain Worsdale was not alone he stood still. 
 
 *' I didn't understand you were engaged, sir," he said 
 apologetically. " Let me call at some other time." 
 
 The words were calm enough ; but his eyes gave him 
 away. 
 
 Jenks crossed to the sideboard and returned to place an 
 additional tumbler on the table. He retired as silently as 
 he had come. 
 
 " You see ? " Worsdale smiled, the signals understood. 
 " You are expected. Nonsense ! Don t run away . . . 
 I think you know my friend Mr. Hammond ? " 
 
 O'Hagan, with a glance of increasing confusion, 
 acknowledged that he had been so fortunate as to meet 
 him only a few hours ago " but," he stammered, " I did 
 not know that you were friends or . . . ." And here he 
 abruptly paused. 
 
 " Not only friends, O'Hagan," Worsdale said, to put 
 him at his ease, " but mutually interested in your case. 
 To be quite honest, we were talking of you when you were 
 announced. . . . Sit down. Take off your coat first, 
 then sit and fill your glass. That man of mine is worth his 
 weight in gold. Obsairve his grip of essential facts " ; he 
 pointed to the glass, smiling, his eyes shining large behind 
 spectacles. " Sit down. . . ." 
 
 " You are awfully kind," O'Hagan stammered out. 
 " But I have only ten minutes for I simply must catch 
 
 the last train down . . . or " Again he broke off, 
 
 stumbling and aflame with the sense of his position. 
 " The fact is," he blurted out, " Lucy is ill ... and I 
 daren't stay away. . . ." 
 
 " Mrs. O'Hagan ? " Worsdale questioned, sympathetic 
 beyond all knowledge to the young man who thought he 
 knew him. 
 Hammond rose from his chair and said, " If you don't
 
 110 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 mind I will walk round the flat. I haven't seen that Turner 
 you tell me you have picked up ... and " he glanced at 
 O'Hagan "two can talk so much more easily than three. 
 I will order a cab if you will allow me." 
 
 He nodded and went out. Then Worsdale turned to the 
 young officer he had known so many years and said 
 
 " Now tell me all about it." 
 
 O'Hagan sat down suddenly in his chair and leaned 
 forward, chin on hands. 
 
 " I'm broken, sir," he said, between gasps. " That's 
 the truth of it ; they've got me between them . . . and I 
 have Lucy on my hands. You told me I had played the 
 fool . . . and I admit it. But if Sharum, Fit & Co. had 
 been honest men I should not have been broken. I had a 
 bit of money and I invested it with them . . . and now 
 I want it and can't get it without more fighting and lawyers' 
 bills. . . . I'm stony ! " he cried out with a wry twist. 
 " Broke, by the Lord, on my first command ! and I feel 
 like twisting the neck of that iibbering beast who stole 
 my money. If I got near him, ' he hissed out suddenly, 
 " I should hurt him . . . but," he added, with a curious 
 droop, "he is as safe as houses. I ... I haven't the 
 train fare to reach him." 
 
 He leaned still deeper on his knees, staring at the fire 
 ..." God ! it's cold," he cried out sharply. Then in a 
 new and calmer tone, " This is awfully kind of you, sir . . . 
 but I can't stop. I must get back to Riverton at once." 
 
 " When is your train ? Worsdale asked, with a touch 
 of command. 
 
 " Ten forty-five, sir ... Charing Cross." 
 
 Worsdale consulted his watch, rose and said " You 
 have nearly an hour. Sit still. I have something here 
 that will do you good. Eaten anything to-day ? " 
 
 " I ... I had my lunch." 
 
 " Sandwich, I suppose ? " 
 
 " And a glass of milk oh ! I'm not hungry ... I am 
 stuck in the mud and can't get clear." He was a boy in 
 phrase once more. " Please don't bother about tucker, 
 sir. ... I couldn't eat ... I couldn't. ..." 
 
 " You will eat what you can, and you will drink this," 
 Worsdale answered, pouring out whisky and adding 
 mineral. " Take a sip first and gae canny, my boy, gae 
 canny and tell me, while ye eat," he thundered out, 
 "what precisely is the matter with Mrs. O'Hagan, what
 
 THE MEANING OF IT 111 
 
 I can do ta help you," he stood, red-faced, to enforce his 
 words, " an' why ye're daunderin' aboot town when ye 
 tell me ye have a sick wife at home. ..." 
 
 He sat again in his chair and looked under his brows at 
 O'Hagan as he attacked the sandwiches. 
 
 " The wife's ill, sir," O'Hagan repeated, gulped and sat 
 still. " There's going to be a baby," he added, a queer 
 note in his voice ; " and we're down to ten shillings or so 
 between us ... there's a man in the house to see we 
 don't get rid of our things . . . and . . . oh, well ! " he 
 added, after a pause, "I came to town to get some money 
 from a chap who lends. ..." 
 
 " Jew ? Worsdale inserted. 
 
 *' I expect so. He calls himself Horton Marshland & Co. 
 . . . but he won't part. The security doesn't seem good 
 enough so I'm going back. ..." 
 
 " Go on eating," Worsdale ordered. " How much was 
 the man to lend you ? " 
 
 " Fifty pounds." 
 
 " What security ? " 
 
 " My furniture and fixings, sir." 
 
 "A bill of sale, eh ? Take another pull at that whisky." 
 Worsdale rose and crossed to a bureau, which he opened : 
 " Never touch a bill of sale, my boy," he said, over his 
 shoulder. " An honest man will not ask it as security, 
 because " he drew out a cheque book and commenced to 
 write " if the interest is^unpaid it means that the lender 
 can turn the borrower into the street and sell every 
 stick." He spoke slowly as he wrote. And when he had 
 finished he came back and tapped O'Hagan on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Come to me," he said lightly, " if you want any more. 
 Don't go to money-lenders. They would suck blood out 
 of a stone." He tapped more vigorously and pushed the 
 cheque under O'Hagan's hand. " Here take this," he 
 said, " and get that little woman of yours well again. Get 
 her hearty. Kick that damned man out of your house and 
 and come and tell me how you get on. ..." 
 
 O'Hagan shuffled in his chair. He seemed unable to 
 reply. He looked up and opened his lips to speak then 
 suddenly leaned forward, his face buried on his arms, his 
 shoulders shaking. 
 
 Worsdale drew back. He looked very stern, very cold, 
 very still. There were lines over his nose which rarely
 
 112 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 appeared. He crossed to the fire and stood looking into it. 
 Perhaps he saw in the red glow pictures of his youth, 
 pictures which told him why he had sympathy with this 
 boy, why he had no boy of his own to father and prop on 
 his way through life ... or perhaps it was just pleasure 
 he felt at being able to help one so oppressed. 
 
 Several minutes passed. The sounds behind him grew 
 more subdued. He half glanced round and saw O'Hagan 
 staring at the cheque then in a great hurry busied himself 
 stirring the fire. 
 
 The noise he made completed O'Hagan's cure. He 
 rose from his crouching attitude, stood up, and came close 
 to his old commander. 
 
 " I want to thank you, sir," he blurted, " but, for the 
 life of me, I don't know how ..." 
 
 " Don't," said Worsdale over his shoulder. 
 
 " To begin with, you've made it a hundred," O'Hagan 
 went on unheeding, " and fifty would have seen us 
 through. . . ." 
 
 " That is my affair," said the great little man, but 
 without braggadocio. 
 
 " But but how am I to repay it ? " O'Hagan questioned, 
 flushed and uneasy in spite of the relief he felt. 
 
 " Have I asked you to put a date to it ? Give me an 
 I.O.U. if it eases your conscience . . . but I warn you I 
 shall destroy it as soon as you are gone from the room." 
 
 " You are so kind to me," O'Hagan faltered, " that I 
 am at my wits' end . . . but, you see, it's a hundred, and 
 fifty would have been enough. . . ." 
 
 " If I chose to make it a hundred, sir, what the devil 
 has that to do with you ? It's your wife I'm considering." 
 He turned and faced him, to all appearance wrathful, 
 ready to jump on him. " Go home and get her well," he 
 shot out, " and if that is not enough to pull her round, 
 come to me and say so like a man." 
 
 O'Hagan took him at his word. " I will," he said. 
 
 " That's all I ask, my boy. Good-night." He ruffled 
 his hair with the gesture O'Hagan knew. " I'm more 
 sorry to-night that you left us," he said, " than for any- 
 thing that I can remember . . . now get away to your 
 train." 
 
 When Hammond rejoined his friend he discovered him 
 marching up and down the room, his gaze bent on the 
 carpet, his hands clasped behind him. He no longer
 
 THE MEANING OF IT 113 
 
 smoked, but glanced up with a jerk which suggested 
 complete immersion. 
 
 " Ah ! " he exclaimed. " I was like to forget one 
 friend in another. Draw up draw up to the fire. Why 
 did ye run away ? Did ye see the picture ? Not much 
 to look at now, must have been fine, though, when he 
 painted it ... come in to the fire . . . come in and 
 bear with me awhile whiles I talk. . . . Man ! he was 
 hungry. He eat like a wolf I tell you. . . . Eat and said 
 he didn't want anything . . . had had his lunch a wee 
 bun o' sorts an' a glass of milk ! Him ! And he wants 
 a beefsteak if ever man wanted it. ... Hoots ! sit doon 
 sit doon, there'a good fellow, and concoct some way o' 
 getting him whitewashed " 
 
 " I was thinking of that only I called it clearing him," 
 Hammond put in. 
 
 " Ca' it what ye like but make it effective . . . make 
 it a pairmanency make it so that no magistrate body 
 can take the bread out of a British shipmaster's mouth by 
 suspending him. ..." 
 
 " It will be difficult and with the House occupied 
 year in and year out with Ireland. . . ." 
 
 " We have ta find a way," Worsdale said plainly. " If 
 I petition the President o' the Board o' Trade myself . . . 
 if I am compelled to carry it tae the King's ear privately, I 
 shall do it for I look upon it as my plain duty . . . 
 nothing less. . . . 
 
 " This young fool is only one of many. I have known 
 cases where the man had less than nothing a year when 
 he had tae pay interest, in other words, on the money he 
 borrowit tae defend himself and to pay his share of the 
 
 costs interest out of nothing ; for he dropped 
 
 starved and went ta hell out West. Never another billet 
 did he get at sea and the jobs he was able tae do just 
 haundered him haundered him. . . ." 
 
 " I see the point but there must be a judge of sorts. 
 What about courts ruled by a stipendiary ? ' ' 
 
 " Here and there may be a good one," Worsdale answered 
 at once. " I have knowledge of one, at all events, who is 
 straight and outspoken in his condemnation of a certain 
 class of shipowner ; but we want to put it on a different 
 plane. We want to take it oot of the hands of courts 
 which deal wi' the drunk and the disorderly. We want to 
 lift the men in the Merchant Service, not to bludgeon 
 
 B.F. I
 
 114 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 them ; we want to make them nearer the level of the officers 
 in His Majesty's Service, not drum them into the gutter ; 
 because, forsooth, one or the other of them has committed 
 an error of judgment and put his ship on the rocks. . . . 
 " You want to make your officer feel that he is treated 
 as a man, not as a creeminal ; and if you must punish him, 
 punish him in some way which will not drive him headlong 
 tae the devil. . . . Hoots I " said Worsdale with point and 
 emphasis, " the only difference there is to-day between a 
 trial for a criminal offence and an inquiry into the cause 
 of the loss of a ship at sea, is, that you feed and clothe 
 the criminal you have captured and imprisoned, and you 
 condemn ta starvation the officer you have found guilty o' 
 an error o' judgment. . . ." 
 
 " But surely a man condemned as you say, can even 
 now appeal . . ." 
 
 " Appeal ! An' whaur's the money for an appeal ta come 
 from, Stephen Hammond ? Think it oot . . . what does 
 it cost ? I'll want to know for I'm thinkin' o' putting yon 
 young fool hi your hands to clear . . . Hoo can he appeal ? 
 Here's a concrete case. He's blistered by this damned 
 business. Teegether, he tells me, his an' his wife's 
 resources amount now, ta seventy-five pounds per annum, 
 an' the rent and taxes due on his house run to nearly 
 fifty . . . 
 
 " Appeal ! " Worsdale leaned forward and stirred the 
 fire "how can he appeal ? " 
 
 " In forma pauperis perhaps it would be possible." 
 " How many would . . . has it ever been done ? Man ! 
 these men are sailors," was Worsdale's scathing comment. 
 Hammond was content to allow him to talk, as he would 
 not do unless things were made easy for him. 
 
 " Sailors ! " he ejaculated again, " and your court treats 
 him as a criminal . . . ou aye ! I know, I know. I 
 haven't been in command for forty years without lairning 
 a little here an' awa' aside my profession. Sit ye still, 
 Stephen Hammond, whiles I tell ye how it appears to 
 me an old sailor, mind an old sailor wha's not ashamed 
 of his calling, 
 
 " I want you to follow my argument. I said you fed 
 your criminal and you starved your officer well, is it 
 not so ? Do you not take your prisoner, a malefactor 
 mind, and lodge and feed him at the nation's expense " 
 he had returned to his sarcastic intonation, to his finer
 
 THE MEANING OF IT 115 
 
 manner for a moment. " If he proves tractable he is 
 put in touch with a library, perhaps with a billiard room, 
 you begin to teach him a trade ; but the officer who has 
 lost his ship you do not put away. You give him his 
 freedom ; but you take away from him his certificate 
 the parchment record of his capacity which he has earned 
 by sweat and tears, and with it you take away his means 
 of existence . . . 
 
 " Oh ! he is free as the air, my friend, and may live 
 on it. He is free as any hooligan of the streets and may 
 live in the same fashion. After rubbing shoulders with 
 criminals in the court where his case was heard he is 
 debarred access to the porridge and skilly of the jail. 
 Instead of being helped to learn a trade you definitely 
 take from him the means of prosecuting the only one he 
 knows. During the expiation of his fault, or crime, or 
 stupidity take it as you will he is condemned to a pro- 
 cess of slow starvation, while the criminal is lodged and 
 fed and kept warm. And that, if you will allow me to 
 say so, is the sole difference between a trial for a criminal 
 offence, and an inquiry ..." 
 
 " I agree it's pretty rotten," Hammond admitted as 
 Worsdale leaned back in his chair. " I confess I haven't 
 considered it quite from that point of view." 
 
 " Who has until it touches him ? " Worsdale asked. 
 
 " It has never touched you," Hammond smiled. 
 
 " No but it touched my brother long ago . . . and 
 it finished him. Let it go at that. Think over what I 
 have said to you and remember that young fool who was 
 here just now is hit pretty hard. He is on the Black List. 
 I don't think he knows quite what that means yet . . . 
 and his wife is to put a baby in his arms sometime soon. 
 And beyond and ahead of all that I want you to 
 remember he's a Celt,"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 DENIS O'HAGAN came down the path that night with 
 a " Coo-ee 1 " so blithe that Lucy, had she been up to 
 greet him, would have run to his arms ; but now the 
 upstairs windows were lighted, the blinds drawn, and 
 O'Hagan saw shadows moving within her room. He 
 wondered why. 
 
 He crossed the tiled pathway leading to his house on 
 tiptoe, and faced the opening door with a new terror 
 thrilling him. What was wrong ? For the moment 
 money troubles had ceased to weigh him down. During 
 his journey he had planned the removal of that individual 
 who oppressed them and lived on them. He had dozed, 
 out of sheer weariness, in the new security granted him 
 by the immense goodness of his old commander. Nearly 
 he had slept ; but the excitement he found in picturing 
 Lucy's face when he told her his news, or she had at last 
 successfully guessed, kept him awake. 
 
 And now what had happened ? He faced a dark 
 passage and groped towards the drawing-room door. 
 Had the beasts cleared him out ? Had they dared to 
 touch his things during his absence ? He felt tigerish as 
 the question passed. Deep in his breast stirred the 
 lessons he had learned as a boy at sea. Lessons of swift 
 reprisal, stern punishment the satisfactory thrill of 
 delivering a knock-down blow which is efficient. His 
 teeth were clenched as he found the handle and opened 
 the door. Darkness confronted him. He sought for 
 a match and something stirred over there by the fireless 
 grate. His nerves were on edge, but he controlled himself 
 to say sternly " Who is there ? " and at the same 
 moment struck a match. 
 
 Mrs. Portland Lodge, as they called her in the abandon 
 of youth, rose as he glared under the lighted match. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so sorry," she smiled. " I'm afraid I dozed 
 an! I really did mean to keep awake till you came ..."
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 117 
 
 " It's awfully good of you to to say so," Denis said, 
 because it was obvious she expected some reply, " but 
 if you would't mind," he reached up and lighted the gas, 
 " telling me what has happened, I shall be ... Well. 
 you see I have just got back from a day in town and I 
 left . . ." 
 
 " Oh, we got rid of him," said Mrs. Sykes with a little 
 gleam of delight. " I 'appened to call, you see, to ask 
 how your good lady was gettin' on and I heard about your 
 trouble." 
 
 She referred to the man in possession with this phrase. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to take an interest in our 
 worries," O'Hagan said with what patience he could 
 assume. 
 
 " Oh, we couldn't help not takin' an interest," Mrs. 
 Sykes gave back, " knowin' what was goin' to 'appen so 
 soon . . . an' knowin' as we were bound to, my 'usband 
 being a pilot as you remember I'm sure, of the way they 
 served you at that inquiry after you lost your ship. 
 So I says to William this morning not long after you 
 went by Portland Lodge, I'm goin' in to The Deodars, 
 presently. I felt I must . . . she'll be all alone again 
 to-day . . . an' I'm sure, William, I said, it can't be 
 long . . . an' it's lucky I did, captain, very lucky ..." 
 
 O'Hagan listened quaking. Mrs. Sykes was bustling 
 and competent, a woman of many experiences and giant 
 girth ; but with kind eyes and a tender heart somewhere 
 amidst the adipose with which she was clothed. 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Sykes, " I see in a minute what 
 was goin' to 'appen an' I sent round to Doctor Marsden 
 an' fetched the nurse an' got it all in readiness for whatever 
 might 'appen," it sounded like the arrival of a cyclone 
 in O'Hagan's ears. He pictured instantly a valorous 
 bustling, strange to consider in the presence of so large 
 a person ; but the image failed quickly. He found 
 himself asking with a very hushed voice where Mrs. 
 O'Hagan was, and whether it would be possible to see her. 
 This pointed, although it was not his belief, to the sugges- 
 tion that Mrs. Portland Lodge was her rightful guardian. 
 
 " Where ? " echoed the lady, beaming massively, 
 " oh, she's in bed now ; she's been up and about till quite 
 late, an' the doctor's been in twice to-day and will be 
 stayin', I expect ... I hope you don't mind my havin' 
 taken so much upon me but I couldn't see all your
 
 118 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 trouble an' this comin' on an' sit still. I don't like inter- 
 ferin' Captain nor doesn't William ; but there are times 
 when . . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan reached out and took her hand " Mind ? " 
 he said in that quiet voice he scarcely knew as his own, 
 " indeed I am very much obliged to you and I thank you 
 with all my heart. I had to go to London, you see, 
 because. ..." He halted unable to explain exactly why 
 he had found it necessary to go at such a moment. " Of 
 course," he added, " if I had foreseen this I should have 
 tried to get back earlier." 
 
 ** The worse part was 'ow to get rid of that man . . . 
 you don't mind me tellin' you, but I'd rather tell you 
 myself I knew, than let you think it dropped from 
 heaven ; or the county councillors which owns the water 
 works has let it pass. No such thing 'appened. What 
 did 'appen made me burn. It was just after I came back 
 with the nurse and I went to the window to look out, and 
 there's a group o' them lazy good-fer-nothings as call 
 themselves workmen municipal workmen if you please, 
 lighting their pipes and preparin' to cut off your 
 supply. 
 
 " I went down to them an' called for the foreman a 
 civil spoken man he was I will say an' I said to, him 
 ' You dare cut the supply an' I'll summons you.' ' I've 
 got to, it's my order,' he says, an' he outs with his paper 
 in proof. ' Never you mind that,' says I, but just go 
 back to your office an' tell them they mustn't cut off the 
 supply. Say I dare them to do it seein' a baby will be 
 born perhaps to-night an' water we must 'ave.' ' Tell 
 them, I says, ' that if that isn't good enough for them, 
 to send their bill in to me and I will pay it seein' Captain 
 O'Hagan had been called to London and wouldn t be 
 back in time to attend to it ... and that," said Mrs. 
 Sykes with visible trepidation, " is what I did ... I do 
 'ope you don't mind ! ' 
 
 Mind ! O'Hagan nearly leaped. 
 
 He scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry. He was 
 afflicted by a blend of the two forces at the moment ; 
 but above it and beyond it was his desire to escape this 
 kind soul's accurate descriptions of events and see Lucy 
 while there remained time. 
 
 " Mind ? " he gave rein to his thought. " You have 
 probably saved her life and me from the hangman,
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 119 
 
 Why, if they had cut us off I should have cut them 
 dead. ..." 
 
 Mrs. Portland Lodge lifted her hands and her eyes 
 together " Oh ! I don't think you quite mean that," 
 she whispered. " Oh that would be dreadful I don't 
 believe you mean it ' 
 
 " I mean, Mrs. Portland Mrs. Sykes, I should say, 
 that you are the kindest and most considerate person I 
 know and I should like to thank you. ..." 
 
 The lady's face showed smiling eyes and lips which more 
 than smiled " Why," she asked, " did you call me 
 that ? " 
 
 " Which ? " he questioned, conscious that he had 
 slipped " person " in a most deadly fashion. 
 
 " Mrs. Portland," she answered. 
 
 " Oh that ! Well, you see," he explained twinkling, 
 " when we came here first we didn't know your name and 
 as we had to distinguish you from other . . . that is from 
 others, we called you Mrs. Portland Lodge. I hope you 
 don't mind ? " he added the phrase recurring unasked. 
 
 Mrs. Sykes tried it in several intonations and decided 
 it wasn't half bad. It was toney, she considered on 
 second thoughts. It was rather like the name of one of 
 those gentlemen that are always writing in the papers 
 where we die when we go to, or, she meant to say, where 
 we go to when we die. She rather liked it ... and 
 Sykes wasn't the name she would have chosen if she could 
 have altered it. 
 
 Meanwhile O'Hagan tried to look interested, or amused, 
 as the lady's speech seemed to require ; while in his 
 heart he prayed the earth might open and swallow her - 
 gently of course. 
 
 When therefore Mrs. Portland Lodge appeared to be 
 running down, O'Hagan sailed into the silence with stun' 
 sails set, as he expressed it, and begged to know whether 
 he might go to his wife's room 
 
 " Go ? said Mrs. Sykes, " of course, if nurse who's 
 in charge, says come in. I should advise you to do so 
 pretty soon as the doctor hoped to be back by twelve 
 and . . . my heart ! " Mrs. Sykes struck the casing 
 with the words, " if it isn't nearly that already. . . . 
 And I've been keeping you all this time. ... I hope 
 you don't mind but 1 11 go 'ome now an' try to get some 
 sleep," she sighed. " Sykes went away down Channel
 
 120 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 this mornin' an' won't be back for a week so we're neigh- 
 bours in affliction. . . . Good-night, captain. No 
 don't come out. I'll just run in as I am . . . an' to- 
 morrow I hope it'll be all over. . . . Good-night. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan snapped the lock with what restraint he 
 could muster, pulled off his boots and crept to the upstairs 
 landing. He listened, standing nearly breathless. With 
 a gulp he decided there was no sound and ventured to 
 tap very lightly on the door. 
 
 The nurse appeared in a newly starched gown which 
 rustled like a breeze. She saw O'Hagan and nodded 
 with the aloofness of those whose function it is to attend 
 on sickness. 
 
 " Yes," she said tentatively, " you may come in for a 
 minute but you mustn't excite her only a very short 
 visit please. ..." 
 
 Then O'Hagan found the way unbarred and caught 
 sight of flushed cheeks and very bright eyes, of two hands 
 moving out to greet him and he slipped on his knees at 
 the bedside. 
 
 " My Mem-sahib ! " he whispered, but got no farther. 
 " The valley of the shadow, dear dearest," she made 
 answer. 
 
 For a long minute they remained thus, hands clasped, 
 Denis bowed over them. But he did not speak, nor did 
 Lucy fear, dread, all anxiety had gone out of her eyes 
 on his coming. No word he could have spoken would 
 have helped her more at this moment than the one 
 loving pet-name he found her. Peace stood between 
 them ; the eternal peace of faith and love and trust. 
 Youth buoyed them. No shadows lurked only memo- 
 ries made play, and they were of love and hope and 
 youth. 
 
 He looked up conscious of the flying minutes and 
 discovered her eyes intent on meeting his she flushed 
 slightly. . . . 
 
 " I knew I could," she whispered. 
 " Could what ? " 
 
 " Make you look up, oh dearest." 
 He rubbed his cheek on her hands with the mute anguish 
 of a dog sorrowing over his master. 
 
 " I am so thankful you were able to stay," she said 
 
 in his ear. " I 1 don't think I could have lived 
 
 through it if you had been at sea."
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 121 
 
 " I am thankful to be here," he answered with his lips, 
 and remained feasting his eyes. 
 
 " You look like a child yourself," he added, after a 
 pause. 
 
 She gave him the old, shy look of gladness which no 
 other soul had seen. 
 
 He leaned nearer presently and whispered 
 
 " You mustn't bother about the the money, Mem- 
 sahib. I've managed it ... we shall be quite flush." 
 
 She smiled up at him, her eyes at peace. 
 
 " I wasn't worrying, dear dearest. I knew it would be 
 all right if we waited." 
 
 Then her face grew pale, she closed her eyes and the 
 nurse bent over him, touching his shoulder. 
 
 " If you please," she admonished. 
 
 He rose and was about to obey, then with a swift turn 
 he bent down. 
 
 " I must kiss you, Mem-sahib," he half sobbed out. 
 
 " Dear dearest," she answered, meeting him, " I shall 
 be so comfy presently." 
 
 Then he found himself outside the door, fumbling in a 
 partially lighted passage ; his head full of half -formed 
 theories, doubts the mutinous vapourings of one uncer- 
 tain of his quality. He was jealous of the gate he had 
 passed ; of the fact indeed, that he no longer ranked 
 first in her necessity. He wondered what he must do. 
 
 Presently he discovered he stood again in the drawing- 
 room. He saw the chair which had been occupied by 
 Mrs. Portland Lodge. He shook up the cushions wonder- 
 ing where she had gone. The room was full of strange 
 whisperings. He listened for sounds and caught from 
 time to time the thud of feet overhead. The hour was 
 ripe with terror. He felt for the first time in his life 
 the desire for companionship someone who could talk, 
 something to relieve the tension. Then he discovered the 
 fire had not yet been lighted, and went on his knees to 
 rectify the omission. 
 
 And while it crackled under his guidance there came a 
 knock at the window ; a light tap which made him look 
 up. He rose at once, and hurried to the front door. 
 Doctor Marsden entered as he opened it. He carried a 
 case which gave O'Hagan a new lease of anguish ; but he 
 only said genially 
 
 " You've got back, then I am glad, although, really
 
 122 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 the best thing you can do is to go away again, or go to 
 bed." 
 
 " Go away ... go to bed ? Good Lord ! " O'Hagan 
 gasped, unable to get the perspective. 
 
 Doctor Marsden viewed him with that searching glance 
 which, from another man, would have seemed insulting. 
 
 " Hum ! " he said. " I don't suppose you will do it 
 but bed, twelve solid hours of it, would do you more good 
 than anything else I know of. Try it." 
 
 He took off his overcoat and crossed to the fire, where he 
 stood warming his back. 
 
 " I couldn't sleep if I did," said O'Hagan. " Could 
 you ? " 
 
 " Rather." 
 
 O'Hagan looked puzzled. In spite of his knowledge of 
 sickness and his acquaintance with operations as con- 
 ducted on board ship, he was amazed at the cool attitude 
 displayed now that Lucy was the patient. And he was 
 going to trust her to this man's hands. Good Lord ! 
 He swayed suddenly as he confronted the proposition. 
 
 Then Marsden came nearer and said 
 
 " This won't do. Come now when did you have 
 dinner ? " 
 
 " I didn't," said O'Hagan simply. " Faith ! I hadn't 
 the time." 
 
 " Yes yes that's all very well ; but when a man has 
 a wife to look after it is his duty to make time. If you 
 don't stoke up, at sea, the fires go out and the steam 
 drops. Perhaps something else drops, too. You will be 
 in the same case if you don't stoke up, but insist on walk- 
 ing and worrying into the bargain." 
 
 " I know," said O'Hagan. 
 
 " Of course you know but why don't you act on your 
 knowledge ? " 
 
 " If I were to tell you exactly what I have gone through 
 to-day, doctor, you would call me a fool." 
 
 " Very likely." 
 
 "Then I'll just hould me whisht!" said O'Hagan. 
 " But I couldn't eat now. I had a good snack awhile 
 ago er what about my wife . . . won't you go up and 
 see her ? " 
 
 Marsden had his measure. He saw that this thought 
 obsessed him to the exclusion of all else, and decided to 
 act upon it.
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 123 
 
 " Look here," he said. " If you will go to bed and 
 take what I give you, I will go up and see Mrs. O'Hagan 
 at once. Is it a bargain ? " 
 
 Denis looked swiftly under his brows and said 
 
 " Opiate ? " 
 
 " No sedative." 
 
 " I don't like them." 
 
 " Then I remain here." 
 
 O'Hagan took this in, after a puzzled frown. He was 
 very near collapse, but he did not know it. He was 
 aware only of an immense mental stress, an activity of 
 thought which refused to be silenced ; but so great was 
 his desire to see the doctor mounting the stairs that he 
 said 
 
 " Oh, I suppose you are right, but I shan't turn in. I 
 will lie down here with a rug, if you like but you will go 
 up, won't you ? " 
 
 " At once." 
 
 O'Hagan took off his coat, found a rug, and halted by 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Right," he said. " Give me the poison." 
 
 Then Marsden took a phial from his case and adminis- 
 tered sufficient as he thought to compel sleep. O'Hagan 
 lay down, saying, with a curious aloofness " Be good to 
 her, for God's sake and give me a shake if you want me. 
 Don't let me sleep if ... if " 
 
 *' My dear man," Marsden said, with cooing geniality, 
 " you leave that to me. Don't bother about anything. 
 Your wife is wonderful. You are giving me infinitely 
 more trouble than she will go to sleep." 
 
 He turned to pick up his case, and vanished without 
 further words. 
 
 O'Hagan lay very still. He had no intention of going 
 to sleep. He had on the contrary a whole-souled inten- 
 tion of keeping awake. When you fight sleep some curious 
 effects are possible. If you elect to fight a mesmerist, in 
 all probability, if your will be strong, you will succeed in 
 evading his influence ; but with a sedative the case is 
 different. With time it will assert ascendency but the 
 interval is prolific of encounter. O'Hagan once had 
 broken a dentist's chair while under the soothing influence 
 of gas. If he had struck the dentist instead of the chair, 
 very possibly a funeral would have ensued. 
 
 And now he had no intention of giving way to sleep.
 
 124 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 How could he sleep while Lucy was tortured that is how 
 he put it mentally and he saw visions as a result. 
 Waking visions which bordered one moment on ease and 
 comfort and a settled estate ; sleepy visions the next 
 which conjured the little pits prepared, as in Dante's 
 " Purgatorio," for those unworthy of heaven. He won- 
 dered if that would be his lot, and watching saw through 
 green fumes dim legs sticking out of the pits and wriggling 
 in air. The head and trunk of the poor devils he discovered 
 were buried in the pits from which puffs of sulphurous 
 smoke slowly pulsed. 
 
 Somehow he seemed to have become involved with 
 primitive notions of punishment meted out to unbelievers 
 by a Beneficent Ruler of mankind. Against that he 
 rebelled, anathematising the idea of torture. Then again 
 he lay drowsily champing the bit of content, talking with 
 Lucy. He gathered energy and chucked a kiddy quite 
 a pukka little chap he was too under the chin and asked 
 him where the dickens he supposed daddy was going to 
 find a couple of hundred a year to spend on his education. 
 And the boy grinned, became ape-like and changed into a 
 centipede which lay under Lucy's pillow, ready to sting. 
 
 A bulgy-eyed, monstrous centipede which grew in size 
 until it became the pillow and Lucy could not by any chance 
 escape it. O'Hagan lunged out at this, dealing a swift 
 rain of blows which left him on the floor and the pillow 
 now grown past all belief, lying upon him. 
 
 He tried to push it off, and it became more large. He 
 forced it to the floor, but it rolled back to smother him. 
 He strained, lying nearly full length, his foot against the 
 skirting, to push the thing away ; but directly he released 
 the pressure in the smallest degree, the thing rolled back 
 upon him. 
 
 It fought now in its lumbering inert way for mastery. 
 It took new weapons for the encounter and came at him 
 armed with horns and immense eyes which threw a gleam 
 of green light far out into the darkness. The lights 
 became white. They moved with the precision of search- 
 lights thrown by the forts on the Solent . . . like Cape 
 Griz-nez, by the Lord ! Like the He d'Yeu, like Scilly 
 . . . the Seven Stones he had passed without knowledge 
 . . . like the twin light peering through the mist from 
 Lizard while the sea roared back from an iron-bound coast. 
 
 The light entered and rent him. He lay split and gasp-
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 125 
 
 ing ; spent, too, and mouthing foolishness until presently 
 he lay still. 
 
 The night droned on as is the way of nights. Steps 
 sometimes were audible overhead ; sometimes for a long 
 interval no sound was heard. Again dulled movements, 
 the hum of voices speaking together and a long, low cry. 
 
 Denis O'Hagan answered that cry. In his sleep he 
 heard it and strove to respond. A futile effort now 
 futile as the fumbling movement of arms which went 
 out in search, which clasped nothingness futile as the 
 muttered commentary formed by lips which had lost the 
 power of speech. 
 
 Dawn peeped in to look at him. A pale flicker of light 
 very delicate and grey as yet ; but sufficient to show that 
 he rested. It peeped in at the window of the room where 
 Lucy lay, and discovered her emerged from the valley of 
 the shadow, a man child in her arms. 
 
 And the light touching her cheeks showed a soft flush 
 of triumph.
 
 Phase the Third 
 Ticket-of- Leave
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DOCKWALLOPING 
 
 Down by the edge of Soundings 
 
 That's where the sailors lie, 
 Flat on the floor like groundlings 
 
 To hear the ships go by 
 Lift their heads to hail us, 
 
 Wave their arms awhile. 
 So the dead men watch us. 
 
 So the dead men smile. 
 
 A MOXTH had passed and the most beautiful period of 
 the year was at hand when Denis O'Hagan decided that 
 he must waste no more time and money on the effort to 
 obtain a berth on shore. It was necessary, he said one 
 evening, after watching Lucy for the first time tubbing 
 her firstborn, to wake from dreams and turn in real earnest 
 to the task of finding a ship which would carry him to sea. 
 
 Mrs. Faulkner, who had come too late from Dorset to 
 help dear Lucy in the " hour of her trial," as she expressed 
 it, had now returned to continue her struggles with the 
 problems presented to the wife of an Army man who has 
 been shelved by his country. Neither Lucy nor Denis 
 had wept over her departure. She had scattered so large 
 a dose of pessimism, during her visit, over the difficulties 
 with which these two were faced, that they smiled when 
 the cab rattled off with her luggage. She had been so 
 concerned, too, with the fact that Colonel Faulkner, " who 
 is kindness itself, my dear," found himself unable to come 
 to their assistance at the moment. The colonel was 
 pictured as shaking a sorrowing head over the prospects 
 of " that smart young fellow, O'Hagan," when in truth 
 he was occupied largely with golf and the possibility of 
 bringing out a new club, of which he was the patentee. 
 
 If that club caught on, as he was persuaded it would, 
 the O'Hagans need not worry, for Colonel Faulkner was 
 quite sure to do the right thing by his niece . . . but, on 
 the other hand, if it did not catch on, then well, the sooner 
 
 B.F. K
 
 130 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 O'Hagan got himself afloat again and on the paysheet, 
 b'gad ! the better it would be for all concerned. 
 
 That these were truisms Mrs. Faulkner was prepared to 
 admit, and she shook her head very despondently over 
 the prospects of that new club. In spite of the colonel's 
 optimism, she had her moments of depression, and the 
 night before she left The Deodars she considered it her 
 duty to talk to O'Hagan, to " rally " him, so she termed it, 
 from an indifference that positively amazed her. As far 
 as she could read the signs Denis seemed quite content to 
 sit still and admire the son and heir which had been born 
 to the house of O'Hagan. It seemed indeed that he had 
 forgotten that baby O'Hagans require nourishment and 
 several other things which cost money, and could not be 
 expected to live as do the cherubs who have no body to 
 sustain. 
 
 Mrs. Faulkner was kind in her method of raising the 
 curtain on attack ; but O'Hagan discerned that she meant 
 to stir him, to put him on his mettle perhaps, as though 
 that were necessary with one who, despite his faults, loved 
 Lucy and that small son of his, and would fight for them 
 while life remained. She could not understand, you 
 perceive, why there was so great a difficulty in obtaining 
 employment. Denis was not broken, as she compre- 
 hended the affair, but suspended. Of course, if a man was 
 broken in the Army or Navy, and very probably it was the 
 same in the merchant service, there was an end of him ; 
 but Colonel Faulkner had assured her this was not the case 
 with Denis, and that it could not be the case for a matter 
 which technically was known as "an error of judgment." 
 O'Hagan, his pride awake and exceedingly alive to 
 snubs, failed altogether either to ease her mind by explana- 
 tion or to promise a more vigorous assault on the question 
 of obtaining a billet. But with Mrs. Faulkner's exit he 
 took the matter in hand. He told Lucy on that night 
 when he was first admitted to the small nursery, that he 
 should go up to town on the following day and commence 
 the search once more. 
 
 Thanks to Captain Worsdale the strain of poverty was 
 lifted for the time. They might rest assured of his friend- 
 ship, and with that sort of influence behind him there was 
 no doubt a berth would be found. Perhaps Denis could 
 manage to pick up a job as second mate or bo'sun and 
 earn a few pounds. Then, when he came back his
 
 DOCKWALLOPING 131 
 
 sentence would have expired and he would " get in some- 
 where." 
 
 Lucy, flushed and thrilling with the delight of a young 
 mother who has succeeded in taking the place of nurse 
 without mishap, asked whether this were really necessary. 
 
 " I am afraid it is, oh dearest," he made answer. " I 
 mustn't stay about too long or I shall forget all about 
 navigation." 
 
 " Don't you think perhaps something may turn up 
 for you ashore now that you have made such good friends, 
 Denis ? " 
 
 "It is possible, of course," he said, in tones which 
 denied possibility. 
 
 " That means you have lost faith, Den." She came 
 near and rested her head on his shoulder. " I hate to 
 let you go again," she whispered, " unless I can go with 
 you . . . but I will not make it more difficult. Go and 
 see what you can get, and then well, we can decide, 
 can't we ? " 
 
 " Of course," he admitted holding her close, " I feel 
 I must do something ... or, or your people will be 
 thinking you have got hold of a waster " 
 
 " My people ? " She looked up, scanning his face, and 
 added on the information gained " What has Aunt 
 Mary been saying, Den ? " 
 
 " Nothing, oh dearest ..." he commenced, and 
 suddenly halted. 
 
 " That's one of the white ones," said Lucy with decision. 
 " Tell me, Den." 
 
 " Oh ! well, she is rather a croaker," he decided, " and 
 if ." 
 
 " If," said Lucy with a swift leap into the dark, " if 
 dear Charles is lucky enough to make a hit with his club, 
 you know, he will make it easier for you, you dear 
 things . . . but if, on the other hand, it doesn't come off, 
 I am afraid we shall find it extremely difficult to make 
 both ends meet and . . . that it, my darling ? " Lucy 
 ended with a little clutch at his arm. 
 
 " You are a witch," he laughed. 
 
 " No," she said, " it is Aunt Mary who is the witch. 
 No I won't keep you back. Go and see what you can 
 get and then come and tell me what it is." 
 
 So on the morrow Denis O'Hagan started on his new 
 attempt to break the thread Fate and some other powers 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 had wound about his path, by crossing the river and 
 walking methodically from ship to ship as they lay in 
 dock. 
 
 And spring was in the air. The trees were green and 
 tender, the copses were strewn with bluebells, the scent 
 of hawthorn came down the slope from those fields which 
 lay beyond Riverton. To walk the docks when spring 
 is with us is tragedy to those whose life is also at its spring- 
 time. And in O'Hagan's case how unavailing ! 
 
 Now in order that Jimmy Barlow might not starve 
 during his nine months' holiday, the Board which is supreme 
 in nautical matters and numbers among its highest 
 members, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Speaker 
 of the Irish House of Commons, an office long ago dead, 
 but perhaps to be revived, granted him the use of a certi- 
 ficate of a lower grade. Jimmy Barlow therefore, for 
 the time being, was de facto a second mate in England's 
 mercantile marine, at the very moment when he was 
 undergoing sentence for incompetency. Perhaps the 
 Speaker of the Irish House of Commons when he is re-born 
 will explain how these things can be. Jimmy Barlow 
 made no bones at all about it he had examined the 
 ticket they had allotted him, tried its value and found it 
 useless. He found indeed that it was productive of snubs 
 rather than of consideration. He found it incapable 
 of finding him a berth. He found, as probably the Speaker 
 of the Irish House of Commons and the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury do not know, that an officer in this situation 
 is in the position of a glorified ticket-of-leave man, and 
 that as a rule he is unable to make use of his " ticket." 
 
 To Captain O'Hagan even less grace was extended. 
 True, neither he nor his lawyer had applied for a certificate 
 of lower grade. Unless driven by immediate and pressing 
 want an officer who has been suspended would prefer 
 to try his luck in the wheelhouse of a mailship under an 
 assumed name. Anything, in point of fact, rather than 
 hawk from pillar to post papers granted by the grace of 
 what he calls, the " Plaster Saint " regnant at Whitehall. 
 Such papers carry on the face of them evidence of a man's 
 fall, evidence of his straits. The Plaster Saint is hateful 
 and anathema in so many pettifogging ways that sailors 
 would rather seek justice at the hands of shipowners 
 than at the hands of the Board over which he rules. 
 
 Even when in some fashion or another, an officer has
 
 DOCKWALLOPING 133 
 
 served his sentence, both Jimmy Barlow and Denis 
 O'Hagan were aware that when he again came before 
 shipowners, the certificate he carried would be defaced. 
 It would be a document so torn and damaged by this 
 inquiry which had hit him that it seemed possible his 
 degradation was designed to send him to the devil shorn 
 even of self-respect. 
 
 Jimmy Barlow had suffered as has been shown ; but 
 now through a stroke of luck he considered it from this 
 point of view he was provided for ; and, if he could 
 persuade the Chilean owners with whose vessel he was 
 going to run the gauntlet of seas very competent to smash 
 her, he would " stick it out " in Chile, send for the " old 
 woman and kids " and " chuck the country " known as 
 Home. He was sick of it. He suffered under its methods 
 of quittal. It had no mercy for people who were voteless. 
 It treated what it admitted to be " an error of judgment " 
 as though it were a crime. 
 
 If Jimmy Barlow were pluming himself on his luck, 
 O'Hagan was scarcely likely to do the same. Dock- 
 walloping lay before him for all the remaining term of his 
 suspension. It faced him when he emerged from his fall, 
 full of fight, and challenging the justice of his sentence. 
 It faced him still and in his heart of hearts he knew that 
 it had scotched him. He was not the same man. He must 
 sue now where once he could bandy terms. He might 
 not aspire to high command. He was the prey and sport 
 of all that tribe of lesser lights which clog the shipowner's 
 firmament. The tipster in search of a commission had 
 marked him down. The " goddess " of the canteen had 
 pity in her glance when he entered her domain. The 
 needy manager of one-ship companies in search of a 
 " skipper who would invest " had sent him proposals 
 which he had consigned to the fire. 
 
 Money ? O'Hagan had no money. A friend had lent 
 him sufficient to keep him warm for a time and he must 
 pay it back certainly he had no money. 
 
 He was a dockwalloper. That is to say he was a person 
 who wallops about the docks in search of a job, in plain 
 sailor-phrase ; but in dictionary terms a walloper is one 
 who moves clumsily, who waddles about, one, also, it 
 explains, who " kicks about as one does when hung up 
 by the neck." 
 
 But if you had asked O'Hagan the meaning of the phrase
 
 134 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 as he came dejectedly down the gangway of a possible 
 tramp, he would have replied, " Hamstrung." 
 
 In the old, bad days of a plethora of officers, dock- 
 walloping was the main occupation, when on shore, of 
 those who desired to secure a position as mate or master 
 or seaman in the merchant service of England. In order 
 to get afloat it became necessary to commence tramping 
 the docks directly you were paid off ; to shuffle from 
 pillar to post ; to take blows and smile ; to take in sober 
 truth what came in order to obtain a berth once more. 
 But now we have changed all that. The blows dealt in 
 the old days by shipowners, by the Plaster Saint and by 
 those Jacks-in-office whom the shipping interests employ, 
 have rebounded and hurt the service. 
 
 Men began to question, as O'Hagan questioned now, 
 whether going to sea was worth the degradation entailed 
 in getting to sea ; or in staying at sea when a berth had 
 been secured. And in truth it was not. Yet because 
 there lived for him and thought of him and loved him a 
 girl so gentle as Lucy, he made no to do but marched and 
 tried to smile ; tramped gangways, interviewed mates 
 and bosses and clerks who might know of a job and 
 pretended he was not grown sick of the whole aim and 
 object upon which he was intent. It touched him on the 
 raw daily. The accent made a desideratum in the Eastern 
 Mail Service was a disservice to him here. He became 
 suspect as a " gentleman-rope-hauler," one of the species 
 eschewed by mates and captains in want of crews. As 
 well climb the gangway of a ship where he was known as 
 the skipper of the Sphinx, or as a sea-lawyer. 
 
 Nevertheless he tramped and came farther afield. He 
 haunted the docks now nearer London the docks which 
 once held the Eastern clippers, the tea clippers and the 
 wool ships and made so brave a show ; but which now 
 held tramps which have a vocation, and tramps which 
 have none and resound with the clang of iron. He 
 marched and grew tired, marched and came near to being 
 embittered, ready to cavil, ready to sneer, ready to throw 
 back in the teeth of those who smiled a touch of that 
 temper of his which so easily boiled. 
 
 Then at nightfall he would creep back to his home at 
 Riverton and sit quiet with Lucy in his arms, or with his 
 head on Lucy's lap, or listen to her as she read to him and 
 strove to keep him from slipping back.
 
 DOCKWALLOPING 135 
 
 That danger always stood before Lucy's steady gaze, 
 as the widest and most subtle. Slipping back is so easy 
 for one out of whom you have kicked all pride, whose 
 years of buoyant seafaring have tumbled flat, never again 
 to be rebuilt.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE ISLE OF DOGS 
 
 A STILL day in the docks, the sun high, swimming like 
 a golden ball in ascending vapour. London at its worst, 
 praying for a breeze to clear the sultriness, the heated 
 atmosphere, the rolling clouds of close-packed smoke and 
 steam and mist. The country at its best, clear to the 
 horizon, sun-lit, brilliant with peeping acres, alive with 
 patches of colour lifting head amidst the delicate browns 
 of the Kentish hillside. 
 
 Over there in the south a windmill beckoned, its sails 
 at rest beneath the blue ; across that stretch of meadow- 
 land an army of poles stood erect to tempt young hops 
 to climb ; down in that undulating sweep, acres of goose- 
 berry and currant slowly produced the fruit for which 
 the district is famed ; away there in the west were the 
 woods of Shorncombe, towering and resplendent with 
 greens of the subtlest, the most delicate and there, 
 behind it all wound the river ; London's river, the mar- 
 vellous Thames with its maze of moving ships. 
 
 Lucy stood at the summit of the lane where a gateway 
 provides a resting-place and points to the beauties lying 
 beyond. Overhead the larks sang liquid notes of praise. 
 Searching the land were the restless, anxious plover, and 
 mingled with them gulls from the river dotting the green 
 with white. 
 
 Baby O'Hagan lay full length in his carriage fast 
 asleep and Lucy stood to rest after pushing him, staring 
 now at the glow which hung over London ; the smoke 
 glow which always marks a great city, wondering where 
 amidst those miles of bricks and mortar, dear Den 
 marched searching for work. Her heart ached. 
 
 As a matter of fact, O'Hagan had reached to-day that 
 U-shaped bend of the river, once of considerable notoriety, 
 known as the Isle of Dogs, but now languishing before 
 its more notorious neighbour. Limehouse, you see, is 
 very near, and now means more than a dozen islands,
 
 THE ISLE OF DOGS 137 
 
 with the dogs thrown in, to those who search for the 
 light. 
 
 But it was neither as an antiquarian, nor as a politician 
 in quest of veracity that Denis O'Hagan was present on 
 this sultry day at the Isle of Dogs. He came up indeed 
 by the Blackwall Railway to see Jimmy Barlow before he 
 sailed, to wish him God-speed and get an explanation of 
 the rather cryptic reference contained in his letter of this 
 morning to a person named William Tipton. O'Hagan 
 had puzzled over this at breakfast time and Lucy had 
 knitted her brows in a valorous attempt to be of help 
 but nothing came of it. 
 
 Now Jimmy Barlow's tug lay in the West India Docks 
 near by the tidal basin ; and as the West India Docks are 
 situated in the midst of the Isle of Dogs it is apparent why 
 O'Hagan had come thither. 
 
 Lucy stood at the gateway overlooking Kentish gardens 
 and wondering where Den was at the moment when he 
 emerged from the Dock Railway and walked towards the 
 tidal basin. He was dressed to the part and looked quite 
 a typical sailor, as the saying goes. He wore a rather 
 shabby coat, not because an overcoat was necessary, but 
 because he had discovered that a tweed suit and a stick 
 were known only among the " la-di-da's," and " no sailor 
 would be seen dead in them." That is part of the dock- 
 walloping creed. It is also considered wise, if you intend 
 to obtain a berth by dockwalloping, to wear a muffler 
 round your neck in lieu of a collar ; to stick your hands 
 in the pockets of your coat and make a sloven of yourself. 
 Of course these things are quite easy to the rank and file 
 of His Majesty's subjects in Christian England ; but to 
 an officer who has graduated in a service where " accent 
 is considered of higher value than efficiency," it is not so 
 easy. 
 
 O'Hagan, in point of fact, would never make an honest 
 ne'er-do-weel. His training as a boy in an English 
 vicarage, his laughing days at Winchester, his drill since, 
 and those inherited, soldier-like traits which were his, 
 gave him away every time he attempted to stoop. Other- 
 wise had he never won Lucy. 
 
 He came at length to the dock side and stood looking 
 down at Barlow's command. She was small, even for a 
 tug, but adapted to the special work for which she was 
 planned. The builders had " housed-in " her more
 
 138 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 vulnerable parts, and she looked neither fish, flesh nor 
 good red-herring. As a matter of detail, it may be said 
 that O'Hagan blinked when he saw her. He rather 
 questioned whether he had come to the right dock ; but 
 on searching farther discovered the vessel's name on her 
 bow, very new and unsullied, Casa Blanca, while from the 
 stern, drooping nearly to the water, hung her country's 
 flag, the Lone Star of Chile. 
 
 He hailed her at this, although wonder grew as he took her 
 in, and a man with a shock head of black ringlets pushed 
 through the companion-way to shout " Que guiere ? " 
 
 " A Dago, by the Lord," said O'Hagan in his throat; 
 then aloud, nodding over the impression he had obtained, 
 " Captain on board ? " 
 
 " .No se." The man shook out his ringlets answering, 
 " Wot you wanch ? " 
 
 " Your captain, my son," said O'Hagan with distinct 
 enunciation, " Capitan Barlow who " 
 
 The man turned in a great hurry " I go make look," 
 said he, and disappeared. 
 
 Then after a small pause Jimmy Barlow rose from the 
 scuttle way and waved a cheery hand. O'Hagan observed 
 that he was clean-shaven, that he looked ten years younger 
 and that he wore a cap adorned by a new gold badge. 
 He noticed, too, that Jimmy Barlow did not speak, but 
 clambered along the half-round and pushed up a ladder 
 which O'Hagan brought to earth on the dock sill. 
 
 " I've got you," whispered Jimmy Barlow, as he leaned 
 his weight on the bottom rungs. " Yo tener usted," he 
 added as an afterthought, intending a passing dock official 
 to hear that he spoke Spanish when he merely jabbered 
 Levanter. 
 
 O'Hagan climbed on board and stood examining the 
 rotund face of his fellow sufferer. He smiled broadly, all 
 the humour of his race leaping to the surface, but Jimmy 
 Barlow did not smile. His fingers went up with the old 
 gesture to stroke his beard. Then he said 
 
 " Dockwalloping, by the look of it," and shook his head 
 his eyes registering concern. 
 
 O'Hagan nodded. " From ship to ship," he admitted. 
 " Not much good, though." 
 
 " No," said Jimmy Barlow, " dressing the part don't 
 do the trick, sir. You might as well try to get a job 
 fts a counter-jumper as a deck-hand. You've got officer
 
 THE ISLE OF DOGS 139 
 
 written all over you and it's no use trying to hide it. Had 
 any luck at all ? " 
 
 " None," said O'Hagan. 
 
 " Tried the effect of a week-old beard ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I shaved off mine then went without a wash for a 
 fortnight. That did the trick. I got a job ' lumping,' ' 
 the ex-mate announced. 
 
 " Gad ! " O'Hagan laughed, " if anyone had told me 
 that Jimmy Barlow would sacrifice " 
 
 " Hist ! " came abruptly, and there followed in mono- 
 tone " No Jimmy Barlows here, sir, if you please. 'E's 
 dead. I should 'av mentioned it. Enery Tompson is my 
 name . . . Enery, not Henry an' I'm a chap," he hissed 
 out, " wivout a haitch in the world bar them I sticks in 
 wrong. Enery Tompson hat your service, sir, an' many 
 of 'em. Come below an' see the cock-pit. I call it that. 
 'Taint much of a place . . . an' I shouldn't wonder if we 
 finds it pretty yellow w'en we gets houtside an' 'as to 
 screw down . . . come along an' see 'er. Might just as 
 well be in a submarine." 
 
 The change was so provocative that half way thither 
 O'Hagan broke in with the heartiest laugh he had sounded 
 for weeks. 
 
 " Good Lord ! . . . anyone there ? " he questioned, still 
 chuckling. 
 
 " In the cock-pit ? " the voice of Jimmy Barlow 
 challenged. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Not a soul, sir ... not a soul or you wouldn't be 
 here . . . come along down." 
 
 O'Hagan obeyed and found a seat in the smallest cabin 
 to accommodate four persons he had yet seen. He 
 glanced about, chuckling, and noting the scanty head 
 room, the closed-in bunks, all brand new and smelling of the 
 polish which so recently had been applied. He examined 
 swiftly the tiny swinging tray, barometer, chronometer 
 case and one small washstand ; while at the same moment 
 Enery Tompson made mental notes of the fact that " the 
 Old Man " had lost snap, that his laugh seemed less 
 spontaneous, less cheery ; that his eyes had grown colder 
 than in those days when first he came to take command 
 of the Sphinx. 
 
 It was Jimmy Barlow who produced two glasses and a
 
 140 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 bottle of whisky from the locker ; who placed them on 
 a small table which pivoted down from the overhead 
 beams ; but it was the new man, Tompson, who looked up 
 to request 
 
 " You'll jine me in wishin' the old gell luck, sir," said he. 
 
 " If I never drink again," O'Hagan answered, " I will." 
 
 " Good say when." 
 
 " When when, my dear Bar . . . Enery," said 
 O'Hagan, with outstretched hand. " I want to keep my 
 wits about me, if you please." 
 
 " It will be the last I touch," said the voice of Jimmy 
 Barlow, " this side of Val-i-paraiso." He filled and took 
 water, lifted his glass and clicked the rim of O'Hagan's, 
 and together they said " Good luck good luck," and 
 drank. 
 
 O'Hagan placed his tumbler within one of the squares 
 known as " fiddles," which were fixed to the table to 
 prevent crockery fetching away when the boat rolled ; 
 but Barlow continued to nurse his. 
 
 " I see you expect her to move, when you get outside," 
 said O'Hagan, with a glance at the firmly secured rack. 
 
 " Oh! she'il move," Barlow assented. "She'll be like 
 a tub in a tide-rip if I know anything of the sea. But 
 she's solid. I've seen to that. They gave me a clean 
 sheet and I just filled in what I wanted. They didn't 
 seem to know much about what it would be like down 
 there " he jerked his thumb to indicate the southern seas 
 " but they made no bones about doing what I wanted." 
 
 He put up one hand to stroke his beard and found 
 shaven cheeks, grinned and said, " I had to do it, sir," as 
 though but a moment had elapsed since O'Hagan rallied 
 him on the loss of his beard. " The builders," he added 
 with dropped voice, " seem to have had a lot of difficulty 
 getting hold of a skipper to take her out . . . size against 
 her," he asserted, twinkling, " nothing else that I can find 
 out. She's a good, healthy little packet as far as build 
 is concerned . . . but she's small small to do the trip 
 out there " his voice became persuasive, and very flexile 
 " but she 'as to be got out, an' I've promised to tike 'er 
 . . . an' I'm Enery Tompson, sir, an' Jimmy Barlow's 
 dead as doughnuts. . . . So's 'is bloomin' ticket," he 
 flared, " So's 'is lyin' discharges. I 'old none of 'em an' 
 never will again . . . they all went into the fire w'ile 
 I'm lumpin' cargo in the docks, up there along," said the
 
 THE ISLE OF DOGS 141 
 
 rasping voice of Enery Tompson. " I took in a stock of 
 knowledge down at Tilbury . . . over there at the Com- 
 mercial, too, an' I'm a chap wiv a bran'-new outfit ; one 
 I bought from a bloke on the drink fer a five-pun note 
 an'," the voice jarred out, " an' I intend to use it from 
 this on down there," again the jerked finger to indicate 
 those southern seas he would presently be dodging. 
 
 O'Hagan listened, throwing in a word of acquiescence 
 when occasion seemed to require it, and marvelling at the 
 change he perceived in placid, easy-going Jimmy Barlow ; 
 amazed, too, at the facility with which he altered his note. 
 As Enery Tompson he sneered and snapped through 
 phrases which stung ; as Jimmy Barlow he was the mate 
 of the Sphinx talking to his commander. 
 
 He sipped whisky, set down his glass and once more fell 
 into the stride of old days. 
 
 " I got tired of humping cases, sir, slinging them and 
 trucking them over to the sheds . . . and I got sick to 
 death of being chased from one job to another by chaps 
 called Union men, who wouldn't work with a poor devil 
 down on his bare-buff because he hadn't a Union ticket. 
 And wouldn't let me join the Union either, although, as 
 God knows me, the wife and kids were hard put to it for 
 a meal. Their ranks were full, damn them. They had no 
 room for starvelings the devil seize them and Govern- 
 ment pats them on the back and even the Federation 
 can't say * Bo ! ' to 'em. Afraid, I suppose. No I 
 didn't seek to get in there. I might if I hadn t been Jimmy 
 Barlow hadn t been on the Black List . . . 'adn't got 
 a ' by your leave ' ticket an' wasn't down . . . down on 
 the bottom . . . Freedom ? My God ! Justice ? I love 
 to hear them jaw. England is proud of her sailormen ! 
 Is she ? Then God help the chaps she despises. I've 
 done with England. I've done with its blighted Govern- 
 ment, and its Board of roosters all crowing out what they 
 don't know of ships. I'm going out south and west as 
 Enery Tompson. When I get there I'll send for the 
 wife. I'll tell her who Enery Tompson is she doesn't 
 know yet, for I daren't trust her, I daren't trust any man 
 but you, sir, and you are in the same boat, and may have 
 to swim the same way as me. . . . Why, I ask you 
 what would happen to me if the roosters knew what you 
 and I know ? 
 
 " Would the Chilean Consul be any good to save me
 
 142 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 ... or the Chilean President if he knew of me ? Where 
 would I go out of this snug little cockpit ashore or 
 afloat ? " 
 
 " Ashore, if I'm not mistaken," O'Hagan answered. 
 
 ** Just so. An' that's why, if you ask me, I decided to 
 take on this jaunt. It's why I decided to burn my papers, 
 clean off my beard, and take their offer of the little hooker 
 they want ferried to the westward. . . . 
 
 " I'm on the bloomin' Black List as Jimmy Barlow. 
 I'm clean and all above-board as Enery Tompson. As 
 well be Enery Tompson as any other kind of damned 
 loafer in England to-day. It's the loafer who gets all 
 the beans, the chap that shirks his job, the chap that 
 stands snivelling at a hand organ in the streets, with a 
 ticket to show the number of children his poor devil of a 
 wife has brought into the world. Oh, my God ! I'm 
 sick of England. There is no chance for men in England. 
 There's a ring to keep them out ... it has a thing at the 
 top of it they call a Prime Minister, and at the bottom 
 there's another thing called the Plaster Saint, and he 
 . . ." the voice of Jimmy Barlow died away and the voice 
 of Enery Tompson took its place " ee finks ee knows all 
 about ships an' sailors an' firemen an' greasers . . . an' 
 ee tells us wot we may do ... an' wot we mayn't do. 
 Ee passes a Hact an' orders a bit more tucker for the poor 
 devils in the fo'c'sle, an' the shipowners 'av to pay fer it 
 . . . an' they buck at payin'. . . . 
 
 " They sing out ' Hi, there ! 'old 'ard just come 'ere 
 w'ile we put this straight,' an' the roosters come in wiv 
 the Plaster Saint at their 'ead. Then the shipowners 
 explain 'ow they'll go bung if all these 'andicaps are put 
 on 'em. ' This-yer Hact of yourn,' they say, ' is just the 
 Limit.' 
 
 " An' the Plaster Saint brought up wiv a round turn 
 says ' Well, but what d'you want ? 
 
 " ' We want deckloads in the winter- time an' we want 
 to load deeper so as we can compete on fair terms wiv 
 uvver nations,' says the shipowners. ' Take it,' says the 
 Plaster Saint. ' Blowed if I know anything about it, an' 
 don't want to but take it.' 
 
 " An so," said the voice of Enery Tompson, a gleam in 
 his dark eyes, " the leadline's altered, we bury Plimsoll 
 out o' sight, take deckloads, an' go slitherin' to 'Ell at 
 their forsaken Inquiries. . . .
 
 THE ISLE OF DOGS 143 
 
 " I remember the Sphinx before this new leadline was 
 passed, but you weren't in her. She was a wholesome boat. 
 You could get about her decks but with two hundred 
 ton more in her belly and a batty of cases on deck she's 
 like a teetotum. You can't stand when there's a sea on. 
 You can't work. She might be a grampus . . . and we 
 have to pay for what happens." 
 
 He drained his glass and set it down " I'm tired of all 
 this," he said, with the intonation of former days ; " I'm 
 tired of being sat upon and squashed by roosters that 
 don't know one end of a ship from another. I'm sick of 
 seeing the wife and kids starve, and so I'm going out in 
 the Casa Blanca, and mean to stay there. ..." 
 
 He rose and fumbled in his pocket, his eyes blazing with 
 the hatred he described. 
 
 " If I thought it would do anybody any good to blow up 
 Whitehall," he hissed, " I'd blow it up. If I thought it 
 would do my wife and kids good if I cut my throat, I'd cut 
 my throat right here ... or if 
 
 He produced a revolver, and stood balancing it in his 
 hand, as O'Hagan rose, too, saying authoritatively 
 " Wait ! Wait ! Don't play the fool, man." 
 
 Jimmy Barlow blinked, and set the revolver on the 
 table with a gentleness which mated curiously with his 
 words. 
 
 " No," he said, " I'm not using that now. If I don't 
 manage to get her out I shall use it ... or, if they spot 
 me before I get clear of the dock gates, I shall use it. 
 But . . . I'm not balmy. There's two hundred quid in 
 this trip, besides pickings . . . and I don't have to render 
 an account of commissions to my managing owner" he 
 leered. 
 
 He opened a drawer, found cartridges, and proceeded to 
 load with the air of one whose actions are all planned. 
 Then, pocketing the pistol, he shot his cuffs and moved 
 towards the companion. 
 
 O'Hagan followed, puzzled by his attitude. The sneer- 
 ing comments of the man fell with such biting precision 
 that instinctively O'Hagan visualised the notion which 
 Barlow had repudiated with the phrase, " I'm not balmy." 
 True. Yet it was easy to read that he was desperate. 
 
 O'Hagan mopped his forehead as they reached the deck. 
 It was warm in that cockpit of a cabin. It was airless, too, 
 and on the foreside of it the tug's boilers hummed.
 
 144 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 The Enery Tompson voice and manner was in evidence 
 again when they reached the deck. 
 
 " Coal to the bloomin' bridge," said he. " An' w'ere 
 there ain't coal there's water an' grub. . . . We'll 'av 
 to go gingerly wiv 'er. One or two plices rather bother a 
 man. There's crossin' from the Gut to the islands . . . 
 that may be bad . . . an' there's the stretch between 
 St. Vincent an' Brazil. After that we can dodge again 
 . . . but the nastiest bit will be when we're froo the 
 Straits . . . winter time too . . . Well I guess we can 
 pull through or pull out. It'll be easier to pull out at 
 sea than in this stew-pan, where a man mayn't work if 
 ee wants to work ; mayn't follow 'is callin', an' gets 
 stuck on a Black List by a frowsy crowd o' roosters as 
 don't know the starn end of a boat from the bow. . . . 
 Come up and see the bridge 
 
 He clambered over cases and coal bags and reached 
 the small ladder. He was quieter now, more restrained, 
 but the voice of Jimmy Barlow was entirely suppressed. 
 He turned and pointed to the compass as O'Hagan 
 joined him. " That's a Kelvin binnacle and card," he 
 said. " They 'ad a thing there I wouldn't be seen dead 
 aside. I made 'em take it out. ' Kelvin's my mark, 
 sirs,' says I; 'if I'm to navigate 'er I want the best.' 
 An' they give it. ... There's the telegraphs, an' speakin' 
 toobs . . . not much use to a skipper as can poke 'is 
 'ead in at the engine room scuttle an' keep 'is 'and on the 
 wheel at the same time. Yus ! she's small ... no two 
 ways about that . . . but she's a daisy to pull ..." 
 
 He marched to the starboard side of the bridge pointing 
 out details which O'Hagan understood and could gather 
 at a glance. He seemed to be alert, to be watching without 
 a move for some person to spring out upon him and hale 
 him once again to that devilish region where he had fought 
 to be allowed to hump sacks and so keep from disruption 
 the souls and bodies of five persons. 
 
 A woman and three young children depended upon 
 Jimmy Barlow. They were as the light of his eyes to 
 him, and his burden. To hear them cry for bread was 
 a knife-thrust in his vitals. He had risen in the night to 
 consider the end that might be theirs. A boy and two 
 girls lay beneath his hand ... he shuddered as the 
 memory recurred. 
 
 He had an honest man's horror of crime ; but he argued
 
 THE ISLE OF DOGS 145 
 
 now, that the crime he committed in escape was less than 
 the crime he might find to his hand if he remained. 
 
 And the sun blared down upon him as he stood there 
 making his apologia to O'Hagan. The hum of the London 
 docks was in the air ; the glint of London's river made 
 soft his eyes ; the rolling clouds of smoke and steam 
 fashioned pictures which only a sailor can read. He 
 walked moodily up and down the bridge before O'Hagan, 
 his eyes uneasy, his mind alert. And suddenly he halted. 
 
 A cone was hoisted on the dock head. 
 
 "Ah!" he breathed. "We'll do it. PVaps it's the 
 last time I'll see it ... a fine day, too, to mind. 
 London ! " He took a deep breath " My God, an' I 
 love it. ... 
 
 " Kickin' me out though. No use for my sort . . . No 
 money, you see, nothin' to make things hum. Wish 
 I'd never seen it ... bah ! that's a lie if ever I told one 
 fer I love it ... just love it ... so does the wife and 
 bairns. ..." 
 
 He stretched out his arms with the action of one shooting 
 his linen and looked quizzically at O'Hagan standing silent 
 and oppressed at his side. 
 
 " Sorry ! " he said with a jerk. " I'm givin' all 'ands 
 the blues an' you into the bargain. Well . . . I'm off 
 now." He approached the telegraph and rang the 
 " Stand by," then crossed and speaking swiftly said 
 " The wife's address is written down here in case you are 
 able to explain things to her. I shall write, of course 
 but she doesn't know I'm sailin' . . . ner does the kids . . . 
 an' I daren't tell 'em. Put things right for me, sir . . . 
 an' oh ! yes w'ile I fink of it " the mate had come up 
 and the skipper's accent was accentuated " see that 
 coaster over there, the one wiv the rainbow funnel . . . ? " 
 
 O'Hagan acknowledged that he saw. 
 
 " Well, I should give 'er a look up if I was you 
 there's a job goin', an' 'er mate's nime is William 
 Tipton." 
 
 " Tipton ? " 
 
 " Yaas the chap as commanded the Riddle afore she 
 was lost, you remember." 
 
 " I know," said O'Hagan. 
 
 " Think it out," the voice of Enery Tompson proclaimed 
 while a wink appeared to point the allusion. He drew 
 O'Hagan towards the ladder which he again adjusted on 
 
 B.P. L
 
 146 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 the dock sill, and holding out his hand said in a hoarse 
 whisper 
 
 " See 'irn before you decide on anythink else." Then 
 with a cheery shake " Well so long." 
 
 And O'Hagan gripping firmly the rungs, mounted with 
 the words 
 
 " Good luck, Enery; good luck to you ... so long." 
 
 With a tossed chin the skipper watched until O'Hagan 
 reached the dock sill. Then he drew the ladder back 
 and passed to the bridge. He looked over the new dodger 
 and nodded first to a man aft, then to a man in the bows, 
 and they drew in the ropes which had held them. The 
 mate twisted the wheel. A single blast came from the 
 tug-boat's whistle, a clang from the engine-room gong, and 
 the Casa Blanco, moved away from the Isle of Dogs to 
 take up her station in the Pacific.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WILLIAM TIPTON 
 
 THE Casa Blanco, was a blob of smoke and a mast 
 moving past the land bordering Woolwich Reach Avhen 
 O'Hagan turned from watching her and crossed the swing 
 bridge to approach the collier with the rainbow funnel. 
 
 He was still puzzled by the air of secrecy with which 
 Jimmy Barlow had wrapped his allusion to that rather 
 commonplace vessel, but on consideration it seemed to 
 synchronise with his attitude on other matters. He 
 appeared to imagine himself the victim not of circumstance, 
 but of a plot which aimed at suppressing him and robbing 
 him of the means of earning his livelihood. The Board of 
 Trade was concerned to snuff him out. The magistracy, 
 or, as he termed it, the " roosters," had pushed him into 
 hotchpotch when in justice he ranked equally with those 
 who had never touched disaster. Trades Unionism, with 
 a Prime Minister cooing in the background, attempted 
 to deny him the right to work and earn money for his 
 family in any other calling but that from which the 
 roosters and the Plaster Saint had driven him. 
 
 To a man so harassed and drawn it was possible to 
 assign a mentality which bordered on the ridiculous if 
 not on the irresponsible. O'Hagan scented a bee in his 
 friend's bonnet, but O'Hagan, with his " unearned 
 increment " and backers, had not yet sounded the depths 
 plumbed by Jimmy Barlow. A man without income or 
 savings who is debarred the means of prosecuting his 
 calling is at the end of his tether in all sobriety, and 
 is likely to see red when standing on the brink of 
 reinstatement. 
 
 So, now that Jimmy Barlow's tug had vanished from 
 the neighbourhood of the Isle of Dogs, O'Hagan acknow- 
 ledged to a feeling of security for the ex-chief himself. 
 He knew that no English port would see the Casa Blanca 
 taking shelter, should that be necessary. He knew that 
 Jimmy Barlow would put as speedily as possible " the 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 three mile limit " between his tug and his pursuers, did 
 any exist. He knew, too, that Authority was not likely 
 to get out of its stride in order to harass Jimmy Barlow 
 now that he was so safely wrapped against discovery. 
 He knew, indeed, that now Jimmy Barlow's only enemies 
 were the sea and the lashing of a gale nothing more 
 surreptitious, nothing less grand and indiscriminating in 
 its march to victory or death the sea and its ally the 
 wind of heaven which have struck together and again 
 will strike. 
 
 O'Hagan had a glimmering perception of the end of 
 this forlorn hope of Jimmy Barlow's, and a corresponding 
 anxiety. You cannot sail with a man and know him as 
 comrade in scenes of mirth and danger without ac- 
 knowledging a softening when criticism is in the air ; a 
 qualifying strain even when he embarks on stupidity. 
 O'Hagan had already placed this adventure in his mind, 
 and no doubt Lloyd's, who inter alia prepared Black Lists, 
 would do the same as a " Special Risk " to be paid for 
 by a special premium. . . . They acknowledged, in truth, 
 what it was and is a means of rehabilitation for those 
 Bottle-fillers of the English who have come a cropper 
 while filling the Bottle ; for a man, in point of fact, whom 
 the nation s la\vs has made derelict. 
 
 Vae victis ! 
 
 Well no man is conquered until the end comes, and a 
 forlorn hope carried to a successful termination in other 
 fields has been known to find, for the victor, honour at the 
 hands of his King, even so great an honour as the V.C. 
 But in the field whereon Jimmy Barlow and all those other 
 Bottle-fillers of the nation are engaged, the honour is less 
 transcendent. 
 
 O'Hagan walked with disaster shadowing him, dogging 
 his steps. He knew, if others do not, that there is no 
 order for bravery at sea, no Star, nothing comparable to 
 the V.C. of the Army. He knew of course that the Royal 
 Humane Society's Medal was a possible incentive, if 
 incentive be required. He knew, too, of the chronometer 
 balanced watch of Lloyd's and the Board of Trade, of 
 the stereotyped presentation and silly speeches ; but he 
 knew of no Star. 
 
 *' Foreign countries can find a Star for their sailor heroes," 
 he commented, tramping, head sunk, for the rainbow 
 funnel ; the German Emperor can summon officers of his
 
 WILLIAM TIPTON 149 
 
 mercantile marine to Berlin and bestow with his own hands 
 the German Star for bravery at sea, but Authority in 
 England is averse to the bestowal of high orders or honour 
 on men of her mercantile marine ; and the Foreign Office 
 has been known to add its thunder. 
 
 They are the Bottle-fillers, these people. Permanent 
 officials wriggle with the annoyance they cause. They 
 are for ever asking silly questions, grumbling and wishing 
 to be consulted. There is no need for consultation. 
 Permanent officials exist to think for them, to give them 
 their orders based on statistics in which their President 
 has no faith. Away to sea with you ! There is no God 
 but God, and the Plaster Saint of Jimmy Barlow is His 
 Prophet. 
 
 O'Hagan with knitted brows came to the other side of 
 the dock and halted beside the boat with a rainbow funnel. 
 A glance decided him and he climbed the gangway in 
 pursuit of his own particular forlorn hope, descended to 
 the iron decks and stood looking for the person known as 
 William Tipton. An ex-master of the S.S. Sphinx ; a 
 vessel now defunct, but still trailing the results of her 
 legacy of greed. 
 
 O'Hagan had the air of an officer, it is useless to disguise 
 it, yet was he clad for the occupation known as dock- 
 walloping. His face was clean-shaven, his bearing erect, 
 his accent faultless as in those days when he lorded it in 
 the Eastern mail service. His voice, too, gave him away, 
 it was mellow and round the voice of a public school man 
 as we say with pride and a stiffening. 
 
 He looked about him. The ship's deck was red with 
 the rust of many voyages and cumbered by great stacks 
 of hatches. The holds yawned wherever the eye alighted, 
 and in the 'tween decks of that one which lay beside the 
 gangway, a group of lumpers, men who work cargo, 
 lounged, awaiting the signal to " turn-to." 
 
 It was the dinner-hour, and the crew, if a crew existed 
 beside so much red rust, was below. O'Hagan could not 
 have struck a more propitious moment, but it became 
 necessary to find a soul of whom he could ask the essential 
 question. He walked on, therefore, and in the alleyway 
 beneath the jimcrack bridge discovered a greaser of sorts 
 sitting with a sweat-rag muffler tied loosely about his neck 
 to smoke upon the sill of an open doorway. O'Hagan
 
 150 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 perceived a vista of dirtiness and the engine-room ; but 
 halted to ask for Mr. Tipton. 
 
 " The mate," said the man without removing his pipe 
 or relaxing his attitude, "is in 'is room . . . uvver alley- 
 way port side." 
 
 O'Hagan moved on and, coming to an iron door bearing 
 the legend "1st Mate," knocked. A voice cried out 
 '' Yes come in," and O'Hagan entered. 
 
 That is to say he stepped over the sill and stood on the 
 other side of the iron, but a man already occupied the 
 whole available dinginess, brushing with his elbows at his 
 boundaries. He leaned upon a small desk in his shirt- 
 sleeves, writing rapidly. He smoked like a chimney, and 
 so did his lamp which was alight, glowing in a halo which 
 twisted and changed colour in the draught which came 
 from an open port. 
 
 The man appeared to be engaged upon his cargo register, 
 a book as grimy as the room. He glanced round and 
 snapped " Want me ? " searched his visitor's face and 
 added in surly crescendo, " I'm busy . . . can't you see 
 I'm up to my neck in it ? " 
 
 The man's cheeks were shaven, but he wore a moustache 
 and beard trimmed in the fashion known as "goatee." 
 His hair was sandy, his beard rather more red, and his 
 eyebrows bristled in a way which partly screened his eyes. 
 
 O'Hagan had succeeded in establishing a footing within 
 this den and had closed the door. 
 
 " Are you the mate ? " he asked ; " Mr. Tipton. . . ." 
 
 The mate seemed to resent the question. Perhaps he 
 scented an applicant from the cultured ranks of swelldom, 
 one of those la-di-da persons who sometimes get on a ship's 
 article . At all events he answered with point " That's 
 me," and added in a growling undertone " What d'you 
 want . . . I'm not takin' on hands. Save your time and 
 mine if that's what you're after. . . ." 
 
 " My name is O'Hagan," the younger man commenced. 
 " I think you should know 
 
 " That puts me no nearer," William Tipton announced, 
 but without a smile. 
 
 " I took over the command of the Sphinx after you 
 left her," O'Hagan explained, " and Jimmy Barlow tells 
 me " 
 
 William Tipton withdrew his pipe and looked sourly at 
 his visitor.
 
 WILLIAM TIPTON 151 
 
 " Then you," he sneered, " were in the Sphinx when she 
 went down. Pity you didn't see me before you took charge 
 of her. . . . I might have been able to tell you something." 
 He closed his cargo book, pointed to the small locker and 
 said, " Sit. I have a few minutes." 
 
 He climbed into his bunk and sat amidst the tumbled 
 coats and blankets, his legs dangling. 
 
 " Not much room here," he said in his slow, sneering 
 fashion. " Bare room to swing your arms, let alone a cat. 
 Stinks, too. . . . That's bilge water. We're supposed to 
 get fat on it. ... I'd like to serve it up to my owners 
 for soup smell thrown in. That 'ud coil 'em up. . . . 
 Beggars can't be choosers, though. That's a notion to 
 remember. If I'd remembered I wouldn't be here now. 
 ... I would be sailin' the Sphinx or at the bottom with 
 her. . . . 
 
 " So you know Jimmy Barlow ? " he continued, head 
 cocked. " Funny sort of a world, this. If anybody had 
 asked me what Jimmy Barlow would have done when they 
 altered the Act and put a deckload on her, I should have 
 said ' He'll quit.' 
 
 " He saw the dido she cut yet he sticks on ... shows 
 how much we know. . . . Guess there's more in that than 
 meets the eye. ... I shouldn't wonder, mind, if Jimmy 
 Barlow expected to get command of her . . . but Jimmy 
 Barlow hadn't a red and you came along. Lord ! I 
 could smile." 
 
 He emitted a thin chuckle, but his eyes remained without 
 laughter " An' you," he suggested, " I s'pose put in 
 your dollars in her." 
 
 O'Hagan explained that he had. 
 The mate's eyebrows seemed to smile. 
 ' Got it out ? " he questioned. 
 ' Not yet." 
 ' Expect to ? " 
 
 4 By hook or by crook yes." 
 ' I could smile," commented Mr. William Tipton. 
 O'Hagan flushed as was his fashion in circumstances 
 such as these. He felt as a boy feels who is guyed. 
 
 " I don't say that without meaning it," he threw back. 
 " A man isn't dead because he is down. I'll make them 
 pay up if I sink every farthing I have in the world. No 
 man robs me with impunity. No man. ..." 
 
 Again came the sneering comment of William Tipton
 
 152 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Who's saying anything about men ? " 
 
 " I wish " O'Hagan commenced and halted as the 
 
 other growled. 
 
 " Pour water in one hand and wish in the other see 
 which is full first. ..." 
 
 " I admit I've had a facer," said O'Hagan, " but I'm 
 not likely to sit still under it." 
 
 " That so ? " 
 
 " You seem inclined to uphold the beasts," O'Hagan 
 offered hotly. 
 
 " What beasts ? " 
 
 " Sharum, Fit & Co." 
 
 William Tipton withdrew his pipe and spat upon the deck. 
 
 " That's a name," he said, " I don't use ... it 
 stinks. ..." He blew a cloud as though he would 
 smother it. " It stinks worse than that fer-saken bilge- 
 water of ourn. . . . I'd like," he growled, eyebrows 
 twitching, " to sit the Board o' Trade in this room fer a 
 month. . . . I'd like to put the Port o' London and 
 Swansea San-itary and Med-i-cal Au-thorities in this 
 cabin with them, and I'd like tew screw down the ports 
 and ventilators on 'em same as they are on me at sea. 
 . . . I'd like to make a blackhole for 'em like Calcutta 
 did . . . might get somethin' done that road . . . never 
 get it done any other. ..." 
 
 O'Hagan stared. The transition was so sudden, the 
 sneering accents so charged with venom, the twisting 
 eyebrows so competent to point behind each hissing 
 sentence. 
 
 " Someone's got to die if you want things altered," 
 came red-hot from the pot of his wrath. " Permanent 
 officials are there to keep their damned salaries permanent 
 . . . never mind us ... we are sailors . . . and ship- 
 owners seem kind of treadin' the same road . . . what 
 d'you think ? " 
 
 He ceased as suddenly as he began. His energies were 
 concentrated on his pipe. He pushed with one finger in 
 the bowl, drawing hard, and smoke circled in the dingy 
 room to cloud his face. 
 
 " If you are speaking of shipowners, I'm with you," 
 said O'Hagan. " They want teaching." 
 
 The brows of William Tipton twinkled through the smoke. 
 
 " When the devil is hungry the devil eats flies," he 
 announced, grimly sardonic. " In England shipowners
 
 WILLIAM TIPTON 153 
 
 are the devil and we are the flies. They jam us down 
 with conditions no other living man would endure. If 
 we are mailship skippers they give us a flood of printed 
 instructions. ' Be careful,' they say ; ' go slow in fogs, go 
 slow if it's thick and you are in the track of ships. Mind 
 your eye all the time and don't you forget it,' that's the 
 orders . . . but if you go slow for fog, or ice, or rain, or 
 snow, they'll say nothing to you for being late. Only 
 you'll get shifted. Shifted into a cargo boat and some 
 other fellow will take all risks with the ice. . . . Right ! 
 We are the flies. ..." 
 
 " Pity we didn't meet eighteen months ago," he threw 
 out as O'Hagan stared. 
 
 " It isn't too late now," came swiftly in answer. " If 
 you care to join me and go for them say the word. . . ." 
 
 William Tipton's next remark seemed to suggest that 
 he had not heard. 
 
 " Trained in the Worcester ? " he asked, his lids 
 flickering down. 
 
 O'Hagan bridged the space and nodded " Same sort 
 of thing only we cruised. Australia and back." 
 
 " Cadet ship, eh and after that the mail service, I 
 s'pose ? " 
 
 "Yes." t 
 
 " The line which looks on accent with more favour 
 
 than " his pipe conveyed the rest. He looked at his 
 
 watch. 
 
 " The Eastern Mail," said O'Hagan. " I was a damned 
 fool to leave it." 
 
 " You were," Tipton acknowledged, his eyes raking 
 him, " and now you want a berth, I s'pose ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Still suspended ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I can put you in as bo'sun. You'd have all day on, 
 all night at the lamps, mess with second mate . . . 
 what d'you say ? " 
 
 " I'm with you." 
 
 " Sail to-morrow in ballast for Swansea." A hooter 
 sounded somewhere amidst the crowded streets of Lime- 
 house and the ship's bell marked the hour by two strokes. 
 
 " We are goin' to Alexandria with coal . . . then, up 
 the Black Sea somewhere for grain ... so they say. 
 We might strike some plan . , . think it out ? "
 
 154 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " No I'm decided." 
 
 The mate slid from his bunk and stood once more. 
 
 " Guess it's turn to," he said in his slower drawl. " Be 
 down to-morrow an' I'll get you signed on." 
 
 He opened the door with a clang, iron upon iron, blew 
 a whistle and said, looking down the alleyway " Turn 
 to, there. Down below aft an' get on with your washing." 
 
 O'Hagan marched down the ladder stirred by the fact 
 that without in the least expecting it he had engaged in 
 the collier with the rainbow funnel. 
 
 So the world hums when you reach the Isle of Dogs.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MILESTONES 
 
 Now O'Hagan was not destined to sample the lees in 
 this boat with the rainbow funnel. In spite of his jubi- 
 lation as he descended the gangway, another factor stirred 
 which would render it stupid to take service as a com- 
 posite personality. At the moment, of course, he did not 
 know it. A man who has spent months seeking work is 
 so uplifted by the fact of success that he does not consider 
 second string chances. Yet they come. 
 
 The position he had obtained meant five pounds, 
 perhaps five pounds ten a month ; and O'Hagan, who had 
 been accustomed in the past to give orders to a person 
 recognised as Serang, knew no more of the duties required 
 of a " bo'sun-carpenter-lamptrimmer " than he did of 
 the path to the stars. 
 
 At the moment he was unconscious of this fact. It had 
 not struck him. He remembered that Tipton had pro- 
 posed it because of his connection with Sharum, Fit & Co. 
 It was evident, too, that Tipton had no love for that firm. 
 How he had squirmed at the name ! 
 
 Not in a polished fashion either. Queer old chap ! 
 Well, it certainly would be strange if they happened to be 
 shipmates ; stranger still if they could work out some 
 plan which would bring Sharum up with a round turn 
 ..." make him fork out, by Jove ! every penny we have 
 invested." 
 
 O'Hagan whistled. It could be done. He was in- 
 clined to crow and dance down there on the dock sill ; 
 then wiftly upon the throb of that glorious headiness 
 came the recollection of Jimmy Barlow's note and mes- 
 sage. He had promised to take them to Mrs. Jim, and 
 on examination, he saw that her address was Panton 
 Street. A thoroughfare this at the corner of East India 
 Dock Road and Bearsted Road E. 
 
 That sobered him as perhaps nothing else could. It
 
 156 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 put him in touch with the other side of the tragedy. It 
 set him thinking. He wondered whether there would be 
 a scene. He need have had no fear, for Mrs. Jim was of 
 the class which does not air its hurts, does not whimper, 
 does not plead or bully for alms ; but seeks in some way 
 God and His Regents know how to keep the \volf from 
 the flock. 
 
 Panton Street, E., does not let apartments to people 
 with full purses ; it ministers, indeed, to those for whom 
 its neighbour, Bearsted Road, is too costly. You may 
 hire a house, or a part of a house, or a garret in Panton 
 Street, and you may live in what seclusion you can com- 
 pass ; or you may dree your weird with all Panton Street 
 looking on. 
 
 And here lived the little lady who once had been a 
 governess and now was the wife of one of England's 
 Bottle-fillers ; a man down on his luck so deep that he 
 dared not tell her he was sailing. 
 
 When he got " out there," he would " send for the 
 wife and the kids; meantime, put it right for me, and 
 give them this." Those were his last words, and they 
 troubled O'Hagan greatly as he climbed the dark stairs 
 to reach Mrs. Jim's room. 
 
 She had but one, and here slept and worked the game 
 little woman who would not whine. Here, too, slept her 
 boy and two girls when the candle had guttered and 
 fingers were stiff. No charity bowls of soup on this hori- 
 zon. No visitors from the church yonder, nor from 
 the chapel across the way. No one cognisant of the straits 
 of Mrs. Jim but Mrs. Jim and her children. Even 
 Jimmy Barlow was not versed in the sublime deceptions 
 which were practised ; but he saw his wife grow thin, saw 
 that her eyes were rimmed with red, and went his way 
 challenging the aristocrats of the labour world, who ring- 
 fence their house of cards lest it fall and crush those who 
 are inside. 
 
 Vae metis ! 
 
 The conquered are those who have no trade union 
 ticket, who have no loud-voiced agitator at their back to 
 air their grievances in the House ; who are unbanded, 
 standing each one on his own two feet to fight the battle of 
 Life ; who have no vote if votes be of service in a world 
 so wantonly hedged against the weak who are unknown 
 by charity organisations and will remain unknown because
 
 MILESTONES 157 
 
 though beggars in all verity, there still remains to them 
 pride. 
 
 Mrs. Jim, when at length O'Hagan reached her altitude 
 it was near the stars, and often the playground of East 
 End cats did not rush to dust a chair for him with her 
 apron, nor did she sniff and apologise for the room. 
 Three women were at work in it beneath a dim skylight. 
 They were building shirts for Englishmen and youths 
 the shirts of Tom Hood's song, if it be not lost to us in 
 these days of sham and subterfuge, and on the hob, in spite 
 of the sultriness, a kettle spouted steam, and tea tea of 
 the deadliest stood to stew. 
 
 That was their sustenance. It kept the woman and her 
 two girls alive. They did not know that it also kept them 
 drunk. They drank it to keep them working until the 
 candle guttered, stitching far into the night ; then tea and 
 kettle, and mother and girls, sought sleep . . . sleep 
 amidst the roar of one of London's great arteries ; sleep 
 amidst the smoke clouds of East London ; sleep till the 
 ragged cock, which lived in an upturned barrel with three 
 gaunt hens, sent forth his challenge to the sun, and the 
 Isle of Dogs, which is so near, blared drearily its chorus of 
 horns. 
 
 Three women one in all truth, womanly, and " with 
 eyelids heavy and red " ; the other two, girls, slim, young, 
 delicate, fragile, suddenly nipped by events, brought 
 swiftly from the country they knew and lodged here 
 school forgotten, friends lost, the woods and lanes of 
 Merrie England a dream which faded. 
 
 Their trust in Dad was shaken. Perhaps. Who can 
 assign and portray limits to the premonition of youth. 
 Out of the void they had faced with friendly and careless 
 grace had sprung a blow which stung. Whispered com- 
 ment had touched their ears. It hinged on the word 
 " drink." Dad, who was their idol, was assailed by that 
 phrase. They scarcely knew the meaning of it, yet it 
 shadowed their lives. They saw their little home follow 
 in a sequence of disaster, through which Dad shrugged and 
 shouldered and occasionally grew harsh. 
 
 They saw that he no longer went to sea. They heard 
 there were reasons which kept him on shore. They learned 
 to quake. And here, in Panton Street, the blare of East 
 India Dock Road in their ears, they learned new lessons. 
 
 They learned that food was scarce ; that it would be
 
 158 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 necessary to work long hours for a few pence. They 
 saw their brother go out to act as errand boy for a neigh- 
 bouring grocer. They discovered that he slept out and 
 that Dad could no longer afford to keep two rooms. . . . 
 They were young girls who understood the delights of 
 green fields, of hockey and they were here ! 
 
 Can you see them ? O'Hagan was compelled. It gave 
 him pain. It took all the sting out of the misery he had 
 touched. He recognised that he stood in the presence of 
 women who fought with death ; that Jimmy Barlow had so 
 stood, and that now he was gone on a forlorn hope which 
 might, or might not, find him quittance. That is what 
 he saw and, in truth, it sobered him. 
 
 The dim light of a radiance which scarcely touched 
 the whirling sultriness of the Isle of Dogs streamed in 
 at a skylight which stood above the table at which the 
 three worked. O'Hagan brought a touch of the outer 
 air with him and they looked round expectant. Visitors, 
 he supposed, catching the note, rarely climbed here. He 
 questioned whether they would be welcome and said, 
 with an effort which astonished him, " I came at your 
 husband's request, Mrs. Barlow, to tell you that 
 
 Then he saw in her face that he could not break it thus, 
 and halted while she moved from the table to meet him. 
 
 " My name is O'Hagan," he recommenced in explana- 
 tion. " They told me downstairs I should find you here." 
 He did not name the slattern who had directed him. 
 Enough that he was here. He continued " Your 
 husband was mate of the Sphinx with me you remember ? 
 And now he asks me to see you and to give you this 
 note." 
 
 He handed the letter while the wan eyes of the woman 
 read him page by page. He shivered under her scrutiny. 
 He remembered that he was dressed for dockwalloping 
 and imagined that cloaked gentleness. But the eyes of 
 the woman showed no alarm. There was concern in 
 them, then sorrow, followed presently by shock. 
 
 She said very softly " Where is he ? " then, as she 
 tore the envelope " Why didn't he come himself ? " and 
 
 with a swift uptake of breath " There's nothing wrong, 
 
 is there no accident . . . or ? " 
 
 The two girls came nearer, cowering suddenly. 
 
 " No no," O'Hagan gave back. " He is well and sends 
 his love. He couldn't come that is all . . because
 
 MILESTONES 159 
 
 . . . oh, well ! the letter will tell you, I expect. Won't 
 you read it ? Don't mind me. ..." 
 
 Then he ceased speaking, because it became plain that 
 Mrs. Jim's attention was concentrated on the letter she 
 drew out, and that a slip of paper which fell from it 
 fluttered to the floor at her feet unheeded. 
 
 It looked strangely like a cheque. O'Hagan prayed 
 it might be. It was folded, and something suggestive 
 of a water mark showed through it in a dark wash at the 
 back. O'Hagan would have picked it up ; but held off 
 as the elder of the two children approached. He had a 
 sense that presently there would be a scene. It flustered 
 him. He would have run away ; but he dared not until 
 he knew that Jimmy had been able to do the right thing 
 by these poor souls. . . . And he stood there waiting, 
 expectant, watching the expression in Mrs. Jim's eyes, 
 the increasing pallor, if that be possible where no colour 
 lurked, and wondering when she would break the silence. 
 
 She broke it quite calmly ; the attitude of one whom 
 calamity, great or small, no longer can bend. 
 
 " Elsie,' she said, ignoring O'Hagan, " Daddy's sailed. 
 . . . He's going to " she referred to the letter " to 
 Valparaiso. He sends his love to you, Elsie, and to 
 Mamie too, and he hopes to see us all before long. ..." 
 
 She gazed at the dim skylight which lighted the garret. 
 Her eyes were soft. A suggestion of unsteadiness showed 
 at the corners of her mouth and the two girls looked shyly 
 at O'Hagan. 
 
 On the table was a heap of white, and amidst it stood 
 a sewing-machine, some little boxes of buttons and tape 
 the whole apparatus of the seamstress who spins shirts 
 as she spins her shroud. Nothing heroic. Nothing vivid, 
 blaring or theatrical. Commonplace sewing, that is all. 
 
 Mrs. Jim had steadied her lips and now looked at 
 O'Hagan, who still contemplated that cheque-like scrap 
 on the floor. There were many snippets to give it company 
 and a dusting- sheet spread beside the table helped to 
 keep it hid. That is why O'Hagan watched it but he 
 dared not break the silence by movement. 
 
 " How long does it take to get to Valparaiso ? " asked 
 Mrs. Jim as she faced him. 
 
 He answered without subterfuge, judging it were best 
 
 " In this case perhaps three or four months ... it is 
 rather too difficult to say."
 
 160 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Why in this case ? " 
 
 " Because the boat is not very large and he will have 
 to hug the coast." 
 
 " That means keep near the land, doesn't it, Captain 
 O'Hagan ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is she a steamer ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Is my husband the captain ? " 
 
 " Yes he is taking out a new boat you see straight 
 from the yard." 
 
 " And why does he sign his letter 'Enery Tompson ' ? " 
 asked the voice of Mrs. Jim, her eyelids flickering. 
 
 " Because," said O'Hagan, quite sure that now he faced 
 the worst, " he is suspended and can't use his own ticket 
 . . . so well, you see, if a man's in a hole he has to 
 do the best he can for himself and and his wife and 
 children. There's nothing else. ..." 
 
 " So he had to take another name ? " questioned Mrs. 
 Jim, and the chair she sat on creaked under her. 
 
 " Yes." Then, as a pause ensued, O'Hagan added 
 " Of course, that was the reason he could not come up 
 to say good-bye . . . come near you at all, in fact. He 
 was afraid some one might see him and report for, of 
 course, everyone has enemies," he ended lamely. 
 
 But Mrs. Jim was not interested in the question of her 
 husband's alias. She moved at a tangent, to consider 
 his safety as though it were of any use, now that the 
 Casa Blanco, had started on her way to the high seas, 
 discussing that. 
 
 " Is the boat very small ? " she asked, her eyes lifted 
 to read. 
 
 O'Hagan was constrained to make the best of it. 
 
 " She is not very big," he answered, then made a dive 
 hoping to break away from this for all time. " Look 
 here ! he exclaimed, stooping to recover the paper he had 
 watched with so much concern. " I believe you dropped 
 this. I think it came out when you opened the letter. . . . 
 By Jove ! it looks like a cheque or something. It's yours, 
 anyhow ... do see what it is. . . ." 
 
 He handed it and retired again to his corner at the foot 
 of the bed. 
 
 Mrs. Jim took the paper, opened it and read. She did 
 not speak, but her face for a moment flamed, then again
 
 MILESTONES 161 
 
 became white. She opened her lips to speak, her gaze 
 settled upon the two children. But no words came, and 
 quite suddenly she seemed to droop in her chair. She sank 
 and would have fallen had not O'Hagan reached her side. 
 
 The two children crowded in now, the younger of them 
 crying, the elder she was not twelve on the edge of 
 tears ; but O'Hagan called out sharply for aid and in a 
 moment they were acting under orders. 
 
 " Loosen her dress, Miss Elsie," he had gathered their 
 names from the letter Mrs. Jim had read out. " Mamie, 
 run and get some water, brandy if there is any in the 
 house ..." 
 
 He laid the limp body he supported on the floor beneath 
 the skylight and climbed the table to open still wider the 
 sash. But the fasteners were so set that this was im- 
 possible. He returned to the floor anathematising all 
 builders, seized a shirt and directed Elsie to fan. 
 
 " It's all right," he whispered. " She has fainted don't 
 be frightened." 
 
 He was quaking himself and knew it. 
 
 Elsie waved her fan while he kneeled listening. Her 
 eyes were full, but she worked with the method of a machine. 
 She stared at the twitching features wondering, full of 
 a strange awe. Why had Dad gone away as he had ? 
 What had he done that he was compelled to change his 
 name ? . . . She did not believe he had done anything. 
 If he had Mummie wouldn't love him and she did. . . . 
 She leaned forward suddenly and clung to O'Hagan's arm 
 " Oh, please, please don't let her die," she whispered. 
 " I won't grumble any more, I won't ... I won't . . . 
 please make her look up and say she isn't going to die." 
 
 "Fan, my child ... fan! " O'Hagan urged. "Don't 
 crowd her, but give her air ..." 
 
 Water was used because brandy would have been diffi- 
 cult to obtain by a child of nine years not born to the ways 
 of slumland. A shirt made air because no window qua 
 window existed in this garret housing three lives ; because 
 of all things granted us of heaven, air in Panton Street 
 is as difficult to find as luxury or restraint among its 
 inhabitants. 
 
 That, at all events, was O'Hagan's view of the position, 
 and being a sailor, accustomed to give orders, the checks, 
 facile and absurd as they were, in no way caused irritation. 
 
 B.F. M
 
 162 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 He was engrossed, and in ten minutes, by some chance of 
 other, he had Mrs. Jim sitting up again, the children 
 hugging her. 
 
 He wanted to swear very badly, he examined the sash 
 fastening instead. It was an abominable and subtle 
 contrivance to produce stuffiness. Had the garret been 
 his he would have let air into it, in the fashion he adopted 
 with the fanlight at his own dear Deodars. Long ago, 
 that ! By Jove, yes quite a century . . . and while he 
 was ricking his neck over a skylight, which could only be 
 opened with the aid of a crowbar, Mrs. Jim and the children 
 made hay, as he put it. He gave them time to toss a 
 whole field. Whether they did it or no he was uncertain, 
 then someone called him by name " Captain O'Hagan," 
 and he turned round. 
 
 Mrs. Jim was sitting up, wan and very weary, but with 
 a smile which did him good. She said, dabbing at her 
 hair " You made me rather wet. ..." 
 
 " I am so sorry," O'Hagan apologised, " I'm afraid I 
 am a bit clumsy at this sort of thing ... I say, but you 
 are all right, aren't you better, I mean ? " 
 
 " Yes yes. It was very stupid of me ... it was 
 about a cheque, or something, wasn't it ? I haven't seen 
 one for ... so long you know . . . that it it took my 
 breath away." 
 
 " It is rather a fat one," O'Hagan smiled, perceiving 
 trouble at the door and moving to descend the stairs. 
 
 "Very fat? I I am still bewildered . . ." she 
 pressed her forehead with unsteady hands. 
 
 " It is a cheque on the London and Provincial Bank for 
 one hundred and twenty-five pounds, Mrs. Barlow . . . 
 It is drawn by the builder of your husband's boat . . . 
 the one he is taking out," he explained, " and if I were you 
 I should get it paid in somewhere," he stumbled here, 
 aware that the wife of Jimmy Barlow had, in all likelihood, 
 no banking account, and into his confusion there came the 
 strained voice which said 
 
 " A hundred and twenty-five pounds ! " Then after a 
 break " Do you think he could spare it ? " 
 
 " Easily," O'Hagan announced, with a decision which 
 went far to stiffen her. " He will get two hundred for the 
 trip, and the rest is to be paid when he reaches Valparaiso. 
 Now," he persuaded her, " let me help you. I know 
 Jimmy we all called him Jimmy wished me to do so.
 
 MILESTONES 163 
 
 I think that cheque ought to be in a bank. ... It isn't 
 quite safe here do you think ? . . . and, if you feel 
 strong enough I will charter a cab and take you up before 
 it closes. . . ." He referred to the bank. 
 
 But Mrs. Jim would not hear of this extravagance, 
 " The trams pass," she said, " and if you really can spare 
 the time I shall be most grateful." 
 
 " Me, too," Mamie interjected, hugging her sister's arm. 
 
 " Mightn't we all go ? " Elsie urged, her eyes round and 
 luminous at the mere mention of so great a treat. 
 
 " Of course," O'Hagan decided, " all or none. It will 
 do you good, and, if I may make a suggestion, I should 
 advise a week in the country. . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! Let's let's Mummie, do. And it's May you 
 know, and the hedges will be out ! " 
 
 " Bluebells, too," O'Hagan trailed. " Think of it 
 
 " Bluebells ! Oh, Mummie we may, mayn't we ? " 
 
 " Come and help Mummie bank the money first," 
 O'Hagan persuaded. " That will take quite a long time. 
 We can decide as we go." 
 
 And presently they started, two pale children accom- 
 panied by their not strong mother, for the first outing 
 which had fallen to their lot since January. 
 
 Of course it is apparent that O'Hagan had very little 
 time to resolve his own particular misery during this 
 afternoon ; nor to consider the duties he had undertaken 
 in that boat with the gorgeous funnel. Yet he was like a 
 boy in the happiness which had become his. That five 
 or five pounds ten a month he was to receive somehow 
 became mixed with figures of much greater value. His 
 billet, too, when he did not think of it, magically assumed 
 an air and importance unwarranted by fact. He was 
 cock-a-hoop in spite of what he called his dockwalloping 
 toggery, master of ceremonies at the bank, host at the 
 tea rooms which presently gave them rest and nourish- 
 ment. 
 
 The sun smiled down upon them, through smoke clouds 
 be it said ; the world became possible as a place of resi- 
 dence ; especially out there in a country carpetted by 
 bluebells and anemones, where the hedges " were out," 
 and whither they had decided to vanish as soon as their 
 week was up. 
 
 It smiled on that careful soul who was Jimmy Barlow's 
 helpmeet and it smiled on Jimmy Barlow's tug as he 
 
 M 8
 
 164 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 headed down Sea Reach that wonderful Casa Blanco, 
 which had emerged from a builder's yard at the very 
 moment when the Barlow homestead had crumbled to a 
 garret in Panton Street and sixteen hours of daily toil. 
 The Casa Blanca kicked with her heels as she passed 
 Canvey Island, she bowed to her first swell there and 
 Jimmy Barlow extended his arms. He shot his linen. 
 
 But it took so long a time to arrange these matters that 
 it was late, nearly eight o'clock, when O'Hagan reached 
 that palace of his, known as the Deodars in Glen view Road. 
 
 A thin gleam of light touched the windows as he clanked 
 down the pavement. It was not too dark to see that 
 Lucy stood watching his approach, nor to recognise that 
 she moved that little strip of orange paper we call a 
 telegram or a flimsy, as the fancy takes us. 
 
 He came the faster you may be sure. Lucy stood now 
 in the doorway, very beautiful to consider, very dainty 
 in the old, old trousseau gown Den loved so well. 
 
 " It arrived hours and hours ago, oh, dearest," she sang 
 merrily, alluding to the paper she held, and got no further, 
 because it became necessary to accept his salute. And 
 when she was free to continue, she added 
 
 " I could not tell him where you were, so I said ' Will 
 call to-morrow . . . was that right ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 He was devouring the message with the air of one who 
 is still incredulous. His eyes saw nothing else. It was a 
 marvellous bit of precision, as comforting as that, by 
 Jove, which hours ago he had brought to Mrs. Jim. It 
 affected him in like manner. It gave him a chance. A 
 glorious and wonderful opportunity the thing he had 
 fought for, prayed for and despaired of finding. 
 
 This is what he read 
 
 *' Call Oceanic soon as possible see me with reference 
 to taking command new steamer building Glasgow. If 
 out to-day wire appointment for to-morrow. WORSDALE." 
 
 And when he had mastered this, O'Hagan put his arm 
 about Lucy's waist, drew her to him and took three steps 
 in waltz time. 
 
 " Hurra ! " he cried out. " Hurra ! Hurra ! " 
 
 Lucy's hand reached his lips to check him 
 
 " Kiddie's asleep, oh, dearest ! " she whispered. 
 
 Then quite suddenly O'Hagan released her and said 
 in a new voice
 
 MILESTONES 1G5 
 
 "By Jove! I forgot . . ." 
 
 " Forgot ? " she echoed. 
 
 " Yes I shan't be able. . . . I've engaged to go in a 
 boat with a rainbow funnel red, white, blue and a few 
 dots and splashes thrown in," he particularised, watching 
 her. " And it's William Tipton's ship ; . . . the one I 
 went up about. What in the world must I do ? " 
 
 His voice had fallen away to a whisper. The brisk, 
 inspiriting strain was gone. He, undeniably, was op- 
 pressed but Lucy smiled. 
 
 " Will you be captain of William Tipton's ship, Den ? " 
 
 " No bo'sun with carpenter and lamp-trimmer's jobs 
 thrown in." 
 
 " And you couldn't take me with you ? " 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 He faced her puzzled. 
 
 " Me," she nodded. 
 
 " No," he shook out. " Jove ! I had forgotten 
 that . . ." 
 
 Lucy's arms went up about his neck, and his, following 
 the law, found rest round her waist. 
 
 " Then you are not going to sail as bo'sun in a boat 
 with a rainbow funnel, oh dearest," said the gentle voice 
 of Lucy O'Hagan, " and to-morrow you are going to 
 town to," she dragged this out with delicious insistence, 
 " to see Captain Worsdale . . . aren't you, Den ? " 
 
 And very naturally, standing as they were, cheek to 
 cheek, O'Hagan said " Rather," which is exactly what 
 she had decided he must say.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A PROBATIONER 
 
 IN spite of this ready decision, O'Hagan considered it 
 necessary to acquaint Captain Worsdale with the mad 
 plunge he had taken towards expiation by shipping in a 
 collier. As soon as they met, then, on the following day, 
 he opened by saying that he had promised to sail in a 
 boat with a rainbow funnel, and did not quite know how 
 to get out of it. He explained that the mate was relying 
 on him to sign on at noon, added that he objected to 
 making difficulties for a man on sailing day, then halted, 
 his eyes on Captain Worsdale. 
 
 The great little man was regarding him with lifted 
 bristles. 
 
 " You will do as you think best, of course," he remarked, 
 and for a brief moment it seemed to O'Hagan that the 
 last word had been said. Then there came to his tongue 
 with a flicker of humour " Faith, sir ! you have me on 
 the hip," and, as Worsdale smiled, " but you are too big 
 a man to take advantage of it." 
 
 " On the hip ! " Worsdale brimmed. " Lord, but it's 
 well you are an Irishman. A Scot would not have dared 
 to say that ; an Englishman couldn't. On the hip ! " 
 he chuckled broadly, then with swift precision became 
 explanatory " I have no opinion of colliers as a means 
 of getting a man out of a mess. They are born in a mess, 
 live in a mess and die in a mess, how then could they get 
 you out of a mess? And I want you to consider for 
 I don't think that even now you recognise just exactly 
 where you stand. I tell you your name is on the Black 
 List . . . the Black List at Lloyd's, and you throw it off 
 with a joke. I tell you, too, that I have been at some 
 trouble to persuade a friend of mine to overlook it ... 
 and you tell me you are thinking of taking a trip as 
 bo'sun of a collier . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan refused to come in here. He knew Captain 
 Worsdale.
 
 A PROBATIONER 107 
 
 " I grant you," that stern friend resumed, " the skipper 
 of a cargo-wallah is not a very great swell ; but I know 
 the bo'sun-lamp-trimmer-carpenter-blacksmith fellow in a 
 collier is just a cat's-paw. ... In all probability you 
 would be the dandy artisan," he expostulated, rolling the 
 phrases, " detailed by Mr. William Tipton to put the 
 rainbow on the funnel. If I know anything at all of life 
 in a collier I'm quite sure you would be the fancy man to 
 stencil the ship's name and port of registry on her life- 
 belts and buckets. If she carries boats, which I question, 
 you would be permitted to clean them out and paint the 
 house-flag on their bows. ... In addition, I'm morally 
 certain you would have charge of the lamp-room, and the 
 oil and the wick together with the adze and maul and 
 two cold-chisels which would comprise the carpenter's 
 outfit . . . and you would be busy all day, and if the 
 lamps are of the usual collier brand you would be busy 
 all night, trimming them. And every soul on board," 
 he rapped out, " from the skipper to the boy who brushes 
 his boots, would winze ye for a fool." 
 
 He turned towards his table and pivoted back again 
 to ask in his very soberest English 
 
 " I suppose you have told Mrs. O'Hagan of your 
 alternative well, what does she say to it ? " 
 
 " She says I am not going to sail in a boat with a rain- 
 bow funnel, and is quite sure that you, sir, will . . ." 
 
 " Of course ... of course. Mrs. O'Hagan knows the 
 difference between five pounds a month and twenty- 
 five," Worsdale commented, enjoying himself immensely. 
 " I accepted it when there was nothing else before me," 
 O'Hagan pleaded. " I was at the end of things and 
 the only reason I have for speaking to you of it now is, 
 that William Tipton who is the mate, was skipper of the 
 Sphinx before I joined her. He left because he con- 
 sidered her unfit for deckloads, and as he also has sunk 
 four or five hundred pounds in her, it seemed possibly we 
 might hit on some scheme to get our money back." 
 
 Worsdale drew a tablet under his hand and said 
 " Do you mean that Tipton found her dangerous with 
 this deckload ? " 
 
 " She came in swept, sir. If it had not gone, she 
 would not have fetched home." 
 " Where was he bound ? " 
 " Hamburg with the deckload, Hull with the rest."
 
 168 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Damnable ! " said Captain Worsdale, Then soberly, 
 " A perfectly scandalous evasion of a law which already 
 verges on stupidity as applied to our own ports." He 
 wrote several sentences, looked up and said, " Give me 
 Tipton's address," took it down and leaned back in his 
 chair " I see . . . yes, I see," he frowned, staring at 
 the notes, then glancing up at O'Hagan said 
 
 " That puts the matter in a new light. I can see the 
 inducement. Still, I think you had better not consider 
 it. Your money is gone. So is William Tipton's. If 
 anyone could get it back Stephen Hammond is the man. 
 There isn't a trick of that brood," he adumbrated the 
 owners of the Sphinx here, " he does not know. It 
 would cost you more money. You might throw away 
 two or three hundred on it, and be no nearer. . . . 
 
 *' The Sphinx company is wound up, my boy. You 
 may receive a notification to that effect presently 
 perhaps a bill of your share of the costs of winding up. 
 Mr. Tipton will get the same . . . and, if it is news to 
 you, three other broken-down ex-skippers of the Sphinx, 
 are still, for aught I know, seeking how to withdraw the 
 sums they invested in her. . . . 
 
 " They resigned. Put it so. Sharum, Fit & Co. know 
 how to make resignation an alternative for dismissal. 
 No skipper can resist that. It is one of the methods by 
 which acquisitive folk climb to power in the shipowning 
 world, one of the tricks that put a stigma on shipowning 
 as though shipowning per se were villainous. Chut ! 
 Let them alone. I don't like the notion of going to law 
 with these folk. . . . 
 
 " The Associations should move in it. They should 
 bring pressure to bear clean out their house and make 
 it possible for a man to invest in the concern which is 
 his livelihood without this devilish system of exploitation 
 which harms the big men more than the small. I tell 
 you there are some kinds of fish neither you nor I can 
 handle without being tainted . . . But an Association, 
 acting in the interests of all, could touch it and bury it." 
 He leaned on his elbow w r atching the fire, his brow 
 puckered, a look of intense disgust in his face. For 
 several minutes he maintained this attitude, then glanced 
 up " I, too, am a shipowner," he said parenthetically. 
 " If I could see my way to smash Sharums, I should do it 
 with real zest ; but they are going strong. He's a shrewd
 
 A PROBATIONER 169 
 
 man, yon, and the boom has aided him. Incidentally 
 the Board of Trade made him a big present of tonnage 
 a year or more ago and he knew how to take advantage 
 of it. That's competition. Ou aye ! I hear he has 
 opened a London office. . . Someone is behind him, of 
 course. Someone who knows a keen business man when 
 he sees him, and is strong enough to push him. . . . 
 
 " That is the curse of competition in unclean hands. 
 The means are nothing provided you reach your end. 
 Jesuitical ! Well, well now that capital is handy to 
 him perhaps we shall hear less of this petty thieving, this 
 inveigling of skippers, persuading them to invest and then 
 pushing them into the dock." 
 
 He twisted his chair and closed his note-book, saying 
 over his shoulder, " Now, I am going to be busy. What 
 have you decided ? " 
 
 " To take your advice, sir." 
 
 " Good. Then here is the address of my friend. See 
 him at once and wire Tipton to find another bo'sun." 
 
 He rose and held out his hand, saying in his kindly 
 fashion 
 
 " This is your chance, my boy. Take it and play it 
 for all you are worth. My friend will go a long way to 
 meet you . . . but none of us are omnipotent here. If 
 Lloyd's make a dead set the thing becomes more diffi- 
 cult. ... I tell you this for your guidance. It is a 
 possibility I do not want you to overlook. If pressure 
 comes," he concluded with a touch of passion, " I shall 
 know why. . . and we have decided to fight it 
 Hammond and I. Good luck to you. Pray for bad 
 weather and go in and win that star." 
 
 The star seemed very visionary and remote as O'Hagan 
 turned into the throbbing London street. It danced 
 before him, nevertheless, conjured up by the trust Wors- 
 dale reposed in him. His brain took fire at the bare 
 prospect of again obtaining command. For months he 
 had been as one numbed by long exposure, one silenced 
 by the hum and jangle of a gale which had forced him 
 to his knees ; but now hope returned, he forgot Worsdale's 
 warning, and with a touch of ecstasy strange to consider 
 in that turmoil of moving traffic, sang as he went and 
 longed to dance. 
 
 He had youth on his side, hope, strength and the
 
 170 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 worship of a woman " too good for him by half," as the 
 saying goes. Therefore he must win. Lloyd's ? Let 
 Lloyd's go hang ! What was it to. them or to any soul in 
 the world but his owner, when all was said and done. He 
 pushed back the blind which seemed ready to descend. 
 If Worsdale and his friend were satisfied, let the world 
 bleat he would not hear it. 
 
 At this centre of shipping, distances are not great 
 between the offices of one line and another. If you are 
 conversant with the alleys which bind them one to another 
 they are nearer still. But O'Hagan marched with the 
 novices and came presently to the offices of the Pampas 
 Line. He stood staring up at them, wondering at the 
 name as he came under the portal. 
 
 He who was at home in the East must now set forth 
 for the gates of the West. Pampas ! The word con- 
 jured memories of his father's study, of the vicarage 
 garden seat where he had sat drawing inspiration from 
 Mayne Reid, Fenimore Cooper and a strange, small 
 booklet giving coloured prints of the " Man and woman 
 of Brazil, Peru, La Plata and the Land of Fire." Brief 
 explanatory notes were provided to these woodcuts of 
 nude and semi-nude barbarians and now, it seemed, he 
 was to regain what he had lost by entering at the gates of 
 the Pampas. 
 
 A commissionaire met him, took his message and came 
 back to pilot him. No hitch. Everything ready. 
 Again he could have sung, . . . 
 
 The hum of the traffic in Leadenhall Street died as 
 O'Hagan marched over thickly carpeted floors beyond 
 the ante-room ; but the silence of the senior partner's 
 sanctum, as he entered it, seemed to suggest a minus 
 reading. The commissionaire, cap in hand, spoke his 
 name, closed the door and returned to the portico. 
 O'Hagan sent a strained look about the room. He found 
 the sun shedding a warm glare upon the carpet, which 
 was of reds and blues and greens, he saw settees ranged 
 beside the walls, a writing table neatly centering them 
 and a slim, grey-haired man turning from the fire to greet 
 him. 
 
 He looked up, indeed, from a semi-stooping attitude 
 and encountered O'Hagan. He maintained that attitude 
 and steady, oblique gaze for some moments. It was 
 embarrassing merely because it was intense, concentrated,
 
 A PROBATIONER 171 
 
 the search of a scrutineer. O'Hagan did not resent it 
 but it cooled his ardour. He saw, too, that there was 
 judgment and discretion in those eyes eyes which were 
 grey, deep, strong, sunk like caverns. 
 
 " So you are Captain O'Hagan," said a voice which 
 matched in every intonation with O'Hagan's reading. 
 " I have heard a good deal about you. Sit down." 
 
 And Denis, in a seventh heaven of anticipation, sat. 
 
 " I gather that my friend Worsdale is much interested 
 in the question of your suspension," said he. " I am in 
 sympathy to a certain extent. Candidly, I cannot 
 allow a matter of that sort to handicap my service, or 
 the dividends we pay." He spoke in crisp sentences. 
 " You see my point, of course ? 
 
 " The Black List ? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Do you think it likely they they will raise any 
 obstacle, ' O'Hagan questioned, the iteration of this 
 suggestion throwing him back, back nearly to the dead 
 level of accepting service still with William Tipton. 
 
 " One can never say. I hope not. In your case, from 
 what Captain Worsdale tells me, I am inclined to think 
 they will not. For that reason we need discuss it no 
 farther. I wished simply to make sure you understand 
 there is this difficulty, and to warn you, in view of it, 
 that I cannot pledge myself . . . you see that ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir. I am not here to ask it." 
 
 " Quite. Now with that proviso I am prepared to 
 give you the command of our new steamer, while she is 
 in the builders' hands. I want you to watch our interests, 
 to supervise, in point of fact, her completion, and when 
 she is ready for sea we can discuss what follows. Will 
 you undertake this duty ? " 
 
 The star sank steadily. There were mists about the 
 horizon ready to swallow it. It faded, and in its place 
 O'Hagan saw months of dock work, tramping, wrangling 
 with foremen and surveyors, when his bones ached to 
 find opportunity at sea. In spite of his disappointment 
 he managed to simulate approval with 
 
 " Gladly, sir." 
 
 " Good. When can you join ? The ship is building 
 in Glasgow." 
 
 " To-morrow I can travel by the night train." 
 
 " Do so." McClure touched a button and a bell rang
 
 172 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 far off, at the other end of the world it seemed. The 
 head of the Pampas Line rose and said briskly, " Now 
 I think we understand each other ? It will be necessary 
 for you to see the cashier. If you will follow the mes- 
 senger he will direct you." 
 
 He held out his hand, smiled and ended the con- 
 ference. 
 
 " We shall meet in Glasgow. She is building at a 
 good yard Clydebank. There will be no questions, I 
 think, as to her seaworthiness. . . . Good-bye, Captain 
 O'Hagan. ..." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 The title mollified while it stung. It did not wipe out 
 the smooth sentences with which the calm business man 
 suggested his knowledge of the crux of O'Hagan's trial. 
 But it failed to produce the retort which a few months 
 ago would have leaped. O'Hagan was learning. He had 
 a feeling as he followed from that silent room that he was 
 on probation and would never again attain command ; 
 he knew that his face burned ; yet he passed on and came 
 at length to a room where sat the custodian of treasure ; 
 the man who added up receipts and doled out pay. 
 
 From him he drew " for expenses," accepted a pen and 
 initialled a book ; from him, too, in slow, hushed sen- 
 tences he learned that his pay would be twenty-five 
 pounds a month while in dock, that the ship would be 
 ready to sail in August and her name Strathmuir. The 
 latter he confided as though perhaps he was exceeding 
 his duty, and in the silence which ensued O'Hagan got 
 himself disentangled from the office and once more in 
 Leadenhall Street. 
 
 He came out confused, rather humilated, not quite 
 sure whether he had taken the right road, and reached 
 Fenchurch Street Station just in time to board a train 
 moving away cheerily for the docks. 
 
 The precision of it all had ruffled him, the rows of 
 desks with brass rails crowning them, the stacks of books 
 and papers, the crisp and formal attitude of those with 
 whom he had been in contact. Mental reservation was 
 shadowed through all the phrases. " Recollect," so ran 
 the admonition in O'Hagan's mind, " this fellow has lost 
 a ship. Watch him very carefully." All over the offices 
 were animated question marks, exclamatory marks which 
 bothered him. He felt, at his exit, something less than
 
 A PROBATIONER 173 
 
 a man ; a bit of mechanism that was it, as he puffed 
 down the street. 
 
 And that was his induction to the Pampas Line. 
 
 Once a captain of what was then called a merchantman, 
 read himself in on the quarter-deck of his ship, precisely 
 as in the navy ; now he penetrated to the business 
 quarter of a city, and learned from a cashier the extent 
 of his salary. Nothing about the Grace of God, Lords 
 Spiritual and Lords Temporal ; no hint at the King's 
 enemies or the necessity for discipline. . . . Eyah! 
 That, too, belonged to the era of Mayne Reid, Marry at 
 and a vicarage garden deep in the delectable heart of 
 Sussex where, as a boy, O'Hagan had dreamed dreams. 
 
 The Blackwall Railway, chuffy and alert with the new 
 methods, shook him out of this and presently set him 
 down by the collier with the rainbow funnel. That dis- 
 persed all megrims. 
 
 He saw her for the first time as she really was. He 
 saw that she was sans-culotte and shameless. When 
 before he had visited her it was at the end of a weary 
 round of failure. He was at the bottom of the ladder 
 and anything promising work was a long way up it. 
 Now he had reached the middle and stood there with 
 twenty-five pounds a month to his credit. Therefore he 
 wondered how he could have considered the rainbow 
 funnel. 
 
 Beside the slim, smooth hulls and black and red funnels 
 of the Pampas Line that rainbow thing seemed ribald. 
 The same suggestion of looseness was exhibited in her 
 gait as she lolled beside the wharf. She could not stand 
 erect, forsooth ! She had the appearance of one who has 
 been drinking, and her scuppers spouted filthiness upon 
 the placid and oily surface of the dock. 
 
 It seemed now that the boat with the rainbow funnel 
 was a scallywag of the seas, and William Tipton, when 
 he met O'Hagan, dotted the i's and crossed the t's to 
 emphasise it. He stood wet and smudged with toil at 
 the head of the ladder, a large deck swab in hand. 
 
 " Not coming, eh ? " was his comment. " Waal on 
 consideration I didn't expect you would . . . must be 
 pretty low before you touch the likes of this," he threw 
 out an explanatory hand, as though that were necessary, 
 " Think I would be here if I had your years and . . . and 
 friends ? " His vehemence seemed to point to some
 
 174 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 other last phrase, but with the pause he let fall a sneer 
 instead. " Guess not," he concluded, the swab dangling. 
 
 " Can you get another man ? " O'Hagan questioned, 
 refusing the issue. 
 
 " Another ? Fifty." 
 
 " I shouldn't like to put you in a hole on sailing day," 
 O'Hagan pressed. " I know what that means." 
 
 " So do I in a liner." He drew himself up. " Don't 
 fash yourself . . . we crawl out when we are ready. 
 To-day, to-night, to-morrow some time when God 
 Almighty isn't looking. . . . 
 
 " You get along home," he added in the drawling 
 snarl he had learned out West. " You are in luck . . . 
 an' that's a dam sight more than could be said if I kept 
 you to your bargain. ... I know," he concluded, grim 
 and uncompromising, " and if I stay here an' ain't 
 drowned, Sharum'll know tew." 
 
 He strode forward to place the deck swab across a rent 
 in the hose through which a column of water squirted 
 fountain-wise into an open hatchway.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 GLASGOW 
 
 IT happened to be raining when O'Hagan entered in 
 the early morning the great city whose ships had carried 
 him staunchly in all parts of the world. A thin drizzle 
 fell from the mist canopying the Clyde ; smoke ascended 
 in vertical columns ; there was no wind ; but glimmering 
 in the west the promise of a golden day. Well, well the 
 rain, at all events, he had expected. 
 
 He came from his hotel shaved, tubbed, and ready to 
 absorb the place. Glasgow as yet was but a name to him, 
 he knew it only by hearsay, as the phrase goes ; but it 
 was a name with which he had been ready to conjure. 
 Other places exist where ships are built ; a sailor, however, 
 bows before the Clyde. 
 
 O'Hagan learned that years ago, when, as a boy, he 
 clung to the mizzen braces as they squared yards in a gale. 
 They were running the Easting down and a lean Scotsman 
 dangled beside him, watching the sea which had boarded 
 them 
 
 " Three hun'ard tons there, my son," he yapped, " an' 
 never a whimper. Hear her runch ! That s Glesca's 
 handiwark. She kens what like it is doon here . . . ither 
 yards dinnot." 
 
 He spoke in a dull shout, his head slouched against the 
 wind, of the Clyde's city as a yard. All else seemed incon- 
 sequent, and the memory stood in O'Hagan's mind by the 
 sheer force of the picture. ..." Glesca does it ither 
 folk try," he asserted, hammering it in. 
 
 Again, when crossing the Bay, not long ago, the Clyde- 
 built Saladin came in with no more damage from the gale 
 which slowed her than a couple of sprung ports. But 
 boats " fra' ither yards " reached, if they reached at all, 
 swept ; with fewer men on their decks, without houses, 
 bulwarks, bridges ; and some were presently posted 
 " missing."
 
 176 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 All the world builds machines which float ; but Glasgow 
 builds ships. Even as some men build houses of Portland 
 stone and reinforced concrete, so there are others who 
 use corrugated iron and mud and wattles. In the East 
 you will hear it, in the West ; punching the seas off Cape 
 Horn or daundering through the Canal and Red Sea. 
 " There goes a beauty," " The Clyde sheer look at her 
 lines," " Keep them off the rocks and don't go full tilt 
 through the ice and nothing will harm them." These 
 are the phrases which stirred in O'Hagan's mind as he 
 peered about in the " wee bit rain." 
 
 Of course, he was aware that efficiency at sea is only 
 bought by a free relaxation of the purse strings. That 
 is the law always when the best is desired, and even so, 
 it is sometimes found inadequate. The difference between 
 a ship built by a great firm with traditions to consider and 
 a mushroom company is on all fours with the production of 
 an Elizabethan mansion and a suburban palace of the 
 jerry-built brand. 
 
 A man who is not cognisant of these facts were better 
 off the bridge of a steamer either in gale or calm, and cer- 
 tainly should find no place during her construction. 
 
 O'Hagan turned to look upon the Broomielaw, and again 
 his senses shivered. It seemed he did not know the Broo- 
 mielaw. It was fine. It was lined by shops, and the river 
 babbled at its windows. Plate glass received his shadow 
 where he had expected to discover smudges, a crude 
 assortment of " drinking shops," and tatterdemalions of 
 all nations, male and female, in possession of the side 
 walks. 
 
 Seated on spar ends, listening, in the soft monotone of 
 the sea, to stories of the Broomielaw, he had heard 
 Wisht ! he had heard what he had heard. And now he 
 was here, seeing it, drinking in the fact that there were 
 shops, shops exhibiting costly instruments, flags, books, 
 machinery ; that it was a highway of respectability 
 where reputations could be made, not broken. . . . He 
 stared again at the name. There was something awry with 
 this Broomielaw. He searched his memory for indica- 
 tions. 
 
 He had heard of it first from a half-drunken sailor on 
 the Maidan, an hoary sinner who announced to peering 
 Bengalees that he owned houses on the Broomielaw 
 " pubs," he called them " where a man might shwill all
 
 GLASGOW 177 
 
 day hie an' all night hie an' no dam' low caste 
 nigger police would bother him." They were taking him 
 to jail because obviously he was unclean. " Whiroo ! " 
 he challenged the guardians of Calcutta's peace to meet 
 him in the Broomielaw, when he would be pleased to show 
 them how many blue beans made five. It appeared that 
 he was a sort of king in the Broomielaw, and O'Hagan 
 drew near because, at first, he visualised a countryman 
 in distress and because of the iteration of that strange word 
 the Broomielaw. And here he was, now, in the midst 
 of it. 
 
 Glasgow lay all around him, and yet, but for the 
 trickling quality of the rain which fell upon him he had 
 found no sign he knew. 
 
 He had heard of the street preachers who stood on 
 little rostrums barrels the historians had termed them 
 to harangue busy citizens on the instability of their tenure, 
 and to warn them of the perambulations of a very potent 
 and alert devil, who waited with crutches to assist them 
 . . . but he did not see these pessimists. Nor was there 
 any sulphur in the air which could not be directly traced 
 to adjacent chimneys. 
 
 Then there came the memory of haggis to bother him 
 it was early, you perceive, and he could not yet enter an 
 office. All the streets of Glesca abounded in some way 
 with haggis. He had a mental picture that a Scotsman 
 could not live his day without it, and that when his rose 
 was blown he found it in the skies. Yet here O'Hagan 
 could discover no haggis. The disappointment troubled 
 him. He felt as a man who opens a book which, as a child, 
 held him enthralled, and finds it, not insipid, not rococo, 
 not contemptible but lacking in a certain quality which 
 once had stirred him. 
 
 Big shops no longer could put a glamour on O'Hagan. 
 City halls, sumptuous offices, electric cars, giant hotels, 
 and all the marvels of modern life left him cold. He had 
 seen them in New York, in Sydney, Melbourne, Cape 
 Town even, as he had seen them in London. They belonged 
 to the new era which men are so busy extolling ; to the 
 world of floating-palace-hotel things, with a swimming 
 bath thrown in, which some folk still term ships ; to the 
 rush after wealth, the hammer and tongs struggle to 
 reach affluence quickly ; to the crowded and sorrowful 
 tenements where all " those others " are penned. 
 B.F. N
 
 178 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 But of haggis, the Broomielaw, preachers, and several 
 other phantasies, including the mist which was rain, only 
 the rain existed. And that was failing. 
 
 In an irresistible quiver of complaint O'Hagan dived to 
 make quite sure there existed somewhere a Glesca similar 
 to that of which he had been told in watches beneath the 
 quiet tropic moon, in plains beyond the Hindu Kush, on 
 the peak at Hong Kong and presently he found it, not 
 far distant, but very gaunt and hoary, somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood of Bobbie's Loan. 
 
 The city clocks striking ten brought him post haste to 
 the Broomielaw, which was his point d'appui, and there 
 he found a telegraph office which would send a message 
 over the wires to Lucy. 
 
 " All serene, dearest," he wrote with a pen w r hich splut- 
 tered, " had a grand journey and now on way to ship. 
 It is some distance. I shall find out where we can stay 
 near. DEN." 
 
 Then after an interview with the ship-builders, he set off 
 by tram and came to Clydebank. 
 
 The rain had ceased and the promised sun had appeared 
 when O'Hagan stood on the dock wall looking down for 
 the first time at the Strathmuir. Pride was in his glance. 
 She was his to command, to take to sea, guide, nurse and 
 direct, and she lay afloat with men swarming about her 
 like bees about a hive. The steaming air shook with the 
 clash of hammers, the pom-pom like tap-tap-tap, veiy 
 fast, of the riveters ; the steely click of ratchets. There 
 were men on her bridge, on her stumpy masts, on her 
 rigging, and there were men who painted and polished 
 and scraped and cleaned, and men who smudged and made 
 dirty whatever they touched. A gaunt regiment of 
 workers all clad in the rust-coloured garment known as 
 overalls, which lent a warm tinge to the blues and greys 
 of the iron and ascending vapour. The sun was drying 
 her and she steamed at every pore. 
 
 To give some of these people foothold, planks were slung 
 over side ; others there were which dangled in the form of a 
 tripod high about the masts, others again which appeared 
 to keep the funnel and all that mid-ship section which is 
 the domain of a captain and his officers from tumbling 
 like a pack of cards.
 
 GLASGOW 179 
 
 The Strathmuir at this first view was a riot of unknown 
 forces to O'Hagan complex, complex, like a vision of 
 gigantic tussling. The energy displayed seemed inadequate 
 to the result. Phenomenal ! It appeared that someone 
 must succumb in so vast an encounter. The mere shock 
 of concussion was sufficient to produce disaster and yet 
 he knew that it would not be ; that presently, a month 
 hence, six months hence, the banging would cease, the 
 decks would be dry and the Strathmuir would glide out to 
 sea unstirred by the clamour through which she had come. 
 Unstirred ; but vigorous from the fight ; strong because 
 of it a wild thing to be governed, carrying in her frame 
 the characteristics of the North which had fashioned her. 
 Oh ! she was strong, virile, dependable the very anti- 
 thesis of that miserable Tramp which had undone him. 
 
 As he stood there watching, getting accustomed to the 
 savagery and gross turmoil of construction, the question 
 dawned when can she be ready for sea ? 
 
 He acknowledged at once that she was sturdy, that she 
 exhibited the lines he loved, that she would do, as the 
 saying goes but he could not pierce her processes. It 
 seemed that she could never be ready for sea a year 
 perhaps, six months ; anything far oft, tantalising and 
 visionary. And as he stood puzzling this there came across 
 the stage which joined her to the dock wall a man in 
 brown overalls, wearing a cap carrying a dim revelation of 
 badge and gold lace. He came near wiping his hands and 
 saying as only an Aberdonian can 
 
 " Ye'll be Captain O'Hagan ? " 
 
 O'Hagan scanned and said that was true. 
 
 " They 'phoned me fra' the office you were on your way. 
 It's a graund day," said the man of iron. 
 
 He paused, his eyes twinkling appreciation of the message 
 notifying him of a captain's advent " A dandy-like chap," 
 it said, in the voice of the chief clerk, " clean shaven and 
 with a fighting jaw mind your eye, Angus. . . . Mind, 
 also, he ca'd her a cargo-wallah. An' he wears gloves." 
 
 He made an end of polishing and held forth his right 
 hand, introducing himself as though that were necessary. 
 
 " Ma name," he said, " is Donald Angus. You may 
 have haird tell o' me, an' I'm chief o' the Strathmuir." 
 
 O'Hagan had no doubt at all on this head. Donald 
 Angus was of a type he had learned to know since his first 
 day in steam. He could be no one other than the chief
 
 180 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 engineer. He had the essential notches graven on him. 
 He was strong. He had many inches. He was self- 
 reliant, he wore a beard cut in the orthodox fashion, his 
 eyes were blue and they twinkled in spite of the fact that 
 he was a Scot and should be dour. 
 
 O'Hagan accepted his hand and they stood together 
 comparing notes, testing the qualities which each imagined 
 he perceived in the other. And for their medium, as is 
 the way with sailors, they had recourse to ships, steamers, 
 the ports of the world. O'Hagan presently mentioned 
 the Saladin, in referring to his life in the Eastern Mail, and 
 Angus broke in with 
 
 " I saw her in Melbourne, nineteen hun'ard and one it 
 was. . . ." 
 
 " I was third of her then," O'Hagan admitted. 
 
 " Were ye oot there when the Kingussie came in at the 
 end of a towline after nigh on a thousand mile behind yon 
 Shaw-Savill boat. . . . ? " 
 
 " No but I heard of it. . . ." 
 
 " An' I was second of her," said Angus. " Took sick 
 in Melbourne an' came ashore oot of her." 
 
 " I suppose you saw the rats were leaving her ? " 
 O'Hagan smiled. 
 
 " I saw enough to make me give her best ... if you 
 ask me," the Scotsman asserted, his voice low. " I saw 
 where you could blow peas through her doon betwixt 
 wind an' water . . . she that had stood her survey only 
 six months before an' was chalked Al at Lloyd's. . . . It's 
 these devilish freights that do for them when they're 
 aged. The iron's just perished an' you clap a bellyfull 
 in her of your worst an' send her where there's wider sea 
 room than in any other part of the world. . . . Doon 
 South, eh? Ou, aye ... I know ... I lairned aa' there 
 was to lairn whiles we are paddlin' oot Kingussie. ..." 
 
 " It isn't always age, though," O'Hagan interrupted. 
 " It's class, strength, build. . . ." 
 
 Angus nodded, his eyes sparkling. 
 
 " Soon after I joined the Eastern Mail they sent me 
 round to Belfast to take over a brand new ship which they 
 had chartered for emigrants," said O'Hagan. " She was 
 built for the West Indian trade, passengers and bananas, 
 and they sent us round to Liverpool to fill up with cement 
 and the devil you know the sort of stuff I mean. . . ." 
 " Aye do I," Angus hummed.
 
 GLASGOW 181 
 
 " Then they plastered her upper decks with wash- 
 houses and the rest, filled her matchboard, 'twecn-dcck 
 cabins with nine hundred emigrants, and sent us off 
 via Cape Town to escape canal dues on her road to 
 Australia." 
 
 Angus whistled. " Lose anyone ? " he asked with the 
 casual intonation of a man interested in statistics. 
 
 " We came very nearly losing the ship," O'Hagan 
 jerked out. " She opened out before we reached the 
 Western Islands. She twisted plates and panelling before 
 she got off the pitch of the Cape. Then we put her on the 
 Great Circle for Melbourne, and off Kerguelen she turned 
 round to ask for smoother water ... so we dry-nursed 
 her well up into the thirties without her top works, with 
 washhouses, lavatories and companionways swept clear 
 away, with panels working so that they would have 
 ripped your fingers clean as any surgeon and no charge 
 made. . . ." 
 
 " A new ship, you say ? " Angus questioned as O'Hagan 
 drew breath. 
 
 " First voyage." 
 
 " Built for the West Indian trade, ye say ? " 
 
 " Passengers and bananas." 
 
 " Wha got the sack ? " Angus questioned. " A 
 chartered ship ! Ou aye someone's got to stand. ..." 
 
 " The skipper and chief engineer got the sack," O'Hagan 
 tossed back. " If it could have been suggested in any 
 fashion that the navigating officer, purser or doctor had 
 had a hand in her direction we should have got the sack 
 as well. Made no mistake about that, Mr. Angus . . . 
 and so it would be here, for you and me if things feel 
 agley." 
 
 " Hoots ! " said the engineer, his eyes twinkling. 
 " Let's get awa' in ta lunch this is Clydebank, sir, an' it 
 will take us all oor time you an' me ta start sae much 
 as a rivet . . . put her on the Great Circle or whaur yc 
 will."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE CHANCE 
 
 A WEEK later Lucy joined her husband in the apartments 
 he had secured for her in Govan, and found him walking 
 on air. 
 
 In spite of the heartening result of Captain Worsdale's 
 telegram he had returned from his visit to town a little 
 inclined to question the decision he had made. William 
 Tipton and the rainbow funnel still presented a more pos- 
 sible mode of escape from the dead burden of failure he 
 faced. McClure, the Head of the Pampas Line, was 
 responsible for this. He had been so very solemn over it, 
 so definite as to the result, should certain contingencies 
 arise, that O'Hagan felt he would be unable to withstand 
 them. " You would have to go, you see that, don't you," 
 was the chord he had struck and it vibrated even in 
 Lucy's presence, her delighted comment notwithstanding. 
 
 It was the chord which had twanged for months 
 failure its burden. The solemn music of a dirge ac- 
 companying him wherever he moved. It had been 
 apparent to Lucy even when he was recounting, over his 
 hurried packing, the desirability of being in a firm like 
 McClures ; the opportunities he would find, " if only it 
 lasts." He went no farther than this in words. It 
 seemed unnecessary. Yet it hummed through all his 
 comment, like the leit-motif of a character in opera. 
 
 But now, as Lucy met him at the Central Station, no 
 hint of trouble remained. He had forgotten his insecurity 
 of tenure, the baneful effect of a Black List and the guessed- 
 at hostility of Sharum, Fit & Co. ; or, if he remembered, 
 he dissembled bravely. Lucy decided he had forgotten 
 and her heart leaped in thankfulness. To see his fine face 
 tortured by anxiety and doubt was terrible to his wife ; 
 to notice quick flashes of temper and the rather caustic 
 comment which sometimes arrived was pain unspeakable 
 and it would grow. To know that she and Baba must 
 add to his burden and in no sense could aid him was the
 
 THE CHANCE 183 
 
 last sorrow. It kept her awake when sleep was essential. 
 It would make her old, even as it would fashion in him 
 some other soul, some strange being who had crept into 
 her arms in the guise of him she loved. 
 
 And now she perceived he walked on air. His head 
 was lifted, his step elastic, his eyes brimmed with hope. 
 He took Baba in his arms and imprinted cautiously a 
 kiss on the wondering lips. He submitted gravely to 
 being punched by twin restless fists. He found the child 
 had grown both in weight and intelligence which may 
 have been true and set Lucy quivering. He threw out a 
 sentence in Urdu and accepted the gurgle he gave him as 
 wisdom. He was jubilant now, jubilant with the day's 
 exit because to-night he could talk with Lucy and tell 
 her of success. 
 
 He had prayed as a man does for success and it had 
 eluded him ; passed over mocking to that soul who 
 contended with him, leaving him wrung. He had caught 
 at its bridle and striven to mount, but he had failed. 
 Ignominiously sometimes, out of sheer apathy at others. 
 Until Worsdale stepped aside to help him he was like a 
 runner clinging to the stirrup. Exhausted, dust-covered, 
 spattered, too weary to consider the fact that a child 
 existed ... so he hurried from pillar to post, seeking to 
 win bread. 
 
 But now was another tune. The child reclined in his 
 arms to cut the air with sawing fists ; to mouth and dribble 
 and crow at him that small and amazingly cute personage 
 which had got himself born to the house of O'Hagan 
 without consulting either the stars or some Olympian 
 versed in prophecy. 
 
 A man who is on the Black List, whose father was 
 simply a poor parson, had no right with a child. A woman 
 whose father had risen no higher in the army than Lucy's, 
 who had got himself killed in a frontier row before he had 
 been able to prepare a dot for his daughter, had no right 
 to consider the beautiful sorrows of maternity. And a 
 child born of parents so wanting in practicality should, in 
 these days, have returned to the dark whence he came. 
 The world of men was singularly bare of comfort for the 
 Bottle-Filler who was his father. It would look without 
 emotion on any struggles he might be compelled to endure. 
 It would shrug shoulders over his lapses, speak if it 
 considered him at all in the slick phrases of condemnation
 
 184 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 which are its method ; then turn aside to run with bowls 
 of soup and offers of sustenance to those known as the 
 horny-handed sons of toil. A people these, who alone 
 can produce children without taking thought for the 
 morrow ; a people, in other words, definitely banded 
 together to extort from us that which our fathers omitted 
 to place to their fathers' credit. 
 
 The days passed in a dream. Glasgow perhaps had 
 cast its spell upon these two ; perhaps the Clyde with its 
 wonderful steamers which carried them now through the 
 Kyles of Bute, now to Arran, and once, on a memorable 
 day, by steamer and coach through Hell's Glen, which 
 lies at the foot of Ben Donich, and thence across the loch 
 to Inverary. 
 
 For a man so lately emerged from the hands of those 
 whose province it is to sit on sofas until debts, just and 
 unjust, be paid, this was sheer coquetting with Fate. 
 But on the morning of the day which saw them looking 
 up the loch from Inverary, a letter had arrived from an 
 agent in Riverton which informed O'Hagan in precise 
 words that he had a client who was prepared to take the 
 Deodars furnished for twelve months. The rent he offered 
 was one and a half guineas weekly and he stipulated for an 
 immediate reply. To this O'Hagan wired, " I accept," 
 then, like two children who have cast away a burden, they 
 started alone for their picnic. 
 
 The sun smiled, you perceive, and the lochs would be 
 wonderful. They, were triumphant at this "unforeseen 
 piece of luck," as Denis called it. The landlady's daughter, 
 too, made her contribution. She had discovered a fine 
 enthusiasm for the " wee bairn," and begged to be allowed 
 to take entire charge of it. So they started without fear 
 and returned shorn of many shillings but with hearts 
 attuned to that song which came daily with more assur- 
 ance from O'Hagan's strong bass. Success ! Success ! 
 at last, at last success ! 
 
 It was a reckless expenditure of those slowly earned 
 bawbees, of course ; but they were at that stage of ecstasy 
 with life and each other which seemed to demand outlay. 
 At this moment, had Denis found himself the owner of 
 an unexpected ten pound note, he would have taken 
 Lucy by the arm straight, straight to Glasgow's most 
 wonderful emporium and there spent it on a coat which
 
 THE CHANCE 185 
 
 should keep her warm. True it was summer as yet, but 
 love does not recognise seasons, and for months he had 
 been praying for that note. 
 
 Denis talked of the coat to-day for the first time at 
 Inverary. Hitherto he had not dared. He argued that 
 she plainly needed it had needed it all last winter. He 
 urged that the soft, dark, seal coney on which he had set 
 his heart would tone so well with her beautiful colouring. 
 He seemed, so he said in her ear, to find his future more 
 assured now that he had been taken up by McClure. 
 Twenty-five pounds a month meant three hundred a year. 
 There remained also their joint " unearned increment " 
 and now over and above all of it was this eighty-odd 
 pounds for their house. " We will go and see about it 
 to-morrow," he decided, staring at the beautiful contours 
 far up the loch, his arm linked in Lucy's. 
 
 It was recoil, revulsion, of course. From a state of 
 absolute dependence they had blossomed to a moderate 
 ease which plucked at O'Hagan's purse strings even as it 
 plucked at his heart. At last ! At last ! he seemed to be 
 saying in a paean of triumph ... as though in all verity 
 he saw himself free ; as though no Black List existed to 
 torture him and render him effete. 
 
 Had not Lucy stood very firm on the slopes by Inverary, 
 Den would have " blewed that tenner " before it arrived, 
 before he knew, indeed, whether he were to take the 
 Strathmuir to sea or not and if things afterwards had 
 fallen awry he would have consoled himself with the 
 reflection that, at all events, Lucy had her coat. 
 
 But Lucy decided that the fashion of fur coats would be 
 altered next winter. And Den accepted that in all faith. 
 
 So the days passed, each of them proving more 
 heartening than the last ; enthralling days which saw the 
 Strathmuir slowly growing fit, and the fascination of a 
 great yard taking surer hold. On Sunday afternoons 
 Lucy accompanied him to the works and walked sparkling 
 amidst the joists and struts and beams. They sought 
 Den's room and brought to it purchases they made, and 
 questioned, throbbing, whether they would be together 
 this voyage or whether Den would sail alone. All sorts 
 of theories jostled in their minds. Worsdale had advised 
 O'Hagan to say nothing about it, to leave it in his hands 
 and he would see what he could do. Incidentally he
 
 186 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 managed to convey the fact that he considered them mad 
 to think of taking so young a child to sea . . . but his 
 letter showed encouragement. That was everything. 
 
 Twice McClure paid a sudden visit to the ship and on 
 the .second expressed himself satisfied with all O'Hagan 
 had done. He made no allusion either to the Black List 
 or to Sharum's, and departed after throwing out a phrase 
 which O'Hagan could construe in but one way. 
 
 " I should advise you to see to the ventilation of your 
 room," he said in his crisp fashion. "It appears to me 
 they have overlooked it." 
 
 Now " your room " might mean anything ; yet Denis 
 arrived that evening in Lucy's presence with a hug which 
 was thoroughly convincing and boyish. 
 
 " My luck will hold ! " he chanted. " Another month, 
 oh Mem-sahib, and I shall have my papers back. Another 
 month ! Ye gods ! " and then, as though the mention 
 of time brought home his position, he suddenly paused 
 and said in a new voice, the voice Lucy had heard during 
 those months at Riverton " I wonder whether the 
 beggars will endorse it as they do a cabby's licence ? . . . 
 ' Suspended ' would rather botch one if it were stuck 
 across its face, eh ? " 
 
 " They wouldn't dare," Lucy flamed, her heart racing 
 swiftly in response. 
 
 " I am not sure about that," he answered and leaned 
 back, his dinner forgotten. 
 
 Lucy crossed and sat in his lap, compelling him to 
 make place for her. 
 
 " Forget it, Den ... it does not matter. Mr. 
 McClure knows you have been suspended forget . . . 
 forget . . . forget." She kissed his forehead. 
 
 He could not resist that touch. He kissed her eyes. 
 She ran her fingers through his hair. He was serious for 
 perhaps five minutes, then came the laugh she loved and 
 she left him to his dinner. 
 
 He looked across at her to emphasise McClure's phrase 
 " 'Your room,' he said, 'Your room, Captain O'Hagan.' 
 . . . Do you think he would have said that if he did not 
 mean I was to go ? " 
 
 " No," said Lucy. 
 
 " Nor do I." Then again he paused and added 
 " Oh, I wonder I wonder. . . . Faith ! I don't I 
 believe, Mem-sahib I believe, and so do you."
 
 THE CHANCE 187 
 
 Then, very naturally, Lucy said " Yes." 
 
 O'Hagan at this time was slowly finding his feet ; a 
 fact Lucy knew far better than did her husband. She 
 knew the strange and fascinating race from which he was 
 sprung ; its brilliancy, its dash and wit, its twin gifts of 
 eloquence and generosity. She knew, too, its red-hot 
 enthusiasms and its cold contempt of a life which stings ; 
 the brooding and still dreaminess which sapped its man- 
 hood and set it behind when it was essential it should be 
 up and doing. 
 
 She knew these things as one must who has lived in 
 garrison towns among soldiers and has known them on 
 The Curragh as well as at Colchester, the Plains and 
 Simla and Gib. And now she saw that Den came home 
 with nearly the same verve after a long day in a noisy 
 yard as he had shown at breakfast. He had stories to 
 tell her once more. Stories of his experiences mainly 
 wrapped about a personage who, presently, Lucy would 
 learn to know quite well " My chief engineer, Angus, 
 you remember," and the girl found them interesting 
 because she loved the teller. She found herself again 
 entering into his life, taking her share in the ups and 
 downs, precisely as at the beginning. 
 
 That gave her hope. She sought his eyes at all 
 junctures now. She saw them brighten by degrees. She 
 found them glowing with pride and importance ds he 
 came in for a hurried lunch. " I mustn't be a minute 
 to-day, dearest. They are lifting a big weight, and I 
 want to be there," came to be a phrase which meant 
 shortening their minutes together. Sometimes it was 
 " They are taking a turn out of her this afternoon, and I 
 want to get back." It sounded as though the ship were 
 a piece of string which had become entangled ; but Lucy 
 presently learned that he meant they were going to move 
 the engines. She became wonderfully alive to the 
 meaning of his technicalities. She took a pride in his 
 Lordship of the mute Strathmuir and appreciated the 
 terse phrases concerning her precisely as she had acquired, 
 in days long past, the use and meaning of Ai my orders. 
 
 You see, although O'Hagan had never shown any 
 churlishness during those long days before the trial nor 
 in the more terrible period since, Lucy had discovered 
 that he was less ready to laugh, more ready to sit and 
 brood. She hated brooding. It frightened her. She
 
 188 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 dared not consider what would happen if Den became 
 morose. One can never tell where brooding will lead. 
 She feared it with her whole, brave heart as a woman 
 will who has not yet seen cause to relinquish her ideals. 
 
 Then came a night when Angus arrived after dinner 
 carrying a newspaper an evening edition which O'Hagan 
 had not seen. 
 
 " I thought ye would like to see it. Mrs. O'Hagan" 
 he bo wed towards Lucy " will complain that I give ye no 
 peace an' wi' a sairtain truth, too. But this consairns 
 yon tug-boat we were talkin' aboot a few days ago, an' 
 I believe ye'll forgie me for troublin' ye. . . ." 
 
 He opened the paper and folded over a paragraph 
 which occupied the lower half of a column. 
 
 " You mean the Casa Blanco. ? " O'Hagan questioned, 
 a stern note already in evidence. 
 
 " Not our tug, Mr. Angus," Lucy joined in. " Oh ! 
 please don't tell us something has happened to " 
 
 " Henry Tompson," O'Hagan put in with a quick look 
 at his wife. 
 
 " A breakdown," Angus explained at once. " Nae- 
 thing more serious. . , . Hoots ! if she had come to 
 hairm I would scarcely be daunderin' in ta see ye wi' a 
 pipe in ma gills . . . nay nay but she's weenged f'r aa 
 that. Weenged an' it wull take her more than twenty- 
 four hoors to get in fettle if yon's true." 
 
 "Yon " was the account over which O'Hagan bent. 
 
 " Read it," Lucy suggested. 
 
 And Den, having already scanned it for horrors, decided 
 that he might. 
 
 " ' According to a cable from Lloyd's agents at Vigo ' 
 that's just round the corner in Spain, Loo," he ex- 
 plained " ' the captain of the Casa Blanca, which put in 
 here this afternoon, had a narrow escape from drowning. 
 It will be remembered that the Casa Blanca is being sent 
 by her builders, in charge of Captain Tompson, to Val- 
 paraiso ; and a certain amount of interest is taken in the 
 rather unusual trip, because of the small size of the 
 vessel which has undertaken one of the longest and most 
 stormy voyages possible on this round and singularly 
 turbulent world of ours. 
 
 " ' Of course Captain Tompson is not tied to time. He 
 dodges from port to port along the coast, and if he finds
 
 THE CHANCE 180 
 
 it necessary puts in for shelter, provisions, water, coal, 
 and so forth. But after leaving Corunna it seems the 
 weather became suddenly bad, and when off Cape Finis- 
 terre the little craft shipped a sea which swept her decks, 
 carrying away bridge, deck house and funnel. The 
 captain was tossed overboard with the rest of the wreck- 
 age, but by great good luck he secured hold of a plank 
 and was pulled on board none the worse for his immersion. 
 " ' We understand on inquiry of the builders that 
 orders have been despatched to proceed at once with 
 repairs, and it is hoped that in a fortnight or so the 
 small vessel will be able to resume her plucky attempt to 
 reach South America before the equinoctials set in. . . .' ' 
 O'Hagan looked up at Lucy, his lips in line. 
 " I should never forgive myself if anything happened 
 to them," he said softly. 
 
 " Pairsonally," said Angus without hesitation, " I 
 consider it just temptin' Provedence to go a trip like that 
 either on deck or in her engine-room." 
 
 " It's Hobson's choice for the poor devils who go, as 
 a rule," O'Hagan reminded. 
 
 " Aye ? " Angus mouthed, his eyes lifted. 
 " You see, he had been suspended," came quietly to 
 enlighten him. 
 
 " That makes a differ. . . . Ou aye, I can under- 
 stan' a man takin' a hand in such like cases ; but in no 
 ither, bar" he puffed it out with definite contempt 
 " bar he's wowf." 
 
 Lucy looked across reiterating the strange word and he 
 explained smiling 
 
 " Daft crazy, you would ca' it, but from what the 
 cap'en says, I gather the man was driven. . . ." 
 " Exactly. Driven by hunger." 
 
 " It's a job for a single man," Angus proclaimed, " or 
 a man wha's tired o' life ... I know ! They coaxed 
 me into takin' charge o' the stairn half o' that linked 
 foolishness they ca'd Stromsue //.," he rambled on, intent 
 on forcing a new interest. " You mind her ? " he inquired. 
 " A tank boat which was tae be towed to and from the 
 oil ports by anither tanker ca'd Stromsue I. because, you 
 mind, it will pay better to sail twa Stromsoes, wi' one expen- 
 diture o' fuel, than one. , . . Oh ! I know I know ! " 
 He seized the paper, tore it into two sections and 
 bunched each into a small elongated roll. " That's
 
 190 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Stromsoe /.," he announced, placing it on the table. 
 " She's a full-power, ocean-going oil freighter, wi' engines 
 aft an' a sheer o' deck in front like a turtle back. A bit 
 mast up for'ad, anither aft to carry the lights, a plank 
 bridge amidships . . . an' here's Stromsoe II., connect 
 wi' a string to her sister, daundcrin' along a cable's length 
 astairn, wi' no means of propulsion, twa stumpy masts 
 an' a place aft to steer. . . . Her decks were turtle- 
 backed too, awfu' to consider, an' my job the first I had 
 at sea, ye'll mind was to keep her donkey boiler for 
 emergency. That means heavin' in the towline an' sic 
 like foolery . . . an' ye'll understan' I had fine oppor- 
 tunities for keepin' a fu' head o' steam. . . . 
 
 " We were five hundred miles west o' Fastnet," said 
 Angus as he sat back and pointed with a pipe stem at the 
 models, " more or less. The night shut down early an' 
 we twa dafties are headin', light mind, into a green-like 
 bank o' cloud standin' like a shutter across the sun. 
 Stromsoe I. signalled us before dark, ' Mind your eye, 
 Stromsoe II., an' keep a good length hawser the night.' 
 We said ' Aye, aye go gingerly wi' us through that 
 scarp ! ' and in truth it looked it. ... 
 
 " Then came night and a blinkin' bit light was all we 
 had ta tell us jus' whaur Stromsoe I. led. . . . 
 
 " At ten o'clock," said Angus as he gave the models a 
 twitch which left them out of line, " we hit that bank 
 straight in the eye, an' it turned on us just for all the world 
 as though we'd angered it. Whiles blue flame flickered 
 on the edge an' there came the rumble of thunder ; whiles 
 again there was no sound and the night was black like a 
 drain. . . . The wind swept oot o' naethingness, hungry, 
 wi' a snap in it that set us dodderin.' It came at us savage 
 from a sweep across the ice in Baffin's Bay . . . an' the 
 sea got up to help it ; a sea an' me new to the game 
 that took my breath in smacks. . . . Lumps, Mrs. 
 O'Hagan, lumps o' movin' water, slopin' up to the stars, 
 sleekin' awa wi' a suck an' a slubber o' foam. . . . Hills 
 . . . ou aye, ye've travelled an' have seen . . . but I 
 wass lookin' now for the first time an' it took my breath. 
 It took my breath. ..." 
 
 He leaned forward tapping the table before him. 
 
 " Three o'clock came along an' wi' it a waste o' water 
 that made us jus' stand steel," said he. " Somethin' 
 twanged on the bow. We could not see what but we
 
 THE CHANCE 191 
 
 saw her nose rise like a wedge across a reeft in the clouds 
 an' then she daundered away on her own. ... I was 
 busy wi' the boiler an' the bearings which were warm, an' 
 did not see just what happened but the roll she gave as 
 she fell off in the trough waked me to some sort o' notion 
 o' ma sins. . . . 
 
 " I thought she was gone. I thought I had done for 
 good an' aa wi' winches, boilers, thrusts an' aa the 
 clamjamphrie of an engine room. I thought, ye under- 
 stan', I might begin an' say those prayers I had promisct 
 to say an' had forgotten . . . an' I began tae wunner 
 what like place it was we would fetch doon there beyond 
 they bashin' hill-set rollers wha'd torn us by the croop 
 an' flung us dodderin'. . . . Then up comes oor 
 skeeper ae boy he wass in years an' sets the signal 
 gaein'. ... ' Dot, dot, dash,' he jabbers oot in Morse, 
 ' we are adreeft stan' by tae pick us up,' or some sich 
 message ; but deil the Stromsoe I., did we see the nicht 
 ... or the day which followed ... or the day which 
 followed that deil the sight of anything at aa under 
 steam did we see for a week. . . . We just lay an' 
 grumphed at ae thing oor skeeper ca'd a sea-anchor until 
 ae liner happened on us an' walked us back tae Queens- 
 toon. . . ." 
 
 Angus leaned forward to collect his models. He 
 bunched them together and stuffed his side pocket. 
 
 " I did that when I was a bit lad," said he, " an' I'd 
 like tae do it again if I knew I would come oot the same 
 way. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan laughed and said to Lucy 
 
 " He means he came in for something in the salvage 
 line . . . eh, Angus ? " 
 
 " Aye, did I. . . ." he smiled broadly. " My share o' 
 that week's wark was roond aboot two hun'ard pounds 
 . . . an' I've been lookin' for chances ever since. ..." 
 
 " None in the Strathmuir, anyway," O'Hagan decided. 
 
 " Wi' Cap'en O'Hagan in command, I'm sure," the 
 engineer bowed, then with a chuckle which set the others 
 laughing, he added 
 
 " Eigh ! but we were a bonny pair for an under- 
 writer's reesk. Likely the premium was worth holdin' 
 too . . . for Stromsoe I. wass a ceelinder wi' engines in 
 her stairn, while Stromsoe II. was a ceelinder wi' none ! 
 I give ye my word I meant that trip tae be ma last
 
 192 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 whiles I was on it ma verra last . . . an' yet they 
 caught me in Kingussie doon south where there's no 
 lane o' steamships passin' tae look ye up an' speir how 
 ye fare. . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan withdrew his pipe and questioned " Any loot 
 attached to the Kingussie ? " 
 
 Angus shrugged over this. " We aimed it ... every 
 bawbee," he said with decision, " an' so did yon Shaw- 
 Savill boat. But there was no taste to what we catchit 
 ... it seems," he added, twinkling as he rose to go, 
 " Kingussie sailed wi' a writ of attachment on her which 
 no man, bar oor skeeper, had seen. ... I wonder," he 
 questioned dryly, " havin' regard to the fact that he 
 missed his share o' the plunder just by that, whether he 
 would be ready tae act in the same way ta-morrow ? " 
 
 He tapped his nose very gently over this. " It wants 
 thinkin' oot, yon," he said enigmatically. " Ou aye ! It 
 wants conseederation." 
 
 There came a letter about a week later from Jimmy 
 Barlow himself, asking O'Hagan for the sake of old times 
 to " see the missis " and explain the circumstances which 
 had compelled him to put into Vigo. He explained that 
 he had seen reports in the Spanish papers, " which fairly 
 took the cake for exaggeration." He was afraid, too, that 
 " some of those newspaper chaps would be laying it on 
 thick," and he " didn't want his wife scared out of her soul- 
 case." There was nothing in fact to scare a cat. The 
 Casa Blanco, was a clever little teetotum and a fine seaboat, 
 but he got caught by weather which he could only call 
 " foxy.' F 
 
 Then came his fear that he wouldn't get away "for a 
 month o' Sundays," and a question asking whether Cap- 
 tain O'Hagan had had any luck. 
 
 It was a breezy enough epistle, but it showed Jimmy 
 Barlow in a Mark Tapley frame of mind for the benefit 
 of his old commander which was scarcely convincing. 
 O'Hagan pulled wry faces over it as he sat discussing 
 with Lucy its optimism. 
 
 " If they give me command of the Strathmuir," he said, 
 " and we get away up to time ; we ought to come across 
 each other before we reach the Plate." 
 
 " Is that possible ? " Lucy questioned, her hands linked 
 round his arm.
 
 THE CHANCE 198 
 
 " Faith ! I have known stranger meetings at sea." 
 
 " Delightful ! " 
 
 " I'll write and tell him just when we shall sail and get 
 his itinerary . . . then, if he works it properly we could 
 nurse him a bit. We go over nearly the same ground," 
 O'Hagan decided, noting Lucy's interest. " By Jove ! 
 Yes I'll do it at once." 
 
 So he sat down and concocted a letter to Jimmy Barlow 
 giving him full particulars of the Strathmuir's coming 
 voyage, the track he would take, and the signal stations 
 he would try to speak. By this means, without in any 
 way interfering with his owner's interests, he might be able 
 to convoy the Casa Blanca across that sixteen hundred 
 mile stretch of ocean which lies between Las Palmas and 
 Pernambuco. 
 
 He wrote also to Mrs. Jimmy, explaining why he could not 
 come to see her as her husband desired, and advised her to 
 take as little heed as possible of what the papers said ; and 
 then sat down to wait, to wonder whether he had built too 
 certainly on obtaining command. Whether, indeed, by any 
 possibility he would be able to act as he had proposed. 
 
 And so it continued until they were within a few days 
 of the Strathmuir's trials. 
 
 Then one morning a letter reached O'Hagan bearing the 
 sign manual of the Board of Trade. He tore the envelope 
 methodically enough, and withdrew his certificate without 
 a word. But as he unfolded the parchment Lucy saw that 
 he flushed a sorrowful signal had she awaited it, to the 
 stress he felt. She scarcely heeded the assurance he tossed 
 her, his laugh was so stifled 
 
 " Good. It's my ticket and they haven't marked it 
 . . . By Jove ! If they had I don't think I should have 
 dared use it ... even if folks would have looked at it.' 
 
 " I was sure they wouldn't," Lucy breathed. " Yet I 
 am thankful to know it." 
 
 " So am I. Lord ! I have had the jumps for a week 
 thinking of it. . . ." 
 
 " More than that, Den." 
 
 " Mavourneen ! " He looked up quizzically and caught 
 her glance. " I believe," he said slowly, " you've been 
 afther watching me." 
 
 " Praying for you, oh dearest," said Lucy, and her arms 
 went up about his neck as he drew her close. " Show 
 
 B.P. o
 
 194 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 me," she whispered. " Let me see it. I don't believe 
 I've ever seen it." 
 
 So he showed her the rustling parchment with its 
 acknowledgment of the honours he had taken only after 
 years of hardship and preparation. 
 
 " I fought to get that," he said simply, " and when I had 
 it, it gave me about ninety pounds a year. Fine, eh ? 
 Cost me and the dear old gov nor seven or eight hundred 
 pounds, by Jove. . . . Took top rank too, see ? There 
 it stands ' Extra Master,' ' Passed in Steam,' ' Passed 
 new Sight Test,' ' Morse ' everything, by the Lord ! 
 Oh ! I'm like the bumboat wallah in Bombay ' Ebrey- 
 ting got, oh Mem-sahib, monkey no got.' . . . No ship 
 apparently in the world for me, old girl eh, what ? " 
 ' You have the Strathmuir, Den." 
 
 " On probation," he sang in her ear. " Wait a bit ! 
 I'll dish em. If I don't get her after all I shall know why. 
 I'll work a scheme I've been thinking out. We'll make 
 some pennies or I'll " 
 
 " You will have the Strathmuir, Den . . . you will sail 
 in her and it is I who will have to stay behind and wait. 
 I shall hate that," she whispered, clinging. 
 
 He held her close. " Then I shall chuck it," he decided. 
 
 " No no. You mustn't, Den. It is your chance and 
 you must take it. We will get along as well as we can 
 without you. . . . Promise." 
 
 He recognised the futility of argument with a shrug 
 " I believe you are right, he answered. " I'll have to 
 stick it, if they put me in. Eigh ! but I wish they would 
 decide. I'm getting desperate, Loo. It's the rustle of 
 this ' ticket ' thing that does it. It cost me so much . . . 
 and the poor old dad too, who couldn't afford it. Faith ! 
 I was never off his hands until he pegged out never, as 
 I'm a living soul. If I'd been trained for a barrister I 
 might have expected that sort of thing. That's the curse 
 of sea-going. There's no money in it nowhere to climb, 
 even if you are lucky ; while if you are unlucky you come 
 a cropper anyhow. ..." 
 
 Lucy checked him with kisses. " I prophesy you are 
 going in the Strathmuir, oh dearest," she told him. 
 
 " You are my cheery darling," he answered, surrender- 
 ing to her mood. 
 
 And as it happened, because mainly of the friendship
 
 THE CHANCE 195 
 
 shown by Captain Worsdale, there came one morning a 
 note from the head of the Pampas Line, appointing 
 O'Hagan to the ship and requesting him to make all 
 preparations for the trials which were to take place on the 
 following Monday. 
 
 Then, on Sunday, the day before O'Hagan expected 
 him, McClure came down to Clydebank while Lucy and her 
 husband were triumphantly putting final touches to their 
 cabin. 
 
 Mrs. O'Hagan was the first to scent the presence of a 
 stranger. It wasn't Angus, she decided, listening ; nor 
 any of the men she had seen, she continued, peeping through 
 a port which gave upon the deck. " He isn t a sailor at 
 all," she concluded, " but he seems to be coming here. 
 Look out, oh dearest ! " 
 
 O'Hagan looked and sprang back with lifted finger. 
 " It's McClure," he whispered. " Good gracious what 
 shall we do ? " 
 
 " See him, dearest," cooed Mrs. O'Hagan. " Make 
 love to him and send him away quite happy." 
 
 O'Hagan had nothing to say. He saw the great man 
 coming briskly aft, saw him enter the alleyway, and then 
 straightway darted to intercept him. 
 
 Of course he was too late. 
 
 " I came down last night," said McClure, as they met, 
 " because I did not much relish the Sunday travelling. 
 As it is fine I thought I should be able to go over the ship 
 er by the way " he was in the saloon now " did you 
 draw their attention to the ventilation of your room ? " 
 He approached the door, O'Hagan beside him. "May I 
 see it ? " Then as he came near he caught sight of Lucy 
 standing there looking out of an open port. 
 
 He halted at once and uncovered. " I beg your pardon," 
 he said, as she turned round. " I did not gather ..." 
 
 " I am afraid it was my fault, sir," O'Hagan put in, 
 flushed and amused. "I should have told you. . . . Lucy, 
 let me present Mr. McClure." 
 
 The owner bowed and Lucy made him instantly welcome. 
 
 In a general way, it should be said, McClure had no 
 knowledge of the sex which compels captains and officers 
 to beg for leave and is considered in the light of an encum- 
 brance by those who rule the various services. No doubt 
 there were women, wives, sweethearts, and so forth, in the 
 background, but, as a rule, McClure, in common with other 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 great shipowners, was not likely to come in contact with 
 them. To be friendly with one's skippers, as once had 
 been essential, was sufficiently terrible. Autre temps, 
 autre mceurs. To-day one simply did not do it. 
 
 But McClure, if he was not prepared to encourage the 
 old relationship, was what is termed a gentleman and quite 
 competent to recognise what also is termed a lady, when 
 he met her. This girl won her way in the first exchange. 
 She was bright. She was equipped with the essential 
 manner, and in a few minutes McClure was chatting with 
 a geniality O'Hagan had never yet seen him display. He 
 seemed indeed to enter quite into the spirit of the thing. 
 
 " I was afraid," he said presently, " that you would 
 consider me a nuisance, coming to worry you on Sunday of 
 all days ; but you very kindly show that I am welcome. 
 May we sit ? I have had a dusty walk. . . . Thanks so 
 much. This is a capital room,' his glance took it in. 
 " You must permit me to recognise your finger in the 
 details I see." His eyes were everywhere, yet he contrived 
 to discover that Mrs. O'Hagan was exceedingly pretty, 
 and a pucker of consideration touched his forehead as 
 they chatted. 
 
 He discovered in a very short time that Lucy had been 
 in India and had travelled rather widely for so young a 
 woman. This interested him, and he drew her out with 
 those leading questions a man of culture can so readily 
 and inoffensively propound. Lucy's life history was no 
 longer a sealed book. " The army," McClure decided. 
 " Quite. You cannot mistake the note," and as they 
 chatted he formed his opinion one entirely sympathetic 
 but unspoken. 
 
 Then for a while the two men marched solemnly about 
 the decks and bridge, peeped into the living rooms and 
 examined new points in the game of shipbuilding. A 
 workmanlike ship lay for examination. No giltwork, 
 no scrolls, no unnecessary elaboration, but, on the other 
 hand, no gingerbread at all events evident. Labour- 
 saving appliances, oh yes for that is essential where 
 labour stands on stilts and frowns and quibbles with 
 capital. But again nothing which had not been forced by 
 the insensate competition of rivals at home and abroad, 
 and the unending interferences of an authority which is 
 as greatly concerned with " belts and sashes " as a kindred 
 department which prepares the nation against war.
 
 THE CHANCE 197 
 
 They came back after a long inspection and found Lucy 
 with her travelling tea basket, her dainty china, and tea 
 already in the pot. McClure smiled his approval. He said 
 that he had no idea of the hour, but that he would have 
 discovered it long before he could reach his hotel. Very 
 gratefully he would take a cup. Then standing thought- 
 fully before the pretty picture Lucy made, he said : 
 
 " Are you one of those fortunate people, Mrs. O'Hagan, 
 who are called 'good sailors' ? " 
 
 She looked up to say she had never been ill in her life. 
 " And do you happen to be fond of the sea ? " 
 " I love it," said Lucy, her heart throbbing, her face 
 aflame at the direction he took. 
 
 McClure lifted his cup and noted its transparency 
 " Have you ever been to the Argentine B.A.* I 
 wonder ? " he asked her. 
 " No." 
 
 " And you would care to ? " 
 
 Again came the quick phrase which is on the lips of all 
 young people " I should love it," then suddenly she 
 
 paused and for some reason interjected, " but " and 
 
 was silent. 
 
 McClure drank his tea and replaced the cup. 
 He crossed the room, found his hat and stick, and quietly 
 returned. Lucy wondered whether he had heard her 
 reply. Her heart thumped furiously. McClure stood 
 before her holding out his hand. She took it and heard 
 him say 
 
 " Think it out, Mrs. O'Hagan. She is only a tramp, 
 you know ; but if your husband considers she is fit and 
 you would like the trip go by all means. ..." 
 
 He shook hands. He was rigorously polite. His tones 
 seemed a little more formal ; as they had been before he 
 took tea. Perhaps that was because he had read what was 
 in Lucy's mind, and glowing in her eyes. 
 
 She said with a delight he certainly recognised 
 " Oh ! but I don t need to think. ... I may go, 
 mayn't I ? I have been praying praying to go ... and 
 Den, please tell Mr. McClure what it means to us ... 
 
 for I can't, I can't " 
 
 On the whole one is inclined to believe that McClure 
 required no telling. 
 
 * JJuenos Ayres.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HEADING SOUTH 
 
 THE Slrathmuir dug with her nose at a Channel roller 
 which came meandering to greet her as she rounded the 
 South Stack ; but to the next and the next, all through 
 a bewildering sequence of them, she lifted as became a 
 ship thus early introduced to a sea. 
 
 As a matter of fact it was the first she had seen, 
 for her trials and the trip round to Liverpool had taken 
 place in brilliant summer weather. Angus, the chief 
 engineer, standing hot and smudged to cool in the alleyway, 
 said she did not seem to know what to do with it, adding, 
 as an afterthought, " but she'll lairn." Mrs. O'Hagan, 
 watching from behind a screen spread for her comfort on 
 the deck above him, decided it was the Strathmuir's 
 christening, and snapshotted the curving spray for a 
 record. 
 
 It was summer still in British seas, the depth of winter 
 down there where the Casa Blanco, proposed presently to 
 journey. Long days in the north, short, bitter days off 
 the Horn and in Magellan's Straits, which Jimmy Barlow 
 must pass. At the moment, it is true, he still moved from 
 port to port, dodging Pompey on his way to a new world, 
 and gaining experience of the Casa Blanca's moods. 
 
 In this matter the two officers of the Sphinx, who had 
 to clear their characters, were in like case ; but in no 
 other under the sun. O'Hagan went out to win fame in 
 command of one of Glasgow's best. Jimmy Barlow 
 pottered along in singularly good hands, but on a freak 
 voyage, his eye alert for portents, his mind intent on 
 winning through. Coasting, especially in a tiny vessel 
 which must be protected from too near an acquaintance 
 with Atlantic or any other rollers, is a harassing business 
 even where many men are engaged ; but the Casa Blanca 
 was unfitted to carry a large crew. A trip such as that 
 upon which Jimmy Barlow was engaged is very like the 
 freak trips sometimes attempted by acrobatic souls in
 
 HEADING SOUTH 199 
 
 open boats on the Atlantic. You may arrive at your 
 journey's end and you may arrive elsewhere. 
 
 But in this case it was not notoriety Jimmy Barlow 
 struggled to secure bread was the desideratum ; the 
 essential supply of bread for himself, a wife and three 
 children, who had already stood very near the Reaper as 
 he moved across the land. 
 
 At the moment the Casa Blanca pushed her way towards 
 Agadir, the townlet of Morocco which presently was to 
 thrill the Chancelleries of Europe and cause nations to 
 loose their swords. But at the moment Agadir lay still 
 enough beneath the African sun, and the stress of seas alone 
 hindered Jimmy Barlow. He had touched at Mazagan 
 and sheltered three blustery days at Mogador, whence a 
 message, the last O'Hagan was to read, came to the under- 
 writer's room on 'Change. " All well," it said. 
 Nothing could be briefer. 
 
 And here, through the glowing sunset of the north, 
 came the Strathmuir, deeply laden with British cement, 
 iron and machinery ; but walking with a surer stride, 
 the stride of a ship which, in spite of her burden under the 
 new rule, accepts the sea for what it is, a vessel which a 
 man can control one fit to contend with the force which 
 presently would stand over her. 
 
 Out of the black north she came through the flare of a 
 summer's gale, the sky above her blended for wickedness, 
 the sea leaping already to greet her. It was the small, 
 bustling, noisy sea of all narrow and shoal waters the 
 sea which gets up quickly, dies quickly, and is the anti- 
 thesis of the vast ranges which travel the world round 
 down there where the Casa Blanca presently must essay 
 a passage. 
 
 Darkness descended with the slow precision of the fifties 
 as the Strathmuir moved on in a growing whiteness. 
 The lights came out to give her their blessing Carnarvon 
 Bay, Bardsey, Cardigan, and at length Tuskar. The 
 Strathmuir 's compasses had stood the test, even as 
 O'Hagan's navigation had proved him competent. No 
 slipshod searching for lights, nothing to flurry men on the 
 bridge men new not only to O'Hagan and the ship but 
 to each other. 
 
 Red then white, red then white, Tuskar, the last of our 
 Channel lights on this side, flashed upon a Strathmuir 
 which presently would open the Irish land and meet all
 
 200 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 there was in the way of weather. Ireland lay behind it. 
 Wexford not far off, County Kildare, the home of O'Hagan's 
 people in the long ago, just over the way. A whiff of 
 the land came out to greet him as he passed, and for a 
 moment he stood bareheaded, staring into the haze. 
 
 The wind swept moaning over his country's hills. He 
 took deep breaths and returned to his corner. 
 
 Slosh, bang boom. Boom again in diapason. A flicker 
 of flying spray ; decks whiter, the glare of sidelights now 
 green, now red, reflected in rainbow tints on either hand. 
 Slosh bang boom. An immense incursion of water 
 trailing down steep decks, the hiss of spray on the fiddley 
 gratings. The banging of an iron door down there where 
 Angus had stood to judge her style. 
 
 The ship had scooped a deckload. Nothing more. 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock when Lucy woke to the noise 
 of gurgling water and peeped out. The cabin was full 
 of shadows. A small light burning on the farther bulk- 
 head threw a circle of white upon the upper deck, which 
 was the ceiling of her room. The wind moaned up there 
 where the gurgling culminated in sudden rushes of water, 
 as in a tilted bath. Footsteps crossed overhead at a run, 
 sodden, thumping, like indiarubber. She found it neces- 
 sary to discover why, and rose for the first time in her life 
 afraid. There was a solemn flapping too, a flapping which 
 seemed to shake the ship, which engaged her attention by 
 the mere burden of iteration. 
 
 She slipped to the floor intent on discovering Baba's 
 attitude amidst this turmoil. She moved in semi-dark- 
 ness, afraid to strike a match, and reached the gimbal- 
 slung cot which Den had discovered and purchased for 
 her peace. The child slept without whimpering, one small, 
 tightly clenched fist thrust out upon the rail. Lucy 
 captured it and, cooing, placed it beneath the blankets. 
 
 She was but lightly clad, and the wind sang a lullaby 
 high over head. It was the refrain she remembered 
 once when crossing to India in the SW. monsoon, the 
 refrain she had heard that night when Den's ship found 
 the rocks of Cornwall. 
 
 She decided to turn up the lamp and crossed to do so. 
 Then suddenly the ship stooped with a soughing note 
 which sent fear for her child surging through her. She 
 crouched by the. crib side listening. The deck sloped away
 
 HEADING SOUTH 201 
 
 from her feet. It rose to meet her. It trembled under the 
 weight of repeated blows, solemn, booming drum notes, 
 which reminded her of the bazaars, but were intensified, 
 monstrous to consider. She listened in a sort of panic, 
 but reached the lamp and turned it up. 
 
 That revealed to her a floor upon which everything 
 moved, sometimes to port, sometimes to starboard, Den's 
 hat box, a round, leather case this, rumbling with method ; 
 an armchair, which should have been fastened, waltzing 
 skittishly ; boots, a cake or two of soap flung from the 
 washstand, books and trifles which are essential for a 
 woman's comfort, all in arms, marching, doubling, charging 
 to add to the turmoil which was outside. 
 
 Lucy seized these things and tucked them away. 
 She was concerned with the hubbub which did not cease, 
 with the charging water, the thudding drum notes 
 which should have waked Baba, but did not. She put on 
 more clothes, dressing in curious attitudes, sometimes 
 clinging to the settee, sometimes sitting upon the deck, 
 her feet outstretched to keep her from sliding, tobogganing 
 down the slopes. She watched that swinging cot as she 
 laboured with her dressing, and presently, with a cloak 
 about her, entered the saloon. A dim light made it 
 ghostly. Trays and other strange fixtures swayed 
 solemnly in the gloom. A coat hanging there pictured 
 instantly a headless and satanic personage, grotesquely 
 making antics with limbs which showed no extremities. 
 She fled down the alleyway and came to the outer door. 
 It was shut and the wind drummed heavily upon it. 
 Then a great sea charged it and the water climbed, 
 gurgling over the high sill and the alleyway brimmed. 
 
 She ran back quickly and found a companion way. 
 She mounted the stairs clinging to the handrail, listening to 
 the boom of the wind past the open door. She looked out. 
 Darkness everywhere, darkness and flying spray. She 
 strove to shield her eyes and stare over the drawn cowl ; 
 but she could not face the stinging salt. She turned her 
 head and looked out with her back to the wind, and saw 
 without knowing it, the meaning of all this additional 
 turmoil. 
 
 A giant steamer fled by going up channel. Her decks 
 were lighted, tier above tier. Four great funnels stood 
 high above them belching smoke and a ruddy glow. She 
 seemed to breathe fire and smoke like a monster in pantg-
 
 202 THB BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 mime, and the roar of her engines and her passage 
 sounded like the blast of a furnace. Enormous, she 
 towered above that puny Strathmuir, scarcely deigning to 
 note her existence, pushing her over towards the land as 
 though the sea and the lights of England existed solely 
 for her benefit. 
 
 Never in all her journeying had Lucy felt so small, or, 
 in all truth, so frightened. She recognised that flying 
 mail ship for one of the vessels on which she had voyaged 
 without much thought ; as of the Saladin, for instance, 
 which moved so serenely with flowers and ferns on her 
 tables and rarely felt the sea in her face. She recognised 
 in those few minutes of panic that she would be alone in 
 this ship ; that Den would generally be on the bridge, and 
 that only two officers, a steward and a maid slept at that 
 end of the ship. 
 
 Then suddenly she remembered that Den had fitted a 
 telephone from the bridge to her room and that she could 
 perhaps make him hear. She could not face that swirling 
 sea alone, and she dared not leave the child, even had she 
 dared the sea. 
 
 She came back in a great hurry and found the child at 
 rest. She breathed her thanks and reached the telephone 
 to give her signal three sounds she could not hear. A 
 voice spoke after a pause which seemed interminable, and 
 she said, " Is that Captain O'Hagan ? " 
 
 " What's left of him," Den chuckled over the wires. 
 " Why ? Anything wrong ? " 
 
 " I thought we were wrecked," Lucy crooned at the 
 receiver. " Why is there so much water on deck and all 
 that banging ? " 
 
 " It's piping up a bit, oh Mem-sahib," came back the 
 answer. " Nothing to speak of. The usual thing what 
 Angus calls 'oor luck.' Go to bed, there's a dear soul." 
 
 " I thought you were washed away, dearest. I woke 
 with a number one scare, and the banging kept it going. 
 What is it ? " 
 
 " The drum all cargo-wallahs beat," he told her. 
 " Seas tumbling on board . . . nothing to hurt though. 
 She's doing fine more Angus for you. How's the 
 kiddie?" 
 
 " Asleep. He hasn't moved." 
 
 " Then do the same," he laughed. 
 
 "I'll try," she answered. "Night-night, oh dearest.
 
 HEADING SOUTH 203 
 
 You've got the best of it ... and, and I'd like to be up 
 there, too ! " 
 
 And as she stood listening for his chaffing rejoinder, she 
 heard the peal of a gong on the bridge, a sudden and very 
 clamorous note which found an echo in her sinking courage. 
 She spoke again. No answer came only the drum note, 
 the ceaseless thud of seas, the jangle of the screw and that 
 humming sound which filled the cabin, peopling it with 
 shapes and fancies which sapped her strength. 
 
 She replaced the receiver and crossed the room. It 
 swayed again as before, a steep, lurching bob, then up, 
 up with a quaking, creaking ascent which left her breath- 
 less. She reached her bed and climbed into it, sitting to 
 watch the cot, the tilting deck ; to wait for the gushing 
 swirl which told her a sea had washed her ports ; to listen 
 for the thud and roar of water which swept the ship. 
 
 She was not afraid in the sense that she dreaded personal 
 injury, or death by drowning ; but rather in that inde- 
 finable sense which comes of a highstrung temperament. 
 She was alone and quite unused to it. The cabins and 
 saloon which adjoined hers were tenantless and humming 
 with mysterious sounds. She did not understand the 
 difference between a mailship and a tramp even of the 
 quality of the Strathmuir. Her experience had been of the 
 floating palace order, and the wonderfully stable ships of 
 the trooper service. 
 
 She remembered passing ships in the Bay of Bengal, 
 the Arabian Sea and nearer home, burying themselves at 
 each dive ; vessels which writhed along like submarines 
 but without their stability or security from the slosh of 
 water hurrying always from this side to that. She had 
 looked upon the thing from the high promenade she footed 
 as something amusing, something akin perhaps to the lash 
 of waves on a coast, something to watch and laugh over. 
 And now she was imprisoned in one of these same vessels, 
 and not quite confident of her powers. 
 
 She felt rather ill, too. She had never been so before, 
 and she sat there in her bed, her knees drawn up, her arms 
 clasped about them watching the child, watching the 
 angles made by the cot, the lamp, the barometer until she 
 became dizzy. 
 
 The ship had entered upon an unending series of dives 
 and pirouettes and squealing sidelong lurches. Nothing 
 else under the sun, or that grey curtain which now was
 
 204 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 drawn across their world. Nothing. The commonplace, 
 everyday life of a tramp, which is known as a liner, 
 whether carrying exports of cement and iron and 
 machinery, or grain and gewgaws for the nation. 
 
 Four o'clock saw daylight peeping through the veil upon 
 that spurring steamship moving in the wake of Jimmy 
 Barlow. It sent a ray of light, beautiful in chromes and 
 green, into the saloon ; but only the greyness touched the 
 ports which lighted Lucy's cabin. It saw her leaning back 
 amidst the pillows, her cloak still about her, her eyes closed, 
 her dark hair thrown out across the white. 
 
 She had much to learn as the wife of one who com- 
 manded a cargo-wallah. Something to learn of trust, of 
 resignation of a life which leads no higher than to 
 minister to the wants of a nation too luxurious, too smug to 
 consider how it is tended.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A LEGEND AT DAWN 
 
 " OOR luck." 
 
 That, after all, expressed without persiflage the attitude 
 not only of Denis O'Hagan, but of his wife. Once, the 
 notion had never stirred. Now it had arrived as the result 
 of something they neither of them quite understood. 
 
 It is a phrase which falls very glibly from the lips of 
 those who are accustomed to pit their will and force against 
 Nature or the King's enemies. It stands in the repertory 
 of all, but is more real for those who fight an unseen foe. 
 
 We march a column of men in close order up a hillside 
 at night and are astonished that at the summit they are 
 wiped out " Oor luck ! " We set a steamship to cross at 
 full speed the ice drift which we know is there, and at the 
 impact display amazement that she has gone to the 
 bottom " Oor luck ! " We send a gingerbread collier or 
 time-worn coaster to face a gale, laden so that the seas 
 may comfortably climb on board and smash her, chip her 
 piecemeal ; and when she disappears somebody murmurs 
 " Oor luck," and perhaps it was. 
 
 At Lloyd's and kindred associations no doubt the luck 
 is discounted. But for all that, when it comes to add 
 up our losses or gains at the end of a year, there are those 
 among us who call it luck if the dividend is good, " oor 
 luck " if the scale is turned against a new set of sables 
 for the lady who honours us by calling us " dear ! " 
 
 Some men, it is true, can do nothing well, precisely as 
 some business men can make no money. That is in the 
 blood. It is rarely luck, although, in an aside to the 
 Almighty, we profess to believe it. It is something 
 either in the individual or the machine he tends some- 
 thing elusive. 
 
 As a Bottle-filler for the nation and one who, in common 
 with all other Bottle-fillers, had no jurisdiction in the 
 matter, Messieurs les Doctrinaires directed O'Hagan to 
 carry a deckload which made the Sphinx top heavy.
 
 206 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 They said, with the usual flourish, it was necessary to do 
 so in order that British ships might compete on terms 
 of equality with " those others " who, rival-like, are 
 banded to wipe us off the seas. Then when she became 
 unmanageable, and while the sea, aided by a loosened 
 deckload, chipped pieces off her, she went ashore to escape 
 further torture, and there were some who cried in the 
 worn old phrase " Oor luck ! Oor luck ! " 
 
 The banality of it all ! The supreme humiliation ! 
 Luck ! Surrender after a whipping, is what it is 
 nothing more. Surrender flung out in the drawl of those 
 a little hipped, perhaps, in the whine of those hammered. 
 
 It is not luck at all, but incompetence. Incom- 
 petence sometimes of man, it is true, sometimes of 
 machinery ; but more often of that power which stands 
 over both man and his machine Messieurs les Doctri- 
 naires. 
 
 O'Hagan had heard the phrase so often of late that he 
 was beginning to believe in it. He forgot that there is no 
 more certain method of becoming unlucky than by pin- 
 ning your faith to luck. 
 
 Witness this man's career. He stood at the top of his 
 profession, such as it is, with certificates of the highest 
 grade. An officer of the Mail-service no smudge any- 
 where. Then because of Lucy Faulkner's love he came 
 down from stateliness, and, to earn more, entered the 
 ranks as skipper of the Sphinx. There, if you will, the 
 element of luck came in. It was his fortune that he 
 accepted the word of a person who on the Turf would be 
 termed a welsher, warned off, branded. Thereafter any 
 man trafficking with him would do it at his peril ; but 
 that is not a method which commends itself to the ship- 
 ping community. It believes in competition open and 
 untrammelled. So too does the Turf but it brands a 
 scoundrel with " Welsher." 
 
 And now mark O'Hagan as he stood there to direct the 
 plunging, dividend-earning Straihmuir, She was fighting 
 her first gale. No soul on board knew how she would 
 behave. She was as new to the sea as they were to her 
 posturings. Every ship has her tricks, yet there was no 
 flurry in O'Hagan's attitude, no questioning indecision. 
 Experience in many vessels had taught him what to do, 
 and he did it. But already he mentally noted that had 
 he been able to control her lading she would have revelled
 
 A LEGEND AT DAWN 207 
 
 in more freeboard. Any officer on her bridge or in his 
 bed, either engineer, from Angus to the boiler-maker, 
 would already have been prepared to say " With six 
 inches more side she would be clean." At the moment, 
 though, she was dirty as the phrase goes, wet- one of the 
 finer type it is true, but wet and only a fraction less 
 dangerous to her crew than are the Sphinx-like vessels of 
 earlier days. 
 
 " Too deep, old son ! " sang one. 
 
 " She's bitten off more than she can chew, dry," 
 another. 
 
 And in the log-books mates and engineers entered the 
 stirring phrase " Strong gale. Ship labouring heavily 
 and shipping heavy seas." 
 
 In similar conditions though, O'Hagan remembered 
 that the Sphinx would have broken things up, as he 
 phrased it. 
 
 At seven o'clock he made his way aft to bathe his eyes 
 and take a cup of tea with Lucy. He had been on deck 
 all night as well as the whole of the previous day. Lucy 
 had been asleep only since dawn. They met with the 
 cry which was their new watchword " How's the kiddie, 
 Mem-sahib ? " and Lucy lifting from her pillows 
 
 " The kiddie's slept like a top." Then" Oh ! Den 
 I did want you last night." She snuggled in his arms. 
 He had discarded his oilskins and stood close. 
 
 " I tried to get to you once," she faltered. " I was so 
 scared." 
 
 " Scared you ? " 
 
 He held back smiling. She nodded, clinging the more 
 tightly. 
 
 " What of ? " he breathed. 
 
 She shook that off, lifting her face to his. 
 
 " I wanted you, oh dearest and, and I felt a new 
 sort of panic . . . don't know why, or what about. All 
 that jumping, perhaps, and the water pouring over us ... 
 will she be like that always, Den ? " 
 
 " While the bunkers are full," he answered, " and there's 
 a gale . . . she will get better though when we've burnt 
 a bit more coal." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " Three or four days." 
 
 " But we shall be in fine weather then ? " 
 
 " Yes "
 
 208 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Ci Then that won't help us, Den." 
 
 " I admit she's a bit wet," he admitted ruefully. 
 
 " Wetter than you expected ? " 
 
 " Yes perhaps. . . . No, I can't say that. They are 
 all wet these days. It's the way she's loaded . . . but 
 she's solid, safe as houses. Come on deck and see how she 
 goes through it. She's fine. If you had been in the old 
 Sphinx you would see the difference. This is yachting. 
 Get some things on and come on deck." 
 
 ** What about the kiddie, dearest ? " she whispered. 
 
 They turned to consider this and found the boy asleep, 
 rosy, beautiful. 
 
 " He's snug enough," O'Hagan smiled. " Put Mrs. 
 Cruickshank in charge and come up for a blow. It will 
 do you good." 
 
 She pushed back the blankets and he discovered that 
 she was dressed. 
 
 " Good gracious ! All standing ! " he chuckled. " You 
 don't mean to say you've been like that all night ? " 
 
 " Since one o'clock, oh dearest," she smiled up at him. 
 " You see I was alone, Den . . . and, and I hadn't got 
 used to the the jumping I expect." 
 
 He considered this gravely as she climbed from bed. 
 For a moment it came into his mind that she no longer 
 had confidence in his skill : that the wreck, trial, and 
 suspension in which he had become involved, had cost 
 him more than he dreamed. But a glance at the sunny 
 smile she lifted disarmed him. 
 
 " Come out," he whispered, " it will do you more good 
 than anything else. Come out you are my Queen." 
 
 She stood still, uncertain of his meaning. 
 
 " For a moment," he explained, " I thought you were 
 afraid because oh, because I lost the Sphinx." He 
 laughed, but she caught his arm and clung there throbbing. 
 " Stupid, wasn't it," he commented. " I am jolly glad 
 you were able to come with me, if it is only to show you 
 what a fool . . ." 
 
 He paused ; her breast pulsed beneath his hand and 
 hers. She said softly 
 
 " Was that necessary, Den ? " 
 
 " Which ? " 
 
 " To test me ? " 
 
 " No no . . . but those beasts rubbed it in so and 
 your uncle scarcely softened the sting," he fumbled,
 
 A LEGEND AT DAWN 209 
 
 flushed and curiously boylike. " I was beginning to 
 think everybody must have a sort of feeling that I was 
 more or less a fool . . . and, and I couldn't bear that 
 from you, Mem-sahib. ..." 
 
 " You need not fear," she whispered, halting him. 
 
 " Yet it crops up, you know," he added, staring at the 
 leaden horizon which declined swiftly as they swayed 
 near a port. 
 
 " Banish it, my darling," she begged, her face alight 
 and swiftly pleading. 
 
 He took that with a smile, a touch of the brogue pushed 
 out to calm her. 
 
 " I'll thry," he said. " Sure, an' you would wheedle 
 the stock off an anchor wid your blarney. There . . . 
 I promise," he kissed her lips. " An' it's well for me an' 
 you there's no one to see how you thwist me round your 
 finger. Come on deck, mavourneen, come on deck and see 
 her go. I'm in luck at last and want you to know it." 
 
 " Of course you are," she laughed. " I brought it ! " 
 
 B.F.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 LAVS DEO 
 
 FROM her point of vantage on the Strathmuir'' s screened, 
 lower bridge it seemed to Lucy that the ship no longer 
 moved. In her cabin she had been sensible of an immense 
 speed, a headlong butting at the seas which hissed past 
 her ports ; but up here all that gave place to something 
 entirely unlike speed, something indeed pointing to a halt. 
 She could not reconcile the two conditions, and Denis, 
 who was already gone to the navigator's bridge to direct 
 their progress, could not be called on to explain. 
 
 Lucy stood in consequence alone, clinging to the rail, 
 a rope girdle about her waist. It seemed necessary to 
 examine this problem which had so frightened her during 
 the night. Up here it was flustering and tremendous. 
 Den called it a summer's gale ; but the Strathmuir made 
 a terrible to do at facing it that she admitted thrilling. 
 It was indeed a fine slashing, head and heels dance, at 
 once inspiring and dreadful to consider. Did all ships 
 kick these capers ? She questioned it. 
 
 A sea creamed over the rail and immediately beneath 
 her was a white yeast of foam water hurrying from side 
 to side, bubbling, noisy and beyond the narrow and 
 tilting construction she footed it was worse. The 
 Strathmuir looked like a plank on a boiling sea. In all 
 her travels to and from India, China and Egypt, Lucy had 
 never seen the sea quite like this, never been so near its 
 bristles, never had dinned in her ears its message of supreme 
 and herded contempt for mankind, his ships and his 
 formulas. Nor had she ever before considered the 
 matter. 
 
 From the high and secure insecurity of those decks she 
 had been accustomed to promenade the seas had usually 
 appeared very futile, small and tame. The passengers 
 engaged in marching airily their mile or so, to create a 
 breakfast or dinner appetite, were ready to appraise them 
 at something less than their full value. They were ready
 
 LAUS DEO 211 
 
 indeed to accuse the dear old Saladin of rolling, the 
 monotonous and rather solemn roll of a heavily weighted 
 pendulum ; but they had never quite understood what 
 rolling was. And now Lucy was taking it in ; acknow- 
 ledging, too, that it was less tame here, less smooth, more 
 touched with danger for those who walk the deck, tend 
 a ship, and get her in face of odds from port to port. 
 
 As far as the eye could see, perhaps a mile, perhaps 
 two, was a whitened circle of valleys and hills in im- 
 pressive and kaleidoscopic ranges. The Strathmuir moved 
 amidst these seas as a runner on ski labours upon an uneven 
 surface. She floundered among hills which rolled to 
 greet her. She came down one and found another at 
 her toes. She dug into it, climbed cheerily to its summit, 
 see-sawed there asking how she should take it, then flounced 
 quaking in the hole it had left in its wake. There was no 
 end to those hills. If she happened to be on even keel 
 when one passed she drank greedily on either side ; if 
 she lay over, she scooped of the thing in tons, and the 
 jar of its advent sent a thrill all through her strained 
 butts as she picked herself amazingly white from the hole. 
 
 Well, after all, that was her business. 
 
 As Lucy had discovered, she moved very slowly. At 
 first it appeared that she could never by any contrivance 
 of jerks climb back from a dive ; but with time it became 
 evident that this was her considered method of pro- 
 gression in what Den had called " a bit of a flare up." 
 Perhaps. And when they took into account the wonder- 
 ful switchback they traversed, it was plain why the ship 
 seemed to dive ten times at one hole before gathering way 
 enough to reach others. 
 
 It was all very marvellous. The ship suggested by her 
 posturings that this was nothing, very small beer, that 
 one should wait until a sea arrived such as would be 
 found out of soundings. This was a babble, a boiling 
 pot into which the blunt wedge of her bow plunged, hid, 
 and presently emerged climbing the grey dome as a matter 
 of course. She had, perhaps, the sense of victory each 
 time she emerged, the sense which a man finds who shows 
 day after day some trick of wonderful risk in mid-air, 
 knowing that it adds zest to the " turn." But all this 
 was really thought out in Glasgow, hammered into her in 
 steel, trimmed and twisted and rolled into that degree 
 of endurance which comes at length to be reckoned as 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 seaworthiness. The old Sphinx would have twisted out 
 rivets in this hubbub ; the Strathmuir marched as though 
 no hubbub were there, slowly it is true, with the grind 
 and crunch of a steam-roller. 
 
 With her maw full, full as Liverpool dare cram it, full 
 as London or Cardiff or Glasgow itself in these days could 
 cram it, she sloshed like a half-tide rock through seas 
 which could not harm her as they would some others, but 
 would easily harm those who tended her. 
 
 Down there in the well of the ship Lucy presently 
 realised was a hatchway which at daylight men dis- 
 covered " somehow " stripped of a tarpaulin. The boiling 
 Channel seas had done this. Men appeared amidst the 
 swirl drenched and exclamatory as they fought for safety. 
 If one tarpaulin is ripped the others may follow ; if one 
 set of clamps and wedges is torn away all are in danger 
 therefore it is essential always to repair damages when 
 they are seen. 
 
 Four or five men were at work in this pit which Lucy 
 faced wondering. How long they had endured she did 
 not know. It made her gasp to watch them. She was 
 unconscious of their danger but conscious of their 
 bedraggled appearance, of the flattening power of the 
 seas which struck them. From the security of a mail- 
 ship's deck it would have seemed amusing as to watch the 
 tub-tilters who gain a livelihood by fooling in the surf of a 
 watering-place ; but on the Strathmuir' 's bridge, not very 
 high above the main deck, Lucy was too near to qualify 
 for applause. Besides, Denis seemed anxious. He was 
 manoeuvring the engines and the helm so that the 
 Strathmuir should not add to the men's danger by pro- 
 ceeding too jauntily. Now and again his voice was 
 raised in warning, then the men made haste to escape, and 
 again returned to hammer and wrestle with screws, bars, 
 wedges and a great black cloth which they were fastening 
 upon the others. 
 
 They worked in rushes. Sometimes nothing at all 
 was done. Sometimes laughter was heard, sometimes the 
 jargon men talk when engaged in a fight. Then Lucy 
 noted a cry, short and crisp, from the navigating bridge 
 " Look out, there ! " and found herself breathless and 
 clinging more tightly to the rail she faced. She could not 
 then have explained why she clung, why it suddenly 
 seemed that she was hanging over a trap which was
 
 LAVS DEO 213 
 
 bottomless ; but she knew that a great weight had come 
 upon her arms, a weight which strove to force her back- 
 wards. It was her own weight. 
 
 The Strathmuir had stumbled on "a nasty one," that is 
 all. One of those odd rollers which march the playground 
 looking for something to knock down, bowl over and maim. 
 The men who worked on the hatch felt the thing coming. 
 It was foreshadowed by the appalling climb attempted 
 by the Strathmuir, by the swift death of the wind, and the 
 breaker-like roar which crashed upon the silence. They 
 heard, too, O'Hagan's shout and made for security in a 
 bunch ; but the sudden spring of that giant of Soundings 
 shook them and one stumbled. 
 
 Then the sea swept solid as a wall upon the bulkhead, 
 and taking the fallen sailor on its tide, used him as a 
 battering ram ; as a bolt thrown by a catapult upon 
 walls of steel rolled in the mills of Glasgow. 
 
 It is known as soft steel ; but it sufficed. And when the 
 man was very still the seas which filled the well played 
 rounders with him until those who were unsilenced rescued 
 what was left of him and carried it below. 
 
 Broken arms, thigh bones, shanks ; dislocations, abra- 
 sions, Bottle-fillers the world over are prepared to doctor ; 
 but a skull which has received injuries at the hands of 
 mild steel is beyond all amateur surgery. 
 
 Therefore the man died, and the sea down there by the 
 Great Sole Bank received him in the grey dawn which 
 followed. 
 
 There were, of course, those on board who, arguing from 
 the plenitude of their knowledge, saw in this christening 
 incident an omen of what is called bad luck. 
 
 There were others who considered that after all it is as 
 comfortable to be knocked out by a sea as in a crank-pit ; 
 as well to be brained on deck as driven mad in an engine- 
 room. There were others, a minority too, who said that 
 if a man can't look after himself when a ship is in a sea-way, 
 it is his own fault if he is hurt. There were others who 
 talked viciously and stupidly of what they would do with 
 the head of authority, could they " get it in that wash." 
 They damned the new rule, the men who framed it, the 
 experts who advised it but with greater vehemence they 
 damned the personage who, in the seclusion of his office, 
 made it what they called " Law."
 
 214 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Angus, however, in an aside to Mrs. O'Hagan, summed 
 up the situation without having heard the varying 
 comments. 
 
 " All ships are dirty under the new order," he said, 
 " but some are dirtier than others. Wait till we get out 
 of this popple before ye smudge a verra desairvin' 
 steamship.' 
 
 And to Lucy's astonishment her husband rather backed 
 this opinion. 
 
 " I have very little doubt from what the mate tells me, 
 that the man was a bit of a greenhorn," he announced. 
 " You can't play the fool when a ship is deep and in a 
 sea-way. Poor devil he knows that now." 
 
 They all knew. 
 
 As the hours passed, and by slow degrees the sea became 
 less broken, they recognised that only a staunch vessel 
 could have emerged from that stirred-up wrath unharmed. 
 Then as they drew out of it, they met the Atlantic roll. 
 
 They still climbed and fell in ordered monotony, 
 rolled, twisted, lurched ; they still filched something from 
 each giant as it passed ; but there remained no longer 
 to harass them the thing seamen call a " popple," a 
 " boiling pot " with deceptive adjectives flaringly evident ; 
 they had come out of that and discovered once more the 
 Atlantic hills and dales. They found comfort in the fact. 
 
 Then when they were rather more than midway across 
 the bay, the wind moved to the north and fell. Finisterre 
 they passed in a glassy calm, the sun pouring down upon 
 them, decks dry, sailors basking, firemen sweltering 
 sea boots turned with mouths gaping, set wide to the heat. 
 Vigo, where Jimmy Barlow had put in to repair damages, 
 they passed as though it were not. The Burlings looked 
 down upon them, through a heat haze which miraged 
 the further land. Roca took signals from flags which 
 stood out only because impelled by the draught of the 
 ship's passage. Lanes of steamers converge here. From 
 the north they come, from the south, from the east, some 
 few from the west, drawing long lines of smoke upon the 
 blue sea. In the main they are the ships which feed 
 England and carry her produce to the lands of the sun. 
 
 And so, now with a light breeze fanning them from the 
 west, now with the dawdling north-east trades, they moved 
 on, gaining slowly on the little Casa Blanca, the will-o'-the-
 
 LAVS DEO 213 
 
 wisp tug which was to win back a man's honour. They 
 questioned of the signal stations had she passed, and 
 received a last word of her progress at the De Verdes. 
 They learned that Jimmy Barlow was pushing on, that 
 he was " all well," and judged him to be halfway across 
 that great stretch which lies between the islands and 
 Pernambuco. 
 
 O'Hagan pored over the chart plotting out Jimmy 
 Barlow's will-o'-the-wisp passage with as keen an interest 
 as that given to his own. He was in the tropics, somewhere 
 between St. Paul's Rock and Fernando Noronha, that 
 signal island for the old time sailing ships warning them 
 to stand east if they desired to escape the calms of Brazil. 
 
 The Strathmuir was in the tropics also. Lighter than 
 when she faced that gale in Soundings, awnings spread over 
 her, clinkers ascending from the great mouth of her funnel 
 and descending in showers upon their whiteness. Dream- 
 days of airy brilliance, the wind presently coming across 
 the smooth sea in violet patches from the south ; still 
 nights of starlit radiance when Lucy sat in a long deck 
 chair at work on Baba's small garments, and Den reclined 
 beside her, the bridge less imperiously his master. 
 
 She had learned to know the gallant Strathmuir and 
 to trust her buoyancy. The close approach of the sea 
 no longer troubled her. The tilting, climbing misery of 
 a sea-way were things pushed away and forgotten. Baba 
 took kindly to his experience, crowed, drank, gurgled 
 and grew amazingly wise. He learned that hair was 
 provided in order to be pulled, and pulled it. He learned 
 that it is fine, in the tropics, to be without shoes, and 
 twisted toes in triumph. He learned to wear fewer 
 garments. 
 
 Den, too, had forgotten his troubles. He was the boy- 
 man Lucy had learned to love on the Saladin, a little 
 graver perhaps, as became the father of a son and heir and 
 the master of a ship's progress ; but her sailor-lover whose 
 destiny as a commander in the Eastern Mail service, 
 R.N.R., and perhaps R.D., and D.S.O., had been changed 
 for the masterhood of a tramp in order that they two might 
 journey through life together. 
 
 They confessed content. At the moment they asked 
 no other happiness. 
 
 The Strathmuir moved alone in these days, the sole occu- 
 pant of a circle which held them for its hub. The track
 
 216 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 they drew was but the beginning of an endless array which 
 the years must see. It vanished now in a northern haze, 
 and with its growth had vanished trouble. God be 
 praised ! 
 
 Sometimes they crossed a shoal of porpoise and leaned 
 out to watch the gambolling ; sometimes that pink and 
 white fragility we know as the nautilus was the sole 
 adventurer in their path ; sometimes, with clipping note, 
 a shoal of flying fish dashed past their bulk. For the rest 
 there was quiet, a placid sea of marvellous iridescence, 
 clouds of the filmiest, and the ceaseless throb of the heart 
 of the ship, deep down where Angus and his men worked 
 shirtless and unashamed. 
 
 Peace had fallen upon the fortunes of Denis O'Hagan, 
 Lucy O'Hagan, and that small O'Hagan who had had the 
 temerity to get himself born. Peace at the beckoning of 
 Worsdale, the king and fine judge of men. 
 
 But beyond stood McClure, even as beyond the tropics 
 there stood for Jimmy Barlow the Southern Ocean.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE WAY TO THE STAES 
 
 AMIDST the flat brownness of that shallow and turgid 
 estuary to which the Spaniards gave the ringing name of 
 Rio de la Plata, the Strathmuir's voyagers presently 
 descried their will-o'-the-wisp friend, the Casa Blanca. 
 The river which receives the mud and rotting vegetation 
 of the Parana, Uruguay, and their giant tributaries, carried 
 over there beyond the lightship, shoulder high, a little 
 tug at anchor, dressed in flags. 
 
 It was the rainbow dressing that drew O : Hagan's 
 glasses to search her out, and in a moment his practised 
 sailor eyes told him of Jimmy Barlow's success. They 
 drew nearer and espied Jimmy Barlow himself marching 
 his small bridge, telescope under arm, ready at the correct 
 moment to salute his old commander. 
 
 They drew alongside, going dead slow, and a cheer fell 
 on Jimmy Barlow's ears to encourage him. Then O'Hagan's 
 voice speaking through a megaphone said 
 
 "Well done, Casa Blanca'" and Jimmy Barlow 
 thrilled as he stood at the salute, his small Chilean ensign 
 dropped to the taffrail while the giant moved past. 
 
 " I am sailing to-night," crooned Jimmy, when the 
 ensigns again fluttered at the trucks. " I meant to sail 
 this morning, but I heard you were spoken." 
 " Come on board ! " O'Hagan cried. 
 " I will, if I swim," returned Jimmy Barlow ; then he 
 made for a boat which hung at the quarter. 
 
 " Stop ! " came the order, and instantly the engine 
 room telegraph clanged. The pilot was amazed, but he 
 considered it wise to take no heed of the affront. It was 
 obvious there would be but little delay, and the brown 
 flood ran smoothly past, gurgling with the weight of the 
 slime it carried. He crossed over and stared at the small 
 tug which had brought this stately one to a halt. These 
 capitans of ships Ingleses were strange beings. Masterful 
 oh, yes ! He twisted a cigarette, lighted arfd breathed
 
 218 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 smoke. " Bime-by, in little time or in big time, we go 
 on 'gain. No importa." 
 
 He remained watching until Jimmy Barlow climbed on 
 board and O'Hagan ran down to the lower bridge to greet 
 him. He saw him grasp O'Hagan's hand and heard 
 that strange capitan, who so far had spoken neither of 
 welcome nor of his voyage to the pilot, say 
 
 " By gad ! Jimmy, but this is great. I do like your 
 pluck. . . . Come up and see Mrs. O'Hagan." 
 
 The pilot lifted his shoulders and, looking down, said 
 scathingly 
 
 " Per'aps now, Senor Capitan, we make move of the 
 engine go on no ? " 
 
 " Certainly, pilot. By all means. I will be there in a 
 minute." 
 
 The Strathmuir responded once more to the thrill of a 
 propeller which had pushed her thus far in safety over 
 the seas. 
 
 And on the lower bridge Lucy and Denis and Jimmy 
 Barlow exchanged rapidly the outstanding features of 
 their individual trips. . . . 
 
 " Oh, yes she's a fine sea-boat ; but I got an awful 
 dressing off Finisterre . . . thought she was for down 
 the cellar," said Jimmy Barlow, his face puckered with 
 laughter. He fingered the new stubble which covered 
 his chin as of old. 
 
 " Ah ! we heard of that . . . heard you had gone on, 
 too ; then we started and got caught in Channel." 
 
 " Edge of Soundings, sir ? " 
 
 " Faith ! You've hit it." 
 
 " I got through there pretty slick," said Jimmy Barlow. 
 
 " And we got it fine in the Bay." 
 
 " Just where I had it rough. I got no peace till after we 
 left Agadir . . . since then we've been yachting. Fallen 
 on our feet, sir, in spite of 'em." He shadowed the Board 
 of Trade here and the straits they had endured since their 
 trial at Jake Hall. " Who would have thought it ? " he 
 inquired, his eyes grave, the cockney accent pushed away. 
 
 " Neither of us," O'Hagan admitted. 
 
 Jimmy Barlow cast an admiring glance over the trim 
 decks " You've got a fine ship, sir, too." 
 
 '^Rather. One of the Glasgow bull dogs." 
 
 " Can't beat 'em," said Jimmy Barlow. 
 
 " True you can't. . . . Well, we must have a yarn
 
 THE WAY TO THE STARS 219 
 
 presently. As soon as I can get her fast I will be with 
 you again. . . . Lucy, take him along and show him the 
 boy." 
 
 With that Captain O'Hagan rejoined a disconsolate 
 Argentine and stood to see that he did no damage to the 
 liner Strathmuir, which had halted and so flatteringly 
 taken notice of a tug boat. 
 
 The pilot continued to smoke cigarettes until he was 
 relieved by an equally accomplished craftsman at the 
 port ; then he presented his paper for signature, saluted, 
 and gravely entered his boat. But it was not until after 
 lunch, and the Strathmuir secure at the wharf, that 
 O'Hagan could spare time to talk quietly with his friend. 
 
 Jimmy Barlow was Henry Tompson as on that day 
 when the two men met at the Isle of Dogs. He would have 
 resented from anyone else that old name which had been 
 dragged through the mire. Jimmy Barlow was dead, and 
 strangely the mannerisms of Henry Tompson were less 
 violent. Enery was no longer enforced. He permitted 
 the aspirate to appear, and no longer misapplied it. 
 
 He explained to O'Hagan that it was necessary at the 
 Isle of Dogs where the other Henry Tompson might have 
 been known, but here " Well, it ain't worth the trouble 
 of thinking. I got back my h's with a jump no one 
 aboard the Casa knows the differ, an' I'm gettin' back my 
 beard by degrees." He fingered the brown stubble as he 
 rose from the table, smiling sheepishly at Mrs. O'Hagan, 
 who declared openly that she preferred clean chins. 
 
 The two men passed through the saloon and made their 
 way to the chart room. O'Hagan visualised a smoke ; but 
 Jimmy Barlow, in spite of a large cigar, was not at his 
 ease. He returned again and again to the question of 
 his wonderful luck- " Will it hold ? " he threw out. 
 " Can it possibly hold down here . . . ? " 
 
 O'Hagan saw the drift and rallied him on it. " It 
 depends entirely on yourself," he said at length. " If 
 you are game and don't take unnecessary risks you will 
 win. . . ." 
 
 " May I shut the door ? " asked Jimmy Barlow, with a 
 puff of smoke which hid him. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " It will make it warm, but I don't want all hands to
 
 220 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 know that I have any belief in that sort of thing. I 
 haven't, either, if it comes to plain talk. Never had 
 . . . but well, I'm bothered. . . ." 
 
 He came back from shutting the door and sat on the 
 stool which stood before the chart table, facing O'Hagan. 
 
 " I'm bothered for the first time this trip by something 
 I'm not accustomed to. ... I don't know how to fight it. 
 You can slam at a gale, if your boat's one of the right sort ; 
 but you can't slam at an idea. Yes that's it. An idea 
 a silly, no-sense sort of thing drummed into me by my 
 mate a chap I should have sworn hadn't two in his nut 
 . . . not two to knock one against the other no, siree, 
 not one. Then he outs with this dream thing of his and 
 knocks me off my pins in a manner of speaking, as if I'm 
 a kid. . . ." 
 
 The depth of his degradation was nicely graded by 
 Jimmy Barlow's rich voice. He laughed at himself, he 
 jeered at the mate, but he came back in a circle to question 
 how much was true and whether laughter was precisely 
 the kind of weapon he should use. 
 
 " A dream ? " O'Hagan repeated, not in mockery, but 
 with the sense of wonder evident in his eyes. 
 
 " Just that," said Jimmy Barlow. Then he blew a fine 
 flurry of cigar smoke and looking through it added, " not 
 mine either, sir. Don't know that I ever had a dream in 
 my life. Not had much time to play the fool with 
 dreams . . . but, well, the fact is my mate left me. And 
 it was because of a dream. Waralah on the brain . . . 
 that's what's the matter with him. Don't know when 
 he's comfortable, sir ... don't know enough to keep 
 himself warm, if you ask me an' yet" his voice dropped 
 slightly " of course there are true dreams now an' again 
 . . . like everything else that's a toss up anyhow. ..." 
 
 " Tell me," said O'Hagan, as Jimmy Barlow leaned 
 forward, elbows on knees and forgot to smoke. 
 
 " Oh ! as far as that goes there's nothing to tell. Seems 
 he had this dream first when we sighted Pernambuco, but 
 he said nothing about it till one night after we got away 
 from Rio, then when I relieved him at twelve o'clock, says 
 he ' Cap'n, if we fetch the Plate ' 'if,' you note 
 4 you '11 have to find anover chap to take on my job.' 
 'So ? ' says I ; ' how's that ? ' ' Don't feel comfortable,' 
 says he. ' Not enough tucker or grog ? ' I asked. ' Think 
 I'm a bloomin' fool ? ' says he. ' If you ask me, yes,' says I,
 
 THE WAY TO THE STARS 221 
 
 ' if you are goin' to chuck the job. ... Go on,' I says to 
 him, ' what's got in your bonnet, now some gell at Rio ? ' 
 
 " And to make a short story of it, sir, he tells me all 
 about this dream he's dreamed off Pernambuco, and I 
 could do nothing with him because the night he spoke to 
 me about getting another mate, he said he'd dreamt the 
 same thing again. Word for word so he said" Jimmy 
 Barlow accentuated, drawing solemnly at his cigar. 
 
 " He said," he resumed as O'Hagan made no sign, 
 " that he dreamt we were down among icebergs, and that 
 it came to blow a howling buster pampero, I think he 
 called it ... anyway something to sneeze over and 
 the Casa Blanco, wouldn't face it ... got her fires 
 drowned out water over the stokehold plates, all as pat 
 as you like . . . then somehow, ' as happens in a dream,' 
 he says, we were somewhere down off the Patagonia coast 
 on a lee shore with this here buster blowing us on top of 
 the land. 
 
 " 'A long, shelving beach,' it was, he said. ' Couldn't 
 see it until we were a-top of it. Couldn't have done any- 
 thing if we had 'cause she's broke down . . . can't 
 move, and there she drifts an' him listenin' to a voice that 
 said ' Why didn't you get out of her when you had the 
 chance ? Now there is no chance,' the voice hummed it at 
 him, ' no chance, no chance, you silly gossoon.' 
 
 " And that," said Jimmy Barlow, " this Neddy on two 
 legs tells me he can't get out of his head. He was like a 
 seal, that mate, couldn't face a gale out of the water . . . 
 
 " ' Seems to me,' I says to him, ' you're Pharaoh dished 
 up all over again ; but if you think I'm going to play 
 Joseph for you, you don't know butter from a keg of slush. 
 Take your hook out of it,' says I, ' an' don't go croakin' your 
 dreams all over the Argentine or I'll not get a mate.' 
 
 And " said Jimmy Barlow, then he paused, took a pull 
 
 at his cigar, drew the end red, looked at it, flicked off the 
 ash and sat with pursed lips. 
 
 " And what ? " O'Hagan questioned. 
 
 " Oh, well," said Jimmy Barlow, " I couldn't get one, 
 an' so I'm goin' on without." 
 
 O'Hagan took this to mean that there was no necessity 
 for additional help, then something in Barlow's attitude 
 warned him to ask 
 
 " How many are you on deck without this mate ? " 
 
 " Two," said Jimmy Barlow.
 
 222 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Counting yourself ? " 
 
 " Just that, sir." 
 
 " Don't be a fool, man," O'Hagan urged, his calm dis- 
 turbed. " What is the use of doubling your risk . . . 
 isn't it big enough as it is ? " 
 
 "As for that," came the answer, then with a roll of 
 importance and in another key, Jimmy Barlow added 
 " I'm goin' to take the CasaBlanca to Val-i-paraiso, where 
 she belongs. I've waited a week lookin' for a mate and I 
 can't get one. They all jump at it till they see the boat 
 then they jump out." 
 
 " Let me see what I can do," O'Hagan urged. " I'll 
 ask my agents they may be able to do something." 
 
 But Jimmy Barlow shook his head. " Can't stay longer, 
 sir. My agents had a cable, I saw it, from Val-i-paraiso " 
 again he rolled the word " sayin' they w r ould have to get 
 someone to take over my job if I didn't move along. I've 
 been on the beach already . . . you remember London ? 
 an' well, there you are . . . I'm sailin' to-night. If I 
 didn't sail to-night an' God knows the weather hasn't 
 stopped me since I came south I should get shunted. 
 Can't do that," said Jimmy Barlow. " There's a tidy 
 cheque due to me when I get her round . . . an' an' 
 there's the old gell to think of an' the kids ... er ... 
 Cap'n O'Hagan tell me honest what is there in dreams 
 . . . That sort . . . anythin' or nothin' ? " 
 
 O'Hagan smoked in silence. He was scarcely prepared 
 for the sudden change, and before he could formulate a 
 reply Jimmy Barlow's laugh rang out 
 
 " You have a sort of belief in 'em, sir ... of course. 
 An' so have I " 
 
 "Wait a bit. . . ." 
 
 " Think I can't see," Barlow questioned with emphasis. 
 Then he rose and stood pointing with his cigar 
 
 " I have a sort of belief . . . but I'm not goin' to let it 
 stand in my way. I have a sort of belief . . . but there's 
 nothin' this side of God Almighty's grave that's goin' to 
 stop me. . . . Dreams may be fizzle an' they may not 
 but if you stop to test 'em you'll never get anywhere. No 
 sir ! " He waved his cigar. " With the help of General 
 Jackson and a few policemen I'm going to ferry the Casa 
 Blanco, what's left of the trip. That's what I drew those 
 gold boys to do an' there isn't a man ashore or afloat that 
 shall say Henry Tompson started his new hand by playing
 
 THE WAY TO THE STARS 223 
 
 it low on them that trusted him. ... No shinannikin for 
 me, siree not much." 
 
 He marched up and down the small room hammering 
 out his points, his face set very much as O'Hagan remem- 
 bered in that far off scene at the Isle of Dogs. There was 
 the same swift and cutting speech, the same thrilling 
 attitude of semi-bravado the attitude of a dog over a 
 bone he has won in spite of the bareness he has discovered. 
 Barlow had been on the beach. He had seen others so 
 situated heard their snarling excuses, the paltry lies with 
 which they strove to cover their disgrace. " No shinannikin 
 for me ! " It sounded like a challenge, as indeed it was, 
 to the gods of wealth and power who, when a man's nose 
 is on the grindstone, keep it there and twist the handle. 
 O'Hagan fought this attitude. 
 
 With a smile on his sunburnt face Jimmy Barlow 
 brought his forces into action. He challenged again. 
 " Is a man with the pluck of a louse likely to draw in his 
 head because of dreams ? " 
 
 O'Hagan countered this with " Of course not ; the 
 question is not one of dreams but of going to sea without 
 a mate." 
 
 He pleaded for patience, for consideration, for one night 
 longer in harbour while O'Hagan ran up to the office in 
 B.A., to see what could be done ; but he could not move 
 Jimmy Barlow. 
 
 He had had luck. If he played with time he would 
 break his luck ... he wasn't going to risk that no 
 siree ! " And those agent sharks all ready with a man to 
 fork into the Casa Blanco? s cabin if I don't get a move on. 
 Likely, isn't it ... and," reverting again to the tragedy 
 foreseen by his mate, " just because I have a sort of 
 notion, that sometimes, very sometimes, a man may be 
 able to read what's not in print. . . ." He leaned for- 
 ward, earnest, still for a moment of time. " I ask you, 
 sir ... what is there in it ? " 
 
 " In dreams ? Nothing to stop a man, my friend." 
 " But you ask me to wait ? " 
 
 " For a mate, yes not because of the man's dreams. 
 Do you know what you are facing the Straits, thousands 
 of miles of open sea- the worst seas in the world, ice, 
 snow willy-waws, and no harbours worth considera- 
 tion . . . ? " 
 
 Jipmiy Barlow came back with a jerk.
 
 224 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " I'm goin', sir," he said without emphasis. " If I 
 stay an' listen to you I'll be in the same hole as if I'd 
 listened to my mate. J'ra bound to go. After what 
 happened to you an' me in the Sphinx there's no sort of 
 use jibbin' at conditions. Out there there's a job for me 
 if I stay about I shall be given my walkin' ticket when 
 I get there. I can't afford to risk that. . . ." 
 
 He came quite near O'Hagan and held out his hand. 
 " Mrs. O'Hagan is asleep," he said. " You say so long 
 for me not good-bye, sir. ... I never say that" he 
 jerked his head and drew himself up ; " it's so beastly 
 formal," came in explanation. Then, as O'Hagan took 
 his hand and held it, he added " Nothing about dreams 
 though ... or our short-handedness. Women don't 
 take to that sort of thing. Or, if you must, tell her of 
 that chap Cap'n Something or other who came across 
 the Atlantic the other day in an open boat, not because 
 he had to, but for the fun of the thing eh ? " 
 
 " Of course," O'Hagan nodded to hearten him. " Take 
 it easy, though. Don't let agents harry you . . . if it is 
 bad weather get in somewhere till ..." 
 
 " Trust me, sir." 
 
 " Charts all right no stint, eh ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Good and you won't wait ? " 
 
 " Daren't." Jimmy Barlow blundered into a laugh and 
 added, shaking his friend's hand " You'll see the wife 
 an' kids before I will . . . cheer 'em up give 'em chin- 
 chin. . . ." 
 
 " I will," said O'Hagan. 
 
 " An' now, as I've finished my smoke," Jimmy Barlow 
 threw out, " I guess I'll get away so long, sir. . . . For 
 the sake of old days eh ? " 
 
 From the Strathmuir's high side O'Hagan watched him 
 walking swiftly to reach the boats which lie waiting to 
 take men off to the ships. The dust from the piers and 
 wharves rolled past blotting him out. The steam from 
 Great Southern engines labouring with giant loads from 
 Bahia Blanca enveloped him and when at last the pier 
 became visible Jimmy Barlow's slim form was no longer 
 there. 
 
 Like a traveller emerging upon a plain he had come for 
 a few hours into the lives of those who had followed him ; 
 then the simoom had passed over him and he was gone.
 
 THE WAY TO THE STARS 225 
 
 For long O'Hagan stood looking out upon that scene 
 which had swallowed him, listening to his phrases, one so 
 often repeated " No shinannikin for me if you please. 
 No, siree ! " and again " You'll see the wife and kids 
 before I will. Cheer 'em up." 
 
 Pace tud, oh friend ! was that, too, prophetic ? 
 
 B.F.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 
 
 IN a general way the record of a Bottle-filler's im- 
 pressions of a stay in a foreign port would go to prove 
 that he had seen nothing of it. 
 
 In the main it would be a tale of unending noise and 
 dust and work ; of the clatter of winches and the jar 
 of cargo going out and coming in ; of a strange jargon 
 spoken by weird " lumpers," sans-culottes, shock-headed 
 and vociferant. It would be a tale of work which goes 
 on by day and by night, Sundays, all days, without extra 
 pay for an officer. And it would be the same, sand- 
 wiched with " visits to my agents," drinks accepted, 
 drinks refused, drinks paid for, together with dusty rides 
 and walks in streets which blaze for a captain. 
 
 A dull story. The story of drab surroundings, place 
 them in what seaport you will, of work which is mechanical 
 and deadening to the senses ; work which is monotonous, 
 done by men from whom all snap and originality have 
 been drilled in the steady strides of speed and economy. 
 
 Sailors are people who scrub paintwork and chip iron 
 rust. Officers are tally clerks answerable for weights 
 they have not tested. Apprentices are boys getting an 
 insight into violence, debauchery and the primitive 
 passions of a race of sailors no longer even speaking their 
 tongue. Cargoes are whirled in or out in a handful of 
 hours, sucked out by vast machines in a smother of dust ; 
 tipped in from trucks seized in the jaws of monstrous lifts 
 and showered from on high with the jar and rattle of 
 platoon firing. The noise comes as from heaven, the 
 tramp shivers as she receives it and the men who tend her 
 wait for the moment when " leave " permits them to kill 
 thought at the casino, the cafe chantant and kindred 
 saturnalia provided for their undoing. 
 
 Sometimes it is merely a night of five or six hours, and 
 it is spent in the whirl to which the soul-deadened drift. 
 
 Here touts abound evil of speech, eviJ of design,
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 227 
 
 together with the vendors of obscenity. They will lure 
 you to haunts where women will take care of you, drug 
 you, strip you and thrust you forth in a paper shirt. 
 Women of all races are there to choose from ; women 
 who dance and sing and sprawl drinking to keep the 
 devil alive in them, thought and memory buried. The 
 greater the seaport, the more civilised the community, 
 the more costly are these flashes from the souls of the lost 
 to the souls of the snared. That at once is the reason why 
 men and boys who march with the forgotten, hide it from 
 their mothers their brothers, even though they die in the 
 hiding. 
 
 There exist elsewhere, of course, for the Bottle-fillers, 
 other modes of recreation. They squat at the edge of 
 streets which respectability shuns, somewhere near 
 " Sailor-town," or " China-town " or " Nigger-town," 
 which are all under various designations comfortably near 
 the edge of the pit. Here a meeting-house is set up. It 
 is generally known as a " Bethel," or a " Mission," and 
 it has been built to draw men from contact with the 
 devil by drumming into their ears the dreary and monoto- 
 nous alternative of " worship." 
 
 This of itself is a singular remedy. A bell tinkles at 
 certain hours and those who answer its summons proceed 
 dismally to howl and pray. All the talk provided is of 
 roaring lions, never of sunshine and the fields. These 
 places exhibit on their walls in the vividest colouring the 
 uncomfortable descent of all thirsty Bottle-fillers into 
 Hades. There is a great deal of smoke about that part 
 of the picture and it appears that the man is in danger 
 from two sources, always painted with snakish malignity 
 drink and women. And, if those who administer this 
 soul-stirring succeed in capturing a Bottle-filler tired with 
 the roar and dust of a day's work, they stuff his pockets 
 with tracts printed in letters so large that a blind man 
 might feel them. 
 
 The distribution of a certain number of bales of this 
 kind of stupidity seems to be the raison d'etre of a Bethel, 
 or mission, or any of those worn traps known as meeting- 
 houses which shout aloud 
 
 " ALL SAILORS ARE WELCOME. 
 COME EARLY. 
 COME OFTEN." 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Seaports all the world over have these satiric out- 
 pourings blazoned on the gates or windows of the trap 
 provided. Sometimes the trap is sandwiched between 
 gin palaces as in Merrie England ; sometimes it sits 
 in a dismal cul-de-sac of the docks as a hulk joined to the 
 wharf by a gangway up which the Bottle-filler may trudge 
 feeling at home. Sometimes it is far away from every 
 other note of civilisation planted down firmly in the 
 city's gutters, like a coffee stall, where it is noisy and 
 dirty and foul. 
 
 There is no alternative for the Bottle-filler, a work- 
 sodden stranger, but to go to the haunts of vice or the 
 haunts of prayer and, on the whole the whirl of vice is 
 more alluring. Dismal is his day on board. Dismal the 
 hole in which he lives. Dismal his journey towards the 
 grave most sailors fill. He requires an antidote to misery, 
 not groans of supplication. He has seen God's hand on 
 the sea, in the heavens that stoop over him, in the myriad 
 wonders of the deep, and he fails to recognise Him within 
 tin barns. For that reason if for no other he kills time in 
 the Halls. 
 
 Buenos Ayres has gems of this sort; so, too, have 
 London and Liverpool and Marseilles and Lisbon and 
 Naples east, west, north, south ; wherever, in point of 
 fact, there exists a town of singular wealth and prosperity 
 where ships may come to bask and sweat through stifling 
 days and nights of no-rest, there exists a Hall for the 
 Bottle-fillers. 
 
 Each in its peculiar and characteristic fashion, you may 
 depend. Blazoned here. Discreet there. Spangles and 
 tights here. Prunes and prisms there. 
 
 Nevertheless they are one. One in aim, one in action 
 to strip the Bottle-filler, to relieve him of his so-easily 
 acquired gold, and so to fill the pockets, swell the banking 
 accounts and make life easy for the parasite who sits in 
 receipt of Custom. 
 
 That is the aim. 
 
 If the men and apprentices and officers of the Strath- 
 muir had opportunities to examine either the Halls or the 
 Traps, it is beyond question that O'Hagan had none. 
 
 He was in a difficult position one of a dwindling band 
 in a seaport filled by tramps. Winchester had left its 
 mark on him precisely as Eton or Harrow leave theirs on
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 229 
 
 the men who pass through them. He was an aristocrat 
 in manner without any of the appurtenances of his kind. 
 Master of a Tramp. One of a round score who met daily 
 at the agents'. He was one of a type indeed which for 
 many a year slowly has been elbowed from the British 
 Merchant Service, but the junior partner at his agency 
 very soon recognised his man. As Stephen Hammond 
 had discovered him, so young Ridesdale found no difficulty 
 either in exposing him or raking him with questions. It 
 all came out in the swift, modern way 
 
 " I seem to know your name. . . . Public school man, 
 aren't you ? " 
 
 :t Yes. Winchester." 
 
 " Thought so. What year ? . . . I was there myself 
 till they chucked me out here." 
 
 Further scraps produced evidence on which there could 
 be no question. The firm had unearthed a gentleman, as 
 the phrase goes, in the shape of a skipper consigned to 
 their care, a man whose wife also was a lady. In face 
 of credentials so pleasing and manners so charming, it 
 became necessary to show this couple some hospitality. 
 Mrs. O'Hagan at all events must be persuaded to come 
 away from the ship, bring the prodigy with her and pay 
 us a visit. The world is full of undreamed-of kindliness, 
 and here " Us," as may be gathered, was young Mrs. 
 Ridesdale, who had followed the fortunes of her husband 
 when he had been chucked to the Argentine. She " rather 
 liked " the look of Lucy and wanted to talk to someone 
 who had no twang. This happened after a testing 
 expedition amidst the shops and restaurants of the city. 
 
 There followed a migration for Lucy to B.A.'s wealthiest 
 suburb. The ship and ship life vanished as under the 
 wand of a magician. The gap between captain and 
 agent was crossed, bridged by Winchester and mutual 
 associations. As in Glasgow in the early days of O'Hagan's 
 new and amazing fortune, so in the Argentine, where he 
 worked with an increasing sense of freedom. 
 
 The nightmare trial had lost its power to sting, the 
 allegations of insobriety fell away. He was awake again, 
 alive, the partner of a woman of his own standing who had 
 always believed in him, worked for him and had that high- 
 bred air which is at once recognised by those who have 
 enjoyed similar advantages. While O'Hagan walked 
 with head erect attending to his business, Lucy saw the
 
 230 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 splendid streets and shops of this " Paris " of South 
 America. O'Hagan lunched and dined at hotels where 
 prices were extortionate, but on a par with the enormous 
 salaries of the men who were their patrons. They rode, 
 drove, visited the pampas and theatres, listened to opera 
 and talked of poor Jimmy Barlow who was pushing his 
 way towards emancipation on the Chilean coast. They 
 questioned, could he win through ? 
 
 Then from Bahia Blanca came word of a pampero 
 which swept the seas to the south of the Plate ; but pro- 
 duced no evidence of the little Casa Blanca. 
 
 O'Hagan was on tenterhooks when the news was spread. 
 Bahia Blanca, it appeared, was devastated, crops ruined, 
 the great Southern Railway damaged by floods, estancias 
 laid waste, cattle drowned ; but of Jimmy Barlow there 
 came no sound. Nor had the ports of which inquiry was 
 made seen anything of him. 
 
 In the agents' offices in B.A. O'Hagan and young 
 Ridesdale pored over charts which pourtrayed that 
 lonely sea and coast which stretches from Bahia Blanca 
 south, to Cape Virgins in the Magellan. Jimmy Barlow 
 had been away on his long stretch to the south for nine 
 days. The pampero of which his mate had dreamed had 
 come and gone. How far south it had raged one could not 
 say ; but beyond Bahia Blanca and the Rio Negro there 
 is little opportunity for shelter until the Magellan is reached. 
 And there, one has arrived in the district given over to 
 willy-waws, gales accompanied by snows against which 
 the Casa Blanca could not steam. 
 
 O'Hagan decided in his mind that Jimmy Barlow had 
 reached a point somewhere between Cape Tres Puntas and 
 the Virgins, that he should have been outside the range of 
 this disturbance, as it is labelled but was he ? 
 
 Down there you are approaching Antarctica and the 
 world is a table land, blank, dreary, vast. Harbours, 
 towns, aid as we understand it with our lifeboats, 
 coastguards and rocket apparatus do not exist. Man 
 is face to face with Nature with the sea, with ice, gales and 
 a race of savages none too friendly. Had Jimmy Barlow 
 and his cockle-shell destined for Valparaiso escaped these 
 perils ? Was he secure once again as after Vigo and Agadir, 
 resting on his oars in spite of dreams, in spite of the bluff 
 audacity of his exit shorthanded from Buenos Ayres ? 
 O'Hagan could not say. He had a conviction to which
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 231 
 
 time alone could give the lie. He knew that it was as 
 easy to assert how they met their end who were put away 
 in the dungeons of the Inquisition as to state how it was 
 with a ship which has passed from the ken of telegraphy. 
 Besides, O'Hagan was busy brightening his own escut- 
 cheon and exceedingly alive to the necessities of despatch. 
 It seems that cargo had no sooner commenced to tumble 
 out than he itched to be away in a twinkling. He had 
 spent a fortnight waiting. He had enjoyed every hour 
 of it but these were times of the great boom. Ships 
 moved on a circle as though chained. Coal or general 
 merchandise six thousand miles to the Plate, water ballast 
 rather farther to some Gulf port, then home perhaps 
 twenty thousand miles. 
 
 In half a dozen words it had been ordered by cable, 
 the Strathmuir taken by the nose, skipper, crew, engines 
 the altogether, in point of fact set throbbing for U.S.A. 
 How light she was to be, how much coal would be necessary 
 to get her there, how she would act in this new trim were 
 matters arranged by O'Hagan's agents. As captain he 
 put his name to the foot of many papers and became 
 responsible for vast sums which he had not tested ; for 
 weights which perhaps were correct and which he could not 
 check. That is the system by which an agency lives. It 
 seems to pay. 
 
 The Strathmuir, too, was a pantechnicon of wonderful 
 capacity ; but she echoed like a bin. She was to be empty. 
 Her crew on the voyage to U.S.A. would have her cavernous 
 spaces to clean and chip and polish. Meanwhile there was 
 coal to put away, derricks to house, gins and ropes to put 
 out of sight. No room for speculation on Jimmy Barlow 
 here. Jimmy Barlow must paddle his own canoe, get 
 out or get under in the modern senseless fashion. The 
 Casa Blanca was attempting under the guidance of a 
 skilled Bottle-filler to carry out the final requisition of her 
 contract, in order that certain defined sums should pass 
 from the account of the owners to those who built her. 
 Whether she was fit to undertake this journey or unfit 
 is beside the point. She was on her way. Her builders 
 and her owners were secure against loss, but Jimmy Barlow 
 in his capacity as Bottle-filler was unsecured. So too 
 were " his wife and kids," his engineers and the " hands " 
 who accompanied him. 
 Whether a contract of that kind is moral or immoral
 
 282 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 is a question on which much ink may be spilled ; that it 
 has not the soul of a tin can is evident at the outset. But 
 the question of Jimmy Barlow was shouldered out by the 
 rush of activity which fell upon O'Hagan. Advice came 
 to him restrained and definite from his agents up town. 
 Orders which would have made old-time Bottle-fillers 
 froth at the mouth. 
 
 Get her along that was the essence of them. Take what 
 is given you, and clear out that usually at the back of 
 them. Orders of all sorts came down to the wharf by 
 telephone. Questions arrived in the same way. Was 
 Captain O'Hagan there ? He was. Very well, sir ; fifteen 
 cases of pickles and forty-nine cases of Bass are found 
 ullaged in store what is the explanation ? 
 
 From the ship's point of view there can, of course, be 
 but one it has happened since landing. The consignees 
 dispute this. They say it happened on board. The 
 wharf people, being of the same kidney, back the con- 
 signees, remembering, of course, the approach of a certain 
 festival. The nearer the festival the louder they become 
 in upholding the integrity of the wharf ; and it all becomes 
 very twisted, very serious for the officer of the hold, a 
 matter of principle for the ship and her crew. 
 
 If by any possibility the act of God can be impaled, 
 then sworn testimony is forthcoming. If the ullaging 
 is obviously due, as it usually is, to pilferers with levers 
 and the wherewithal to draw corks, then the matter must 
 be settled by arbitration which raps the ship's knuckles, 
 or the courts which sit on them and take no heed of an 
 owner's squeals. He, poor man, is a long way off- and 
 swollen by prosperity. Therefore squeeze. 
 
 But a captain is kept very busy. O'Hagan earned 
 every penny of his twenty-five pounds a month. So, too, 
 did the skipper of a gaunt collier who lay next astern of 
 the Strathmuir . . . but in his case it happened to be 
 twelve-pounds-a-month-and-no-back-talk-or-out-you-go. 
 
 A further industry was provided for O'Hagan just as 
 other matters were getting wound up. They were within 
 half a dozen hours of sailing. Lucy had returned to her 
 home, and some of the derricks were already in crutches, 
 when the mate reported the loss of two A.B.'s and one of 
 the apprentices. 
 
 Of course it was open to O'Hagan to put the matter 
 into the hands of the Argentine police and sit down to
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 233 
 
 await the runaways' capture ; or he might have seen His 
 Britannic Majesty's Consul, or his own agents ; but he 
 did none of these things. He said to the mate instead 
 
 ' Anything due to them ? " 
 
 ' A few dollars perhaps." 
 
 ' Taken their gear ? " 
 
 ' Every rag." 
 
 ' Well I'm sailing at three o'clock four at the latest. 
 Get someone to fill the gaps." 
 
 Then the mate went away and talked with a boarding- 
 house master who had the runaways safely at home ; 
 bargained for " two Johns " and one " chico John," and 
 the boarding-house master produced in a twinkling three 
 persons sufficiently drunk to be willing at a moment's 
 notice to fill the gaps. 
 
 Therefore it became possible for the S.S. Strathmuir to 
 sail for the Gulf with her full complement as attested. 
 To sail in the ordinary way, after handing certain dollars 
 and cents to the boarding-house master, and putting to bed 
 in the ordinary manner her drunken sea-boys. To sail 
 in spite of a light leadline, which during the latter stages 
 of the trip obviously crippled her, made O'Hagan 
 uneasy and Lucy scared. 
 
 A ship may be too light as well as too deep ; and, as 
 though it had become necessary to apologise for her 
 immersion on the outward trip, Authority, now she was on 
 the home stretch, had decided to ignore her. Too light ? 
 What the devil does it matter ? Get her along those 
 are the orders issued to the Bottle-fillers. 
 
 Through gales she came triumphant, into the swelter 
 of seas and islands so beautiful, so kind, so full of interest, 
 that interest in her capers seemed to pass as by magic. 
 A gale on the side of a bladder in water-ballast would have 
 tested the Strathmuir very effectually here ; but the Gulf 
 was kind, hot air trickled about her, hot puffs of wind 
 perfumed and wonderful from those islands she passed. 
 A gale would have kept O'Hagan busy trying to keep the 
 Strathmuir' s head on to it, or tail on to it and, like an 
 airship, like a balloon he would have twisted, teetotumed 
 and careened before it. 
 
 A month, spent mainly in the tropics, latterly with new 
 interests arising hour by hour, then the Strathmuir crept 
 into the Texan cotton port, Galveston, and asked for 
 advice. It came as before, a whistling chorus on tele-
 
 234 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 phones ordering her alongside, " to move," to " start in 
 right away," as agents were prepared to make things hum. 
 
 Lucy O'Hagan scarcely saw the great U.S.A. It was 
 a continent of vast interest to her, peopled by men and 
 women of her own and her husband's blood ; but it 
 remained a sealed book after thirteen thousand miles of 
 voyaging. She saw a gleam of Galveston on one wonderful 
 day when Den had an hour to spare, took lunch at an 
 American restaurant, caught sight of America's trains, the 
 hooded monsters which draw them, saw the niggers and 
 heard their song, and that is all. 
 
 The skipper of a Dutch eel boat lying off Thames Haven 
 sees as much of our London as the captain of a tramp sees 
 of the city which finds him cargo. 
 
 So fighting flies and heat and mosquitoes which never 
 grew tired of them, they spent twelve days and nights 
 listening to the thud of the bales which keep Lancashire 
 spinners opulent and brokers on tenterhooks. They 
 gladly faced the sea in exchange, even though Key West 
 provided a fog for them and when abreast of New York 
 there came a norther to paint their gallant homestead 
 white. The sea rose here as is its genial fashion under the 
 lashing of a gale ; it threw white crests high over the 
 plunging Strathmuir, tossed it with fine prodigality and 
 left it there for the bitter wind to freeze and make beautiful. 
 
 Ten days of varying fortune succeeded that dressing ; a 
 little fog, some tired airs, a gale of moderate violence then 
 the Strathmuir trailed her ponderous bulk, her sturdy 
 funnel and short masts into dock at Liverpool. Five days 
 banging ensued, Lucy got herself away from the din of it, 
 took rooms high up in Huskisson Street and rejoined on 
 the night which saw them thrust forth in the old style to 
 chance what came in Channel. 
 
 Get a move on. The days are boom days. The Pampas 
 Line is stacked with demands for cargo space ! Out with 
 you, to London, and take up the round which is yours. 
 
 A prosperous voyage at an end but no word from 
 McClure. Not even a message of welcome. O'Hagan 
 had done what any other stupidity could do that is all. 
 He had done what any other British shipmaster could do 
 not by rule of thumb, but by the classic art of navigation 
 which produces by safe methods what rule of thumb pro- 
 duces at random.
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 235 
 
 Lucy saw but little of her husband on this trip. Again 
 the ship was in ballast, uncomfortably bladder-like and 
 flourishing a screw on the slightest inducement. It was 
 December in British seas, dark, gloomy, taciturn. Some- 
 times fog accompanied them, sometimes drizzling rain. 
 Sometimes the Strathmuir lolled along before a following 
 breeze, sometimes danced at a flick of temper. But she 
 strolled presently to the foot of the Reach which flows past 
 Riverton. 
 
 She howled dismally as she moved. It was thick and a 
 pilot marched the bridge with O'Hagan, giving scraps of 
 news. The strikes he denounced as stupid ; the Govern- 
 ment's latest he described as imbecile ; the green winter 
 appalling but he looked jolly and prosperous. Perhaps 
 he was a friend of Mrs. Portland Lodge . . . but he knew 
 without word from any soul on board that O'Hagan was 
 the man who had been broken for the loss of the Sphinx, 
 had heard the whispers about insobriety, knew of his 
 residence in that charming old Chatter Town and of his 
 straits. Puerile. O'Hagan marked time as he heard. 
 
 Lucy saw with a thrill of delight the old red roofs through 
 the mist, and held the prodigy high so that he might nod and 
 blink and coo his appreciation. But Denis saw it with a 
 touch of the old misgiving, perhaps because it was a grey 
 day, perhaps because he had pierced the pilot's defences. 
 A white haze hid the hills up there where stood The 
 Deodars and all their household gods. Fog lay on the 
 river the thin, dank fog of the estuary which in part is 
 smoke and in part moisture wrung from the marshes. 
 Over there clucked the docks which had marked his 
 anguish ; the mailships which he had scarcely dared to 
 board, the tin-pot canteen from which he had made his 
 exit only to hear Worsdale's advice " If it is necessary 
 to eat or drink when you are at the docks, carry a sandwich 
 and a flask of cold tea. Let people see that it is tea." 
 
 Damnable ! And yet how often he had crossed that 
 narrow stretch between his home and the farther shipping. 
 With what hope he had come down to Riverton and shown 
 Lucy the home which he had picked out ; how he had 
 hung on her decision . . . and then, well, had not River- 
 ton also seen him nearly at the end of his tether ; a strong 
 man beaten by a sentence which the world translates into 
 incompetence at the very least. 
 
 It was a dank day. The ship moved very slowly past
 
 286 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 those red roofs and climbing streets. There was ample 
 opportunity while watching the pilot to fly kites and check 
 results. The air was soft, muggy, humid to the point of 
 saturation and O'Hagan was a Celt, with all the yearning 
 vision of his race, the power of living in the past, the power, 
 too, of seeing what is to come. He had a sensation as the 
 ship dragged slowly through the haze, of catastrophe 
 which he could not quite explain. It belonged to the 
 moment. Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps the sight 
 of his old home. He could not say what it was. 
 
 Then came a quickening. A new pilot had arrived. 
 One apparently who lived at Erith, or Woolwich, or the 
 Isle of Dogs and knew no gossip of tweaking Riverton. 
 Yet he knew of O'Hagan's trial and covertly congratulated 
 him on his victory. O'Hagan took this without challenge 
 but it stung. As far as he could see they all knew and 
 pitied him. He did not require their pity. He required 
 obedience, care, seamanship of his pilots ; especially of 
 this newcomer who was to take them along the last lap of 
 their journey. If this glib personage, or either of his 
 confreres, happened to put the Strathmuir ashore or did 
 any sort of damage while in charge, O'Hagan, by the merci- 
 ful decree of Authority, would be liable. That, too, is one 
 of the advantages of being a Bottle-filler. 
 
 Very naturally, then, O'Hagan scanned him for signs 
 other than those which usually appear with loquacity. 
 With twenty skippers the pilot's compliment would have 
 been accepted as the mark of a discriminating mind ; but 
 at once O'Hagan stood on stilts. He had won no victory. 
 By the skin of his teeth he had been able during the past 
 five months perhaps six to hold his own. He had 
 earned his living, he had provided a small interlude for 
 Lucy ; but the torture he had endured while winning 
 what he had won would have left the pilot cold ! 
 
 It is all a question of temperament, of education, and 
 O'Hagan was beginning to discover that to be sensitive 
 at sea is a blunder. 
 
 He watched the pilot, a bird-like person who stood with 
 a high-shouldered shrug, at the wing of the bridge. A 
 ticklish piece of navigation lay before them. A ship is 
 always in greater danger in narrow waters than in wide ; 
 but the pilot seemed competent. He appeared to be 
 endowed with second sight. He said he could smell a 
 buoy as well as some folk smell drains. He certainly found
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 237 
 
 them and passed them with an immense and overweening 
 assurance which at length brought the Strathmuir to the 
 dock gates. Then, very precise and neat he came down 
 from the bridge, rubbing hands and ready to get his note 
 signed. 
 
 The voyage was at an end. 
 
 In an hour the ship would be tied up, ready to take in 
 cargo and recommence her comet-like activities. Angus 
 was as nervous as a kitten because he, alone of all on 
 board, would be called upon to explain the coal consump- 
 tion, which he asserted was away and above all possible 
 estimates ; but O'Hagan laughed at him. He knew 
 Angus quite as well as he was likely to know himself. 
 It is your spendthrifts who are careless when the reckoning 
 comes to be made ; not the man who nurses his fires. 
 
 Now that they were in dock the weight seemed to have 
 vanished from O'Hagan's mind. Quite simply this had 
 come about. People recognised him, someone from the 
 office appeared with a bundle of papers, and a fine show 
 of congratulation ensued. So, for a period, O'Hagan's 
 burden was pushed aside while he stood in contemplation 
 of his achievements. What had he done ? Nothing, 
 plainly, very wonderful ; nothing heroic, nothing in any 
 way to lift the smudge from his papers but, on the other 
 hand, he had made an exceedingly prosperous round 
 voyage. 
 
 He had quick despatch, thumping freights, small dis- 
 bursements, and no damage to report. With the exception 
 of that one man who had been pulverised, no trouble of 
 any sort had befallen the ship. 
 
 They had been away nearly five months, during which 
 period the Pampas Line had made a clear five thousand ; 
 O'Hagan had earned rather less than one hundred and 
 twenty, and the second mate forty. . . . 
 
 Even his bitterest enemy could not accuse McClure, 
 the head of the Pampas Line, of paying what his share- 
 holders in moments of depression termed " profligate 
 salaries." 
 
 Amidst congratulations from those who desired some- 
 thing at his hands, and words of welcome from others, a 
 clerk from the office of the Pampas Line handed Captain 
 O'Hagan a note. It was from McClure, who wrote to say 
 he would be glad if Captain O'Hagan would make it
 
 238 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 convenient to call at the office at eleven o'clock to- 
 morrow, " as he found it necessary to see him." 
 
 Of course there was no possible necessity for that 
 final touch. It was obvious McClure would desire to see 
 the commander of the Straihmuir. As manager of the 
 line he could insist on seeing him, as no doubt the world 
 knows. 
 
 O'Hagan gritted over the phrase. He told Lucy that 
 something was in the wind. He went farther and assured 
 her that he knew it directly they entered the river 
 although in no sense could he have explained more. 
 
 Lucy had come upon him in the chart-room after the 
 prodigy had been put to bed, and had learned the meaning 
 of his absent demeanour, of his irritability after the deli- 
 very of the letter. 
 
 " There's something in the wind," he asserted again. 
 " I went as far as I could with an understrapper ; but he 
 knew nothing. He only knew he might not say . . . 
 I thought at first there might be a claim from someone 
 for that poor devil who got washed away ; but I need 
 not have worried ; the directors of the Pampas Line 
 know how to deal with incidents of that kind. ..." 
 
 " Den ! " 
 
 She put her arms about his neck ; but they failed to 
 soothe him, he raged on, his tone for the moment bitter. 
 
 " I have done rather well for them. They will clear a 
 little fortune out of this five months' work. There isn't 
 a ship of our tonnage in the London docks that will show 
 better results than those I shall hand in and in spite of 
 it . . ." 
 
 " Den ! Please, please don't . . ." 
 
 " Don't ? Why not ? " His arm went round her, 
 notwithstanding the hot return. He added, as though 
 ashamed, " But it is true, isn't it ? " 
 
 " What is true, Den ; you have told me nothing," 
 she whispered, clinging to him. 
 
 " That I shall get the sack, oh Mem-sahib," he 
 answered, lowering his eyes to hers. 
 
 She drew back, her cheeks on fire. She searched him 
 swiftly, uncertain, then asked " Why do you say that 
 why, why ? " 
 
 " Don't know, dearest," he said, with a queer indrawing 
 of breath. 
 
 " Has anything been said ? " she persisted.
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 239 
 
 " Nothing definite, only MeClure has ..." 
 
 " He was kind," she interjected, " just remember . . ." 
 
 " Yes. I know. But MeClure is a business man, Loo. 
 If he thinks it is to his interest to keep me in command he 
 will keep me otherwise I shall be told to resign ..." 
 
 " Did he tell you so before we started, dearest ? " she 
 whispered, her hand reaching up as though to screen him. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you wouldn't tell me ? " 
 
 He shrugged over this, making light of it with the 
 phrase " What was the use ? " 
 
 " Use ! " She clung to him at the word in spite of its 
 sting. " No you are right there. I could have done 
 nothing. And now I can do less . . . that is one of the 
 prerogatives of a woman, Den to sit still and do nothing 
 . . . nothing, although it breaks her heart. No, dearest 
 I am not slating you. It was no use your telling me. 
 It is no use now . . . but I am just beginning to recog- 
 nise the hole I put you in by by marrying you . . . 
 and and wondering what in the world I can do to, 
 to help you, Den. ..." 
 
 They drew together in the dusk, up there in the chart- 
 room, just when it seemed that events had decided to 
 push them apart. 
 
 " I won't hear that . . . you are my wife," said Den. 
 
 " I won't say it again, oh dearest," Lucy faltered, 
 " but it is true." 
 
 The docks had gone for a brief spell to sleep. Men 
 outside and in the sheds were taking tea from little blue 
 cans. Far off were the sounds of shunting trains and 
 wailing river horns ; far off their home and all talk of an 
 encumbrance. They drew together as in the old days on 
 the Saladin ; as at Suez, that wonderful night when the 
 desert lay at their feet and the world was before them. 
 They decided to face what came together. If it brought 
 peace well ; if it brought pain then well again . . . 
 provided always and for all time they kept in touch 
 close, close, so that nothing could tear them apart. 
 
 They decided, too, not to go to town to-night ; not to 
 take rooms out there near Hyde Park so that the prodigy 
 might breathe fresh air ; not to go to the theatre . . . 
 but to wait ; because, if that possibility suggested by 
 Den came true, they would want every penny he had 
 earned for commonplace things like milk and bread.
 
 240 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Morning came at the docks even as over greater London 
 The sun climbed through a smoke haze which was wonder- 
 ful to consider a red bail, dim, shimmering as it rose. 
 Chimneys barred its disc, the short iron masts of modern 
 ships, and funnels blotted it out ; but it climbed from the 
 blue earth and presently cooled to a white mistiness 
 amidst the clouds. With the morning came dock 
 labourers, breakfast, work ; and at eleven o'clock O'Hagan 
 entered the office to seek McClure. 
 
 He was taken in with the same courtesy as on that 
 wonderful occasion when the gates were beginning to 
 close upon him and upon Lucy. It was difficult to realise 
 that presently he would again be compelled to watch 
 them as they swung to. 
 
 McClure had no knowledge of these or any other gates. 
 Success stood like a mirror to brighten him. He scarcely 
 understood difficulty as a monetary pain ; poverty, 
 although the word in another form was constantly on his 
 lips, the lips especially of Mrs. McClure, he did not under- 
 stand. The world, the business world of shipowners was 
 a very pleasant one. The world, in point of fact, for 
 McClure, was exactly what he chose to make of it. And 
 to-day O'Hagan as he entered found him suave, polite, 
 armed cap-a-pie in kindliness. He rose and extended a 
 cool hand. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you look well and hearty, captain 
 . . . take that chair . . . draw it a little nearer . . . 
 rather different to the poor devils who have to look after 
 your interests here eh ? " 
 
 McClure figured for a moment as one of the poor devils. 
 It is an attitude easily adopted, and in the hands of an 
 expert is efficacious. Naturally he made no allusion to 
 the week-ends he enjoyed Friday to Tuesday nor the 
 hours he spent away from the office. It was the sort of 
 lapse anticipated by his genial salutation, yet McClure 
 was kind. 
 
 Captain O'Hagan found a seat and admitted in even 
 tones that he was well ; but he had no words of sympathy 
 for the poor devils. In his mind he was sure that the 
 gates would be closed. It was no longer a question. He 
 was sure. This was but a preliminary. 
 
 " How is Mrs. O'Hagan ? " questioned McClure. 
 
 " She is quite well, sir," O'Hagan admitted. 
 
 " Enjoyed the trip I hope ? "
 
 THE CLOSING OF GATES 241 
 
 " Indeed yes. It is a matter on which I am sure she 
 would wish to express herself, when she has an oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 "Ah!" sighed McClure. 
 
 For a short space he remained silent, studying the face 
 which bespoke health and heartiness; then he swung 
 slightly the swivel chair and, resting his arms, said 
 
 " I never indulge in circumlocution. There is no sense 
 in it between men. I can see," he added with his old 
 precision, " that you have an inkling that the forecast I 
 made of what might occur was correct. It was. Lloyd's 
 have acted as I expected. I need not tell you I am sorry, 
 for I think you will give me credit so far and I confess 
 that it is not my wish to add to your difficulties ; but, as 
 I warned you on your appointment, I cannot continue 
 you in command now that the question has arisen. To 
 be quite candid, it was the merest accident that it did not 
 arise before you sailed . . . you follow me ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " To put the matter very bluntly, Captain O'Hagan, 
 you are on the Black List. . . . Lloyd's differentiate 
 against you on their policy in future. The premium I 
 shall have to pay, if I chose to ignore Lloyd's, which I 
 cannot do, would be considerably increased. I have, of 
 course, large influence with my shareholders ; but I doubt 
 whether I should be able to persuade them to incur the 
 additional expense. And I must point out if the 
 question came up for discussion, I should be compelled 
 to raise that most unfortunate matter of the Sphinx. . . . 
 And they " 
 
 As McClure lifted shoulders over this O'Hagan acknow- 
 ledged that the gates were closing. 
 
 " I see your difficulty," he said slowly. " It is very 
 plain . . . but I do not think it will be necessary to raise 
 it if as I understand you wish me to send in my 
 resignation ? " 
 
 McClure acknowledged that this would be the simpler 
 way. 
 
 " But it means that I may not do the only work I am 
 trained to do," O'Hagan urged. 
 
 Again McClure made a gesture indicative of assent, but 
 he seemed oppressed and, leaning forward on the arm of 
 his chair, said 
 
 " I should be sorry to allow you to think .1 am doing 
 B.P. B
 
 242 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 this with any sort of pleasure. It is repugnant, as a matter 
 of fact, but my hands are tied. I must talk it over with 
 Worsdale. It is a very difficult problem. They differen- 
 tiate against you at Lloyd's merely as a business pre- 
 caution. There is no hostility to you personally in their 
 action. You are one of many all equally unfortunate 
 and while conditions remain as they are shipowners have 
 no option but to acquiesce you see that, don't you ? " 
 
 " I see that I am broken," O'Hagan made answer, his 
 lips firm, his face alternately flushed and very pale. 
 
 " It is the last thing I desire," McClure admitted, 
 watching. " You believe that ? " 
 
 " I understand that you acted with great kindness 
 when you gave me command," O'Hagan acknowledged. 
 " And I gather that nothing has happened since to make 
 you regret it ? " 
 
 " Nothing absolutely nothing." 
 
 " I am glad of that," O'Hagan breathed. " I went into 
 the Strathmuir with my eyes open " he leaned forward 
 over this ; " you told me the position and I accepted it. 
 I have no stones to throw on that head but I have this 
 to say, and I think it only fair you should hear it. . . ." 
 
 McClure bowed. 
 
 " I was tried," O'Hagan hissed out, " by a court 
 which did not comprehend the questions at issue. The 
 assessors were incompetent. They were old sailing-ship 
 men one of them was deaf, one of them dozed . . . 
 that is enough to warrant my criticism. . . . 
 
 " The Sphinx was lost, sir, because her deck-load broke 
 adrift. It made her top-heavy. I was on deck till I 
 dropped, and while I was below asleep, the mate, who was 
 dead beat also, ran her ashore. The court said in their 
 j udgment that the Sphinx was seaworthy. I say definitely 
 that no ship which carries great weights on her upper 
 deck is seaworthy. . . . Men are killed by these deck- 
 loads. Ships are lost through them and we who com- 
 mand, if we happen to be saved, are compelled to stand 
 our trial before people who know nothing of the sea. 
 That is not justice. I was suspended. I served my 
 time " he threw the phrase out with an intensity which 
 compelled McClure to glance round " and when my ticket 
 is restored to me I find I am blacklisted. . . ." 
 
 He rose from his chair and stood swaying slightly as he 
 spoke, one hand outstretched.
 
 THE CLOSING; OF GATES 243 
 
 " If that is justice," he said^deliberately, " then I have 
 done with England. If that is the law, then I must seek 
 elsewhere for a means of pursuing my calling. Australia 
 perhaps, Canada Saigon, some remote spot in the East 
 where they know nothing of the Black List and care less. 
 But it is not justice which compels me to get out of the 
 country. . . . For two pins I would not go out I would 
 stay and fight it fight it, Mr. McClure, so that ship- 
 owners and Government and Lloyd's may understand 
 that you may not blacklist a man unless he is a sot, a 
 blackguard, a devil if you choose plainly and visibly 
 before the world. . . ." 
 
 He passed his hand across his dry lips while McClure 
 stared, astonished at the man's force. 
 
 " You know what subornation is ? " he questioned. 
 " So do I to-day. When I stood on trial I did not. I 
 had never heard of it. I didn't think a white man could 
 play it so low. But Sharum did it. Sharum and his 
 witnesses lied. They lied knowing they lied. They lied 
 as only cowards and devils will lie and one day, please 
 God ! I'll bring men to see that they lied. ..." 
 
 He picked up his hat and stick and stood ready to go. 
 McClure watched, silent under this lashing. He was 
 unused to it. He resented it at all events in manner. 
 
 " You were kind to me, sir," O'Hagan added more 
 softly, " when I was in a devilish tight place and I wish 
 to thank you. You set the clock going for the pair of us 
 and kept it going for six nearly eight months. I 
 shall not forget that . . . but " he leaned forward 
 emphasizing the point " now it stops again." 
 
 " If," he said with the old ringing challenge, " Lloyd's 
 are to discriminate against men in my position, Lloyd's 
 should see that the courts are clean. This is a sentence 
 of of starvation for me." He stumbled, moved towards 
 the door, and suddenly turned holding it wide. "Even 
 your criminals are fed," he launched upon that quiet room. 
 
 Then in a white heat of passion he made his way into 
 the street and McClure returned to his chair. 
 
 " Rather a firebrand," he commented as he sat. 
 
 That night O'Hagan's resignation was dealt with by the 
 secretary of the Pampas Line. In a neatly typed letter 
 he begged to accept it.
 
 Phase the Fourth 
 Expiation
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 
 
 I love you, dear, there is no rue, 
 
 It matters nothing what they say ; 
 You stand by me, I'll stand by you, 
 
 And all our work is play. 
 
 I have but you, you have but me, 
 
 We never yet succumbed to pain ; 
 I'd give what's left to give of me 
 
 To hear you laugh again. 
 
 You are my soul. I am your slave, 
 
 I would not alter that a breath ; 
 God gave you me. He'll make me brave 
 
 I'm yours, all yours till death. 
 
 LONDON even in the dark days of January can be as 
 pleasant as any other great city in the world for those 
 with a full purse ; but for those on the edge of poverty, 
 or those who find themselves debarred work, it is cruel 
 with the cold malignity of the Arctic. 
 
 The wind was easterly and a thin fog lay over the great 
 city. About the streets abutting on the parks the air 
 was scarcely denser than that which trickled over the 
 marshland below Riverton ; but patches of yellow clung 
 to the city as in the older and less strenuous days. 
 Fenchurch Street, the Monument, Leadenhall Market and 
 all that maze of streets and passages which connect them, 
 were lighted already at two o'clock. 
 
 The new offices of Sharums, Limited, stood midway down 
 Longman Avenue, a winding lane running north and 
 south, which sometimes gets a glimpse of the sun at noon 
 and sometimes for days together never sees its shadows. 
 In spite of blurred windows and grey fronts dripping 
 moisture Sharums hummed content. Its windows were 
 no dirtier than others in the City. The narrow pavements 
 which bordered it were as well squeegeed as others ; its 
 portion of the brown incubus was no denser than that 
 which lay elsewhere ; its share of the blue-faced brigade 
 quite normal.
 
 248 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Hawkers stood there as everywhere. The loafers and 
 known mendicants were not a whit brisker or more 
 miserable than their brothers of St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 Queen's Road or the Grove. Business men, clerks and 
 messengers, threaded swiftly to and fro this path of 
 industrialism. The miserable by-products of that same 
 industrialism \vhined, displayed toys or bootlaces, their 
 hurts or their hopes, and stamped drearily their sodden 
 feet. 
 
 A weary voice droned at the end of a passage to the 
 accompaniment of an accordion 
 
 " Who's for the Shore, brothers, 
 Who's for the Shore " 
 
 with the slow intensity of one chewing the cud of failure. 
 No one heeded him. 
 
 Denis O'Hagan came down the street, stood a moment 
 to stare at the office of Sharums, Limited, and passed on. 
 Fifteen minutes later Lucy O'Hagan walked the same way. 
 
 Sharum lounged at his ease beside a writing table in his 
 room. On his left a fire burned cheerily in a tiled grate. 
 The door opened and he turned to see a slight, keen man 
 entering. This was Peter Witterspoon, the dandy financier 
 who had set Sharum on his legs and Leadenhall Street by 
 the ears. 
 
 He was clean-shaven, dark and very alert immensely 
 alive. And he was the son of an eminent pill manu- 
 facturer who had left a fortune in " millions." No 
 expense had been spared in turning out young Witter- 
 spoon. Harrow began the polishing process, Oxford and 
 the Bar finished it. He had no use for pills and he knew 
 by instinct a business man when he saw him. He had, 
 as may be gauged, a long purse. 
 
 When he " chucked " the Bar he took to the wealthy 
 man's amusements with avidity. He travelled, hunted, 
 shot big game ; flirted in India and on liners, on his yacht 
 and in Paris. At the moment he was engaged on this 
 " spec. " in shipping which seemed to be turning out 
 trumps. Three years ago he met Sharum in a deal which 
 resulted in something like cent, per cent, profit. Witter- 
 spoon approved that sort of thing. He said it was the 
 bread of life to him and perhaps it was. His nose told 
 tales, so did his keen, black eyes, his wavy dark hair. 
 
 Outside in the fog derelicts sold laces for the bread of
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 249 
 
 life ; inside Sharums they employed capital at cent, per 
 cent., if possible, to the same end. 
 
 In London, Liverpool, Glasgow, Bristol, business was 
 booming. The shipyards hummed and there were not 
 enough steamers to go round. After a period of such 
 stagnation as statistics may prove, a boom had set in and 
 shipowners were coming to their own. New firms were 
 leaping to the front, damned by the old. An organiser's 
 game, it -was termed by those who rolled in profits 
 cheese-paring, loss of efficiency, undermanning, over- 
 loading by those Bottle-Fillers who carried out the 
 game. 
 
 But Witterspoon knew nothing of this he only knew 
 a business man when he saw him. He asked no questions 
 of Sharum or any of his underlings. Underlings as a 
 matter of detail did not exist in the cosmos of Mr. Peter 
 Witterspoon and yet he was a kindly soul, with definite 
 hopes and beliefs. 
 
 The door snapped behind him and he advanced with the 
 usual salutation staccato, exclamatory, 
 
 " Hallo ! Caught you napping, eh ? No wonder . . . 
 weather enough to choke a carburettor what? Any 
 news ? " 
 
 Sharum glanced at a roll of papers which lay before him 
 on the table. 
 
 " Any quantity." 
 
 " Passable ? " 
 
 " Speaking generally quite good. I should like to be 
 able to put my finger on a few more boats . . . but they 
 aren't on the market." 
 
 " Bad as that ? " 
 
 " Good as that," Sharum corrected, nodding. 
 
 " Capital ! Well I'm rather thinking of running over 
 to Paris for a fortnight. . . . Decided to go last night. 
 Checked this morning, by Jove. Suppose I can manage 
 it, eh ? " 
 
 " While there's a wire," Sharum shrugged. 
 
 " Good . . . thinking as a matter of fact of having a 
 bit of a splash. . . . How do we stand ? Don't want to 
 break the bank you know roughly now what are we 
 rolling in ? " 
 
 Sharum reached for cigars and cigarettes, rose and pulled 
 a chair near. " Sit down," he said. " We can't talk 
 business like this. Smoke ? "
 
 250 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Witterspoon took a cigar, Sharum did the same, then 
 each lighted and sat back to enjoy life as they made it. 
 
 " I hear," said Witterspoon, " that the Pampas people 
 have returned their capital since the boom started . . . 
 rather good, that, eh ? " 
 
 Sharum twisted his cigar, withdrew it and said through 
 the smoke " Not so bad." 
 
 " You are not going to tell me you can beat it ? " 
 
 " Roughly ? " 
 
 " Yes just an idea to be going on with." 
 
 *' A thousand per month, all round. Clear. Thirty 
 bottoms." * 
 
 Witterspoon gazed through half-closed eyes at the calm 
 lips which announced these figures. He made a rapid 
 calculation and said with lifted chin 
 
 " That runs into three hundred and sixty thousand, my 
 friend ? " 
 
 The friend nodded. He could afford to be nonchalant. 
 
 " Can't last at that pace ? " Witterspoon surmised, 
 twisting his cigar with delicate touch. 
 
 " I think we have seen the best . . . but there is a 
 good run to come." 
 
 " Understand," Witterspoon tossed back, " I don't want 
 to be left in the thing." 
 
 The thing in question was chartering and owning 
 British steamers, loading them, finding their crews, 
 paying them. It was the thing which kept Sharums 
 employed ; clerks with their noses to the desks, messen- 
 gers threading byeways, telephones buzzing and at the 
 docks crowds of frayed men within hail of a ganger whom 
 they termed vicariously, hating him, the Bloke and God 
 Almighty. 
 
 " I'll take everything over as it stands," Sharum replied 
 in his quick fashion, " when you tell me you are tired. 
 That do ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 Witterspoon's eyes travelled round the room. A few 
 fine engravings hung on the walls. There was little to 
 suggest an office. The furniture of old oak shone as 
 though Sharums had discovered the lost trick of glaze. 
 In the centre of a Jacobean press stood a piece of Delft 
 blue upon brown, the artist's soul laid bare. 
 
 * Thirty vessels.
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 251 
 
 Witterspoon came back to the man sitting quietly before 
 him, his legs stretched to the fire. 
 
 " Rather a change from up north," he said lightly. 
 
 " The chance of a lifetime," Sharum acquiesced. 
 
 " Do you never make mistakes ? " Witterspoon 
 pressed. 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " You don't advertise them, anyway. Clear of that 
 bother with the Sphinx yet ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " One of your mistakes, eh ? " 
 
 " The only one I remember," Sharum nodded. 
 
 " Man in it called O'Hagan, wasn't there ? " 
 
 " Yes and another called Barlow. Wish I'd never 
 seen them." 
 
 " Go on. I'm interested," said Peter Witterspoon. 
 " For half an hour I'm going to laze." 
 
 " It may take ten minutes." Sharum reached for the 
 financial section of the Times, opened it and pointed to a 
 paragraph which he gave his friend to read. 
 
 Witterspoon put up an eyeglass, and tucked the black 
 ribbon which held it behind his ear. 
 
 " ' Casa Blanco,,' " he read, " ' London, May 20th, for 
 Valparaiso. Boat found in 50 45'S. 66 50'W.' " He 
 returned the paper, shook down his glass and said 
 " Greek to me. What is it ? Belong to us ? And why 
 fifty guineas per cent. ? " 
 
 " She belongs to Chile but I shall have to make good 
 any loss my cousin makes on her." 
 
 " Yes but what is it ? " 
 
 " Tug, built here to the order of some firm in Valparaiso 
 and the mistake I made was in allowing her to sail in 
 charge of this chap Barlow, a man I knew to be a fool. ..." 
 
 " Afraid you've got a soul after all," Witterspoon 
 commented. 
 
 " It doesn't worry me," Sharum waived, airily brandish- 
 ing his cigar. " Sailormen don't catch me often but here 
 was a case of a man with three children, wife, and mother 
 no doubt somewhere in the background, all of whom were 
 on the point of starvation owing to the loss of the Sphinx 
 one of my boats in the old days. ..." 
 
 " You thought it cheaper to wink than to denounce, 
 eh ? Good man," Witterspoon commented. 
 
 '* I 4id not, I admit, wish to reopen the whole question.
 
 252 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 This fellow was mate of the Sphinx when she was lost. 
 He and his skipper, O'Hagan, were tried and were sus- 
 pended. I had a lot of trouble in the matter. These two 
 fools went so far as to try to saddle me with their burden. 
 They said the Sphinx was unseaworthy, by God ! and I 
 had to use all my influence to quash that ..." 
 
 " Naturally," Witterspoon interjected, and added in his 
 quizzical vein, " And was she ? " 
 
 " She was as sound as this table ! " Sharum thumped 
 out, striking it. 
 
 " Good. I take your word for it. Don't know any- 
 thing about it and don't want to. ... Well, what has 
 the Casa Blanco, idiot done ? " 
 
 *' Lost her as far as I can read it." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Somewhere between the Magellans and Falkland 
 Islands, it seems." 
 
 " A tug down there ! " Witterspoon lifted his brows 
 over this. 
 
 "Panama isn't open yet; how else could he get?" 
 Sharum questioned in return. 
 
 " Couldn't, of course. Poor devil . . . well, and where 
 do you come in ? " 
 
 " My cousin is an underwriter," Sharum reminded. 
 
 " I know. And this thing hits him, eh ? Rough luck ! 
 No chance for her at all, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Devilish little. The ' doctors ' rate her at fifty per 
 cent." 
 
 " So I see. Well, who found the wreckage or whatever 
 it is that has turned up ? " 
 
 " One of the Pacific liners brought in her boat and 
 announced the fact. She will go to ninety guineas or so 
 and then get posted. That is all we shall ever hear of 
 her," Sharum said in his growling undertone. " The only 
 thing that annoys me," he went on, " is that I did not do 
 my duty by the Association. I allowed feeling to inte r- 
 vene. That was a mistake. The fellow shipped in a 
 false name and was in touch with his skipper to the last 
 the pair supposed they hoodwinked me. Me, by the 
 Lord ! You may be sure," he added, after this outburst, 
 " I shall not slip twice in the same rut." 
 
 Witterspoon laughed aloud, slapping his thigh. " Got 
 on your nerves, eh ? Jove ! I thought ..." 
 
 " These two did me more damage," Sharum insisted,
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 253 
 
 " than I supposed any sailorman could manage. Unsea- 
 worthy mind ! You don't seem to appreciate that brick ; 
 but it's the sort that hits pretty hard these days. There's 
 so much rubbish talked about it. O'Hagan should have 
 known better than to use it. He seems to be another 
 of those chaps who can control neither their ships nor 
 their tongues. ..." 
 
 " Who is that ? " 
 
 " O'Hagan." 
 
 Witterspoon withdrew his cigar and, staring over lifted 
 hands, said " O'Hagan I seem to know that name 
 somehow. Incompetent too ? " 
 
 " They took him on at the Pampas Line ; but I hear 
 he is discharged." 
 
 " Wife and family, I suppose ? " 
 
 Sharum shrugged over this, enjoying his cigar. 
 Witterspoon sent a ring of smoke ceilingwards and said 
 
 " Well and what are you going to do with him ? " 
 
 "Fight him," Sharum decided, bristling, "if he makes 
 it necessary." 
 
 And again Witterspoon commented in his airy fashion 
 " Poor devil ! " 
 
 He rose, crossed the room, and stood examining a beauti- 
 ful engraving of old London with the Thames and Tower 
 in the foreground. He put up his glass, read the name 
 of " your humble and obedient servant " who had etched 
 it, stepped back and said 
 
 " Care to part with that ? " 
 
 " Guess not." 
 
 " Hum ! Know too much 1 Well I'm off for an hour 
 or so. I have an appointment here presently and will 
 look in before I go west. . . . Au revoir." 
 
 The door cushioned on the valve behind him as Sharum 
 turned to his letters. 
 
 Longman Avenue was dingier an hour later, colder, 
 rawer, more given over to sudden eruptions of wind- 
 driven paper, smuts, and the chant of those who sold toys. 
 But for the lamps it would have been quite dark, and they 
 glowed like dim moons seen through aureoles. 
 
 At four o'clock the City begins to show signs that the 
 men who inhabit it sleep elsewhere. The big-wigs move 
 off to catch trains or climb into the cars which await them. 
 Others, less happy, or less wealthy, make a bee-line for
 
 254 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 tea and dominoes fifteen minutes interval before going 
 back to their ledgers. For the clerk-brigade remains 
 to add and subtract, to carry over, and to balance long 
 after the majority of principals have vanished. 
 
 But Sharum was not of the majority. Golf, week-ends, 
 river trips scarcely appealed to him now. He was out 
 to win money, fame at the hands of the richest community 
 of business men in the world, and the hive he commanded 
 hummed behind closed doors. He was there to tap the 
 boom while it existed, to run his ships while freights 
 showed a profit ; and to lay them up in tiers, sans crew, 
 when that was no longer possible. 
 
 That was one of the results of what he termed organisation. 
 It is also one of the reasons why embryo Bottle-fillers 
 shake their heads at the sea but this he did not consider. 
 
 As half past four tolled on the chimes of a hidden church, 
 from the curve of Longman Avenue a woman appeared 
 walking quickly and examining the grim frontages for 
 the sign she required. Lucy O'Hagan came here once 
 more, her heart beating alternately in hope and fear. 
 She was bracing for an ordeal. She had already undergone 
 the scrutiny of a messenger, several clerks, and the cashier 
 of the Pampas Line ; had heard it explained, after her name 
 had been handed, on a slip of limp paper, from one to 
 another, that Mr. McClure was not at the office. The 
 messenger believed he had gone home, the cashier fancied 
 he had run round to his club, the clerks were unanimous 
 in the opinion that he left at three o'clock. 
 
 Lucy discovered bias in this general head-shaking. 
 These understrappers had pierced her identity and were 
 acting on instructions. She recognised now that McClure 
 was a very busy man who never saw people without an 
 appointment and, said the cashier in his fatherly manner, 
 some indication of the nature of a caller's business. The 
 man looked like a doctor, and Lucy heard him say 
 " In self-defence this is essential, otherwise, you see, the 
 chief's very valuable time would be frittered away you 
 see that, don't you ? Abso-lu-tely frittered." 
 
 Of course Mrs. O'Hagan saw, but she remembered that 
 this difficulty was only disclosed when the staff had 
 become acquainted with her name. She came from the 
 offices of the Pampas Line biting her lips at the indiscre- 
 tion she had displayed. They were kindly enough, suave, 
 apologetic, but they had no intention of permitting Mrs,
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 255 
 
 O'Hagan within the doors of that holy of holies which 
 once had sheltered Den. She came down Longman 
 Avenue now shaking off assistance. The pauper tribe 
 not yet vanished to their lairs scented a novice and would 
 have earned pennies had she shown signs of uncertainty. 
 But she held on. She had learned exactly where to find 
 these offices and had set out " to see what she could do." 
 
 She was like Amaryllis come to the land where dollars 
 are earned to dress her and her cousins of the town. 
 Come, not for a Stock Exchange tip, but to plead the cause 
 of a husband. Come, not as one of the new fighters, but 
 to learn in the old way what the Black List is, why it 
 exists, how " inimical to business " it would be if this 
 " deterrent " were removed. True, she had no knowledge 
 of business j knew nothing of the necessity which brings 
 us all eventually to the seat of custom. She knew only 
 that Den had come home three nights ago " with the black 
 rage on him " as men say of his compatriots when they 
 desire to emphasise misery. 
 
 Den with the black rage on him, cursing his luck it had 
 come to this at length and wondering when his Appeal 
 would come on, was a sufficiently pitiable specimen of 
 the Bottle-filler. Lucy scarcely recognised her husband. 
 He had gone back to the profitless business of seeking 
 work in the City so that he might be at hand to prosecute 
 that beast Sharum, clear himself as Worsdale desired, and 
 at the same time earn enough to pay his railway fares. 
 Poor Den ! Poor Lucy ! The two stood now on the 
 threshold of what the Law might ordain. Simply, un- 
 knowingly on that. 
 
 Lucy found the door without removing her veil. It 
 was plain to all beholders. Sharums Limited in black 
 and red lay across a brass plate which spanned two doors. 
 She could have seen it in the dark. 
 
 Lucy entered and discovered, just within an inquiry 
 box, a commissionaire wearing medals. Among them 
 was one for the Egyptian Campaign, 1898 ; and to him 
 she said with the sang-froid of a soldier's daughter 
 " Omdurman ? " 
 
 The grizzled warrior saluted instantly. 
 
 " Yes, lady and the Flotilla." 
 
 " My father was there too Major Faulkner Lord K.'s 
 staff what regiment were you in ? " 
 
 " Gordons, lady."
 
 256 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 Then after a swift glance at the partition, Lucy said 
 " Is Mr. Sharum in ? " 
 
 " Yes, lady . . . what name shall I . . ." 
 
 "Mr. Sharum would not know it just say that some- 
 one wishes to speak with him for a few minutes." 
 
 The man was moving away on his errand when his chief 
 emerged ready for the street. That halted him. He 
 stood erect, his hand raised in salute, and said 
 
 " A lady, sir, to see you." 
 
 Sharum paused and moved his hat while Lucy at once 
 drew near. 
 
 " Mr. Sharum ? " she asked, her eyes acknowledging 
 triumph. 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " May I speak with you a few minutes ? " 
 
 Sharum glanced at his watch, hesitated in a fashion no 
 man had seen, and said rather brusquely " Yes, I suppose 
 so ... come this way, please." 
 
 Apparently he had noticed that in her eyes which told 
 him refusal might produce a scene. He disliked scenes, 
 especially on the threshold of his office. 
 
 He led the way to his room, switched on the lights, and 
 as the commissionaire closed the door said " Pray 
 take a seat." Then he touched a button and faced his 
 visitor with the air of a man who said "you wish to see 
 me well, here I am, enthroned, ready with witnesses 
 go ahead and do your worst." 
 
 " My name is O'Hagan." 
 
 Lucy broke the silence with this bombshell as she lifted 
 her veil. At the same instant a man entered the room 
 and approached Sharum. He bent down, speaking very 
 quietly, so quietly that only the drone of his voice reached 
 Lucy. Sharum replied in the same tone, the man moved 
 quietly away, then Sharum looked up to say 
 
 " I beg your pardon. You were saying . . . ? " 
 
 " That my name is O'Hagan. Captain O'Hagan, who 
 was in the Sphinx " she spoke in clear, well modulated 
 tones " is my husband, and I have come to see if I 
 can persuade you to remove his name from the Black 
 List." 
 
 Sharum listened courteously. He appeared suave, 
 collected, quite indifferent either to the fate of O'Hagan 
 or of the Black List ; but like McClure, he recognised a
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 257 
 
 pretty woman when he saw one. This one was beautiful. 
 A bother, that. It is always more pleasant to help a 
 beautiful woman than to flout her. Yet that must be the 
 upshot here. O'Hagan ! The very name stank in this 
 man's nostrils. Why the devil couldn't he fight his 
 own battles ? What have shipowners to do with the 
 women who are fools enough to marry skippers and mates 
 . . . and how in the world had O'Hagan managed to get 
 hold of this gem ? 
 
 So ran thought behind the impassive mask of this man, 
 whose skippers were busy rolling in profits for their master 
 to the tune of a thousand a month. He scarcely moved in 
 his chair to answer her. 
 
 " I am in no sense responsible for the position," he 
 said. " The Black List, if it exists at all, except in the 
 imagination of singularly susceptible people, I take it 
 exists at Lloyd's. . . . Shipowners at all events are not 
 concerned with it. ..." 
 
 " Shipowners," she reminded him, " refuse to take 
 officers who are on the Black List." 
 
 Sharum extended his hands. 
 
 " Possibly. I cannot speak to the truth of that or 
 the reverse." 
 
 " Mr. Sharum," Lucy leaned forward, her voice pleading 
 where she could have slain, "it is impossible for you to 
 persuade me that you do not know that my husband is on 
 the Black List. He commanded the Sphinx. The Sphinx 
 belonged to you. He was suspended for her loss and 
 as a consequence of that suspension his name is on the list 
 of men who are not considered fit for command. That is 
 unfair. You know he is fit. He commanded in the 
 Pampas Line, but Mr. McClure refuses to allow him to 
 remain while his name is on that list. That is ruin to 
 him and I have come to ask you to use your influence 
 to get it removed. . . ." 
 
 Sharum's answer was short and explicit. 
 
 " I have no influence at all in this matter." 
 
 " But you will not refuse to see those who have ? " 
 
 " Sorry as I am to disappoint you I must decline," 
 Sharum answered at once. 
 
 " But but it is killing my husband . . . breaking him 
 up. Don't you see, that if you take away his livelihood in 
 this way, something dreadful will happen ? " 
 
 " Again, in all sincerity," came quietly from Sharum's 
 
 B.F. S
 
 258 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 lips, " I must put in a disclaimer there. I am not respon- 
 sible for Captain O'Hagan's position." 
 
 " Then who is ? " 
 
 " That is not for me to say even had I the necessary 
 knowledge. And," Sharum suffered indignation to creep 
 in here, his lips drew new lines, " I think, if you will 
 consider the matter dispassionately, you will acknow- 
 ledge that I am the last the very last to whom you 
 should address your appeal." 
 
 " I don't agree there ; but tell me your version," 
 Lucy urged. 
 
 " Captain O'Hagan acted very badly in this matter. I 
 am not alluding to the loss of my ship, but to his conduct 
 at the Inquiry. He accused us of sending to sea a vessel 
 laden so that she was unseaworlhy. The whole argu- 
 ment was resolved upon that. Unseaworthy. That is a 
 monstrous and libellous accusation to make." He shook 
 this out with vigour. It seemed to oppress him. " I 
 have no words strong enough to condemn such action on 
 the part of a British shipmaster." 
 
 " My husband tells me it is the new Act which makes 
 ships unseaworthy." 
 
 ' Very well let him fight the Act," Sharum scoffed. 
 
 " How can he you know that only a rich man can 
 fight an Act of Parliament. . . . Surely, surely you have 
 no animosity in the matter. You are too big to be affected 
 by a small thing like this. What is it to you whether my 
 husband is at work or at play ? I refuse to believe you 
 have any desire to harm him. It is impossible ..." 
 
 She leaned forward, speaking in a tense whisper 
 
 " And remember what lies behind. I, too, am hurt if 
 my husband is unable to work. You see that, don't you 
 . . . and there is Baba. Is it any use telling you what it 
 must mean to all of us if we are driven to the wall ? Oh ! 
 I don't believe you have seen it from this point of view, 
 I can't or you would never tell me he must fight an Act 
 of Parliament. He can't fight it 1 " 
 
 " Then he should leave it alone," came bluntly in 
 comment on this. " If ships are made unseaworthy by 
 the new Rule he is under no compulsion to sail in them." 
 
 Lucy shrank back in her chair. Sharum's antagonism 
 had become plainer with his defence. She felt that it was 
 useless to continue argument with one who fenced in this 
 fashion. Useless to plead, use ess to beg. She would
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 259 
 
 be compelled to strike. She had come there prepared, 
 if necessary, to call on Witterspoon for aid ; but still she 
 hesitated. She scarcely knew why. With a sudden 
 spring of impatience she said 
 
 " You accused my husband of drunkenness. ..." 
 
 " And if we did, was it not true ? " 
 
 " It was false, and you knew it." 
 
 " I am sorry to seem impolite," Sharum hit back. " We 
 acted on information supplied by our agents." 
 
 " It was false. Your witnesses were paid to say what 
 they said. . . ." 
 
 Sharum leaned forward in his chair, tapping the table 
 irritably. " Do you accuse me of wilfully bringing a bogus 
 charge against your husband ? " he asked. 
 
 " That is a question I leave to your conscience if you 
 have one," Lucy retorted. But at the back of her mind 
 she knew that she was losing . . . that she would be 
 compelled to call for help. 
 
 " I suppose " she moved tangentwise here, with the 
 calm intensity of a woman stung to her soul by the fact 
 that she had pleaded without effect ; pleaded, and had 
 her words flung back at her " I suppose you consider 
 yourself a business man ? " 
 
 Sharum refused to be drawn in this fashion. He sat 
 there ill at ease, hectored, as he put it, by a woman, the 
 wife of one of his ex-skippers if you please, who it seemed 
 said enough, or not enough, he scarcely knew which, to 
 warrant an action for libel. And yet at whose cost ? 
 He stamped and remained silent. 
 
 " I am thankful I know very little," Lucy resumed, 
 " but I am told that people who persuade their eaptains 
 to invest money in vessels which are mortgaged to the 
 hilt, without advising them they are mortgaged, are 
 running the risk of being charged with malfeasance." She 
 repeated, looking down on the sallow face of this personage 
 who had the ordering of hundreds in his hands, " Mal- 
 feasance is a criminal offence. I heard it applied to your 
 methods and I looked it up." 
 
 Sharum scarcely moved, although he bowed before her 
 strength. He would have liked to say " What in the 
 world do you know about criminal law, little witch ? " 
 but produced this phrase instead " If Captain O'Hagan 
 considers himself aggrieved in that matter, his remedy is 
 plain." 
 
 S 2
 
 260 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " You know your company was bankrupt when you 
 invited him to invest." 
 
 " I offered him command on certain terms which he 
 accepted," Sharum explained. 
 
 " You took five hundred pounds out of his pocket and 
 then turned him adrift," Lucy tossed back. 
 
 Sharum rose to end this. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that nothing is to be gained by 
 recrimination. If your husband . . ." 
 
 " You attacked Captain O'Hagan," Lucy challenged at 
 once, her words ringing in the still room. " You sneered 
 at the terrible position in which he finds himself. You ..." 
 
 Sharum lifted his hand and his voice together. 
 
 " Pray do not excite yourself," he urged, his one aim 
 now the pacification of this outspoken young woman who 
 showered charges on a nature which never would respond 
 to passion ; which would remain cold, polished as the 
 staid old furniture with which he was surrounded, calm 
 as the engravings on his walls. 
 
 " Excite myself ! " Lucy's mocking laugh rang out. 
 She was very able to protect herself, very flexile, bright, 
 strong ; but she knew that she must call in help. Obey 
 her aunt. Ask someone else to hammer in her arguments. 
 " One does not allow excitement to interfere," she said. 
 " Perhaps you prefer that I should see Mr. Witterspoon ? " 
 
 She watched closely as she fired this charge ; but 
 Sharum, in spite of his astonishment, gave no sign that he 
 felt, feared or hesitated. At once he answered 
 
 " If you think Mr. Witterspoon can give you a more 
 patient hearing than I have done I will ask him to meet 
 you here." 
 
 As Sharum played that shot he saw Lucy in his mind's 
 eye go down before him. He supposed she had learned 
 of the connection which existed between Sharum and the 
 dandy financier ; not that she knew him and as a matter 
 of fact strove to outplay his antagonist as he would a man. 
 But Sharum had been so fully occupied while climbing 
 the ladder of commerce that he had not found time to 
 study that new force which was climbing beside him 
 the modern woman. He was aware of course, in a remote 
 way, that the force had arrived ; but he had no knowledge 
 of the girl organizer who, under a delightful naivete, 
 conceals knowledge wide and vigorous as a man, and with 
 wonderful insight speaks and acts upon it.
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 261 
 
 " Thanks," said this audacity, " don't bother. I 
 wrote for an appointment. Mr. Witterspoon will meet 
 me." 
 
 Sharum, more sallow than before, questioned 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " I should have said here," Lucy smiled, then added, 
 " if it is convenient to you." 
 
 " Pray do not consider that," Sharum bowed. " My 
 ignorance prompted the question. I was not aware you 
 knew Mr. Witterspoon." 
 
 In his mind as he rose and left the room, he anathema- 
 tised this mixing up of persons and causes in one bowl. 
 O'Hagan, Witterspoon, Madame, the lost Sphinx, the 
 Black List himself. Good heavens ! And this the 
 result of half an hour's interview with a woman ! He 
 was angry. He would in future face a scene even in the 
 vestibule rather than an interview. He damned the 
 bronzed warrior who saluted him, called for his secretary 
 and returned. 
 
 He had made this small pilgrimage solely to cover his 
 annoyance. He was angry in the still, deadly fashion of 
 his kind when he came back. And there stood Lucy 
 examining the engraving which Witterspoon had admired. 
 She made no excuse but presently caught sight of a piece 
 of Delft which might have given her a hint of the leanings 
 of this man with the sallow, broad brow who ruled here. 
 But the matter which occupied Lucy lay in the field of 
 anticipation. She had not seen Peter Witterspoon for a 
 long time. Years, she decided, when she considered it 
 years ! She did not know what Mrs. Faulkner had said 
 to him, only that he was connected with Sharum and 
 should be seen. She had formed no plan, but moved in 
 the dark very much as a novice moves pieces in chess. 
 She knew that it was the only means she had of trying to 
 help Den, of showing him that after all marriage was not 
 entirely a handicap. 
 
 The silence was complete, yet Lucy gathered " that 
 man " had returned and wondered what he was doing. 
 She did not know that the clerk who accompanied him 
 was the same as he who had appeared at the beginning 
 of this interview. She did not know that at this moment 
 he was transcribing the shorthand report of every sen- 
 tence that had been spoken and, had she known it she 
 would have smiled.
 
 262 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 What a deadly silence ! The still malignity of it 
 appalled her. It was the mise en scene demanded by 
 plotters not even a clock-tick to disturb them. She 
 wondered what " that man " was doing. She could not 
 see. The room held no mirrors. It was horrid standing 
 in that fashion at all events, and the man would be 
 criticising the hang of her gown. Hateful ! She shivered 
 with the notion, and the eyes of those two pierced her 
 through. She was on the verge of panic for no reason, 
 she told herself. Yet it was there. She wanted to scream 
 . . . for the first time in the course of that interview she 
 felt dizzy, unable to stand still, unable to control her 
 limbs. Then, as though " that man " had diagnosed her 
 condition, she heard a voice saying very calmly 
 
 " Won't you sit down ? " 
 
 Sit down ! She desired to hurl the words back, to treat 
 them with scorn and yet, for some unknown reason her 
 lips formed acquiescence " Oh, thanks very much. Do 
 you think Mr. Witterspoon will be very long ? " 
 
 " I expect him every minute, and have left word for him 
 to come here," Sharum replied. 
 
 With that Lucy accepted the inevitable, turned and sat 
 once more, gaining strength with the effort. She saw 
 the room less dizzily ; saw the clerk advance to offer her 
 a newspaper ... as though she desired to read ; as 
 though she could command her pulses sufficiently to 
 examine one line. . . . Still, she took it from him, said 
 thank you, and presently became absorbed in a paragraph, 
 marked in double lines by a blue pencil, which stated 
 
 " Casa Blanca. May 20th for Valparaiso. Boat 
 found in 50 45' S. 66 50' W. 50 guineas." 
 
 A message from the sea lay to her hand. A message 
 from Jimmy Barlow . . . Jimmy had Den seen this ? 
 What did it mean ? 
 
 She moved softly considering it. 
 
 It was the only passage marked on that page. Why 
 was it marked ? A shivering touch, cold, indefinite, ran 
 down her spine. Had they given her this thing to 
 frighten her ? What did it mean ? She leaned forward 
 striving to pierce the distance, and saw Jimmy Barlow 
 as he sat pretending to make merry in the Strathmuir' 's 
 cabin. She remembered Den had told her of a dream . . . 
 What boat had been found ? Why was it found . . . 
 and, and what of Jimmy Barlow ?
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON 263 
 
 With puzzled brain and troubled eyes she searched the 
 paper and found a heading which offered " Reinsurance 
 Rates," as an index. Nothing more illuminative. Why 
 had they given it to her to read ? " Was Jimmy Barlow 
 lost ? " 
 
 The words fell in a whisper which no one heard. She 
 saw those two bending over a task, silent, like the dead. 
 She wanted to cry out, to ask someone but her lips 
 remained closed. They seemed dry. She moistened 
 them with her tongue and again that shivering touch ran 
 down her spine. She was cold and hot in a breath. Cold 
 and hot the room a tomb, soundless, void, but for those 
 two scribbling, like people bereft of speech. 
 
 The strain of this meeting had been terrible, but the 
 silence appalled. She lifted her hand, pushed back her 
 veil, and found voice with 
 
 " What does this mean . . . why don't you answer 
 me ? " pointing tragically at the paper . . . then the 
 door opened. Heaven opened and Peter Witterspoon 
 came in with a clang. He tossed aside hat, gloves, stick, 
 and advanced holding out both hands Oh ! he was good 
 to look upon. 
 
 " You here first ! I thought I should never see you 
 again ! Jove ! what luck ! And I've kept you. . . . 
 Been wondering what in the world had become of you 
 ever since Simla. . . ." 
 
 He caught her hands " You ran away then ! " he 
 laughed and approached so near that it seemed that he 
 intended to kiss her cheek ; but Lucy swerved and he 
 transferred the attention to her hands. He pressed them 
 to his lips, then looked up oh ! it was good to remember. 
 
 Lucy stood flushed and in trouble ; but he did not see. 
 
 " How in the world did you get to know I was here ? " 
 He cried out, " Sharum ! " he jerked back seeking by a 
 gesture to draw him near " This is Miss Faulkner . . . 
 I met her in India ... wish to heaven we were there 
 now." He was alternately lifting and letting fall Lucy's 
 hands as he rattled on, and in the midst of it her eyes 
 filled. She tried to cry out ; but no words were evident 
 only the choked utterance of one on the edge of tears. 
 " Hallo ! " said Peter Witterspoon, " anything 
 wrong ? " 
 
 Lucy nodded, her eyes dim. 
 
 " Take me home," she whispered.
 
 264 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Now ? " 
 
 " At once, please." 
 
 " 111 ? " 
 
 " No no ; but I must get away from here immediately, 
 and " she faced Sharum, who stood annoyed by this 
 turn of the wheel. 
 
 " What has happened to the Casa Blanca ? " she 
 demanded. 
 
 " As far as one can say at the moment," he bowed, 
 *' she is missing." 
 
 " Missing are you sure ? " 
 
 Witterspoon took the paper she held, scanned it and 
 turned on Sharum. 
 
 " What in the world did you show her that f or ? " he 
 questioned sharply. 
 
 " It seemed likely," Sharum gave back, " that Mrs. 
 O'Hagan would be interested." 
 
 " Mrs. O'Hagan ! " 
 
 Sharum nodded. 
 
 With Lucy on his arm Witterspoon moved to the door.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 " I TRUSTED YOU " 
 
 THIS could not go on. And yet, if Lucy was to help 
 Den she must see it through, twist it to aid her, compel 
 consideration. Compel ! Even as she passed through 
 the vestibule an assurance of the futility of this fell upon 
 her. Witterspoon had taken possession of her. By 
 sheer force and masculinity he stood over her in the 
 manner of protector. In a moment of panic she had 
 asked him to escort her. Now, if she could have shaken 
 him off without injury to the cause she had marked as 
 essential, she would have done so. Impossible ! She 
 shook her head over it. She must be kind walk, as her 
 aunt had suggested, with promises which mean nothing. 
 
 That brought with a rush of contending thoughts the 
 question " What has Aunt Mary said to this man that 
 he acted with such warmth ? " He used to be, what is 
 known as a " rather decent sort." Their relations in 
 India had been of a mild jocularity ; nor had he ever led 
 her to suppose he loved her. . . . With a hot flush on 
 cheek and brow Lucy stumbled as she walked, and 
 instantly recognised the pressure of his protecting arm. 
 
 It was dark but lamps which made light the way they 
 traversed refused altogether to pierce the gloom which 
 clouded her. Time alone would do that. Time the 
 juggler ! 
 
 " And so," said Peter Witterspoon's voice, " you are 
 Mrs. O'Hagan ! " 
 
 ' Yes. Didn't you know ? " 
 
 ' What is he ? " came at once, pushing away her 
 question. 
 
 * Captain " she halted over this. 
 
 ' Army ? " 
 
 ' Merchant Service." 
 
 ' The O'Hagan that man Sharum was telling me of ? 
 No ! " The negative came with a rush suggesting the 
 absurd.
 
 2G6 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " I expect so. He he commanded the Sphinx when 
 she was lost," Lucy faltered. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon's arm seemed to press more closely 
 on Lucy's hand. He drew a long breath. It was as 
 though he sighed. 
 
 They stood at last in the gloom of Longman Avenue. 
 Beside the curb one of the new racing cars throbbed with 
 an energy which refused sleep. Lucy saw it with a gasp 
 of delight. 
 
 ' Not yours ? " she whispered. 
 
 ' Every inch of her. Jump in." 
 
 ' Why? " she drew back, uncertain. 
 
 ' I am going to take you home," he returned. 
 
 * You can't in that," she objected. " It's it's down 
 in the East End. . . ." 
 He whistled softly. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I shall take you," he threw back. 
 " You asked. I promised. Jump in." 
 
 She desired to fight this ; but saw the commissionaire 
 standing there holding the door for her to enter. She 
 could not argue before the medals of an Egyptian cam- 
 paign besides, Peter Witterspoon was putting on gaunt- 
 lets ready for the road She took the seat assigned to her, 
 felt the warmth of that magnificent rug which had lain on 
 the commissionaire's arm and lay back sighing. It w. s 
 glorious to surrender entirely to this beautiful toy, to feel 
 that one need no longer bother, that soon one would be at 
 home. She closed her eyes. 
 
 And presently the throb increased. She felt a jerk or 
 two, then they moved down the shades and came into a 
 wider street leading towards the Bank. Their advent 
 was heralded by a strange horn note, a sound which Lucy 
 decided at once was like the cry of a sick elephant. 
 
 Witterspoon leaned towards her as they came to a 
 crossing. 
 
 ' What address ? " he asked. 
 
 ' Forty-five, Bearsted Road," she gave in response. 
 
 ' WTiere in the world is that ? " 
 
 'East End. A turning off East India Dock Road. . . ." 
 
 ' Don't know it 1 " Peter Witterspoon hummed ; 
 " don't know it ... let it go cram ! " 
 
 They slid into the traffic moving west, coughing out 
 strange explosive sounds which shook the car. 
 
 " No silencer," Witterspoon commented, noting in the
 
 "I TRUSTED YOU" 267 
 
 glare of a lamp her air of strained attention. " She's a 
 beauty when one has room, or on a racing track. No 
 good for the streets." 
 
 " Do you often bring her into the City, then ? " 
 
 " No. . . . Fact is I was on my way to Paris when I got 
 your note. Couldn't change at the last minute. Your 
 aunt told me you would write. Paris can wait/' 
 
 She pushed this aside as they halted behind a constable's 
 outstretched arm and said " Do you go very much to 
 the City ? " 
 
 " When Sharum can't or won't use the telephone," 
 he said, " I have to go." 
 ' You hate it, I expect ? " 
 
 " It pays," he laughed. " Pays, pays . . . what 
 would you have ? " 
 
 " And it gives you influence, a thing you love, Mr. 
 Witterspoon, if I know anything of men." 
 
 " It counts sometimes," he smiled, looking into her eyes. 
 
 " And I suppose Mr. Sharum would do anything you 
 chose to ask ? ' she pressed, the crux of her excursion to the 
 City at length in view. 
 
 Witterspoon shrugged over this " To some extent, 
 perhaps. Fact is I don't interfere at all. ... I finance 
 a bit and keep out of it." 
 
 " But you could persuade him if you wished to do so ? " 
 she insisted, when he broke in with 
 
 " If I can be of the smallest service to Miss Faulkner . . . 
 I beg your pardon ... to Mrs. O Hagan, depend upon 
 it I will do all I know." 
 
 " But it will only be indirectly for me. . . ." 
 
 " Never mind. Tell me. . . ." 
 
 " I want you to help my husband," she faltered here. 
 " He is broken . . . we are all broken by Mr. Sharum's 
 action after the loss of the Sphinx. ..." 
 
 Witterspoon whistled softly, recalling the shipowner's 
 denunciation of O'Hagan and all he stood for. Then the 
 constable moved from before them giving the passing 
 signal and the car leaped on. Without glancing in her 
 direction, all his attention concentrated on his machine 
 he said " Tell me all about it ... I will see what can 
 be done. That do ? " 
 
 She nodded, her face on fire, hope racing fast in her 
 brain. 
 
 " I hate to bother people with with our affairs," she
 
 268 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 said as they swerved past great drays standing in Cannon 
 Street. " It is so much finer to fight one's own battles 
 but here, you see, we are up against interests too big for 
 us to tackle alone. You see," she repeated, striving 
 to be very clear, " at the trial they accused Den my 
 husband, you know of drunkenness. They got some of 
 the crew to swear to it, and now Den has been put on the 
 Black List, and ..." 
 
 " Black List ? " Witterspoon ejaculated. " Where ? " 
 
 " Lloyd's, I believe. . . ." 
 
 " I see. Insurance ... go on." 
 
 " The result is Den can't get a ship again that is, as 
 captain, you know and his friends advise him that he 
 must quash the judgment of the court before he can 
 persuade Lloyd's to remove his name from this Black List 
 of theirs. . . . Oh ! I can't explain it a bit. I make a 
 terrible muddle of it ... but if you will get Mr. Sharum 
 to use his influence to take away this this bar, we shall 
 be able to get on ... otherwise, I think, we shall starve." 
 
 " Starve ? " Witterspoon repeated. " Good gracious 
 you can't mean that ! " 
 
 " I do. It brings us " Lucy stopped as the car 
 
 dipped to go down Ludgate Hill, and the railway bridge 
 which spans the road appeared in the mist before them 
 " Where are you taking me ? " she cried out. " Surely 
 we have passed St. Paul's ... we are going West ! " 
 
 " Why not ? " he questioned, smiling at her consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 " But but I trusted you," she exclaimed, vehement 
 at this jocularity. " Stop the car, please. Let me get 
 down. . . . I I can find my way alone." 
 
 " You can't," he asserted. " In an hour it will be black 
 as my hat. If you insist, I will take you. ..." 
 
 " Turn," she pleaded, her eyes soft. 
 
 " Very well at the bottom," he grumbled. " I 
 wanted to get you a cup of tea first- must go west for that," 
 he prevaricated. 
 
 " Take me home, and I will give you tea there," she 
 begged. 
 
 " It's a bargain," he laughed, unstirred by the pathetic 
 break in her voice ; unstirred indeed by any consideration 
 but the one. And that Lucy had detected. 
 
 Instinctively she knew that Peter Witterspoon was not 
 to be trusted. Without warning or premonition, by the
 
 I TRUSTED YOU" 209 
 
 simple test of a few minutes' talk she recognised what in 
 India had been blurred, perhaps, obscured by the larger 
 conditions. She had danced with him, ridden early and 
 late, fallen in and out of all the traps provided by the 
 cunning of dear Aunt Mary, and never turned a hair. 
 In those days she had moved more or less passively under 
 Mrs. Faulkner's direction she supposed she would have 
 to marry. No one at the moment seemed clamorous 
 for her favours. She queened it quite regally until 
 O'Hagan turned up for a brief visit. And that settled 
 it. Peter Witterspoon, who never had a chance before, 
 was definitely made aware of it now. Aunt Mary 
 explained that it was his own fault, laid further traps, 
 failed, and told Lucy she was^vexed. 
 
 That meant a great deal more than appeared. When 
 a girl's aunt is " not quite old " and " very smart," it is 
 easy to put a good deal of feeling into " vexed." That 
 was one of the reasons why Lucy found life insupportable 
 when her uncle was shelved. Dear Aunt Mary made 
 it plain that there would not be enough to go round and 
 Denis O'Hagan came into his own. 
 
 And now Lucy O'Hagan was journeying through the 
 streets of East London in Peter Witterspoon's car ; 
 and Denis was marching home through the fog, cursing 
 his luck and Sharum with a virility which remained 
 unquenched. 
 
 The car came round by way of New Bridge Street and 
 Queen Victoria Street to the Bank, and thence at the direc- 
 tion of a constable into Commercial Road, which in spite 
 of its name is but a continuation of East India Dock Road. 
 They came slowly and almost without exchanging a 
 sentence, for the traffic was heavy and the fog more dense 
 now that they had entered the eastern shades. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon exercised his sick elephant horn 
 alternately with one giving a deeper note. He was 
 engrossed by the care necessary in those crowded high- 
 ways ; silent as he considered this problem which had halted 
 him on his way to Paris and a splash. Yet, when presently 
 they crept through a lane of costers' barrows, saw the 
 flares and heard the din of chaffering he showed for the 
 first time a touch of concern. 
 
 Turning slightly to Lucy he said ' You don't mean to 
 tell me you live anywhere near here ? " 
 
 " Next big turning after we've crossed the bridge,"
 
 270 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 she replied at once. Then as he remained silent she added 
 " if you can persuade Mr. Sharum to be decent we can 
 leave otherwise ..." 
 
 " You can leave at once," he broke in hotly. " You 
 have only to say the word, dear lady." 
 
 " I ? " 
 
 " You. I I have more money than I can use . . ." 
 he began. 
 
 " No no ! " she checked. " That would never do. 
 Den wouldn't hear of it ... nor could I. It is awfully 
 good of you to think of it but . . . Here we are, left 
 please ... a little way up five doors on the left again." 
 
 Witterspoon made no comment either on her refusal 
 or on the street they entered. It was wide, a tramway 
 ran through it, the roar of carts and cabs and the clang 
 of gongs pervaded it. To the dandy son of a millionaire 
 pill-maker it was Hades. The smells offended him, the 
 noise would make him deaf. Alone he would never have 
 ventured near it ; but with Lucy beside him he rose to 
 heights, would dare odds, would, if necessity compelled, 
 stand and fight as all men do who love a woman. 
 
 He said in his throat that this girl would have been his 
 had he played his cards better in India. Mrs. Faulkner 
 had given him chances, Lucy had not repelled. There 
 was nothing at that time to bar the way now there was. 
 Perhaps that was the reason he had failed in India and 
 now felt keen, as he termed it. At all events, she could 
 not pretend to love for ever a man who was unable to 
 provide for her. Then his chance would come then . . . 
 
 He alighted from the car and ran round to help her. 
 Their hands met once more, and the blood coursed through 
 his veins. It was dusk. He could have taken her in his 
 arms but he dared not. With some women it would have 
 been easy enough to do so. With others the main diffi- 
 culty would have been to hold them off, for he had a name 
 for irresistibility, which some find " charming." But 
 with Lucy, all this was impossible quite, quite impos- 
 sible. He recognised that it would frighten her. Her 
 refusal of all help ; the phrase she had flung at him when 
 he would have carried her West " I trusted you," told 
 him definitely he must wait. 
 
 Well he could do that. 
 
 They came to the door, which Lucy opened. A passage, 
 narrow and sombre, which lay before them, led straight
 
 "I TRUSTED YOU" 271 
 
 to the foot of the stairs which towered steeply to the first 
 floor. They mounted together, and entered a room 
 lighted with a glare of unshaded incandescence, which 
 made Witterspoon blink. 
 
 He said " Good Lord ! " and screened his eyes. Lucy 
 smiled, and crossed to join a small maid who sat near the 
 child's cot. 
 
 " Baby awake ? " 
 
 " No, 'em." 
 
 Lucy bent down, drawing the curtains, peeping ; and 
 Peter Witterspoon, who had followed, leaned forward, 
 too. 
 
 " Yours ? " he whispered, amazed at the thrill which 
 flooded him. 
 
 " Yes isn't he beautiful ? " 
 
 " A boy, eh ? " 
 
 Witterspoon leaned nearer, and the child stretched out 
 his arms, beginning to fret. 
 
 " Great Scot ! " he added again, " why he's going to 
 cry ! " 
 
 He marched to the window, consulted his watch, and 
 came back. Lucy was rocking slightly with her foot 
 on the cot. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that I had better not trouble you 
 for that cup of tea, Mrs. O'Hagan. I'm afraid you are 
 going to be kept busy and I can't leave the car very well 
 in this fog. Perhaps I may come again ? Some fine day, 
 so that you may redeem your promise ? . . . I wish you 
 would let me . . ." he added, watching her. 
 
 She glanced over, smiling " Come earlier, then. 
 Baby rather monopolises me just at this time. At four 
 o'clock on any day. . . . I am always at home, you see." 
 
 To the tip of his tongue leaped the phrase " You poor 
 dear ! " but he held it back and said instead, " Thanks, so 
 much. I'll bring a car a quieter one and give you and 
 the kiddie a run ? " 
 
 Lucy signalled his dismissal. " Good-night," she said. 
 " Yes perhaps we shall be able to come." 
 
 He acknowledged her command, and passed away down 
 stairs. The maid crossed over to watch from a window 
 which gave upon the street. 
 
 " 'E's put on 'is lights, 'em," she reported, staring 
 round-eyed through the glass, " all four of 'em together, 
 'em . . and and now 'e's turnin' a nandle. . . ."
 
 272 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Run away and get baby's bath for me, then ask Mrs. 
 Shandon to send me up a cup of tea as soon as possible," 
 Lucy demanded. 
 
 The car grumbled, and presently jerked away from 
 before No. 45 as the maid moved to obey ; but Lucy 
 heard its voice, crying on the sick elephant horn 
 
 " Fool Fool. . . . This is my day my day my 
 day. . . ." 
 
 That night Peter Witterspoon posted a fifty pound note 
 to Lucy without giving any clue to the sender's identity, 
 and two days later found, when he came in to breakfast, 
 that she had returned it. In the note which accompanied 
 it Lucy thanked him and prayed him to use his influence 
 with Sharum. 
 
 Nothing more.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 NO. 45, BEARSTED ROAD 
 
 THE O'Hagans " were staying," as Aunt Mary phrased 
 it, in Bearsted Road, not to perfect themselves in the 
 fashionable art of slumming, nor to write a novel ; but 
 because they must. They arrived in London on the 
 twenty-first day of December, and on the twenty-second 
 O'Hagan was once more without visible means of employ- 
 ment. They spent Christmas Day at No. 45 and found it 
 sad. They liked it less now that the spring was come, 
 and it was hot and breathless to boot. 
 
 Baba recognised that he hated it. Lucy and Denis 
 noted the change in him, watched and blamed the milk. 
 They said it was chalk and water, and a neighbouring 
 Samaritan sent in half a tin of " condensed," on which 
 she said she had reared ten. She did not explain the 
 miracle, but Denis carried what remained to the docks and 
 dropped it in Tidal Basin. From thence it is easy to 
 suppose it reached the Milky Way, which is one of the 
 titles unjustly bestowed on London's river. 
 
 Nor had the O'Hagans come to Bearsted Road for 
 amusement, but because it was near the docks and not 
 too far from town. And now, in April, although their 
 dear home in Riverton was vacant and Baba asked plainly 
 for the country air he knew, they remained because Den's 
 case was not yet won, and it was impossible to consider 
 the expense of housekeeping. 
 
 At no time had Lucy doubted Den's capacity to win in 
 the end ; but rather the effect of the strain it would entail 
 on their slender resources and on themselves. It was 
 impossible to hide these two factors. Logic told her 
 plainly that you cannot fight lawsuits on an income of 
 seventy-five pounds. Den had sold some of his Argentine 
 Railways ; obviously, therefore, the income was already 
 lessened. That is why she agreed to her aunt's sugges- 
 tion that she should see Sharum and, if necessary, Peter 
 Witterspoon as well. She had done both. With Sharum 
 
 B.F T
 
 274 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 she had made no impression at all ; with Peter, only a 
 revival, as far as she could analyse a man's feeling, of the 
 rather silly flirtation which happened in India. She still 
 dreamed of success in spite of failure ; still felt sure Den 
 would win through ; still argued in that sane head she 
 held so high, that no man could be brutal enough to attempt 
 to keep Den out now that it was understood that such an 
 attitude meant starvation. 
 
 That is because she was young and, in spite of much 
 buffeting, in love with her husband. 
 
 Lucy, daughter of Major Faulkner, had a great deal to 
 learn. She was ignorant of the real position of that 
 Bottle-filler she had married. She knew nothing of the 
 law, nor of the Plaster Saint whom Jimmy Barlow 
 arraigned. She believed the People controlled all Govern- 
 ment, all officials, even that wayward assembly known 
 as the House of Commons . . . and if you can believe that, 
 it is plain you may also pin your faith to a miracle. 
 
 It was close, stuffy, airless in the dull room on this May 
 day of balmy spring and Lucy was engaged in ironing. 
 There had been days when she was unaware of things 
 called irons ; but Baba had taught her. And now in his 
 cot in the adjoining room, he refused to sleep. 
 
 Lucy put up her hands to press back her hair. She 
 was hot ; but she sang cheerily of " Owlets three, t'whit 
 t'whec," and the boy ceased to struggle. But you cannot 
 continue for ever to sing about naughty owls while you are 
 ironing. It may end in burning your fingers, or a gar- 
 ment. Therefore Lucy ceased ; Baba discovered silence, 
 and filled it. Then, in the midst of a noise which threatened 
 her ears, the boy shouting himself black in the face, the 
 roar of traffic, the terror of it all at its meridian, to visit 
 Lucy and gain impressions came Aunt Mary 1 
 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
 Mrs. Faulkner was a dear old thing and knew how to 
 dress ; but Lucy wished her in Boscombe at this moment. 
 She was bending over some heating arrangement, and hot 
 to the verge of misery, tired and " not even dressed," the 
 boy lay flat under his net, expostulating with the knots 
 which hurt his head, when the marchioness of the 
 establishment, a forlorn personage with a permanent 
 smut on her cheek, opened the door and said " Hif you 
 please 'em, a lidy would like to see you."
 
 No. 45, BEARSTED ROAD 275 
 
 The address suggested a discreet halt somewhere in 
 the passage ; but the " lidy " advanced, swathed, if that 
 be the commonplace for so wonderful a creation, in crepe- 
 de-something, soft and clingy without stiffening or 
 embarrassments of any kind in steel or wood. The eyes 
 of the marchioness took her in, dwelt on her, discovered 
 her. They expressed wonder, then disdain, tempered 
 with smiles, and in the midst of it the " lidy " passed in 
 and the marchioness passed out, sucking in her breath. 
 
 " You poor dear ! " said Aunt Mary as she advanced 
 with a rustle and the scent of violets. " Mayn't I unchain 
 him ? " She entered the bedroom. 
 
 Lucy signalled advice " Not in that frock. He might 
 spoil it." 
 
 Aunt Mary peered over, acknowledging the possibility. 
 "Poor old boy!" she cooed. "Wouldn't Mamie let 
 you det up ? " She nodded over the cot shaking the tall 
 feather which crowned her. This produced so pronounced 
 a despair that Aunt Mary decided to retreat. 
 
 " Teeth ? " she questioned, looking up at Lucy from 
 the doorway. 
 
 " And the heat he doesn't like London do you, 
 sonny boy ? " 
 
 Sonny boy bellowed his hatred and Aunt Mary crossed 
 to the window. She began to dread a headache, but 
 obviously the dear girl was tired to death, and the poverty 
 was extreme. 
 
 Of course the storm ended, as they always do, by sur- 
 render of authority. Baba saw the net unfastened, felt 
 himself lifted from prison, and at once found London not 
 so bad, even in Bearsted Road. With the help of Lucy's 
 finger he marched to see his visitor, stared at the plume 
 and turned to his toys. 
 
 " It's awfully good of you to look us up," Lucy remarked 
 in the new silence. " Do find a comfy chair somewhere." 
 
 Aunt Mary surveyed the specimens, chose one and sat 
 carefully. She seemed to say, this is a lodging-house 
 chair, one must be careful always that is de rigueur 
 but in Bearsted Road, E., it is wise to accentuate the fact. 
 
 Of course she had no intention of being unkind. These 
 things simply happened. They rather pointed to the 
 fact that she found herself in surroundings that bored. 
 
 " I haven't seen anything of you for such an age," she 
 complained, opening a fan and using it with a lazy swing.
 
 276 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " It seems centuries since you were married, for of course 
 that tiny visit I paid you at your dear little home hardly 
 counts, does it ? and since then you have been more than 
 half way round the world. How time does fly ! " 
 " It does, rather." 
 
 Lucy was considering certain elegant trifles in her 
 aunt's equipment which reminded her that shops existed 
 somewhere farther west which knew their business. She 
 wondered, too, how it happened that Aunt Mary could 
 manage it, and with an oblique throw asked 
 
 " By the way, you never told me about the golf club. 
 Did it come off all right ? " 
 
 " Poor dear Charlie ! " Aunt Mary commented. " No 
 but he is engrossed in its possibilities. He is quite 
 assured it will make his fortune when it is known. He 
 says it will mean a motor presently and then he will 
 be able to ride over to the links without the fatigue of 
 cycling. Dear man ! " 
 
 " He always was a dreamer," Lucy smiled. 
 " If you aren't a dreamer after fifteen years of India 
 and War Office Regulations, then you haven't learned 
 your lesson," came crisply from the lips of Aunt Mary to 
 correct her. 
 
 " What is it now sashes or belts ? " Lucy questioned. 
 " Encumbrances," said Aunt Mary. 
 " Oh ! that's old. Lucky for you you aren't 
 bothered. . . ." 
 
 " I took care of that," Mrs. Faulkner announced. " It 
 is a mistake to be born at all in these days ; but to be 
 born without money is sheer criminality." 
 
 Lucy glanced over at her mistake, and found him a 
 picture. He was interested at the moment in building 
 a tower. She had no comment to make, but she kicked 
 out the hem of her dress and smiled. 
 
 " You can't pretend you are glad to have him," Aunt 
 Mary ejaculated, nodding, the fan puffing hot air through 
 her veil. 
 
 " I never pretend, dear," Lucy cooed. 
 " If only we weren't so desperately hard up ! " came in 
 exclamatory fashion from Aunt Mary's lips ; and there it 
 ended abruptly as it began. 
 
 Lucy smiled. She had a very distinct recollection of 
 her uncle's establishment at Boscombe, and, if further 
 evidence were required, there sat her aunt.
 
 No. 45, BEARSTED ROAD 277 
 
 Mrs. Faulkner perhaps followed her, for she suddenly 
 asked" Where is Denis ? " 
 
 " In town, auntie I thought I made that clear." 
 
 The bells of St. Mathias chimed a quarter of sorts, and 
 Baba looked up from his toys. He began to work the 
 protest of all young things. 
 
 " He hates those bells, simply hates them," Lucy 
 explained, as she strove to soothe him. 
 
 " How uncanny ! " decided Aunt Mary with the 
 acerbity of one thoroughly uncomfortable and thrown out 
 of her stride. Lucy appeared happy happy amidst this 
 sordid furniture, amidst this ding-dong blare and shocking 
 taste. How could she be happy ? That skirt she wore 
 was sufficient to make any sane woman miserable. It 
 did not hang, it stood. A blouse, too, of all earthly 
 discords, at something or other to four o'clock in the 
 afternoon ! A kiddy given to howling. 
 
 Happy ! How in the world was it possible ? Aunt 
 Mary leaned forward attempting with her starers to pierce 
 the veil. 
 
 " What are you doing with a child ? " she asked. 
 
 " Trying to make him love his porridge, dear," Lucy 
 evaded. 
 
 " I mean," said Aunt Mary with precise articulation, 
 " what right had you to bring that child into the world ? " 
 
 Lucy glanced round with heightened colour. 
 
 " Judged by your standard," she said, " I had none." 
 
 " Of course you hadn't. And," she complained, " that 
 is where men have the whip hand of us, when we are 
 caught young. It is quite sad. A girl marries, and before 
 she knows she is awake there is a child at her breast ; no 
 money in the house, no servants, and presently, as I have 
 seen, no husband. ..." 
 
 Baba lifting up his voice by stages reached here the 
 moment when it becomes necessary to do something. 
 Lucy decided to pick him up and give him a ride on her 
 toe. He enjoyed this for a few minutes, then again took 
 up his parable. 
 
 " It's this horrid stuffiness," Lucy announced in despair. 
 " What is the use of talking of things we can't alter. 
 Baba's here very much here, aren't you, pet ? " she 
 added, bending to hug him. 
 
 " Men hate children," Aunt Mary pronounced. ' They 
 hate anything that interferes with their comfort. If too
 
 278 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 many babies come into a house exit peace, dear child ; 
 exit everything worth having even the man who begot 
 them. That's human nature. I wish I had been able 
 to warn you sooner . . . but who was to know that poor 
 Denis would be broken in a year ? . . . " 
 
 A train of bricks dragged by a spit-fire monster snorted 
 past and Baba decided that life was not worth living. He 
 yelled as vigorously as the engine panted. He kicked 
 as though he feared the trembling motion that attacked 
 the house, and in the midst of it Lucy looked over and 
 said in a tired voice 
 
 " We can't talk while this is going on. Wait. I will 
 try to get him to sleep. He hasn't had a wink to-day." 
 
 " Poor dear girl ! Yes, do. Do try, by all means. It's 
 distracting. I wish I could help ! " Aunt Mary jerked out. 
 
 And with that Lucy made her exit, entered the adjoin- 
 ing room, and with a voice that thrilled began to sing as 
 she walked carrying him 
 
 " Over the ditch 
 Slip, little witch 
 Off to rest and dreamland ; 
 Carrying dear Teddy, 
 Yellow-brown Teddy, 
 To laugh with you in Cloudland. 
 
 " Over the sea 
 Slip, little wee 
 Tired of flowers in Homeland ; 
 Holding out Teddy, 
 Yellow-brown Teddy, 
 To guide you up in Cloudland. 
 
 " Sleepily sailing, 
 
 Into the sky, 
 Sailing sleepily 
 
 Up on high. 
 Honey boy's nodding, 
 Honey boy's plodding, 
 
 Softly, sleepily, 
 
 Never a cry." 
 
 Up and down the room, down and up, singing, swinging, 
 until Baba consented to rest, soothed by dear Mamie's 
 touch. His eyes closed and Lucy stood still. She began 
 to sing again in a great hurry as the bells of St. Mathias 
 c'anged through the quarters. He opened his eyes to the 
 boom which followed. 
 
 Four o'clock.
 
 No. 45, BEARSTED ROAD 279 
 
 On board the Strathmuir he laughed at the bell signals, 
 in London he resented them. 
 Again Lucy sang 
 
 " Over the light 
 Slip, little sprite, 
 Quickly away to Shadeland ; 
 Talking to Teddy, 
 Yellow-brown Teddy, 
 Who knows the way in Cloudland." 
 
 And into the refrain she wove Denis' name, calling to him, 
 praying for success. 
 
 But Denis was far off, far as success and as difficult to 
 reach. If he would only come soon and give the lie to all 
 these stupid assertions of Aunt Mary's. As though Den 
 hated babies ! Some men might ; but not dear, kind, 
 thoughtful Den. Lucy hated insinuations, but she knew 
 Aunt Mary did not intend to snub her. She thought it 
 smart to talk as she did. Lucy believed she would have 
 given her eyes for a kiddy years ago, and when that 
 became hopeless this sort of thing resulted. ... Oh ! 
 if Den would please make haste home ! 
 
 Lucy's voice ceased, she forgot to sing and in a moment 
 the boy looked up awake. Then again came the soothing 
 mother touch as Lucy surrendered to his whim, singing 
 the song he loved. The words came with a tremulous 
 note sad to consider. Before her eyes there rose a picture 
 of the future their very precarious future. She could 
 not push it away. Perhaps some of Aunt Mary's criti- 
 cisms had gone home ; perhaps the knowledge that Uncle 
 Charlie's golf club had not come off and that he in conse- 
 quence had no spare bawbees either for Aunt Mary or his 
 niece troubled her ; perhaps it was just the way in which 
 the information had been imparted ; perhaps just a touch 
 of nostalgia engendered by surroundings which were 
 beyond hope for one not brought up in them. 
 
 Lucy sang on, her voice growing softer, more faint ; 
 her eyes luminous as they watched her treasure, seeking 
 to mesmerise him. Was she tired ? Oh, yes. Vexed ? 
 She was his mother. Sorrowful ? Perhaps. Den had 
 such horrid luck, such horrid, horrid luck ... or, was 
 there any truth in Aunt Mary's suggestion that these men 
 intended to keep him out ? Perhaps again. Business
 
 280 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 people were mean enough for anything, " keeping their 
 end up " they called it yes, but did they ? 
 
 She wondered as she sang, she watched as she sang 
 and this time Baba certainly slept. She left him in his 
 cot, drew the curtain to protect him from flies and stood 
 on tip-toe watching. The bells of St. Mathias clanged 
 brazenly those terrible quarters we all know. With 
 monotonous regularity, day and night they hammered 
 out their secret warning. " Ding, dong, dang, dong 
 dong, dang, ding, dong." Lucy hovered ready to 
 soothe. Did he hear ? Would he wake ? Mercifully he 
 decided to sleep and presently Lucy was free to see her 
 visitor. 
 
 " Dear child ! " she encountered immediately on the 
 threshold of the next room, " you should engage a maid." 
 Mrs. Faulkner's fan waved, accentuating the point. 
 
 " Impossible 1 " 
 
 *' That boy," said Aunt Mary, who had never dandled 
 one of her own, " is too heavy for you. He will wear you 
 out." 
 
 " Better to wear out than rust out," Lucy flung back, 
 restless and ruffled in the still deadliness of this criticism. 
 
 Aunt Mary refused to pursue so thorny a subject. 
 With pursed lips she said 
 
 " Well, how are you getting on with Peter Witterspoon ? 
 he promised to be very nice, and ." 
 
 " He has kept his promise," Lucy remarked. 
 
 Aunt Mary searched for the meaning of this and perhaps 
 found it. She said " But has he taken you to see that 
 man ? " 
 
 " That man " was Sharum, who, according to Aunt 
 Mary, was the God of the Machine, or the devil of it, whom 
 Denis and Lucy must propitiate. 
 
 The fan swayed. 
 
 " I went without him," said Lucy, and as swiftly added, 
 " as far as the door," then paused, found work and com- 
 menced sewing. 
 
 Mrs. Faulkner leaned back in her chair, searching out 
 the shabbiness of these rooms in which Lucy and Denis 
 insisted on staying. 
 
 " I didn't advise you to go to the door, dear," she 
 complained, " but to see the man. It was and is essential. " 
 
 Lucy sewed on, remembering all she had seen and con- 
 sidered.
 
 No. 45, BEARSTED ROAD '231 
 
 " Was Peter decent ? " asked the lady with the fan. 
 
 " I don't think he has improved," said Lucy. 
 
 " That means he has tried to make love to you. Dear 
 little girl ! " 
 
 " It means nothing of the sort," Lucy flared ; then with 
 a quick turn, " What did you tell him ? What did you 
 give him to understand when you wrote ? " 
 
 Aunt Mary smiled placidly, archly, which did not suit 
 her 
 
 " I said you were as pretty as before you were 
 married. . . ." 
 
 " Then why did he call me Miss Faulkner ? " 
 
 " Did he ? How stupid ! Men have a way of for- 
 getting a woman's name, especially when they don't 
 wish to remember." 
 
 " Then I think it horrid of him," Lucy decided at once. 
 " As a matter of fact I was thinking of telling him not to 
 come any more. It is so easy to ... to oh, well ! with 
 some men it isn't quite safe." 
 
 Aunt Mary's fan moved quite unfluttered by this. 
 She said with an air of consideration " I don't think that 
 would be wise. Denis requires help. In some ways a 
 woman can do so much for her husband. She need not 
 let herself go but she has finesse, and a man does not 
 know what the word means. She can attract, persuade 
 a man can't do that. Of course, I mean nicely. When a 
 man has been knocked down as poor, dear Denis has, it 
 is his wife's duty to use her power, every means, every 
 art at her disposal to help him. . . . 
 
 " Men no doubt Peter is among them have but one 
 idea regarding women. If she happens to be pretty and 
 young, it amounts to an obsession" she shrugged over 
 this. " Very well. Accept it. It is one of the facts of 
 life. And make use of it to serve the man you love. . . . 
 That is possible, n'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 " I hate it. The whole idea is horrible. . . . I I wish 
 I had not taken your advice. . . ." 
 
 " My dear," the elder woman begged, " pray don't act 
 in haste. Play your cards well and you will win. Look 
 at the position of this boy" Peter Witterspoon mas- 
 queraded in this guise " his wealth and his influence with 
 that man. Oh ! you mus'rit think of giving it up ... 
 because, for instance, you fear Peter may fall in love with 
 you. Tout va bien ! That also is an affair of the moment.
 
 282 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Let Peter dream. When you are old, my dear, he will not 
 be in love with you. Be sure of that. He will be in love 
 with someone else again tout va Men ! Meanwhile let 
 him carry your gloves. . . ." 
 
 Lucy looked up uneasily from her work. " I want to 
 help Den, of course but suppose he should hear of it 
 before I am able to tell him ? " 
 
 " Impossible, if you play well." 
 
 " Have you ever seen this Sharum man ? " Lucy asked, 
 while in her mind she questioned the wisdom of con- 
 tinuing either the conversation or the attempt. 
 
 " No, dear," Mrs. Faulkner bridled, " but I think if I 
 had got as far as the door I should have gone inside." 
 
 She nodded over this, appraising the reticence she 
 observed. Lucy had always been so outspoken, so ready 
 with confidences but now ! Denis O'Hagan, no doubt. 
 Well, one could not marry without in some way surrender- 
 ing part of one's individuality. As Lucy remained silent 
 Mrs. Faulkner questioned whether it would be wise to 
 touch on that affair of the interview again. Of course 
 she recognised it had taken place. Few women would 
 require any assurance on that head. But Lucy remained 
 provokingly silent. Her fingers moved swiftly over her 
 work, her hand swinging out and back with splendid 
 regularity. 
 
 Then a motor charged up the street braying of its 
 agility, of its swooping escapades past slower vehicles, of 
 the way in which it could successfully stampede pedes- 
 trians who ventured to cross the road and that sent Lucy 
 on tiptoe to the door. 
 
 She returned assured, flushed, but calm as the child she 
 had visited. 
 
 " And this is so wearying for you," said Aunt Mary 
 with her gentlest manner. " I am afraid dear Denis 
 scarcely understands what it means to be compelled to 
 see to a child of that age both day and night." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he does,"Lucy answered, and paused to thread 
 a needle. " He takes watch and watch withme if necessary." 
 
 " Watch and watch ! " Aunt Mary echoed. " Poor 
 dears ! I'm sure you are in difficulties." 
 
 " Well of course we aren't as flush as we would like to 
 be ; but we shall peg along until Denis is clear." 
 
 " I can't think what will become of you," Aunt Mary 
 sighed.
 
 No. 45, BEARSTED ROAD 283 
 
 " Don't try to," Lucy persuaded. 
 
 " My dear girl ! " 
 
 " I mean it," Lucy asserted, flushed to the tips of her 
 ears. " We shall peg out without anybody's help . . . 
 we are not flush, as I said; but you need not have the 
 slightest fear of our writing to Uncle Charlie for money. 
 We shall not add to his difficulties . . . I wish his club 
 had come off, of course, but even if it did, neither Denis 
 nor I would dream of sponging on him, or you either, dear, 
 so please go away quite at peace. . . ." 
 
 " Lucy ! " Mrs. Faulkner interrupted. 
 
 " No I won't discuss it, auntie." 
 
 " Which, my dear ? " 
 
 " That man," said Lucy. 
 
 The fan acknowledged defeat. Aunt Mary leaned back 
 in her chair, her voice hipped perhaps more than she was 
 aware. 
 
 " You were made for a rich man's wife," she complained. 
 " It's a pity you wouldn't take my advice and marry 
 Peter Witterspoon. ..." 
 
 " I loved Denis," Lucy interrupted. 
 
 " Oh ! if we are to consider that, of course there is 
 nothing more to be said." 
 
 " It is the beginning and end of all things," Lucy flamed. 
 
 Aunt Mary closed her fan and rose slowly " If your 
 uncle dear man offered me this," she swept the room 
 with her fan, " and Peter Witterspoon offered me what he 
 can offer you, I should try to forget that I had married 
 Uncle Charlie. That might be a little cruel for a time 
 but very soon it wouldn't count. Other things come in 
 there . . . other women. ..." 
 
 " But if you loved him ? " Lucy gasped. " If you 
 loved him what would you do ? " 
 
 " My dear, / don't count. I like pretty things. 
 Pretty things cost money. Get hold of the man who can 
 give them to you that is my creed." 
 
 " But if the man loves you . . ." 
 
 " Don't be childish. A man is exactly what his wife 
 makes him. Never forget that." 
 
 " It accounts," Lucy smiled, " for an awful lot of bores." 
 
 Aunt Mary scarcely resented this. She said dog- 
 matically, " Originally, of course, a man lacks dis- 
 crimination. He never knows, for instance, how you are 
 dressed. He is brutal, too, so be careful of powder. He
 
 284 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 hates it and will tell you in a second if it is too thick on 
 your nose." 
 
 " Not if he loves you," Lucy declared. 
 
 " I was thinking," Aunt Mary said, " of men who have 
 been married more than three years. Love ! Does that 
 provide us with frocks and dinners ? " She came near 
 and held out her bangled arms, a woman of forty-five 
 exquisitely tricked out to ape thirty. " Au revoir, dear 
 child. Come and have a bit of dinner with me to-morrow. 
 Bring Denis, of course, and arrange " 
 
 " Thanks awfully. Afraid it can't be done," Lucy 
 decided at once. 
 
 " Baba ? " 
 
 " I couldn't leave him." 
 
 Aunt Mary leaned forward and offered her cheek. 
 
 " That is the worst of love," she said in her cool and 
 insolent drawl, " it gives us babies . . . tut-tut ! Keep 
 fit and make haste to get away from this place. It's too 
 terrible." 
 
 Lucy returned to her room and took up her needle. 
 She began to work. Click, click, the needle made answer ; 
 click, click, click. And between each sound Lucy's soft 
 hand travelled out and back, out and back, with the 
 regularity of a machine.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 
 
 THIN columns of smoke, ascending in spirals, attested 
 to the lack of all breeze. It was three o'clock on a May 
 day and the temperature that of an oven. For a week, 
 after an appalling spell of rain and wind, the city had 
 enjoyed a taste of summer. For seven days the sun had 
 revelled on the grey and white sterility known as East 
 London, searching it to the last corner and sending people 
 clad for winter panting through the streets but to-day, 
 Saturday, was the worst of them. It seemed possible that 
 thunder brooded somewhere ; that presently great drops 
 of rain would splash on the hot pavements and the air 
 would become cooler. 
 
 Baba was unhappy. He kept Lucy constantly busy, 
 constantly tired. He was a new child, here at the heart 
 of the city ; one Lucy scarcely recognised. Denis was 
 unhappy, too. He came in weary from the never-ending 
 interviews and consultations which occupied him at this 
 time. He admitted that his case scarcely seemed to move, 
 but that it would do so presently. For weeks he had been 
 at work preparing it, early and late ; it mattered nothing, 
 and now, so Lucy understood, they were waiting to get 
 it set down for hearing. 
 
 When Denis was not with Stephen Hammond he was 
 walking the byways seeking out those who might or might 
 not know Cockney, the witness who had sworn to his in- 
 temperance. He was seeking work, too, of a kind which 
 would not occupy him entirely. And this perhaps is 
 more difficult to obtain than any other. Yet it was essen- 
 tial, Hammond decided, that he should be able to call on 
 him at a moment's notice if need be. 
 
 London had shown O'Hagan the advantages of being 
 unfit. It had shown him how the unfit score. He had 
 a certain education it availed him nothing. He was 
 straight and young and fearless but he had no capital. 
 That remained in Sharum's hands Sharum whom he could
 
 286 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 not legally touch. A lie he termed a lie. Subornation 
 he spoke of as the last deadly sin. These factors, if they 
 swayed at all, swayed against O'Hagan. Never at one 
 turn did birth or education aid him ; yet for weeks in the 
 London wilderness he had moved challenging fate. 
 
 The time had been long. Also, in a certain fashion, 
 it had been short. He had not done what he set out to 
 do ; but he was weary weary as are the lost Ten Tribes 
 of being found. 
 
 The City in Spring, O'Hagan discovered to be a place 
 of lassitude. If you had an office in it you could retire 
 at will ; but if you were of those who sought work the 
 remedy is less easy. O'Hagan. however, at this time was 
 engaged in following Worsdale's instructions given on 
 the day before the great little man started for the East. 
 O'Hagan came down to see him off he was sailing on a 
 voyage of inspection and would be absent for months. 
 That happened in March, but O'Hagan had not yet seen 
 reason to scoff at his advice. Stephen Hammond backed 
 it too, and together the pair were irresistible. 
 
 Besides it was essential. Whatever had been the 
 position when O'Hagan took service with McClure, the 
 question now was, in Worsdale's words 
 
 " Get clear of that smudge." He spoke on the deck of 
 the Saladln eight weeks ago, hammering in his theory. 
 " They said you were drunk, my boy. Disprove it ... 
 if you can't disprove it, then, by the Lord ! I'm sorry for 
 you. You'll have to try your hand at something else . . . 
 No I can't blame Lloyd's entirely. On consideration of 
 a very difficult problem I am inclined to think I was hasty 
 in my judgment there. It is the court that set you on fire 
 ... or a thing they have the audacity to term a court. 
 Disprove the lie they fathered. Use money I have told 
 Hammond what to do and when I come back you can 
 tell me how you stand." 
 
 Then he sailed and for months yet the East would hold 
 him. No greater blow could have been struck at this time, 
 although O'Hagan in his cock-a-hoop fashion would 
 scarcely have admitted it. But it soon became evident 
 Hammond was a lawyer with all a lawyer's dread of the 
 law. It became necessary to move slowly, to make quite 
 sure of the ground. He desired proof, proof at every 
 step and proof is a matter very difficult to obtain in 
 questions of subornation.
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 287 
 
 For all that, quite early in the Spring O'Hagan got to 
 work on this matter of finding the witnesses who had 
 spoken at Jake Hall to his drunken habits. It was not an 
 alluring task. It predicated the condition which Worsdale 
 had labelled " smudge." It necessitated an immense 
 caution, and entailed long hours of wandering in unclean 
 bars and deadly " Homes " the habitations of sailors. 
 It involved an unwelcome and constant expenditure of 
 those hardly earned sovereigns he had in store, and after 
 weeks of mean trafficking he found himself no nearer the 
 goal, but halting, baffled by the difficulty of advance. 
 
 All his searchings had been made east of the Monument. 
 Tower Hill was considered a possible hunting ground. 
 The offices of the Local Marine Board, Well Street Sailors' 
 Home, various minor officials all had to be seen. It 
 was worse than dockwalloping, worse, more degrading 
 than anything O'Hagan had touched since his trial. 
 
 And the net result of it was that Hammond considered 
 he had no proof which probably was true ; that Sharum 
 was at the back of McClure's action which showed that 
 Sharum was now a person as important as his offices 
 seemed to suggest. It showed, too, that Hammond was 
 impressed by the bigness of the antagonist he must 
 attack on evidence so slender ; that it would be wiser 
 to throw the burden of producing Cockney on the ship- 
 owner by bringing against him an action for slander, 
 defamation call it what you will. 
 
 O'Hagan listened in despair. In the few years which 
 had elapsed since he answered the advertisement which gave 
 him command of the Sphinx, Sharum had climbed. He 
 was a power in the world of shippers, a force which McClure 
 stated must be taken into consideration in all future 
 operations. The Syndicate, he heard, must take its place 
 not because it was required by McClure and those others, 
 but because it was big enough to force its way. 
 
 Hammond with a touch of sadness admitted that it 
 would be impossible to deal with Sharums, Limited, as 
 it would have been possible to deal with the tin-pot, 
 one-ship concerns controlled by Sharum, Fit & Co. 
 Trade was booming, freights leaping, there were not 
 enough vessels to meet the demand, and shipowners like 
 Sharums were reaping a golden harvest owing to the 
 alteration of the load line. 
 
 Everything moved against O'Hagan. Matters seemed
 
 288 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 to be approaching stalemate ; but Denis, who would listen 
 to no variation of Worsdale's formula, continued to dree 
 his weird as only a Scot or an Irishman can. The cold 
 streets appalled him. The misery and degradation kept him 
 quiet when he reached home. So the days dragged by. 
 
 Lucy at nightfall was often more tired than her husband, 
 but she could not sleep as readily. The uncertainty of 
 Den's position kept her awake when she should have 
 been winning freshness. Her failure to do anything to 
 help had developed into a kind of anguish, hidden, pushed 
 out of sight lest Den should be pained, which tried her 
 severely. Peter Witterspoon had done nothing. Lucy 
 understood that Sharum seemed to shy at the proposal 
 when coming from him, precisely as when she had attempted 
 to win him herself. She wondered what would be the 
 upshot. Sometimes she prayed. Sometimes it seemed 
 futile to pray. Then she wrote to Aunt Mary that the 
 end was at hand, and followed the letter with a telegram 
 which said, " Take no notice. All well again." 
 
 Occasionally Peter Witterspoon came to take them for 
 a run in his car ; then Baba, the small maid and Lucy 
 would go swiftly through the streets to the green carpets 
 of Epping, breathe the freshness for an hour and return. 
 No news, though. Nothing done. No suggestion of 
 Sharum's intention. No promise that it would be possible 
 to use pressure in order to obtain his aid only a more 
 familiar touch from Peter Witterspoon, glances which 
 made Lucy burn, suggestions for more frequent runs. 
 Runs sans Baby and Nurse, so that Mrs. O'Hagan might 
 learn the beauty of the country a bit farther afield, and 
 understand what speed meant when they " let her out " 
 on a road clear of town. 
 
 Epping, it appeared, was town to Peter Witterspoon 
 here. " You might just as well try to run a car in Hyde 
 Park." He spoke contemptuously. " Come out on to 
 the road. Let me show you what it is like to swish. 
 Choose a fine day, start early, take lunch, it will do more 
 to bring back the roses than weeks of dawdling here." 
 But Lucy pushed off these prayers, asked what had been 
 done and received no reply. And then one day, a day 
 of steaming mugginess, she threw finesse to the winds, 
 openly challenged Peter to do something or stay away 
 never, never to return any more. 
 
 " You come to see me ! " she flamed, facing him. " What
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 280 
 
 is the use of pretence ? You come to talk and play with 
 my life. You know I am married. Be a man and help 
 me to pull through." 
 
 That produced explanation of the illusive sort. Peter 
 Witterspoon was too deeply in love to be offended by a 
 pretty woman's first outcry. He could not believe that 
 she had any real affection for this rag of a man who 
 was unable to support her in comfort. But he was too 
 infatuated to risk argument, too uncertain of Lucy. 
 He told her that as far as he understood the affair, Sharum 
 refused to move because Captain O'Hagan had entered, 
 or threatened to enter an action for slander or defamation 
 of character against Sharum ..." And so well, you 
 see, that will have to be withdrawn before I can press him 
 very seriously." 
 
 He left her that afternoon with the advice that O'Hagan 
 should make the first move towards peace by retiring 
 his action. He left it to Lucy to break it to her husband 
 or not as she thought fit ; but as he made it a condition 
 it was obvious she must act. 
 
 She had kept all knowledge of her meeting with Petei 
 Witterspoon from Denis, at first because she longed to 
 be able to announce suddenly that she had worked the 
 miracle which had saved him. She kept it afterwards, 
 because as time went by it became more difficult to explain 
 actions which at first had been simple, but now were com- 
 plex. Car rides had come upon the scene, Aunt Mary's 
 advice instead of Den's, attempts at love-making which at 
 first had been suppressed . . . and now, at the end of 
 three months' fencing, Lucy was faced with this additional 
 burden and knew that she must carry it. 
 
 No wonder the days were long, the nights a terror, the 
 heat devilish, the dust a cloak of misery. To make it 
 all more difficult Den came home later and presently 
 took to brooding sitting in a chair, his head sunk, 
 instead of talking or reading, as had been his custom. 
 Lucy watched and drew conclusions. It was obvious. 
 She strove to win his smiles, her heart breaking. He 
 scarcely noticed. 
 
 Sometimes he was ready with his tongue to bite at the 
 conditions they all faced ; sometimes content to remain 
 silent, to sit still and watch the sky pale, ask for " the 
 kiddie " and pass away into a trance. To-night he 
 arrived as a train load of bricks thundered down the 
 
 B.F. U
 
 290 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 street, the engine gasping, dampers open to wake who 
 slept. 
 
 " Might just as well live in a coal mine as in Bearsted 
 Road these times," he announced, brushing vigorously 
 in the passage before the door Lucy had opened. " Dust 
 in the air- dust on the people dust in rooms and on our 
 food dust white on the coats of the horses these damned 
 things are exterminating. Why don't they poison us 
 and have done with it ? Motors racing, lorries charging, 
 trams clanging no wonder the asylums are full. . . . 
 I shall be a patient myself if this goes on. You too, dear 
 child ! Good God ! What in the world have I done now ? " 
 
 Lucy was in his arms, her face pressed against his shoul- 
 der, trembling and in a passion of apprehension. With 
 ready intuition she had divined the cause of his anger. 
 She admitted its justice. 
 
 He stooped and kissed her eyes, but without passion. 
 He knew why she clung to him, but the black rage of his 
 people was upon him and his tongue wagged on side issues. 
 
 "Isn't it enough to make one swear ? " he asked, although 
 they stood linked. " No water to lay the dust for us. 
 Very few scavengers here- but cabs and cars whirring, 
 flinging filth on all the fools who walk. That is their 
 pleasant custom where poverty sleeps and man is deaf 
 to noise. . . . 
 
 " This is the East End, Mem-sahib. A quarter where 
 latitude exists for every driver, but none for the street 
 in which he drives. ... If you choose to live in Slumland 
 you must accept what Slumland offers. It offers every- 
 thing in shouts if you care to analyse its voices shouts of 
 argument, shouts of laughter, anger, misery ; shouts of 
 its desire to sell or buy, or fall down or sit up or blow 
 its nose. It is all noise. A screaming note is the only 
 evident method of speech ; a whine, h-less and exas- 
 perating, lacking all quality. You may not care about 
 the Yorkshire or Devonshire or Lancashire dialects ; 
 but the drawl of a cockney knocks you down." 
 
 Lucy clung to his arm. They mounted the stairs and 
 entered their room. The child slept. 
 
 Outside the central noise of London droned on. Night 
 or day it never ceased. It varied in degree and tone. 
 It came more punctuated with sporadic clamour by day ; 
 more charged with a muttering boom by night. It was 
 immense, prophetic, malevolent, terrible, according to
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 291 
 
 the mood of the listener. It made the heart of some to 
 stand still, the heart of others to beat. It irritated those 
 who were new to it, deadened those who were old, worn, 
 but accustomed to its drone. 
 
 Like the dust and the smoke of all great cities, it was 
 generally supposed that the world could not very well 
 get on without noise. 
 
 In the seclusion of their room overlooking the bear 
 garden, Denis persuaded Lucy that his anger was with 
 things, not with his wife. He said he loved her as never 
 before ; that her love alone kept him straight, that if she 
 threw him over the world was at an end as far as he was 
 concerned. He said that if she went back on him he would 
 light a fire in the offices of Sharums, Limited, which would 
 burn out the thieves and scorch that devil even if he were 
 at his home in Surrey. There would be nothing left t;> 
 think of nothing. And then Lucy was sure. 
 
 He was plainly exasperated in spite of her touch, in 
 spite of her promises. He had had such a devil of a time 
 of it to-day everything wrong. He stared in her face 
 and her hand went up to soothe him. There had been 
 some talk of that Cockney. He had been seen, but al- 
 though Denis was early on his track, the thing misfired. 
 Perhaps the beast had shipped again ... in that case 
 there was nothing for it but further waiting. If he got 
 away to sea he would not be back for three or four months. 
 The winter on top of us, too, by Jove ! before we can 
 move. . . . 
 
 " For two pins I would throw up the whole thing. If I 
 thought I could get a berth again, command, officer, 
 quartermaster even, I believe I should chuck this fight," 
 he announced at last. " I'm tired of it. It is wearing 
 us all down. In spite of Worsdale and Hammond I should 
 take what is offered and get back to sea. ... It is clean 
 there. The wind blows devilry out of one. There are no 
 sneaking meannesses. The seas wash you white but 
 business ! God of my fathers 1 it makes me retch. 
 It stands sneering over the ineptitude of those who have 
 no money yet live in London. . . . Married a fool, 
 oh Mem-sahib . . . Married a waster. One of the sort 
 that fill our streets and wring us dry. . . . What ? " 
 
 " No no no ! " Lucy's soft lips gave the lie to this, 
 her arms clinging to his told him it was absurd, her 
 flushed cheeks and half-scared eyes begged for patience, 
 
 U 2
 
 292 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 and for a moment he listened, drew her to him and seemed 
 at peace. Then again came a question tossed out from 
 the burden he bore 
 
 " How's the kiddie ? " 
 
 " Restless, darling. The hot, dry winds try him here 
 ... but .. ." 
 
 He sat forward at this, staring across the room. 
 
 " Getting beaten, Mem-sahib," he ejaculated. " Wife 
 suffering, Baba suffering . . . the house out there at 
 Riverton ready to take us in ; but no money in the till, 
 no chance of going to it. Getting ground in the Mill, 
 oh dearest the damned Mill which does not discriminate 
 between rich and poor, educated and uneducated, hale or 
 frail, by Jove 1 ... except in the direction known as 
 aid for the unfit ... no wonder you are sick of it ! 
 
 " We are the fit, you see," he pronounced in scathing 
 comment. " In England to-day folks are more concerned 
 to patch up the unfit than to keep strong those who are 
 sound. . . . Sick of it all, dearest. Sick of it sick to 
 death ! " 
 
 He leaned forward head in hands but he had said 
 nothing. 
 
 And again Lucy begged for patience, her heart throbbing 
 as never before at the sight of his misery. Something 
 had gone very badly awry to-day. She knew. She knew, 
 and wondered what he knew. This was the first time he 
 had given way so completely ; the first time she had been 
 unable to win him back. She pleaded for rest, forgetful- 
 ness, for trust ; but he returned to his plaint with a twist 
 as he sprang to march the room. 
 
 " I feel such a waster," he said. " I'm tied every- 
 where . . . can't move. If " he halted before her with 
 biting speech " if we were of the submerged tenth they 
 all prattle about, we should have charity societies tum- 
 bling over each other to get at us. If we were criminals, 
 professors of pathology would enunciate stupid doctrines 
 concerning original sin but we would be fed. If you or 
 I were simply useless " he marched again " malformed, 
 semi-idiot, a means would be found to enable us to make 
 a noise in the streets so that we might earn pennies. Baba 
 could be put out to nurse. Somebody would feed him. 
 But because we happen to be middle-class English people, 
 and I a damned sailor fellow pushed over the rim by a 
 scoundrel, no power will help me get back what they have
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 293 
 
 stolen from me legally, mind don't forget that and 
 knocked me down to get. . , . So, oh, well ! that makes 
 it difficult in these days, little Mem-sahib. Nothing but 
 bills taxes rates demands to know how much profit 
 I have made by letting my house. . . 
 
 " Eyah ! A poor man very soons learns that heaven 
 neither showers manna, nor provides philanthropic 
 ravens to feed those who are pushed into the wilderness 
 these days. . . . That hurts us. It hurts us sometimes 
 so badly that we squeak as I am doing now." He raised 
 his hand standing still, his head thrust forward. " It 
 hurts us so that we find ourselves considering the wisdom 
 of oblivion oblivion, the escape fools dream of and a 
 man comes very near the edge of things . . . close to it, 
 Mem-sahib close. It teaches him to be cynical as lam. 
 . . . Yes, I know, I know but, " he cried out, drowning 
 Lucy's voice as she appealed to him, the tears raining down, 
 " if you are a criminal you may not starve. If you are a 
 damned sailor on the Black List you very probably will. 
 
 " Look to your skin, world ! There comes a day when 
 your Bottle-fillers will be organised, ready to go on strike 
 . . . like the dock hands. ..." 
 
 Lucy sat crouched on the rug at his feet. He was 
 scarcely aware of her presence. He had come to earth 
 again. His eyes were on the shadows which accumulated 
 over there beyond the chimneys ; his ears attuned to 
 hear only the noise which came in to worry them. He 
 was of the race which sees visions, hears voices, and is 
 able to prophesy. A virile and splendid race when facing 
 a path which leads to the stars ; a sorrowful and dangerous 
 race when hipped by curtailed liberty, oppression, Wrong 
 masquerading in the still guise of Justice. 
 
 A movement down there at his feet drew his attention 
 and he stooped instantly. 
 
 " Mem-sahib ! " he cried out. " What are you doing 
 there ? " 
 
 " Praying . , . hiding," she sobbed. 
 
 He drew her close, his knees supporting her. He 
 seemed astonished that her eyes were charged with tears. 
 He leaned over her crooning " Good God ! . . . You 
 couldn't love him ! I've made you cry , . . couldn't 
 . . . couldn't love him . . ." then in the words she used 
 to sing to him 
 
 " You are my soul I am your slave ! Don't mind my
 
 294 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 moods. They come and go ... come and go like the 
 chances we have missed." 
 
 She clung to him sobbing. He soothed her, holding 
 her close as on that night when she had entered the Valley 
 of the Shadow ; close as on that evening when the sands 
 of Sahara lay beside them and the waters of Suez babbled 
 at their feet. With his arms about her, swaying her to 
 and fro as though she were still a child, he poured out his 
 sorrow and his pain. She buried her face on his breast. 
 
 And the roar of the streets accompanied his words ; 
 the drone of a car rumbling towards the docks ; the whirr 
 of a breeze which presently would die and leave them 
 palpitating on the grey shoulder of this giant city 
 listening to the throb of its heart. 
 
 She became calm under his touch. His influence was 
 very real. She desired always to see in his eyes the light 
 which now shone hi them. She was afraid to break in 
 with the paltry history of her attempt which in some way 
 he had fathomed ; but it was essential that she should. 
 Told by a third person her indiscretion would be moun- 
 tainous. She had striven to help him. She had prayed 
 for opportunity to prove to him she was not altogether a 
 burden, and opportunity had come to her in the guise of 
 Peter Witterspoon the sybarite son, shrewd and alert, of 
 a millionaire pill-maker. 
 
 How had this thing come to Den's ears ? 
 
 She twisted and faced him on her knees, her cheeks 
 flushed, her hands upon his shoulders. 
 
 " What have you heard ? " she asked him with a direct 
 touch that was tragic. 
 
 He met her, holding with his two hands the face she 
 lifted to his. 
 
 " Too little for anger, Mem-sahib, too much for peace," 
 he told her. " I happened to come home rather early 
 the last time you were out, and " 
 
 " Yesterday ? " she interrupted. 
 
 He signalled assent. 
 
 " And they told you downstairs ? " 
 
 " I asked for you . . . they could scarcely avoid it. 
 I pretended I knew and they poured out their congratula- 
 tions ' Lucky people to 'av such friends. Lucky for 
 your dear good lady, sir ; lucky for the bootiful child. It 
 does 'em all good to get a run . . . bucks 'em up some- 
 think wonderful,' " he mocked, and released her.
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 295 
 
 " And and you have bottled it ever since oh ! my 
 darling ! . . ." She hid her face. 
 
 " I thought you would speak of it. I waited all last 
 evening I I scarcely knew what to say as you didn't. 
 And I hated it hated it. Who is it, Mem-sahib ? " 
 
 " Peter Witterspoon, oh dearest ..." she gave back, 
 with a rush that seemed to choke her. 
 
 " That millionaire man you knew in India ? I seem 
 to know the name. ..." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Hum ! You should have married him, little girl. 
 What is he doing here ? " 
 
 She captured his hand and rubbed her cheek upon it. 
 " Little girl loved you you. No one in the world but you." 
 
 " Grossly unpractical," he commented, his ears recog- 
 nising the appeal in her voice, his eyes refusing it. 
 
 " Love knows nothing of that," she told him. 
 
 " Then it should." He drew near in spite of this 
 pronouncement, and said " He is the man your aunt 
 wanted you to marry, anyhow." 
 
 " Den ! Den ! Oh my dearest ! " she flamed at this. 
 " I wouldn't have married Peter Witterspoon if he had 
 
 asked me. ... I didn't know he " and then she 
 
 halted, troubled by the knowledge she had acquired, since 
 she had set her heart on helping her husband. 
 
 O'Hagan made a gesture of disapproval. "Dearest! 
 I didn't quite mean that. I I put it stupidly. It's 
 rather difficult to know how to put it. . . ." 
 
 Instantly she was leaning towards him, once more 
 pressing his hands close. 
 
 " That is my husband again," she whispered. " Den, I 
 want to see that light in your eyes always ... no other 
 light no doubt or sorrow or anger, but just the look you 
 gave me when you peeped in upon me and found Baba 
 at my breast. ... I love you, dearest. ... I never 
 loved anyone else, only you, as you love me while God is 
 God and we are His children ... we are crossing swords 
 to-day, Den ... we are playing with fire and it will 
 hurt us and burn us unless we have trust in each other. I 
 ask for your trust as I give you mine . . . nothing can 
 harm us if we stand to that. Peter Witterspoon ! " 
 scorn touched her with the name " is nothing to me. He 
 is a means to an end. He may choose to give me back 
 happiness. He may help me to help you you, who are
 
 296 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 my life . . . my life. He is one of the pawns women are 
 able to twist and break and throw aside. . . . He is not 
 great or fine or very clean . . , but I am your wife, oh 
 dearest, and you need have no fear." 
 
 He sat in silence, listening, his hands limply in hers. 
 
 *' I wanted to help you. I saw you failing. I saw you 
 at the edge of things, even as you said a while ago. I 
 saw you falling getting broken on the wheel, and I 
 longed to show you that marriage need not make a 
 woman helpless, a weight, a drag . . . that encum- 
 brance thing they are always jeering at, and so I wrote to 
 Aunt Mary. . . . 
 
 " That happened soon after we came here. I found out 
 that Peter Witterspoon is the man who has put Sharum 
 on his feet, made him big and difficult. . . ." 
 
 " Sharum ? " he interrupted, sitting back. 
 
 " Yes." She watched his face, reading the signs. 
 " Didn't you know they were connected ? " 
 
 " How should I ? " 
 
 " Then thai is the reason you never spoke of of Peter 
 Witterspoon to me," she commented, her eyes wide. " Oh ! 
 what a stupid, stupid muddle ! . . . 
 
 " For the first time in my life," said O'Hagan coldly, 
 " I admit I am at fault as far as Sharum is concerned." 
 
 She put up her hands as though to screen her face from 
 a blow. 
 
 " Don't ! Don't ! " she cried out. " You break my 
 heart." 
 
 He made no advance. His face was cold as his tone, 
 when he replied 
 
 " I understand, then, that in the hope that Peter 
 Witterspoon may play on Sharum's sense of justice, 
 honour, or whatever it is the beast has, you are playing on 
 Peter Witterspoon. . . . Come out of it, Mem-sahib," he 
 said in cutting tones. " It isn't the work for women 
 . . . it's men's work. The work of those who can give 
 blows, kick if need be, jam their vile actions down their 
 lank throats by sheer force of muscle. . . . No other way 
 remains when the law stands mincing over shibboleths. 
 No other hope exists. . . . Peter Witterspoon ! " he flung 
 out, rising. " If I get in touch with him I shall be sorry for 
 Peter Witterspoon." 
 
 There came a knock at the door, and the maid entered
 
 CONTEMPTUOUS EXISTENCE 297 
 
 presently to find them quiet. O'Hagan held a book 
 which he did not read. Lucy held work which had no 
 needle. 
 
 The maid displayed no surprise. She brought in a 
 supper of cold meat and hot cocoa, bread, cheese and 
 butter. She sighed as she placed it duly on the spread 
 cloth. With her head on one side she marched round the 
 table re-touching her handiwork ; then, moving to the 
 door, opened it and stood to say 
 
 " Is there any think else as you would like, 'em ? " 
 
 Lucy glanced at the table and said " No, I think not, 
 thank you." 
 
 The maid licked her lips " Missis says, 'em, if you'd 
 like a bit of beefsteak pie she's got one all 'ot an' ready to 
 come up. . . ." 
 
 Lucy said she was not sure she wanted it and asked 
 Denis. 
 
 " Pie ! " He laughed awkwardly. " What in the 
 world for ? " 
 
 The maid took this literally, and replied verbatim 
 
 " To eat, if you please, sir because missis says it's 
 the 24th, an' she alw'ys 'as pies fer 'er guests on Hempire 
 D'y . . . an'-if-you-please-it's-no-extre. ..." 
 
 Lucy began to laugh, but Den failed here. What he 
 said sounded like 
 
 " Ravens, after all, Mem-sahib ! Rather. Never look 
 a gift horse in the face lest he should turn and kick you." 
 
 So the pie was brought ; the cold meat taken away. 
 And the hot cocoa remained to wash down the pie. Then 
 they sat down to look at it, and looked at each other 
 instead. That brought tears and laughter most wonder- 
 fully blended ; it brought the two from the stiff, hard 
 chairs before the table to that horsehair-covered easy 
 which had seen the gambols and sorrows of so many 
 lodgers. It brought them to each other's arms, and the 
 pie became cold, cold, fit for the back of the fire, where pre- 
 sently they placed two wedges. An offering, this, to the 
 prescience of that statesman who discovered that England 
 was ripe for a new and resonant patriotism. A salve, too, 
 for consciences uneasy at the lapse. 
 
 Again peace stood with these two trust, the love that 
 still was theirs.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 " POSTED " 
 
 DAILY during the months which had elapsed since 
 O'Hagan reached home, notices had appeared in the 
 shipping papers giving the " Doctors' " view of Jimmy 
 Barlow's will-o'-the-wisp move to a New World. 
 
 "Casa Blanca" they said without change in phrase, 
 " London. May 20, for Valparaiso. Boat found in 50 
 45' S., 66 50' W." Then followed the enigmatic figures 
 which in January stood at fifty guineas per cent., in 
 March at eighty guineas and in June at ninety-five. 
 There were those behind the scenes who knew what this 
 progression meant ; but there were others who did not, 
 who never saw them and upon whom the final announce- 
 ment came with crashing force. 
 
 On the 10th of June there appeared a small explanatory 
 notice which said that on that day the Casa Blanca was 
 " posted." To be " posted " means to be lost, to be 
 among those who are written off as Missing, who have 
 vanished somehow, somewhere, and cannot be found. 
 
 The little tug made her plunge on this day in good com- 
 pany. Two other stupids who had managed to get mis- 
 laid, swallowed or knocked into a cocked-hat on some 
 forgotten rock, gave her countenance. They were bigger 
 than the Casa Blanca and should have known better. Of 
 course they had all vanished long ago, months ago, but 
 this was a recognition of the fact the only recognition 
 they were likely to receive that they were missing ships. 
 Between them on a moderate calculation they had 
 accounted for seventy or seventy-five Bottle-fillers of the 
 tramp brand with one hundred and fifty or two hundred 
 dependants. On the ships and cargo full value would be 
 paid. On the Bottle-fillers not a stiver without a fight. 
 A modest hundred or so could be scrambled for, carried 
 from Court to Court by wealthy corporations acting for 
 shareholders against widows or mothers or sisters who 
 held outrageous views about the value of a dead Bottle-
 
 " POSTED " 299 
 
 filler. Bene ! Against all these a word is framed. 
 " Fight." And in the dim distance a plaintiff may be 
 seen escaping with a solatium scarcely fat enough to 
 satisfy the law costs incurred in winning it. Better in all 
 cases to-day to agree to be made quiet beyond the walls. 
 
 Jimmy Barlow's widow could not hope to win even on 
 terms such as these, for Jimmy Barlow, to all intents, 
 was Henry Tompson. The builders of missing Casa 
 Blanco, had never heard of Jimmy Barlow, and were 
 sufficiently angry at the loss which they recognised. 
 The Chilean owner's agent scoffed openly. He at least 
 knew of no obligation which would compel compensation. 
 Without means to engage a lawyer you cannot fight. 
 Your case cannot be prepared. If you bring it unaided you 
 will lose by the mere fact of your incompetence to plead. 
 
 Therefore, Jimmy Barlow's widow did what other 
 women have done, and will still do she rented a room 
 again in East London and sat down with her girls to make 
 shirts. Not until the end appeared, which surely would 
 come upon her if she remained in the country, did she do 
 this. Not until hope was gone on every hand, debt 
 begun, hunger already stirring. Then in consultation 
 with the O'Hagans she found her way back to her attic 
 and gave it out that she was ready to " take up her old 
 connection " with those whose province it is to find some 
 portion of the material and to pay as little as may be for 
 the balance and the work. 
 
 It was nearly the end of June when this happened, and 
 in a sense O'Hagan's burden was increased. The sun 
 shone merrily on city and country alike. It was pleasant 
 on the hills beyond town, but in the streets heat radiated 
 and became a burden. The smoke canopy which arches 
 London keeps out in still weather the freshness which 
 comes with night ; the lights, the fires, the escaping 
 steam add to the oppression. There is no cool borderland 
 of lawn or shrubs or garden in Bearsted Road ; no space 
 for tents or chairs ; no seclusion. From the wide-open 
 window on their side the O'Hagans could see what passed 
 in rooms across the way. If trees or gardens existed for 
 those who live in that district, they are of the " allotment " 
 type, far off, in the derelict space formed by the fork of 
 railway lines, behind a bank of Regent's Canal, or on a 
 slope, otherwise impossible, littered with patched tool 
 sheds, bits of fences and decayed tins as ordered and
 
 300 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 considered excellent by Parliament and the King's 
 ministers. 
 
 Tired labourers sometimes visited these places, stood 
 and smoked a while, surveying a desert of cabbage stumps 
 and refuse. Wives, children and men strayed past on 
 holidays, conscious of the failure of their ' garding,' and 
 came by slow method to Victoria Park, where a band 
 plays and there are seats for tired humanity. And here 
 occasionally O'Hagan pushed Baba's carriage until he 
 learned to know the boy dreaded the march it entailed 
 through crowded streets. The clamour made by big and 
 small children playing in the gutter and hopping through 
 a strange game on the pavement frightened him. He 
 was used to ship-noises, but not to the noises of London's 
 gamins. He soon learned to say 
 
 " Not darden, Mamie. . . . Baba not like a darden, 
 Dada . . ." and that sufficed. They saw he shrank from 
 the screams. Perhaps especially it sufficed when he learned 
 to plead " Baba like see wawa," which meant water or 
 river perhaps both to the small autocrat who ruled. 
 
 Even from this Eldorado O'Hagan came back ruffled 
 and hot to the place they called home, Lucy accompanying 
 him, smiling at his disgust. The child had ordered it. 
 He seemed to nerve himself for the shouts which even 
 this route entailed ; remembering he was going to the 
 river. To peep at it from the end of a ragged pier, for as 
 yet no embankment exists for the draggle-tailed East- 
 Ender, to watch for a while the moving ships. 
 
 When O'Hagan came here first he purchased a map and 
 found a space called Ropemaker's Fields which at once 
 inspired him. He discovered it to be a street unbeauti- 
 ful, and he searched for no further hints. He marched 
 and found Narrow Street, then Broad Street, thorough- 
 fares of Limehouse and Ratcliff he examined the Isle of 
 Dogs, a space with a luminous name he thought he knew, 
 and found it a wilderness. Docks and warehouses, mean 
 streets, mean wharves, noisy, chuffing railways existed in 
 profusion ; a wilderness where no sane dog would stay 
 ten minutes unchained. No the Isle of Dogs which had 
 seen the Casa Blanco, start for the New World would 
 scarcely do as a playground for Baba who resented 
 noise. 
 
 Sometimes the Tower Hamlets and City of London 
 Cemetery took them in and gave them what peace may
 
 " POSTED " 301 
 
 be found amidst acres of strange tombs. But much 
 oftener they made their way to the riverside and learned 
 to be content with such peeps as the warehouses permitted. 
 
 Quaint bits of old London faced them here, strange and 
 fascinating glimpses of that river which had borne them 
 home. Down Limehouse Reach they got a notion of 
 Greenwich trees, the Park and Hospital ; up, they came 
 upon the Pool famous for all time. Steamers trailed by, 
 barges plunged and tacked, throwing showers of spray, 
 launches swept to and fro challenigng the tides. 
 
 Narrow often, indescribably rickety and dirty often, 
 are the spots which command a view. Yet here the 
 O'Hagans walked to give Baba the air he seemed to miss. 
 Here they learned to remember a phrase he tumbled at 
 them " Babee wahed," and wondered what it meant. 
 And presently Lucy resolved the puzzle with the question, 
 " Tired ? " and the child with screwed-up lips gave back 
 " Esss." 
 
 And it was here they thought they saw him fade. 
 They recollected, with a start of dismay, he no longer 
 seemed keen on his food, and the challenging cry, "How's 
 the kiddie, oh dearest ? " with which for months they had 
 met, took a note which it had not touched before. It 
 sounded a little wistful at first, then, as the heat became 
 more oppressive, concern crept in, and Den one night, as 
 he stared at the white face which once had been so brown, 
 whispered that he would have to go and find a doctor. 
 
 That made Lucy start. 
 
 She gathered the dear mite in her arms and carried 
 him to the window. He lay blinking at the light, but the 
 pallor was more distinct. " Babee wahed," he said, 
 drowsily. 
 
 " Oh ! you don't think . . . Den, you don't . . ." 
 Lucy whispered, and got no farther. Her voice broke. 
 She moved swiftly, her eyes veiled, staring from one to 
 the other with the quick and penetrating glance of a soul 
 suddenly alive to fear. . . . " Oh ! Den it can't be that 
 . . . we have only had him such a little while . . . and 
 he is just beginning to talk and run. . . . Dearest ! what 
 can it be ? What must we do ... we simply can't have 
 him ill can't, dearest can't . . ." 
 
 O'Hagan drew her to a chair and persuaded her to 
 sit, and Lucy bent over the child, rocking slowly, the 
 tears blinding her. , . . ** Mamie's darling. . . , Mamie's
 
 302 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 ownest. . . . Go, Den, go and find him. . . ." Then as 
 the boy stirred, opening his eyes, she leaned down to 
 listen. 
 
 " Mamie sing oh Babee," said the child. 
 
 Mamie sing ! Mamie's heart was breaking even as 
 Den's, while they watched the first surrender to the law 
 which bids us sleep when we are tired ; when we have been 
 driven ; when in the dark, beyond our ken, the Messenger 
 stands and bids us prepare. 
 
 "Mamie sing oh Babee," came the demand once more, 
 and with her sweet voice thrilling, Lucy obeyed 
 
 " Over the ditch 
 Slip, little witch- 
 Off to rest and Dreamland, 
 Carrying dear Teddy, 
 Yellow-brown Teddy, 
 To laugh with you in Cloud Cloud . . . 
 
 Then in a sudden tempest the soft voice broke, and there 
 came to halt Den 
 
 " Can't can't, oh dearest ! Can't sing that any 
 
 more . . . if " 
 
 Baba's dark eyes looked up wondering at the thrill 
 which shook him. A small smile escaped and Lucy 
 leaned over whispering the phrases which leap unre- 
 hearsed from the soul of the mother to the soul of a child. 
 And in the midst of them Den bent down to say " I shall 
 go at once and and find a man. I'll bring him back with 
 me." 
 
 But it took long to find any man ready to come instantly 
 to a case showing so little urgency. When he arrived it 
 was nearly dark. Baba slept, and observation revealed 
 but suggestions from which the learned may dogmatise. 
 
 Nothing very serious at the moment, at all events. 
 Measles, of course, were rather troublesome just now, as 
 no doubt the O'Hagans knew . . . infantile colic and other 
 bothers accounted for a number of lives down here. The 
 still air, you see, dust laden, crammed with germs . . . 
 a difficulty that, more especially in the crowded areas. 
 Poor little chap . . . respiration getting a bit thick . . . 
 ought to have been away a week ago . . . but not now 
 . . . not noAv. 
 
 Again, as he stood by the window facing the traffic, he 
 emphasised this view. 
 
 " Just look at it . . . the new era they call it. Deadly,
 
 " POSTED " 308 
 
 sir quite deadly for certain organisms. We can only 
 guess at a tithe of the trouble that will come. Have you, 
 for instance, assimilated the fact that cattle refuse to 
 touch the dust-strewn strips of pasturage which lie beside 
 a high road ? Cattle and sheep, too know what they 
 are about better than we do. They aren't fools, if we are. 
 . . . Throats, eyes and noses will suffer presently. . . . 
 It stands to reason, when you consider it by the way, 
 has the little man associated with other children at all 
 any in the house ? " 
 
 " No we know no one here." 
 
 " Quite. Well let him sleep. Don't disturb him on 
 any account now he is asleep " he laid great stress on 
 this " and keep him warm." O'Hagan stared. " I will 
 send you a little mixture presently, which will help him, 
 and at about eleven to-morrow I will look in again." 
 
 In the passage, as he made his way to the door, he 
 confided to O'Hagan " It looks like measles. We are 
 run off our legs with it in Limehouse just now. Pity you 
 had to bring him here at this season. . . . Good-night." 
 
 And so to other bedsides ; one who divines for us from 
 symptoms how we stand with regard to to-morrow ; 
 who, had he been one of those " doctors " who practise at 
 Lloyd's, would have marked this case for reinsurance at 
 seventy-five per cent, premium without intermediate 
 stages. 
 
 Seventy-five per cent, to insure against Baba's recovery. 
 
 Neither Lucy nor Den knew this. They waited patiently 
 in the early hours of this trial ; in despair as it drew out. 
 They saw no kindling in Baba's glance ; they saw his 
 cold develop, his eyes grow filmed ; heard the wail which 
 speaks of weariness, and sat in turn to guard and tend him. 
 
 Through the still nights while London sleeps, through 
 the crass day when it wakes and works, they watched in 
 turn, counting the hours till a crisis passed. Lucy sang 
 his song ; Den attempted it. Then one noon, the sun 
 standing high over Bearsted Road, Doctor Charlton came 
 aad stayed long, watching the ebbing life. 
 
 No hope for Baba ; no gleam ; no fleeting, transitory 
 ray only the dust which was killing him, the shouts and 
 car jangle which kept him startled ; the voices of those 
 who wrangle and barter and make love in one dull shout 
 which reaches out and blends with the drone of London. 
 No hope. Baba's life ebbing, complications stubbornly
 
 304 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 refusing to yield to treatment , . . and the knowledge 
 that this place had done it. 
 
 "As it has thousands, Captain O'Hagan," Charlton 
 emphasised over the stricken man. " Thousands. . . . 
 Let me take you for a run. They tell me you are off duty 
 now well, an hour will do you good. Come ! You 
 mustn't break down too, or there will be the devil to pay 
 next time I come. ..." 
 
 But O'Hagan thrust away his offer. He desired to be 
 alone. He wanted to think. He said that he had neglected 
 his work, and had an appalling amount to get through. 
 He must run away and do it at once. 
 
 " Where ? " he turned swiftly, reiterating it. " Up in 
 the city. Work connected with my case, you remember." 
 Charlton had no knowledge of the subject. He imagined 
 O'Hagan was in port with his ship. " No one can do it 
 for me," O'Hagan went on. " I shall be away two or three 
 hours safe, I suppose ! " his voice broke. 
 
 " Yes ... it will happen to-night . . . tide-time. . . . 
 Come and have a smoke with me when you get back." 
 
 " Could you smoke if ... if " O'Hagan broke out. 
 
 " No," said Charlton, " I couldn't." 
 
 O'Hagan passed, carrying a malacca, which cut the air 
 with the song of a whip, as he moved swiftly to catch a train. 
 
 Fifteen minutes watching an engine advance by stages 
 to Fenchurch Street did not provide an atmosphere calcu- 
 lated to calm him. He entered the carriage throbbing, 
 he left it in a white heat and took his way direct to that 
 office which stood midway down Longman Avenue. He 
 knew it now as well as Lucy had learned to know it. He 
 knew it with a hatred which kept him silent, which stood 
 over him whispering advice, telling him how he should 
 proceed and conterminously warning him of the danger he 
 ran in approaching it. 
 
 Yet he came to it now swinging a cane, grim with the 
 anguish of days, as ready to spring as a beast whose lair 
 has been robbed of a cub. 
 
 He climbed the steps and moved through the swiag 
 door. A commissionaire met him, wearing medals as on 
 that day when Lucy entered, and said in answer to the 
 visitor's question 
 
 " I am not sure, sir." He took up a receiver and 
 reached for pencil and paper. " What name shall I say ? " 
 
 " O'Hagan."
 
 " POSTED " 305 
 
 The commissionaire looked up. " Captain O'Hagan ? " 
 he asked, his eyes on the bronzed and clean-shaven face 
 of this caller who stood over him. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The man made no sign. He was taking in a message 
 from the office beyond. He recognised at once that he 
 was confronted by one of those people he must keep out ; 
 who in no case might be permitted to enter. He hung up 
 the receiver and said 
 
 " Sorry, sir, but Mr. Sharum is engaged." 
 
 " I will give him ten minutes," O'Hagan answered, 
 pulling out his watch. 
 
 Again the man said " Sorry, sir but he won't be at 
 liberty till after four o'clock. Be so kind as to make an 
 appointment." 
 
 " No," said O'Hagan. " My business won't wait," and 
 he pushed through a second door. The commissionaire 
 seized him. 
 
 Instantly, as it appeared to those standing beside 
 desks, there was a struggle in which several joined. 
 O'Hagan wrenched free and struck out. The commis- 
 sionaire stumbled, fell, while the others closed in. O'Hagan 
 with his back to a partition marked their coming and 
 cried " Not too near. I don't stand crowding. You 
 have your duty to perform and I have mine." The 
 commissionaire was on his feet, white and panting. " I 
 am going to see Sharum I " the clear voice proclaimed. 
 " I'll see him quietly if he likes, or I will make a noise over 
 it. ... Ah you would ! Stand back ! " 
 
 Again he hit out, and a clerk who had rushed in went 
 down. There was huge clamour at once. Desks were 
 slammed and men sprang to the assistance of those who 
 had fallen. And in the scrimmage O'Hagan was dragged 
 down and handed over to the police. 
 
 The Mansion House took charge of him. 
 
 Again there was quiet at the offices of Sharums, Limited, 
 clerks bending over ledgers, heads of departments obsessed 
 by the weight of affairs. In Sharum's room quiet too, the 
 quiet of a man who questions the management of a Master 
 of Industry. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon, negligent and at his ease, showed 
 that he was not pleased with his friend. He rarely 
 minced with words. To-day he was unusually distinct 
 
 B.F x
 
 306 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " You are boggling this thing," he said definitely. " To 
 gratify your amour-propre or something I don't under- 
 stand, you are going to be hauled through the Courts. 
 There will be some nasty explanations. I know the law, 
 and I don't like explanations. ' Agree with thine adver- 
 sary while he is in the way,' is my notion of business. 
 Why on earth let this fellow handle a muck-rake now ? 
 Things are different for you to-day, easy, if I may say so. 
 What, then, is the use of pursuing a game that will land 
 you in annoyance ? me, too, if I know anything of the 
 power of a cross-examiner." 
 
 " You suggest that I am acting out of petty spite," 
 Sharum said stiffly. 
 
 " True. I thought you were bigger but, as I told you, 
 I knew these folk before, and, to be quite straight, I 
 resent persecution. ..." 
 
 Sharum fidgeted in his chair, crossing and uncrossing 
 his legs. " I should be sorry to indulge in it," he said. 
 " The notion has not arisen in my mind." 
 
 " You charged him with drunkenness, when you knew 
 he was sober," Witterspoon rapped out. 
 
 " I relied on my agent's report. I was compelled to 
 use the plea." 
 
 " Defended yourself, in other words, at the expense of a 
 damned good man," Witterspoon commented. 
 
 He got up, found a cigarette and crossed to his chair, 
 lighting it. " You put him out of the Strathmuir, didn't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " McClure was satisfied with him too, I heard ? " 
 
 " I had to consider the result of my silence in the case 
 of the mate and the subsequent loss of Casa Blanca." 
 
 Witterspoon nodded. " Well, now, that looks to me a 
 bit like persecution, but," he threw the match towards 
 the fireplace, watched as it fell short and rose to complete 
 the operation, " but, what is to be the upshot now 
 going to prosecute ? " 
 
 " I have no option." 
 
 " I don't agree ; but take it at that. You remember, 
 of course, things will be said about the Sphinx ? " 
 
 " What things ? " 
 
 Sharum in spite of his calm was angry. By his pallor, 
 his immobility, this was apparent, and Witterspoon 
 noted it.
 
 " POSTED " 307 
 
 " What things ? " he repeated rather aggressively for 
 one in the swim. " Oh well that she was unscaworthy 
 with a deckload for one thing. That another skipper, 
 Tipton, left her because of it. Tipton will come forward 
 to prove it. They will swear that Tipton had three or 
 four hundred sunk in her, and two other skippers, it 
 appears, had similar amounts . . . that you got rid of 
 them I am giving you what will be sworn to got rid 
 of them when you had their money tight . . . and, mind 
 you, I think this the ugliest bit of it all when O'Hagan 
 invested his five hundred, or whatever it was, you failed 
 to notify him of the fact that the Sphinx was mortgaged 
 up to the hilt . . . you good Lord man, you don't 
 mean to tell me you can afford to let that sort of thing 
 come out ? " 
 
 " It would not 1 " Sharum stung back, " come out as 
 you choose to put it. You seem to ignore my view 
 entirely. . . ." 
 
 " I'm here to learn," Witterspoon interrupted, smoking 
 and at his ease. 
 
 Sharum, for the first time, showed annoyance ; he 
 leaned forward in his chair and banged the table. 
 
 " I decline to go into it now. It is complicated and 
 much too long for a chance conversation, if it be chance." 
 He waited for this to sink in, but Witterspoon made no 
 comment. " You seem," Sharum resumed, " to have 
 been at some pains to discover the other side. I don't 
 know that I call it altogether loyal to < . ." 
 
 " Never mind that ! " Witterspoon interjected. " I 
 want you to come out of an impossible position. I want 
 you to refuse to prosecute that chap to-morrow and let 
 him be discharged. He will be slurred deeply enough by 
 that, if you want to slur him. Further," he spoke very 
 clearly here, " I want you to write to him. . . ." 
 
 "Him? Who?" 
 
 " O'Hagan . . . and say that you regret the stupidity 
 which caused the scene. Say your men exceeded their 
 duty anything you like, and offer him command of one 
 of your boats . . . Griselda, for instance, in compensa- 
 tion . . ." 
 
 " What ? " Sharum banged again over this and 
 instantly rose. He crossed to the fire and stood warming 
 his back ; but he was not cold. 
 
 " I was fairly concise," said Peter Witterspoon. 
 
 x t
 
 308 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " And if I refuse ? " 
 
 " To tell the truth, my friend," Witterspoon intoned 
 through cigarette smoke, " I'm getting a bit fed up with 
 shipping. . . ." 
 
 " Fed up ! Tired of fifty per cent. ? " 
 
 " Not if it's clean." 
 
 The shipowner moved uneasily by the fireplace. He had 
 come from small beginnings by the aid of this man's 
 purse to a position of assured future. He was wealthy. 
 Three years' boom, coupled with the knowledge that 
 millions lay to his hand, coupled again with the strong 
 brain which had manipulated events, had put Sharum on a 
 pedestal. It had placed him where he was more easily 
 assoiled than in those days when he stood on the floor. He 
 knew this was so. He knew, too, that Peter Witterspoon 
 was prepared to go all lengths in defence of these people. 
 He was not ready to pay him out. It would be incon- 
 venient but " not if it's clean " rankled. In spite of 
 his anxiety he squirmed over this. " Oh, come," he 
 complained, " I don't think you are fair. . . ." 
 
 " It scarcely bears discussion, Sharum," Witterspoon 
 interjected. " I came upon it by chance. Happened to 
 know Miss Faulkner in India, you recollect. Never met 
 O'Hagan himself ; I don't know what he's like ; but I 
 don't care to be mixed up in Jew tricks like that invest- 
 ment of his. It hasn't quite a nice sound. I don't know 
 much of business . . . ship business, anyhow . . . and 
 don't want to ... it sounds dirty. . . . 
 
 " Think it over. Give the poor devil a job . . . Damn 
 it ! you don't want to starve a chap because he happens to 
 be a skipper you have rounded up ... starve his wife 
 . . . his kid, by Jove. . . . What ? Look here . . . 
 you seem to be top dog these days " again with excessive 
 clarity Witterspoon pictured the situation. " Once, I 
 believe, it was the other way about but you are too big 
 to play to the gallery that fashion. And I have made you 
 big . . . given you your chance, and yet ..." He 
 shrugged, threw away his cigarette, and stood ready to 
 go. He tapped one boot with his cane and Sharum came 
 to a decision. Behind the veil he had scarcely raised, his 
 mind was at work figuring out results. He was not 
 ready, yet the question he put was 
 
 " Why the Griselda ? " 
 
 A ray of light crossed the room and fell on the blue
 
 " POSTED " 809 
 
 Delft bowl over there by the wall. " Happens to be at 
 home and minus a skipper, I understand," Peter Witter- 
 spoon smiled, crossing to stare at the colour. 
 
 " I thought you knew nothing about ships ? " Sharum 
 sneered. 
 
 "I know," Witterspoon hit back swiftly, turning, "just 
 what I find it essential to know, when I'm dabbling in a 
 thing. When I'm tired of it I know nothing." His hand 
 was lifted, carrying the eyeglass he had used. " Well," 
 he smiled. " Think it out and let me know later. ..." 
 
 " No necessity," Sharum growled. " One way or 
 another, I will do what you wish. ..." 
 
 " Good. That's awfully decent of you. I knew you 
 would. I could have sworn to it." 
 
 And again the Master of Industry shrugged over the 
 phrase which fell " Could you ? " 
 
 It sounded like a sneer. But Peter Witterspoon left 
 the office unimpressed, and hummed away west until he 
 reached the bank. Here, with the help of a constable, 
 who held up the traffic, he executed a change of course 
 which took him east ; and Sharum's confidential clerk 
 who had followed in a cab was able to return with the report 
 his master desired. 
 
 Sharum was perturbed. He showed it by marching up 
 and down his room, not fast, but as a heavy man moves. 
 Gone east again ! The Griselda, of all ships in the fleet ! 
 The man's daft. Doesn't he know that the Griselda is 
 another of those rollers that can't stand up with a deck- 
 load ... or does he 
 
 For five minutes Sharum stood with his thought, 
 rolling it like wine on his palate, twisting it, testing it, 
 then quickly he put on his hat and went round to the 
 Mansion House to see O'Hagan. 
 
 " This thing," he said, as he walked, " must be settled. 
 It has gone too far." 
 
 At half-past four he was again in his office. He sat 
 over a cup of tea strong enough to tan his waistcoat, as 
 perhaps it did but he did not blink. His critics said he 
 drank tea which could be used as seed. He said, with a 
 maltreatment of Shelley which was scandalous 
 
 " The seed ye sow another reaps. 
 The seed I sow just finds me sheeps." 
 
 Argument with a man of that type is beyond the range.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 TIDE-TIME 
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON lunged east in his car, facing the 
 dust and blare of Commercial Road with cool indifference. 
 He had decided to ignore Lucy's wishes. He could 
 remain away no longer now that it was certain new trouble 
 had assailed her. He could not understand this dash of 
 O'Hagan's, a fool-dash, he termed it, unless it meant that 
 something had occurred which suddenly had driven him 
 mad. 
 
 For weeks Witterspoon had obeyed Lucy's command 
 weeks which had turned grey for him the thing he knew 
 as "life " left him weary, wrung. But now he must see 
 her again, talk with her, hear from her dear lips that all 
 was well ; or if it were ill, that she would allow him to do 
 something to justify his existence as a friend. He was 
 alert as ever, keen, but oppressed by a sense of disaster 
 he could not understand. Something had happened ; if 
 that were not so why was O'Hagan now locked up for the 
 Lord Mayor to trounce and sentence to-morrow ? 
 
 Was it not obvious that Lucy stood in need of an adviser 
 at this moment and that she required help ? Again 
 was she not alone ? 
 
 The bridge which crosses Regent's Canal, that dismal 
 waterway which Baba would not accept as his river, 
 brought Witterspoon suddenly to the acknowledged 
 danger of a car moving fast through streets lately drenched 
 with water. He skidded slightly on the tram lines, 
 recovered and grazed the wheels of a lorry crawling 
 towards the docks. He came past the church which 
 reminds the pulsing thousands of every quarter lost to 
 time ; sought out a turning place and ran to the door of 
 No. 45. 
 
 Baba was not at the window to-day to wave and 
 smile ; no Mamie, no maid to stare with pleasure at that 
 wonderful car ; but a woman he did not know dressed as 
 a nurse, leaving the house.
 
 TIDE-TIME 311 
 
 Peter Witterspoon locked his brakes and passed 
 quickly to the door. He was not the dandy and rather 
 critical student of affairs who had lately sat before 
 Sharum ; but a man carrying, as he thought, a burden no 
 other can share. He mounted the steps, entered and 
 climbed the stairs as had been his custom when Baba 
 waved a beckoning hand. He came to their door and 
 halted over it, wondering whether he should open or seek 
 the maid. 
 
 And while he paused Lucy came from the farther 
 room to solve the problem. She crossed, white and worn, 
 to intercept her husband. 
 
 " Den ! " she whispered, " Come quickly . . . where 
 have ..." Then ceased and said with a note of despair 
 " Oh ! I thought it was Den ... I thought I heard his 
 step . . . where is Den ? Where is he ? " 
 
 He caught her hands and held her, love in his brain, 
 love burning him, bidding him take her now that oppor- 
 tunity was his ; but the sight of her anguish sobered him 
 and brought out what there was of manliness in Peter 
 Witterspoon. 
 
 " Steady, dear lady . . . steady," he urged, holding 
 her firmly. " O'Hagan is in town and can't get back yet. 
 He er sent me to see you er to find out what's 
 wrong, you know. He said he would be detained some 
 time. ..." 
 
 Lucy searched his eyes, noting the halting and indirect 
 speech. 
 
 " What's wrong ? " she repeated, laughing quite 
 softly. " Can't come when Baba's dying ! Can't ? . . . 
 Nonsense ! That is not true. He could come. He 
 would unless something has happened to him. Oh ! 
 I am tired. Don't plague me ... where is my hus- 
 band ? " 
 
 " Baba dying ! " was his comment. " Good God ! 
 Let me help." He was silent as to O'Hagan because at 
 the moment Lucy's direct statement had startled him. 
 " Let me help," he pleaded. " Tell me what I can do. 
 Dying ! Have you seen anyone . . . and why in the 
 world did he go up now ? . . ." 
 
 " You are holding me ! " she urged, striving for release. 
 
 " You are not fit to stand alone. You are not fit for 
 this," he proclaimed. 
 
 " Yes yes. I am all right again. Please let me go."
 
 312 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 He obeyed, but kept quite near, holding out his 
 hands. 
 
 " At least tell me what I can do," he begged. " I am 
 not a stranger. Let me help." 
 
 " No one can help," she uttered with a calm that 
 staggered him, her face set, weary with the pain she had 
 borne. " Baba is going to leave us ... couldn't stick 
 it here, you see, so God is taking him back, taking him 
 back," she reiterated, her gaze suffused, " because we 
 couldn't guard him . . . taking him away from me and 
 Den has . . ." 
 
 " Lucy ! " 
 
 The name on his lips startled her. But she looked up, 
 shaking her head, dry -eyed, yet sobbing. "Too late to 
 do things now. He's going," she whispered, nodding 
 over the words. " Perhaps he has gone ... he is so 
 still, so white . . . my own dear Babal" She moved 
 towards the door. " God wanted him . . . but I wanted 
 him more. Perhaps I forgot about God and so God is 
 punishing me. ..." She glanced over her shoulder 
 shuddering. "London has killed him," she wailed in his 
 ear as he leaned there listening. " Jake Hall began it 
 ... it broke poor Den, and after that came Sharum and 
 the Black List ... I wonder whether they have a Black 
 List in Heaven ... I wonder if there is a Heaven or if 
 it is all Hell every pathway leading to it all the foot- 
 steps crowding along to reach it ... even my Baba's 
 . . . tiny Baba's . . . Baba's ! . . ." 
 
 She broke down with the iteration of his name. Sob- 
 bing and blind with tears now, she ran to the room where 
 stood the cot, the child placid upon it. She sank into 
 the old horsehair seated chair Den had placed beside it, 
 and said in tones which brought the blood to Peter 
 Witterspoon's heart 
 
 " The doctor says he will die at tide-time ... is it 
 tide-time yet ? . . ." She leaned over, as Witterspoon 
 drew near. 
 
 " Is it . . . is it ? " she cried out. " He is still, you 
 see ... he scarcely breathes." Then, on her knees by 
 the bedside " Den ! Den ! Den ! Oh why did you go 
 away . . . why did you leave us now ? " 
 
 " Lucy ! " 
 
 Peter Witterspoon stood over her, his hand on her head, 
 his brain on fire. She made no sign.
 
 TIDE-TIME 313 
 
 Again he urged, sinking to his knees "Look up ... 
 I have something to say." He spoke very clearly, his 
 fingers running over her hair. " Captain O'Hagan was 
 called to the city. Sharum wanted him. Sharum is 
 going to give him command. He says there has been a 
 mistake and he will rectify it. I have insisted on this. 
 It was the only thing I could do. O'Hagan will be back 
 by six o'clock. Let me help you in the meantime. 
 Look ! I am going out now, you understand ? to find 
 another doctor. If your husband has not returned when 
 I get back, I will go and fetch him with the car." 
 
 He found her hand and took it. She made no sign. 
 ' That understood ? " he asked. 
 
 With a small pressure she signalled assent. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon rose from his knees and left the room. 
 He came down the stairs clattering, angry. 
 
 " Is there no one in this damned house " he asked of 
 the grimy passage, " who can sit with her ? " 
 
 Pale faces appeared behind doors held ajar at his 
 outcry. Eyes which looked scared, and from one of the 
 rooms the Marchioness made her exit, her eyes red, her 
 unclean cap awry. " If you please, sir," she volunteered, 
 " it were measles an' their nurse 'ad to go 'ome." 
 
 Witterspoon seized her by the arm " Go upstairs and 
 stay with her until I get back," he commanded. " Be 
 
 food to her." He pressed a sovereign in her palm. " Mind ! 
 am trusting you." 
 
 With that he ran down and reached his car, released 
 her and moved slowly along the street searching for a 
 telephone office. He found one in East India Dock 
 Road and sent from thence a message to Sir Thomas 
 Trauman, the children's specialist. Then re-entering his 
 car, started on the three-mile run to the Mansion House 
 to carry out his promise. 
 
 In fifteen minutes he had covered this and a constable 
 came to meet him as he drew up. 
 
 " Officer in charge 1 " Witterspoon interjected leaping 
 to the ground. " Quick as you like." 
 
 " This way, sir." 
 
 The man led to a room within which sat an inspector 
 and other constables. 
 
 " You have a Captain O'Hagan here . . . some silly 
 row in Longman Avenue. Mistake all through," said 
 Peter. " Is it possible to bail him out ? "
 
 314 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 ' Not now, sir. It's done," said the inspector. 
 
 ' That so when ? " 
 
 ' Only just gone." 
 
 * Who by ? " 
 
 ' Someone from the office ; a Mr. Sharum, who had 
 charged him." 
 
 " Um ! " said Peter Witterspoon, and stood at fault, 
 considering what he should do. It occurred to him that 
 Sharum had acted rather promptly, and there came a 
 quickening of pulses as he recognised that O'Hagan was 
 free. Well, it was useless searching London. He must 
 get back at once. The charge would not be made. It was 
 obvious that Sharum had decided, in spite of his tone, 
 to reinstate O'Hagan. He saw, too, that had he listened to 
 Lucy's prayer and acted at once all this latter torment 
 might have been spared her. He stood frowning over this, 
 lost, perhaps for the first time in a rather full life, in 
 thought ; noting the result of his lapse that was it 
 the result of his lapse on this girl he loved. 
 
 The inspector's voice broke in here. He said, referring 
 to the charge and its sudden withdrawal " Rather a 
 boggle, sir, it seems to me." 
 
 " Yes, by Jove ! " 
 
 " A sort of thing that often happens, though. Parties 
 don't seem to think just how dangerous it is to lock a man 
 up until he's locked up." 
 
 " Then they funk it, eh ? " 
 
 The inspector drew a shuttering hand down a solemn 
 face. He did not speak. There was no necessity after 
 that blear look. 
 
 " Well," said Peter Witterspoon, " I'm sorry to have 
 bothered you. I'll get away. . . . Night." 
 
 He retraced his steps, came to the car, and climbed to 
 his place at the driving wheel. Mentally, as he passed a 
 coin to the constable, he thought he was lucky in being 
 spared to-night the eyes of his chauffeur. Again he turned 
 to the East End. 
 
 Love drove him thither ; passion ; desire, if you will 
 but subordinated both of them now by the knowledge of 
 Lucy's trouble. He could not efface the picture she 
 had made. He could not push away the thought that 
 he, equally with Sharum, had been the prime cause of her 
 heartbreak. He could not blot out her cry for her hus- 
 band, although here cynicism moved with facts he could
 
 TIDE-TIME 315 
 
 not explain. He did not seek to explain them. He was 
 obsessed by a dream. Nevertheless, for all time that 
 memory would be with him he swore it making him 
 as butter before fire, making him feel small, mean, a 
 pimp-like personage who has come very near to crime. 
 
 For all time ? 
 
 Peter Witterspoon, even as the phrase fell, recognised 
 the flair of Lucy's presence ; the subtle and mastering 
 force which drew him to her side. And yet, he had no 
 illusions as to Lucy's attitude. She loved her husband. 
 She would go to her death for him ; even as at that 
 moment Witterspoon was prepared to face the end for her. 
 
 But there comes a to-morrow ! 
 
 Peter Witterspoon recognised it and pushed it from him. 
 He lived in to-day. 
 
 All down that clanging thoroughfare, which is East 
 London's main artery, he saw Lucy kneeling beside the 
 cot, alone. The picture troubled him. Tears welled in 
 his eyes as though he, too, were a woman wrestling with 
 a sorrow heavy beyond words. 
 
 A man this who could buy women as he had bought 
 ships. True but the dandy financier had made no 
 attempt to buy. On one he had set his heart one 
 married, as luck would have it, to a fool who scarcely 
 seemed to value her. Else how explain his absence at 
 this juncture ? 
 
 With a clang of brakes Peter Witterspoon came round 
 into Bearsted Road and drew up before the house. 
 
 A house this, occupied as far as two rooms were con- 
 cerned by one known as a Bottle-filler a man near the 
 edge of things, on the Black List, and an hour or so ago in 
 the cells for assault, both " premeditated and brutal " 
 in its ferocity. Occupied, too, by those who wept, who 
 battled with Azrael, striving to thrust him off, and who 
 were baffled and made weary by the warring legions 
 which accompanied him. 
 
 A house of dismal externals and insanitary. On either 
 side of it and facing it, similar houses, standing cheek by 
 jowl with a street whence filth and noise were flung to 
 oscillate between straight frontages of stucco. Filth in 
 the form of dust, noise as of a shipyard lay upon the people 
 who lived in that street. At one corner of it stood a gin 
 palace ; within a short distance several beer-houses
 
 816 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 places where a man at odds with life may sit and brood, 
 drink and sleep until he is sober, howl and arraign the 
 Force which has beaten him. And near at hand, upstairs 
 in a poor back room at Number 45, lay Baba, quiet as the 
 specialist who lately had stood over him could have 
 desired. 
 
 " No chance at all," came authoritatively from the man 
 of science who had motored down at the earnest entreaty 
 of his friend Witterspoon. " Too late even to say whether 
 a chance existed earlier. One cannot dogmatise in a 
 case of this kind. There were complications, of course ; 
 but physically the boy was sterling good stuff . . . 
 unused to the conditions he was called to face. Down 
 here" he waved a hand which women said was his chief 
 charm "of course, these small troubles are endemic. 
 This is a matter somebody should ventilate when there is 
 time. Ah, yes ! Just so when there is time." 
 
 He went away. Other matters pressed. The world 
 throbbed on its journey through space, its gear jarring. 
 
 Lucy was on her knees beside the cot which was her 
 world, struggling with tears and misery to discover 
 coherence in the plan the Potter had set for her. 
 
 She reached out and placed her hand on the child's. 
 She sought his pulse and was frightened by the nutter she 
 perceived. Surely he was cold, too ! He looked white 
 and placid . . . but time winged onward drawing ever 
 towards the dawn. 
 
 In a terror at her position here without Den, Lucy rose 
 from her knees and hastened to the door. She looked 
 down the stairs yawning into a dim chasm filled with 
 shadows, and cried out " Is there anyone there ? " She 
 rang a bell and called again to someone who stood in the 
 vault looking up " Send for the doctor ! Has Mr. 
 Witterspoon returned. . . . Eliza, is that you ? " 
 
 But the Marchioness had gone back to her task in the 
 scullery, ruled by a mistress who feared infection. 
 
 Lucy crept back to her room more scared than before. 
 
 She came to the bed and took Baba in her arms, wrap- 
 ping him close in the blankets among which he had lain. 
 She sat upon the bed hugging her boy, singing to him, her 
 heart breaking. 
 
 He lay quite still. Flaxen hair damp, a little flush 
 tinging the cheek upon which he had rested, his breathing 
 difficult, his eyes closed.
 
 TIDE-TIME 317 
 
 " Oh ! my Baba . . . my beautiful, Mamie's own 
 ..." that was the song she sang, the cry of her heart, as 
 she swayed, hugging him. " Oh ! my boy ... my boy, 
 stay with me ... don't go ... stay with Daddy and 
 Mamie who want you. . . ." 
 
 She sang a snatch of his song, her heart thumping as 
 she watched. She sang it swaying him to and fro 
 
 " Over the ditch 
 Slip, little witch, 
 Off to rest and Dreamland, 
 Carrying dear Teddy, 
 Yellow-brown Teddy, 
 To laugh with you in Cloudland." 
 
 And he stirred in her arms, a smile on his lips. The 
 warmth she brought with her touch perhaps halted him 
 as he moved towards the dawn ; perhaps God in giving 
 him his marching orders bade him smile on the mother 
 who had given him life. He opened his eyes and said 
 huskily, very slowly " Mamie sing Oh Babee." 
 
 And again he lay still. 
 
 Sing ? Who of us who are young and filled with life 
 could sing with death in our arms ? Lucy obeyed. She 
 obeyed because she was his mother. But she could not 
 sing the song he loved. Her song became a dirge, a 
 dream wrapped most beautifully with her voice in 
 thought ; a vision perhaps waking and inspired. 
 
 " God calls you, darling. Oh ! He takes you from 
 me . . . because I love you. By love I won you, Baba 
 angel. . . . Bone of my bone . . . flesh of my flesh 
 . . . life of my life . . . and you are mine. But the 
 great God calls you. Back to God, oh Baba ! Back to 
 the All Father who sent you. . . . To the Tender, the 
 Kind, the Omniscient who has planned and woven our 
 lives so that we touch and pass on touch and fade 
 away. . . . 
 
 " Death, little witch, is nothing to the Good. It is 
 not harsh. Must we not all die once ? It is not very 
 difficult when the time comes. We are more tired than 
 we supposed. ... It does not hurt as we thought it 
 might. . . . Those who are left it hurts more than it 
 will hurt Baba. . . . 
 
 " Life hurts, oh darling laws hurt. . . . Life is made 
 hard by laws which sting as death never stings. . . . 
 Life grinds us small death gives us life.
 
 318 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Out of the dark we came . . , back to the dark we 
 go, my soul. . . . Mamie follows. . . . Daddy follows 
 ... up to cloudland ; up and up to cloudland. . . ." 
 
 A sense as of an immense weight came upon Lucy's 
 arms. She looked up. The gas blared. She became 
 dizzily aware that she was no longer where for a space she 
 had winged. Somewhere near a clanging noise drew past 
 shaking the house, shaking the bed on which she sat. 
 
 She leaned over, searching the child's face, touching 
 his cheek with her lips. Already it was grey. Already 
 becoming cold. 
 
 Tide-time on the great river which brought them to 
 London ; tide-time for a singularly beautiful child. 
 
 Lucy bowed over his still form acknowledging that she 
 was alone. 
 
 Again Peter Witterspoon climbed to the room which 
 held the woman he thought he loved, 
 
 Except for a candle which stood on the dressing-table 
 no light remained. Dusk reigned here as in the street. 
 
 Lucy kneeled once more beside the bed, her vigil still 
 unchecked. A small gleam thrown back by the looking- 
 glass outlined her head and shoulders, her outstretched 
 arms. She seemed to reach towards the boy, perhaps to 
 touch him. It was as though she prayed for him. But 
 no sound fell which could hide her sobbing breath. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon crept in as one who has no right to 
 intrude, but is compelled by anxiety for the mourner. 
 He desired to satisfy himself that she needed no assistance. 
 He bent over her and heard her calling, in a voice cloaked 
 and tremulous, for Den, for her husband who had left 
 her on some incomprehensible errand just when she most 
 required his care. He saw that she was alone. 
 
 He dragged back with the attitude of a thief. It was 
 sacrilege to hear that prayer, tragic to remember the 
 methodic hounding with which he had pursued her, 
 refusing to heed her despair. 
 
 To hear her laugh, to see the play of light on her hair, 
 to catch the swift talk in which she revelled had been his 
 pleasure. He had played with her life, as she reminded 
 him, and now death had come. For his own pleasure, 
 knowing she was clean and beautiful, he had paltered 
 with a situation which gradually had grown out of hand
 
 TIDE-TIME 319 
 
 and now bid fair to maim him. He knew her prayer had 
 been for his help, and not for his love ; he knew she 
 begged for justice, not for his purse. Had she not 
 returned the money he sent her ? And he had pandered, 
 frolicked, struggled to set himself in the place of the 
 husband she loved. 
 
 Standing in the adjoining room, waiting now for the 
 return of O'Hagan, knowing that before very long he 
 must come, Witterspoon stayed to pay, as we all must 
 who have played badly the cards which were dealt to us. 
 
 The drone of voices speaking in the passage caused 
 Lucy to lift her head and listen. It sounded like a 
 menace. She rose from her knees, weak from that long 
 vigil, and saw Peter Witterspoon still waiting at the door. 
 She moved towards him instantly, her eyes flashing hope. 
 
 " You have come back ! Did you see him . . . have 
 you found him ? " she cried out. 
 
 He came near holding out his arms. 
 
 " He will be here presently I was unable to find 
 where he had gone. Let me help you. ..." 
 
 She stood searching his face, repeating " Where he 
 had gone ? " 
 
 "Yes. You see " 
 
 Lucy met the halting sentence quivering. 
 
 " You are making it worse. Tell me the truth . . . 
 what has happened ? Has he gone away ? He would 
 not stay away unless he is dead." Her voice fell to a 
 whisper. " Is he dead too ... is he ? Quick, I must 
 know." She came very close, trembling, watching him. 
 " Oh God ! I am mad ... I am mad to think of such 
 things but ' ' 
 
 Peter Witterspoon caught her as she swayed and carried 
 her to the chair still standing beside the bed. " No," 
 he said, " no. He is well." Then answering her question 
 in the tones of one brought to bay, he added 
 
 " Captain O'Hagan went up to see Sharum. There was 
 some trouble in the office they wanted to prevent him 
 going in, I understand, and there was a scuffle ... he 
 intended to thrash Sharum ... he was not hurt. . . ." 
 
 Lucy stirred under his touch. Her breath came uneasily 
 as she leaned against his arm. Her eyes took a new light. 
 
 " I was not there," he resumed quietly, " or I could 
 explain it better. After it was over Captain O'Hagan was 
 taken away by the police." He paused over this, watchful
 
 320 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 of its effect ; but she signed him to continue, her lips 
 drawn as though she too were repeating " thrash 
 thrash," over and over again. " I saw Sharum and we 
 came to an arrangement. Sharum was not aware of the 
 difficulties you have undergone, and I am afraid I scarcely 
 realised them either." He put it so, nursing his oppor- 
 tunism. " Sharum is very soriy for what has occurred, 
 and he has promised me to offer your husband the 
 command of one of his vessels at once. . . ." 
 Lucy stood erect in an instant. 
 
 " Now ? How kind of him ! " she mocked, her voice 
 low. " Generous ! The sort of action I should have ex- 
 pected of him . . . the action of a thief suddenly alive 
 to his peril ! Do you imagine we will accept his offer in 
 exchange for silence and Baba ... do you ... do 
 you ? " she threw back at him, her cheeks flushed, her 
 eyes passionate. " He has killed Baba . . . killed him 
 and he offers Captain O'Hagan the command of one of his 
 ships in exchange. An old one, probably. One that will 
 carry him to the bottom . . . do you understand . . .?" 
 He stood expecting a blow, but none fell, only the biting 
 and true analysis of fact. 
 
 " If I were in my husband's shoes," she said in tense 
 accents over the child's quiet bed, " I would take a whip 
 to Sharum and flog him, then when he was fit for no more 
 flogging I would shoot him ; shoot him, you understand, 
 and go down on my knees to thank God for having allowed 
 me to punish him. ... I would ... oh ! I would 
 move heaven and earth to obtain vengeance ... I would 
 bring every secret knowledge I had of the man and his 
 ways to aid me. . . ." 
 
 " Mrs. O'Hagan ! " Witterspoon moved to restrain her, 
 but she sprang from his hand, pushing him off. 
 
 " Don't touch me ! Let me think ! Let me think, or 
 I shall scream. I tell you it is necessary to punish. . . ." 
 Footsteps sounded in the passage ; the street door was 
 closed, and instantly she regained control. 
 
 " It is Den ! " she whispered, her face alight. " It is 
 my husband." She moved to meet him, calling his name. 
 " Den ! Den ! I have been waiting for you ... I have 
 
 been " 
 
 He mounted the stairs at a run. It seemed that in his 
 haste he had not heard Lucy's cry. He came on till he 
 stood within the door, then paused frowning, and looking
 
 TIDE-TIME r>2l 
 
 from one to the other. But in spite of Lucy's outstretched 
 hands he did not come near her. 
 
 Witterspoon fell back as he advanced, oddly diffident 
 now the ordeal was upon him. 
 
 " I think," he said, " I owe you some kind of explana- 
 tion " 
 
 O'Hagan looked him over. " You do," he jerked, " but 
 not now. To-morrow." Then pointing to the door 
 " Outside at once, if you please." 
 
 " But " 
 
 A look of intense irritation crossed O'Hagan's face. He 
 turned to Lucy, who, in mazed expectancy, had drawn 
 near and now stood waiting. " Perhaps," he sneered, 
 " you can persuade him this is scarcely the place for the 
 mob." 
 
 With a gesture of apology, Witterspoon obeyed, and 
 O'Hagan leaned down over the bed. He did not speak. 
 He sank to his knees, his arms outstretched to shield the 
 child. 
 
 B.F.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DUST OF THE CITIES 
 
 " DEN ! " 
 
 Lucy kneeled beside her husband, her hand on his 
 shoulder. He remained silent, bowed over the still form 
 upon the bed. 
 
 She crouched nearer, hugging his arm, and for a long 
 time made no further sign. 
 
 Cars clanged by carrying people afield or to their homes ; 
 the cry of horns booming on the river announced that 
 already the boats were slipping down with the tide ; 
 bound out, bound away after miles of risky steaming, for 
 the Baltic, for Holland, France, Spain and the Mediter- 
 ranean in search of fresh supplies for the England we all 
 love the England which cannot feed herself. 
 
 Dust, noise and babble. 
 
 Across the way a gramophone droned a brassy version 
 of " A Night in Eden " ; around the corner an electric 
 blinker flashed out advice on the choice of pills perhaps 
 they were the pills by which Peter Witter spoon's father 
 grew rich. The crowd surging up and down the pavement, 
 singing, shuffling, chaffing, had never heard of Peter 
 Witterspoon ; but pinned its faith on the phrase blinked 
 out at it in red, white and green. 
 
 It was after nine o'clock, the shops closing, turning out 
 their hands to take the air. A constant buzz of voices 
 ascended to that still room where Lucy and her husband 
 kneeled beside the child. And above the buzz came the 
 iterated and sharpened noises, bells, whistles, horns and 
 hooters. A pocket pandemonium of nightly occurrence 
 at the heart of all great cities. 
 
 Dust, noise and babble. Fools making love, women 
 seeking it. Fools protesting, women believing. The 
 moon veiled, lamps garish, tram cars packed to the straps. 
 And in the midst of it, in a dim room, Lucy stirring, tired, 
 gripping Den's arm.
 
 DUST OF THE CITIES 323 
 
 " Dearest ... oh dearest please speak to me. I 
 I can't bear more." 
 
 He rose as one dazed and lifted her. He stood with his 
 arms round her waist, supporting her, looking down at 
 the tear-laden eyes. 
 
 " You promised not to see him again," he said in tones 
 she scarcely knew. " Come into the other room. We 
 must talk." 
 
 They crossed the passage, and halted near the window 
 which gave upon Babel. Then again he said, as she sat 
 hopeless before him " Why did you let him come in ? " 
 
 She stared up puzzled, questioning her comprehension. 
 " You mean Peter Witterspoon ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Oh, but Den ! Den ! You don't mean " 
 
 " I mean," he interrupted, stern as she had never seen 
 him, " that I seem to be in a fair way to lose you as well as 
 my ship. I am sorry to speak of it. We must discuss 
 it. . . ." 
 
 " Discuss it ? My darling ! . . ." She failed to articu- 
 late, pressed hands to her forehead, and for a moment 
 closed her eyes. 
 
 " I put it as gently as I can, Mem-sahib," he said huskily. 
 " God knows we have both had enough without Peter 
 Witterspoon . . . but I can't leave it unexplained. It is 
 worrying me. You are all I have left. Why did you let 
 him come ? " 
 
 Light dawned in her eyes. The hot blood flowed again. 
 She looked up at him without a quiver. 
 
 " He came without invitation," she answered. " He 
 came to tell me that you were locked up for thrashing 
 Sharum and to see if he could help in your absence. I 
 was proud of the reason which took you away from me. 
 I had gone out to meet him, thinking it was you who came 
 up the stairs. I knew nothing. Baba was dying, Den, 
 and you were away." Her voice fell to a whisper. " He 
 saw Baba was dying and got a specialist to see him. He 
 tried to find you and bring you back to me. He did every- 
 thing for me. ... I was alone. I wanted help what 
 could I do ? " 
 
 O'Hagan stirred under this. Reproach appeared, 
 wrapped in her words, in her prayer. He was in no mood 
 for judgment ; but sore and bruised from the battle, 
 disinclined to see this aspect of the situation. 
 
 Y z
 
 324 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " On one thing I agree," he said. " It is obvious I 
 played the fool in being away just then." 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried out, refusing his challenge. " It 
 was fine. I loved you for it. If you had killed him I 
 should have loved you still . . . but, you see, it left me 
 alone." 
 
 " It is a pity I didn't thrash him six months ago," he 
 said, with a sudden throw from the rage which consumed 
 him. 
 
 " I agree," Lucy admitted at once. 
 
 "If an attempt produces the offer of a tramp," he 
 announced with a sardonic twist, "infliction, no doubt, 
 will find me a mailship." 
 
 " Den ! Oh, my darling ! " she pleaded. 
 
 She knew that Peter Witterspoon had compelled this 
 miracle ; but refused to comment on it. Some day Den 
 would know. 
 
 " It is obvious the fellow is in love with you," he com- 
 plained. " I hate to speak of it but there it is." 
 
 " It takes two to make love," she sobbed, and came 
 close, holding out her arms. " Den you do love me, 
 don't you ? You do you do ? " 
 
 He could not refuse her appeal. He sank into a chair 
 and drew her near. 
 
 "We are miserable," he said, "heart-broken, whipped. 
 We scarcely know what we say. I suppose it is all right 
 . . . anyhow, don't bother about it. I shouldn't have 
 spoken now if I hadn't been down, down, touching 
 bottom somewhere and alone. . . . 
 
 " That fellow has explanations to make. I must see 
 him to-morrow. Well I will hear what he has to say. 
 Your part in it was involuntary enough but his is sheer 
 passion. Think I can't see, Mem-sahib ? Think I can't 
 recognise characteristics which belong to my sex ? You 
 can't see these things. I shouldn't care to think you 
 could. . . ." 
 
 " Don't don't ! " she pleaded, her face hidden. 
 
 " Never mind ! Forget it ... leave it to me," he 
 said. He drew her into his arms and sat holding her 
 close, swaying her as a few hours ago she had swayed 
 Baba. 
 
 " We will smooth this out," he protested. " If you 
 want to cling to a man who can't offer you a stiver a poor 
 devil at the end of his tether, mind good ; we will pull
 
 DUST OF THE CITIES 325 
 
 things out of the ruck. But if you want Peter Wittcr- 
 spoon, say so, for God's sake, and I will get out of your 
 way. ..." 
 
 She checked him with a word and a tightening of her 
 hold. 
 
 " Love ? " he whispered, answering her, straining her 
 to him. " Of course I love you. If I didn't love do you 
 think it would matter to me where you went or who you 
 talked to ? But I didn't marry you to drag you down 
 ... to show you hell. I married you to make you 
 happy. I I thought I could do it. I thought I could 
 win out when I was hit ... but there is no winning out 
 for a man on the Black List. Nothing, as God stands over 
 us, but the end which will come when 
 
 " There is love," she whispered to halt him, her lips 
 against his cheek. 
 
 ' You can't live on love, oh dearest." 
 ' It can make you try to live." 
 ' It can make you recognise the futility of living." 
 ' I have nothing else to offer, oh my darling." 
 ' Baba's gone," he whispered, his lips over hers. 
 " What are we to do ? " 
 
 ' Fight on, darling. Fight to the end. . . ." 
 ' Another six months of this and where will you be ? " 
 ' Here at your side, my husband. Always for ever, 
 as we have promised." 
 
 The cars hummed by laden and grinding on their 
 wheels. From over the way came the drone of a gramo- 
 phone wailing of imperfections which were apparent. 
 O'Hagan lifted slightly and said 
 " I have been thinking this out, Mem-sahib. It is 
 impossible to avoid it. I have failed. The house will 
 have to be sold down there at Riverton. It may produce 
 fifty pounds over and above the debts which must be 
 paid. I have failed all round and I am prepared to get 
 out of it, and leave you with what is left of the wreck. 
 You could manage to drag along on seventy-five pounds a 
 year, but two of us can't. . . . No listen. I am not 
 mad. I have been thinking, that is all. . . . 
 
 " But for you and the dear kiddie I should have thrown 
 it up and gone out of the country long ago. I am strong 
 and have two arms. I should have got in somewhere 
 but I can't drag you about where I would have to go. 
 It wouldn't be fair if you were willing. Money is getting
 
 826 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 spun again, oh dearest, and there are these bills, taxes, 
 rates, all accumulating, waiting to swallow what is left. 
 We can't face it, and now Baba's gone I haven't the 
 heart to try . . . that's the honest truth, Mem-sahib. 
 
 " Look ... I will go alone ... or if you won't stay 
 we will go together. It isn't worth fighting about. 
 Come ! Aren't you tired of it all ? I am. We will end 
 it if you say the word." He spoke in hot wrath, compelling 
 her silence. " Go away together . . . join the kiddie. . . . 
 Come," he urged, his voice raised. " You aren't afraid, 
 Loo . . . you aren't afraid. No ! Nor am I. Look ! 
 It will take two seconds ... we have nothing to live for 
 but ourselves . . . nothing, as God made us, and up there 
 we should see him again see him. . . . Come ! " 
 
 He stopped breathless and fumbling in his pocket. 
 Lucy took his meaning and clung to him sobbing, her 
 arms twined about him, holding him, taking the kisses 
 he showered on brow and lips. 
 
 " No no no ! " she panted, terror in her voice. 
 " Wait Den, wait. I can't think." 
 
 " Afraid ? " 
 
 His hands came back to hold her, his face fell to its old 
 position upon her arm. 
 
 " No no ! " again violently she refused this. 
 
 He paused wondering " Then what ? " he asked. 
 
 " Don't you see can't you see ? Den, we couldn't 
 be together," her voice, vehement a moment since, fell 
 here to a whisper. " We couldn't . . . God would have 
 Baba," she explained. 
 
 Again her face rested on his shoulder and her arms 
 encircled his neck. She moaned as with pain. 
 
 He leaned forward as before, sunk in thought. 
 
 The drone of the streets met his ears, the yell of a siren, 
 the clang of cars. 
 
 Dust, noise and babble. 
 
 The quarters chimed high in the belfry of St. Mathias, 
 but the world accustomed to clamour passed unheeding 
 on its way. 
 
 Again they were in the back room with the child. 
 Lucy's hand found a way to reach Den's brow. He 
 gave himself willingly to her power.
 
 DUST OF THE CITIES 327 
 
 He grew calmer under her touch. Peace came to take 
 the place of storm. He saw where he stood, how impos- 
 sible it is to evade, traverse or push aside destiny. He 
 recognised the plan the Potter had drawn for him. He 
 saw it as a strange design, something he had never seen. 
 It came to him through Lucy's brain, transmuted by her 
 faith, trust, love. It came to cover the gashes and raw 
 misery of his wounds. He saw with a new insight, 
 faintly at first, but growing in power until at length hope 
 dawned. Hope where there had been rage and despair. 
 Hope in place of a torture seeking escape. Hope 1 
 
 Only God who is our Father knows the barrenness of 
 life from which hope has been driven.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 
 
 WHEN a man is beaten and sore he takes no heed of the 
 ointment used. Enough that it is said to be a cure ; that 
 it will heal his wounds and set him on his feet. It may not 
 be the very best ointment for his case ; but it is the only 
 kind proffered, and he is too weak to make much stir. 
 
 The ointment in this instance was the Griselda S.S., a 
 boat timed to sail for New York on the thirty-first day of 
 August four days from the date of Baba's return to 
 Riverton. 
 
 In spite of their impoverished condition, without 
 heartbreaking appeals to philanthropists or advertise- 
 ments in the Times, these two idealists refused to consider 
 leaving him in the cemetery which stood near at hand. It 
 was one of the places he had declined to love " Not oh 
 darden, Mamie," was too fresh in their memories. It 
 was one of the places which had helped to make him tired. 
 It had stood threateningly over them all during the period 
 of their greatest difficulty. Therefore the additional 
 fees were paid, O'Hagan and Lucy went down to the old 
 home, put dear Baba away, and sat heartbroken for the 
 rest of the day by his side. 
 
 They were not morbid, nor sentimental, nor any of the 
 fine-strung adjectives destructive of feeling ; but young 
 and torn by the blows of a whip which fell with equal force 
 on both. Often they were like children in their simplicity 
 soft, gentle, loving. They appeared to have less know- 
 ledge of the head than of the heart. As on the sands below 
 Suez, facing the emerald reefs which lie on the hither side 
 of Zafarana ; so here amidst the sterile fastness of the 
 desert we call East London. 
 
 If that be an indictment it must stand over them. 
 Nothing else did. Even Peter Witterspoon and his atten- 
 tions had been pushed away, buried. O'Hagan had no 
 need to see him. He refused to reopen the subject after 
 that night of vigil with the child between them. Mrs.
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 329 
 
 Portland Lodge, who came to watch from behind bushes, 
 and to weep in sympathy, gave it as her opinion they were 
 the two calmest souls in the Riverton Cemetery on that 
 day the calmest and the gentlest. 
 
 And the Griselda S.S. was cramming herself full against 
 her start, four days hence, for the New World. No freak 
 voyage this, as in the case of Jimmy Barlow ; but the 
 ordinary routine trip of a vessel dignified by the name of a 
 liner, but of less capability than many a Tramp. McClure 
 jokingly spoke of the Strathmuir as a Tramp. Had she 
 been as the Griselda he would have been more chary of 
 the pleasantry. 
 
 Stephen Hammond, still busy on legally getting hold of 
 Sharum, Ltd., had but one opinion on the question 
 which O'Hagan proffered. He must accept. No other 
 course could be considered as on the same plane. Legal 
 processes in time, no doubt, would bring the fellow to 
 book; but this he had no hesitation in saying it was 
 the finest move O'Hagan could make. Removal from the 
 Black List would follow for it was patent that when 
 Lloyd's saw that Sharum, who had initiated the charges, 
 had reinstated O'Hagan, erasure would follow. That 
 stood to reason. 
 
 True. In any other phase of life but that held in fee 
 by the shipping interests, it would. But there the 
 abnormal is touched on every hand. 
 
 Sharum had done the thing he was compelled by Peter 
 Witterspoon to do, quite decently, as the phrase goes. 
 He had made the amende honorable in a way which left 
 much to the imagination if little to be desired. He 
 explained that nothing had been farther from his wishes 
 than any sort of persecution. Especially this was so, 
 seeing O'Hagan had been so unfortunate in his investment 
 with the Sphinx Company. And, with regard to the money 
 sunk in that venture, he had hopes that a considerable 
 portion would be recovered when an end had been made 
 of certain matters which still dragged in the Courts. 
 
 He was, as a matter of fact, the large and well-fed 
 organiser of a throng of steamships bottoms, he called 
 them which had to be kept rolling ; one of those persons 
 who stood with lifted digit to round in recruits on what 
 he called specially advantageous terms ; one alike a terror 
 to established firms as to the men who suffered in his 
 vessels. But he could be suave. At the desire of Peter
 
 330 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Witterspoon, who would " see him right in the question 
 of expense," he could forget " the little difficulties " which 
 have " arisen between us," and generally make himself 
 agreeable to an out-at-elbows skipper aching for a chance 
 to get to sea. 
 
 He could get him, with very little difficulty, down on the 
 ground floor as far as salary is concerned, with " rises " 
 and " bonuses " and " safe navigation " money jostling 
 each other as inducement. He could order, without 
 turning a hair, his " skipper " to accept gratuities, but to 
 account for them in his returns. The skipper aforesaid 
 would then be credited with a sum equal to ten per cent. 
 on the amount, and the managing owner Sharum in 
 propria persona would credit himself with the balance. 
 
 No wonder Sharums flourished and Sharum grew fat. 
 No wonder Peter Witterspoon was able to rake in " cent. 
 per cent." as he termed it, in his moments of fatuous 
 bragging. Together these men were at the top of the 
 ladder, O'Hagan and Lucy at the bottom. It stood as it 
 always must where these conditions exist. O'Hagan, 
 urged by his friends, pressed by his enemies, cajoled by 
 his employer, accepted command of the Griselda, then 
 went down to look at her. He did not like what he saw ; 
 he liked still less what the mate told him, and he came back 
 to Bearsted Road to tell Lucy just what he must tell her. 
 
 He struck the note very soon, aware in his heart and in 
 response to her anxious look that it was the only one that 
 mattered. 
 
 " I can't take you, oh dearest," he whispered, looking 
 into her eyes, the thought of her loneliness thrilling him. 
 
 " Can't ! " She was in his arms, held close to soften the 
 blow. " Oh 1 but I couldn't stay away. Where could I 
 stay? There is nowhere to go, and now Baba is gone . . ." 
 
 He captured her roving hands, holding them close. 
 
 " Sharum says the accommodation would scarcely do," 
 he repeated, " and I admit it is pretty bad." 
 
 She pressed to him in a passion of disappointment, fear, 
 rebellion. " I don't mind what the place is like, dearest, 
 I must be with you with you." 
 
 He shook despondingly over this. " You know my 
 wish ? " he asked her. 
 
 For answer she nestled close, clinging to his strength. 
 
 " Sharum says that if this voyage is prosperous he will 
 give me a better ship, and that I shall be able to take you.
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 831 
 
 I fancy he seems inclined to take up the new attitude. 
 They all talk in the same strain now. They question 
 whether it is wise to allow a skipper to take his wife 
 with him." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, the suggestion is that a man pays more attention 
 to his wife than to his ship." 
 
 " But you will persuade him," she pleaded. " Tell 
 him it is because of Baba. Tell him I can't lose you both 
 at once. I can't, Den. Tell him so." 
 
 " I will do what I can, you may bet," he answered. 
 "I will see him by the way, how long would you 
 want to get ready ? " 
 
 " Half an hour I shall be ready, oh dearest," she 
 whispered, her hands on his shoulders as he held her. 
 "Try try! Let me see him," she begged, "or Peter 
 Witter spoon. He would do it for us." 
 
 O'Hagan flinched at the name, but stooped to caress 
 the soft, flushed face of this girl he loved. "No, no. I 
 would rather do it myself, kiddie. Let me have my way. 
 It is a man's work not yours." 
 
 " And I shall be ready," she proclaimed in triumph. 
 
 The Griselda was to sail on Saturday by the early tide, 
 and in order that the crew should have some knowledge 
 of her and have time to get sober, the hour for joining was 
 appointed as " eight o'clock on Friday evening." 
 
 O'Hagan argued that a drunken man is not of much 
 use either at the wheel or on the look-out ; but a crew is 
 not concerned with details. Broad facts are recognised. 
 Early tide, eh ? Good. The men would be there or 
 thereabouts when the ship reached Tidal Basin. 
 
 Men went to sea drunk in the old days often because 
 they were drugged ; but to-day they come down hurdy- 
 gurdy, because they have been the victims of the compas- 
 sionate farewells of many friends who have gloomily fore- 
 told the end. They have been warned that Hades awaits 
 them ; that the Atlantic will bleach their bones. 
 
 Very naturally, therefore, a man who is compelled to 
 ship gets himself drunk. He has no great love for the 
 sea ; still less to get broken up by it. If he aimed at 
 that he might find employment, for example, as a shunter. 
 If he desired to escape jail, it is possible he might look 
 with equanimity on life in a Tramp ; but the crew of the
 
 332 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 Griselda were not seeking to evade responsibilities. They 
 were accepting them. 
 
 The mate and engineers being officers and persons of 
 importance were already on board, enduring night and 
 day work sans additional pay or rest. That they accepted 
 because they must. But firemen and those deck hands 
 who once were known as sailors were under no sort of 
 compulsion in the matter. They came down or were 
 carried down in a dribbling procession of units, " after 
 the pubs were closed." 
 
 The men were good enough ; but many of them found 
 it exceedingly difficult to stand still. The knowledge 
 that they were shipped and must exist for some months 
 in quarters called a fo'c'sle a V-shaped space in the eyes 
 of the ship would have been sufficient excuse for that, 
 had they seen it. But British sailors do not choose their 
 ship after a prolonged examination of various fo'c'sles ; 
 they ship when they must which is to say, when they 
 no longer can finger a bawbee, and are in debt to their 
 forsaken boarding-master into the bargain. Sometimes 
 they are ignorant of the name of the ship which is to take 
 them to sea ; do not know in what dock she lies or when 
 she is to sail. They are truculently aware someone will 
 look after these details and dream of being transported to 
 her, riotous in a taxi. Once it was de rigueur to take 
 " an 'ansom an' a gell on each knee " ; to-day it is to " do 
 the toff in a taxi, wiv a packet of cigarettes," 
 
 Only the hilarity remains unchanged. 
 
 At nine o'clock, then, O'Hagan came alone to his ship. 
 
 There was a suggestion of unrest in his attitude. He 
 had been unsuccessful with Sharum, who had decided 
 that Mrs. O'Hagan must remain on shore this trip. It 
 cannot be said that Denis pressed for her company. He 
 seemed uncertain, like a man who has propounded a 
 riddle and still seeks the answer ; like a man who has 
 accepted an appointment and now seeks to puzzle out 
 what lies before him. 
 
 " Clear yourself, get out and win a Star," had been 
 Worsdale's reiterated advice ; and it had made way here. 
 It was the surest of all possible modes of escape from the 
 consequences of that Sphinx disaster which still hampered 
 him. He must go with Lucy if possible ; but if not, 
 then without her, his two hands and feet and brain to 
 help him. Only in this way was it possible to impress
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 333 
 
 the vast interests which it seems were arrayed against 
 
 i */ o 
 
 him. 
 
 And now Lucy was alone at Riverton. Until mid-day 
 on Friday she had been on board on every opportunity, 
 helping with the arrangement of Den's room. With him 
 she had looked into the holds, lazarette and store-rooms, 
 in order, as she said, that she might visualise more 
 completely his environment. She took the decision that 
 she could not accompany him more quietly than he 
 expected, but there was heart break in her voice when 
 she presently commented on their splendid start from 
 Glasgow. 
 
 " A year ago, oh dearest ! A whole year, and only 
 two of us left to jobble in the ruts. Remember the 
 Broomielaw, and Inverary and that coat you were 
 going to get me ? " 
 
 " Remember ! God ! Can I ever forget ? " 
 
 She came close and, putting her hands on his shoulders, 
 said " You didn't want to leave me behind, Den, 
 dearest ? " 
 
 For answer he found her lips. 
 
 " No luck, my darling. None, none," he intoned. 
 And she kissed him with a calm which steadied him. She 
 recognised that the answer he had found was no answer. 
 She questioned in her mind whether she desired one, seeing 
 he withheld it. To be near him in the fight which was 
 before him was of much more importance. 
 
 And now she had returned to Riverton and was praying 
 for his safety. The dangers of his calling were derided by 
 those who are considered experts. It was said that sta- 
 tistics proved the gradual decrease of accidents entailing 
 loss of life. Insurance societies dealt in lives as readily 
 afloat as ashore. Tramps were safe, liners more safe, 
 palace-hotel-swimming-bath-combinations unsinkable. 
 
 Yet Lucy in her ignorance, petitioned for her husband's 
 safety. 
 
 Woman-like. 
 
 A golden river took the Grlselda on its bosom as she 
 crept past Gallions and stole amidst shouting from the 
 Pier Head into Woolwich Reach. 
 
 All hands were on board, including two white-faced boys 
 who were there to learn what is possible of sailor-lore of a 
 thing known to sailors as a Tramp. The masts were very
 
 334 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 little higher than the funnel, and were stayed as no masts 
 were ever stayed in the days of seamanship. They would 
 not have been there but authority had decided they were 
 necessary to carry the masthead lamp and to hold 
 derricks aloft when cargo was handled. They were of 
 steel with great tressels at the top of them ; and the stays 
 which kept them aloft were of chain and wire. The only 
 ropes, qua ropes, on board were those by which the ship's 
 boats were hoisted ; and these should have been of steel 
 a fact authority had not yet recognised. 
 
 Treegan, the mate, employed at this moment doing 
 what the men were incompetent to do, had no doubt in 
 his mind. He was standing on the rail because it had 
 been found necessary to " flake the boats' falls " on the 
 davit head to keep them out of the sea which presently 
 might be expected ; and to the second mate Treegan 
 expressed his views. " Ropes that have been flaked are 
 full of kinks," he said. " They won't run through the 
 blocks. You won't get that boat into the water in less 
 than half an hour." 
 
 " Less ? " young Evans questioned, cock-a-whoop on 
 deck, " not it. More, if I know anything of the new 
 scale rope-hauler. He's here to be fattened, not to work, 
 sir, if I know anything." 
 
 "That's so," said the mate; "and you and me are 
 here to see that his grub is cooked properly and that he 
 gets it without lip from the cook . . . Wish I'd never seen 
 the sea ! " 
 
 " Wish I'd broke my neck before I came," said young 
 Evans. 
 
 "Wish you had," returned his chief. " Keep the 
 turns out of that fall." 
 
 " Wish I could," Evans protested ; " but it's steam laid 
 and wants all hands to straighten it out. Eyah ! There 
 she goes ! " 
 
 Treegan had nothing to say. The wind was up from 
 the eastward, and the Griselda splashed along on the ebb, 
 drawing down to Riverton. By the time the two mates, 
 with the assistance of a bo'sun and apprentices, had 
 " cleared the decks," she was trailing her grey length in 
 the neighbourhood of the old railway pier, where O'Hagan 
 rather expected to catch a glimpse of Lucy's farewell 
 handkerchief. 
 
 He grew restless as they came near and failed to dis-
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 335 
 
 cover her signal. He searched with his glasses and still 
 failed. They crept by, going "dead slow," because pre- 
 sently they must halt to change pilots ; but Lucy had not 
 arrived when at length the pier was melting in haze. 
 O'Hagan marched the bridge, casting from time to time 
 a glance over the taffrail, and decided that if she came now 
 they would be so distant that she would be unable to 
 distinguish one figure from another. 
 
 He walked with a sense of pain it seemed like deser- 
 tion until there came to vivify him a recollection of the 
 hour. It was not yet seven o'clock. To reach the pier 
 in time to wave her farewell Lucy must have left home 
 soon after six. He thanked her for remaining in bed, and 
 smiled over the notion which bade him expect her. 
 
 At ten o'clock they were passing the Nore and driving 
 into an increasing swell. The wind broke over the ship, 
 laden with salt, and the tang of it fell on faces long strange 
 to its assault. O'Hagan squared his shoulders as he 
 marched up and down, considering his chances. A lucky 
 start in the old days meant a great deal to the men 
 who forced their way against odds to which O'Hagan was 
 a stranger ; yet luck is a thing to be prized. 
 
 True, they were getting a dusting at the moment ; 
 but that is the law. If you do not get it now you will 
 presently, has become a byword at sea, and because the 
 ship will have burnt coal and be lighter presently, Jack 
 prays for postponement of the visitation. They crept 
 even more slowly through the sands which are London's 
 safeguard from assault by sea, and came white and spout- 
 ing brine to the North Foreland. A rising glass, rising 
 wind and sea, means fine weather in Channel, and when 
 you are round the corner at Dover you have earned the 
 conditions which follow. 
 
 The Griselda splashed very busily at the grey-green 
 rollers she met. She moved in a smother of spume, 
 which enveloped her after every dive, and made her shine. 
 She emerged spouting brine, wet to the funnel rim and 
 steaming, against the blue sky. She flopped with her 
 counter and banged with her blunt bow, and seemed to 
 revel in the smother she produced. She was wet, and 
 she revelled in her wetness as though in a skittish mood 
 an elephant had chosen to emulate the scaup and the 
 mosquito fleet which patrols the coast while England 
 sleeps noted her tactics in passing.
 
 336 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 She came into the Downs with wind and sea broad 
 abeam, and found a squadron lying behind the sands, 
 joyous because of their escape from wall-locked Dover. 
 To add to their comfort, she sent a bow wave to disturb 
 them, dropped her flag to the salute and breathed smoke 
 upon the brightness. If she had flopped among those 
 gleaming hulls from the clouds, like some new kind of 
 aerial monster, she could not have produced more 
 annoyance. 
 
 " That," said the officer known as C.O. to his second in 
 command, " is one of the things we have to nurse in 
 war-time. Ye gods ! what a cow ! " 
 
 But he acknowledged the salute of the cow. 
 
 So O'Hagan came round the coast to Dover, halted 
 there to shake hands with his pilot, crept past the break- 
 water, his signals flying, and moved into the purple 
 Channel which lay beyond. Nothing now before the 
 Griselda but an every-day march from headland to head- 
 land, until Scilly was passed and the Atlantic rolled its 
 sullen hills to test her strength. Matters these too far 
 ahead to trouble either ship or crew, both now settling 
 into their stride and alive to their luck. The wind was 
 astern, and the old stager rolled before it, lolloping small 
 seas as she went. Her fires hummed, the smoke from her 
 lean funnel drove steadily in her path ; the black squad 
 energetically rattled shovels below and the crew nursed 
 sore heads on the forecastle. 
 
 The cook came out of his galley and yawned brazenly, 
 considering the magnitude of his task. In the cabin 
 aft a yawn fell too ; but no one heard it. The pro- 
 peller grumbling beneath that cabin made no ado about 
 smothering it. 
 
 A thin scud had drawn over from the east, and it was 
 growing dark when O'Hagan called the mate and told 
 him to take charge. It was dinner time in the old service, 
 supper time in the Griselda, and the commander moved 
 down to the saloon. The sun had set rather more than 
 half an hour since, a red ball of heat, which touched the 
 high ridge of Dungeness and made it glow. Now, how- 
 ever, the light had been made, peeping pale in the haze 
 which rimmed the western land and sea, and O'Hagan 
 was free for a while. 
 
 He crossed by the plank bridge which would be used 
 entirely in bad weather and entered his cabin from the
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 337 
 
 saloon. It stood on the starboard side. Opposite were 
 five berths, used sometimes as store-rooms, sometimes to 
 accommodate passengers. Abaft O'Hagan's sitting-room 
 was a sleeping berth, and abaft that a bath-room. These 
 rooms communicated one with the other through doors 
 within, and either of them could be reached from the saloon. 
 
 O'Hagan took off his cap and coat, plunged his face in 
 water to get the salt out of his eyes, as he phrased it, and 
 turned back to the room in which he had disrobed. 
 
 He crossed quite casually to take up his coat and, as he 
 did so, a note lying on the crimson velvet of the settee 
 caught his eye. He stooped over it in the dusk, wriggling 
 into his coat as he did so ; then with a quick dash, caught 
 it up, switched on the light, and tore the envelope. 
 
 In those few seconds of time his eyes had expressed 
 surprise, delight, and then puzzle. " Lucy ! " was the 
 word framed rather than spoken on his lips ; and in his 
 brain there flashed " She has managed to get in a letter 
 . . . God bless her." 
 
 He opened the note to read and the puzzle increased, 
 his brow became knitted ; there was an indication of 
 annoyance. 
 
 " Dearest," he read and re-read, " don't be angry 
 with me. I simply couldn't stay away, and so I'm 
 here at least, I will be if you get this locked up in 
 No. 3. Do let me out and don't be too angry. Knock 
 the C.D.Q. signal* and I will open the door. 
 
 " Ever your own WIFIE." 
 
 O'Hagan mopped his forehead. Suddenly his tem- 
 perature had touched fever point. " On board ! " was 
 what he said. " Ever your own wine ... on board 
 Good God ! " Then he raged. " How the devil did she 
 get here . . . who helped her ? " and, after some wasted 
 minutes, he thought it wise to pocket the letter, make no 
 clamour, but take steps to liberate her. 
 
 Through the open door of his room he made a survey 
 of the saloon. No. 3 ! It was within twenty feet an 
 innocent, unsuspicious looking door. This was terrible, 
 He told himself in response it was thrilling, amazing, mad, 
 wonderful. He got grip of himself. "Lucy on board ! 
 Lucy on board ! " It seemed absurd, yet " God is God, 
 
 * Now replaced by S.O.S., " In distress, want assistance." 
 B.F. Z
 
 338 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 and we are His children," hummed in his brain as quit- 
 tance. And outside there an owl-like steward, with 
 sallow face and glancing eyes, hovered, patting a cloth and 
 straightening knives. 
 
 " Devil take the man ! " O'Hagan mouthed. " Why is 
 he hanging round that door has he heard anything 
 does he suspect ? " 
 
 With the calm of a great tension the captain stepped 
 into the saloon and called " Steward 1 " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " The man sprang to attention, expecting 
 perhaps a blow. 
 
 "Go on to the bridge and ask the mate for for my 
 binoculars." 
 ' Yes, sir." 
 
 " They want cleaning," O'Hagan embroidered. " Bring 
 them to me here." 
 
 Again the swift " Yes, sir," of all stewards who desire to 
 be in the good books of their commander. He tucked a 
 napkin under his arm, straightened his back, and with a 
 lingering glance at the table darted off on his errand. At 
 the end of the alleyway which received him was a door 
 leading to the main deck ; halfway thither a short flight 
 of stairs mounted through an opening to the smoking- 
 room above. 
 
 The steward elected to go by way of the stairs, and 
 O'Hagan stood listening for his footsteps. Over the 
 saloon was a skylight through which the man could peep 
 if he wished to pry. To look down at his commander it 
 was only necessary to walk aft instead of forward. 
 O'Hagan failed entirely to hear sounds which would 
 denote progression in either direction. He stood miser- 
 ably cognisant of intrigue. Again a cold sweat stood 
 upon his forehead. He could wait no longer. He must 
 be certain where this man had gone. 
 
 Quite openly now, buttoning his coat with the air of 
 one perfectly and coldly calm, he walked down the alley- 
 way, climbed the stairs and looked out. The dusk of an 
 evening singularly placid and inspiring met him no 
 steward though, either forward or aft ... certainly not 
 aft. O'Hagan marched round the skylight to prove it 
 and came back to the stairs. He noticed that he had 
 become quite breathless on that walk. 
 
 And now. 
 
 Down through the smoking-room entrance, fast and
 
 THE SAILING OF GRISELDA 339 
 
 quite on his mettle, his heart giving metronomic accent to 
 his breath till he reached the door of No. 3, when it seemed 
 to stand still. He drummed out his signal in a fashion 
 that no operator could decipher, knuckles on door. 
 
 He listened, his ear near the jointure between panel 
 and panel, and heard a sound. 
 
 Again he gave with staccato touch the signal which 
 brings people to attention at sea. 
 
 And there came an answer, the key turned, and Lucy 
 stood pale and blinking at the light before him. He 
 scarcely knew her. It was all so impossible then her 
 whisper reached him 
 
 " I had to come, oh dearest. I had to come . . . you 
 aren't angry ? " 
 
 " Angry ! " 
 
 She was in his arms, and the door slammed upon them 
 by the rolling movements of their ship. He searched her 
 in the dusk, his hands finding strange contours. Then in 
 a great turmoil he said 
 
 " Oh, but . . . Good Lord ! you are dressed like a man." 
 
 " Had to, Den. Couldn't risk petties here. Kiss 
 me -say you are glad." 
 
 " Come into my room," he answered ; "I managed to 
 clear the coast somehow. Come now quickly." 
 
 He opened the door and peered out. The silence of a 
 saloon in a ship where passengers neither fuss nor grumble 
 met him ; the swinging tray swinging ; the barometer 
 swaying ; the compass set beneath the dome of the sky- 
 light swaying. A placid night in Channel the motive 
 power. Nothing else under the stars. 
 
 O'Hagan closed the door, locked it and pocketed the 
 key. 
 
 " Now," he whispered, and they crossed together to 
 the captain's quarters. 
 
 He closed the door. He took Lucy by the waist which 
 was not hers and drew her into his sitting-room. The 
 outside door he locked, still holding her. The door of the 
 bath-room which opened into the saloon he locked also. 
 The keys he put in a drawer. His arm never left her. 
 With hers she clung to him as she could. 
 
 He crossed to the settee and sat down holding her back 
 to search her disguise. 
 
 " You make a rather decent boy," he smiled up at her, 
 " but what have you done with your hair ? " 
 
 Z 8
 
 340 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Tucked it up, oh dearest. It is under my cap and 
 muffler." 
 
 " I'm glad you haven't cut it off," he commented. 
 
 " Are you glad I am here ? " she pleaded. 
 
 " What are we going to do ? " he questioned, lifting 
 his lips from hers, " now that you are here ? " 
 
 Her arms were round his neck, she drew his down and 
 kissed him. 
 
 " Live," she whispered.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 
 
 IT became necessary to invent some sort of explanation 
 of Lucy's presence. The mate was rather a stickler ; he 
 might, too, recollect having seen the captain's wife on 
 board they must guard against that. The alternative to 
 simple openness, of course, was concealment, an unthink- 
 able and stupid plan only mentioned to be dismissed by 
 O'Hagan. Concealment meant no fresh air, no sea 
 breezes for Lucy ; but the stuffy atmosphere of a cabin 
 or store-room eternally guarded, locked up and watched 
 by the captain. Again, unthinkable. 
 
 Lucy preferred an open bid for companionship. Den, 
 marching the floor, alternately noting the door and his 
 wife, listened and said little. 
 
 " Let me be a friend of yours, my husband sent down 
 by my doctor, you know ... at the last minute of 
 course . . . and oh, no time to pay for a berth or any- 
 thing. Say I am mentally afflicted and you found me 
 in your room, that you used to know me, and that I have 
 been in the habit of running away from home and getting 
 into trouble generally. Say that I am going the round 
 voyage, Den, anyhow. That in all probability I shall 
 vanish in New York, but that I shall come back with you 
 and pay up like a man. . . . 
 
 " Tell them I'm a fool, oh dearest, a scamp, a lunatic 
 . . . but don't put me ashore or on any other ship, 
 because if you did I should jump overboard and swim 
 after you, get hold of a rope and tow behind you . . . 
 because, oh, I am tired, dear dearest, lonely without 
 without my Baba, and can't stay where . . . where Peter 
 Witterspoon can fuss and . . . and ..." She leaned 
 forward, chin sunk, her eyes pleading. 
 
 He halted beside her and took her hand in his. 
 
 " Little Mem-sahib ! " he crooned, and kneeled one 
 moment that he might claim her lips. " You have 
 brought Heaven nearer but it is as well you have wits
 
 342 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 of your own, for mine are wandering. Just as well, too," 
 he joked, rubbing his cheek with her hand, " that you 
 happen to be contralto. . . . Smudge that upper lip of 
 yours a trifle and leave the game to me, I will draw on 
 what I used to call my imagin " 
 
 The steward marched past and into the alleyway, 
 where he rang a bell. O Hagan was on his feet in a 
 moment. 
 
 " That is how we shall get bowled," he whispered. 
 " We can't be too careful here. My fault, of course er 
 have you thought of a name, I wonder ? " 
 
 " T. Brown, Den. It is on my trunk." 
 
 " Your trunk ? " 
 
 " Yes I couldn't very well do without one, could I ? 
 I sent it down by C. P. yesterday. I saw it on deck, you 
 nearly fell over it once." 
 
 O'Hagan groaned. 
 
 " I'm no use at this sort of thing," he complained. 
 " I should have forgotten the trunk. I should have for- 
 gotten my head if I had had to plan it all ... Well, well ! 
 I am thankful to see you near after all. The future must 
 take care of itself. Meanwhile I expect they are waiting 
 for dinner no, supper. And your name is Brown Tom 
 Brown, eh ? and I think it likely I shall call you Kiddy 
 as usual. Come in to supper. The mate will be there. 
 I will introduce you. Keep that muffler and cap on. 
 The cap rather suits you." 
 
 The steward re-entered the saloon as they took their 
 places, O'Hagan at the head, Lucy on his right. O'Hagan 
 looked across at him as he stood with finger and thumb 
 gripping a rather pointed chin, taking in the presence of a 
 stranger. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " I meant to speak of it sooner. 
 Mr. Brown is a friend of mine. He decided to come at 
 the last minute. Just lay for him in future, will you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir certainly, sir," said the steward, but he 
 wondered where Mr. Brown had been all these hours. 
 
 " We shall have to knock up a room for you some- 
 where," O'Hagan decided, glancing at Lucy as the mate 
 appeared. He came in slowly, passing between swivel 
 chairs and table, and took his place vis-a-vis with the 
 captain's friend. 
 
 He sat down and unfolded his napkin, his eyes down- 
 cast, but aware of strange happenings.
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 343 
 
 " Still clear on deck ? " O'Hagan asked, to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " Verra clear, sir. Wonderfully clear, when you remem- 
 ber whaur the wind is." 
 
 " Beachy Head shows up all right, anyhow. Is it on 
 the four-point bearing yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir but will be shortly, verra shortly now." 
 
 The steward brought plate, knives and forks and placed 
 them before Mr. Brown ; then lifted, with an air, the 
 cover from a dish before O'Hagan. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the commander. " Cutlets ! " He looked 
 at Lucy and questioned " May I give you one ? " 
 
 Lucy admitted she was quite ready and probably 
 would require more than one. O'Hagan smiled and 
 turned to the mate to say " This is a friend of mine 
 Mr. Brown Mr. Treegan. A very old friend, who 
 decided at the last moment to join us for the trip." 
 
 The two bowed, and Treegan, as was his custom, said 
 " Verra pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," and 
 added " Likely that wull be your box that's been 
 puzzlin' us aa ? " 
 
 "I expect so," Lucy answered. "I am sorry it has 
 bothered you. I ought to have addressed it 'Care of 
 Captain O'Hagan,' I suppose?" 
 
 " It would have been easier to identify so," the mate 
 gave back, his eyes lifted to the bright face whence came 
 that musical utterance. 
 
 O'Hagan pressed Lucy's foot with his own and said in 
 explanation " My friend has but lately recovered from 
 an operation throat, you know," he touched his own, 
 nodding gravely at the mate. " His doctor ordered him 
 to go a voyage to regain strength, but he refuses to sail 
 with strangers, and so . . ." 
 
 " It's rather rough on Captain O'Hagan," Lucy 
 explained in her clear contralto, pitched low for his 
 benefit. " I have never been in a Tramp before. I have 
 been in the Eastern Mail to India, you know with him, 
 of course. I hate bad weather. It frightens me, you 
 know, and I used to get Captain O'Hagan to let me 
 sleep on his sofa when it was really bad. Do you think 
 we shall have fine weather all the way ? " 
 
 The mate accepted this and enjoyed his cutlets as a 
 man should who has come from the bridge to get them. 
 He said with reference to the weather
 
 844 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Fine all the way ? Nay that's no likely. We 
 shall get oor dusting somewhere here or yonder. For 
 your sake I'm sorry to be compelled tae admeet it." 
 
 " Oh, don't heed me," Lucy smiled, a sad gleam 
 despite her phrasing. " I shall peg out all right. I 
 don't mind if the wind doesn't tear off my wraps. I have 
 to keep them on still." 
 
 " Trouble with his vocal cords," O'Hagan explained, 
 and wisely left it there. " Let me send you another 
 cutlet, Mr. Treegan." 
 
 " Thank you yes, the breeze has gee'n me hunger," 
 said the mate. 
 
 " That reminds me." O'Hagan, on glancing up, had 
 caught the steward, finger and thumb on chin, studying 
 Lucy's profile. " Yes, I had nearly forgotten it. You 
 need not trouble about preparing a cabin to-night. Mr. 
 Brown can have my sofa or my bed as far as that goes 
 for I shall be on the bridge and in the chart-room till we 
 are clear of Channel." 
 
 " On the bridge ! " Lucy exclaimed, her eyes alight. 
 " May I come up too ? . . . Oh, I don't mind where I 
 sleep. Sofa anything ; but I must be able to come up 
 and see things, you know." 
 
 " Of course, when it is possible," O'Hagan laughed ; 
 but there was no mirth, no ring in it, and Treegan stared 
 hard at the cheese which was before him. This was a 
 strange world, a verra strange world, when you come to 
 think of it, he said without words. 
 
 So it ran badinage, explanation, dust for the eyes of 
 those who presently, in the absence of Lucy and O'Hagan, 
 would make random suggestions concerning the youth 
 with a falsetto voice and wonderful complexion. Who 
 would dissect, traverse, build up and make a tangle of 
 statements and actions, however commonplace. For 
 that is the way with those who carry lives in their hands 
 at sea, even in these days of radio-telegraphy and a Morse 
 Code which throws broadcast a cry for help and waits 
 confidently its coming. 
 
 John Treegan, more often called Jock, was one of the 
 men Lucy would be compelled to meet constantly ; the 
 steward was another ; Jeff Evans, the second mate, 
 another, and all three had seen her when she came to the 
 ship in dock. She had determined on this escapade,
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 845 
 
 as she now called it, after her first day on board. Since 
 then neither officer nor steward had seen her without a 
 veil. To be quite plain, the matter of recognition troubled 
 O'Hagan more than it did Lucy. She argued that, since 
 certain facts had come to her knowledge, she could not 
 stay away, and recognition was immaterial. 
 
 While Den was with her she was at peace. When he 
 was absent, now that the child had passed out of their 
 lives, Lucy was like one bereft of all hope. If she could 
 have compelled him, Denis would never have come this 
 voyage, nor entered again the service of people who had 
 robbed him, spoiled his life, and caused the death of his 
 child. Curiously, Den did not quite follow her there, 
 and Stephen Hammond had urged him to accept. Sharum, 
 too, had spoken in sorrow as though he knew its meaning. 
 A small sneer appeared with the words. Lucy had a very 
 large trend of contempt for the average masculine intelli- 
 gence, but Den was higher than these. He was a giant 
 among pigmies, straight where others were crooked, 
 faithful, kind her husband. Therefore he could do no 
 wrong no stupidity ; but Lucy, as the hours went by, 
 was constrained to ask for guidance as she had never 
 asked before. 
 
 Now that the Griselda was on her way she recognised 
 that Peter Witterspoon's note would be tested. She 
 questioned whether it had been launched to keep her on 
 shore. She questioned, too, whether the talk she had 
 overheard was just or unjust of the ship. Time would 
 test these things time and a gale. She questioned 
 whether Den knew, and decided to sound him. 
 
 Beachy Head, with the lights of Eastbourne twinkling 
 nearly to its summit, claimed her attention as she came on 
 deck to-night. The sea remained kind, the breeze suffi- 
 ciently strong to dispel all fog ; the dark hours spent on 
 the bridge with her husband, part of that beautiful 
 enchantment which no man could steal, no earth cover. 
 
 Both suffered. But either would have suffered more 
 apart. They required bracing, and the sea would do that. 
 They required a change of scene, something to take them 
 out of themselves, to compel forgetfulness, and the sea was 
 competent to do even that. 
 
 Lucy decided that to-night she could not sleep, and 
 begged O'Hagan to let her have a deck-chair and a rug 
 on the bridge not where the navigators march, signal,
 
 346 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 and pray for the end of their watch, but on the chart- 
 room level, where one can find shelter perhaps beside a 
 boat. 
 
 And here, at something past one in the morning, the 
 breeze growing light, Selsey Bill's red sector vanished, 
 O'Hagan found Lucy not yet asleep. He brought a low 
 chair, sat beside her, and searched for her hands beneath 
 the rug. 
 
 " Warm ? " he asked, leaning over her in the dark, " and 
 not asleep ? " 
 
 " Oh, so comfy," she whispered, catching his hand and 
 imprisoning it. " No thinking. I shall sleep when you 
 sleep, watch when you watch, be hungry when you are 
 hungry oh dearest . . . because, because you are all 
 I have and the world is rather crowded. It would be so 
 easy to miss you, even here, Den. I daren't miss you 
 now. It would kill me. I couldn't go away alone. 
 It wouldn't be fair and and Baba would ask . . ." 
 
 She turned shivering in her chair, and Denis leaned over, 
 holding her hands in his, thrilling to her cry. 
 
 " You shall not miss me when it comes to that," he said 
 in her ear. " I shall be with you but," he strove to 
 rally her in a voice which lacked enthusiasm, the voice of 
 one acknowledging defeat, " look up, oh dearest, we are 
 not going to lose we are going to win. Remember, 
 Worsdale will be at home when we get back. Fancy, I 
 shall have scotched ill-luck, beaten the Black Listers and, 
 perhaps, who knows . . . Oh ! if a chance comes my way 
 I shall have won my star." 
 
 " But, if a chance comes," she whispered, " what will 
 it be like ? " 
 
 " Salvage," he said simply. 
 
 " Where when ? " 
 
 He nodded towards the distant sea. " Out there this 
 trip, next trip, some time. One cannot be on the western 
 ocean these days without coming across chances. Ships 
 run in a lane narrow as those of Sussex. Up there a lane 
 going out, down there a lane for home. And there are 
 meeting points. It is very crowded sometimes . . ." 
 
 He leaned forward in his chair, his hand on Lucy's. 
 
 " We shall be facing the unknown sea, presently, 
 which Sebastian Cabot crossed and found so lonely in the 
 days that were. You are here and should know these 
 things, in case ... oh well, in case we come across one
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 347 
 
 of those moments which exist now as they never did for 
 Cabot. . . . 
 
 " Ignorance and ' henps of ice ' were the main difficulties 
 he had to contend with ; but to-day the ignorance of his 
 crew has been transferred to those who sit in comfort at 
 home to rule us to rule the greatest fleet of merchant 
 shipping the world has ever seen. England lives and 
 breathes because I and thousands like me loved the sea 
 as a boy and came out to discover it ; it lives very com- 
 fortably and is content now and again to put its hand in 
 its pocket to find something for the dependants of those 
 who have gone under. 
 
 " You and I, to-day, Kiddy, have no fear. We stand in 
 a world that is not concerned whether we stand or fall 
 and we, I think, do not much care what happens. I 
 expected to come out here alone, Mem-sahib, perhaps to 
 give you a chance, to free you from the chain which seems 
 to be riveted somehow rather securely round my neck . . . 
 but you chose otherwise and so I tell you what we face 
 to-day at sea. We are driven," he told her, without pas- 
 sion. " We have no voice in the equipment or the lading 
 of our ships. We sail on lines drawn on a chart by men 
 in an office at home. There is no money to be made or 
 any chance for the future. . . . 
 
 " I am speaking to you now with my memory at work 
 on things that lie behind very plain suggestions I have met 
 pointing the way. I know I am telling you of what the 
 vast majority face day in, day out, without question, 
 because the majority are tied hand and foot to the thing 
 which earns them bread. There is not much taste to 
 nothing. We get a good deal of nothing, who are sailors. 
 ... Do I worry you ? No ! I know, I know. We, at 
 all events, have no doubt about ourselves. We stand or 
 fall together. . . ." 
 
 He leaned near and touched her forehead with his lips 
 
 " You are mine," he interjected, " but I cannot win 
 you more than bread. . . . Whisht ! the spirit of the 
 dear old guv'nor stands by me to-night telling me to fight. 
 And we shall fight. Perhaps we shall win, who knows ? 
 Not you nor I, oh dearest ... yet we shall fight." 
 
 Again he was silent a short space, and the wind trailed 
 up following them, making its entry in the great tressels at 
 the mast even as in the days when ships were clothed in 
 fleecy white and the sun looked out to kiss them.
 
 348 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Cabot faced seas which were bare of other ships," he 
 said again. " We face them in a crowd, all pounding along 
 in a great hurry to lower the record, and to make a voyage 
 which shall show a better return than last voyage. . . . 
 
 " Cabot faced seas in a ship which might hammer even 
 on the rocks and maintain some likeness to a ship for 
 hours ; we face them in a thing that cracks like a bottle 
 if she is hit, and disappears like a breath. You have to 
 be lively if you would be saved in these days from the 
 results of a collision. You require to live in a Boynton 
 suit. . . . 
 
 " Cabot faced rocks which were stationary, fixed to 
 the coasts ; we face those rocks and others which are 
 afloat. Every steamship is a floating rock, oh Mem- 
 sahib, for the vessel that blunders against her or is hit 
 by her. Ten thousand, twenty, thirty, fifty thousand 
 tons weight go swishing past you, perhaps at ten, perhaps 
 at twenty knots an hour, when a steamship passes. 
 And that weight is cased in steel, steel bulkheads to help 
 it, steel double skins for some of them. Their makers 
 say they are unsinkable Whisht ! W T ill they repeat it 
 when they've been in collision ? Will they stick to their 
 formulas when a ship has rolled over on the top of them, 
 when the side has been ripped out of her, w r hen her nose is 
 flattened and you can drive a coach and four into her hold 
 . . . Whisht ! I'm glad he's gone, my God ! I'm glad . . ." 
 
 He threw back, without explanation, to the loss of their 
 child. Lucy, gripping more tightly, understood. 
 
 " That fellow said he might have been saved if we could 
 have got him out of London saved, oh dearest, you 
 remember." 
 
 She nodded, the tears blinding her, and in a voice quick 
 with emotion, O'Hagan lashed on 
 
 " Saved to be a sailor who knows ? It was in the 
 blood. To be a sailor to-day is to be the supreme drudge 
 of all the nation's drudge, the thing which tends the 
 machines which feed it . . . to be a sailor ! To suffer as 
 I have and you have, to be pushed down and down 
 until you have reached the Black List, to become derelict, 
 one of the forgotten, driven into the workhouse, or perhaps 
 found a Home by someone interested in keeping you hid. 
 
 " I know a Home," he hissed out, " where they stow 
 away sailors who are derelict. These men start as boys 
 in smart uniforms ; they join the sea clean, alert, full of
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 349 
 
 hope, and they come out tired, derelict, men who have 
 escaped many drownings only to end life in the oblivion 
 of a Home which fines a man of his weekly pocket money, 
 the sixpence someone doles to him, one halfpenny if he is 
 late for prayers ; and stops the tobacco a wealthy patron 
 has provided for his comfort if he is late within doors at 
 night. . . . 
 
 "Blind chance has been this man's overlord, oh my 
 wife. Steel ships governed by the laws of Merrie England 
 his home. The pittance he has been permitted to earn 
 insufficient to keep him warm. . . . Baba live for that ? 
 Our Baba mavourneen ! I am tired of their flummery 
 . . . tired, bitter perhaps ; but what has gone to my 
 making is answerable for what I am. . . . Perhaps I may 
 live to tell them . . . perhaps we shall live to make some 
 of them feel who, as God made me, I believe are of 
 wood! . . ." 
 
 Lucy drew his hand near, pressing it to her breast, and 
 whispered " I am glad you have told me. I think I 
 understand." 
 
 The Griselda, rolling slightly before the wind, ploughed 
 solemnly over a sea which had no confines, which melted 
 into the sky without a break and made its dome immense. 
 Stars stood high up in the blueness. Mist shrouded the 
 lower heavens. The sea curled, mocking the ship's 
 staring eyes with blobs of light dim, pulsing, tinged with 
 flame. 
 
 "Remember, I am going to win, Mem-sahib," O'Hagan 
 pressed into the silence, perhaps because it might seem he 
 had given way. 
 
 Lucy shrank in her chair as one does who parts from 
 her lover before war. With her voice in fine control she 
 gave him her answer 
 
 " You are my soul how then can I forget ? " 
 
 But in her mind she saw pictures of the fights which have 
 been, remembered Jimmy Barlow and the star* he had 
 won, saw the tiny Casa Blanca passing down that tremen- 
 dous coast to her engagement. 
 
 And the song of the sea was in Lucy's ears. She heard 
 the monotone, thrummed on muted strings, which is the 
 sea's warning the everlasting murmur of a giant at rest, 
 a giant subtle and mdiscriminating, mindful always of 
 those who challenge. 
 
 * Vessels lost at sea are marked on the wreck chart by a star.
 
 350 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 The Griselda challenged. She marched during the winter 
 months for a lading in America's chief city, and as Treegan, 
 the mate, stated while still they were in dock, she was 
 old and not fit to carry a deckload. It may be that Lucy, 
 through lack of knowledge, magnified this statement in her 
 mind. It may be that she would have come this trip 
 even had she not heard it. But it reached her ear after 
 Den had been appointed. It constituted one of the chief 
 reasons of her presence here, disguised and carrying a 
 small revolver, to take her chance like a man. It stood 
 over her now, waking or sleeping, as no other hint could. 
 She became afraid under the threat it held out. In a 
 sense, therefore, Lucy posed also in the guise of one who 
 challenged, who would propitiate, plead, pray so that she 
 maintain her right to stand or fall beside her husband. 
 
 On the bridge, just forward of their chairs, a gong said 
 " Tong, tong, tong light right ahead," and O'Hagan 
 sat upright, staring over the bows. The ship plunged on, 
 breaking the bubbles her forefoot had made. 
 
 " What is it ? " Lucy asked, recognising the still attitude 
 which had come to him. 
 
 " A vessel ahead . . . Treegan has it nothing to worry 
 about." 
 
 " You rely on the mate, then ? " she whispered, watching. 
 " Is he one of the sort you feel you can trust ? " 
 
 " In anything," he answered, " within reason, of course. 
 He has been in her a long while, and knows her tricks." 
 
 He maintained an alert attitude nevertheless, and Lucy 
 felt his fingers slowly leaving her hand. She gave him 
 his freedom without words. 
 
 Again the gong spoke " Tong tong," this time, and 
 O'Hagan twisted to the right. 
 
 " It is thicker than it was," he said. " I shall go to 
 Mount Misery for a bit," he indicated the bridge here, 
 " and in an hour it will be daylight. Try to get a sleep 
 meanwhile." 
 
 She lifted her face to his and gave him his answer, 
 " Kiss me, dearest, and I will." 
 
 He glanced about the dim deck and stooped over her. 
 " This is more difficult than in the dear old Saladin," he 
 laughed. " Good-night ... I must go." 
 
 The Griselda stole ten minutes later past a boat which 
 came out of the mist nearly in line with her track, crept 
 up to give way for another, whose stern light had called
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 351 
 
 for the second signal, and thereafter, until the sun rose 
 like a crimson shield in the ship's wake, the wind blew 
 steadily upon them, sweeping the sea of all mist. 
 
 So they lurched down Channel, saluted the headlands 
 which are crowned by signal stations, cleared the land, 
 and headed into the Western Ocean. Beyond Cape Clear 
 the wind veered, and the Griselda settled down to a 
 punching match, which lasted with small intermission 
 until she came in touch with the Banks. Small westerly 
 winds blew in her teeth. Sou'-west, west, nor'-west, 
 but no gales calculated to try those plates of which 
 Treegan had spoken disparagingly. Would they be 
 tested now, or were they to enter New York with a 
 record for fine weather ? 
 
 O'Hagan had his doubts, so had the mates. Lucy 
 listened and had hers. Treegan prayed for what he 
 called a fresh hand at the bellows. They spoke of fog and 
 that night moved groaning through it, alert for passing 
 vessels. The horn played its melancholy music over 
 them. It said with monotonous iteration " Look out, I 
 am coming along. I am under way," and those who 
 sounded it listened for answering cries. None came. 
 Sometimes they stopped engines and lay still, straining 
 to hear, sometimes moved slowly on. 
 
 They had come to the meeting place of ships bound 
 east or west down Cabot Straits from the Gulf of St. 
 Lawrence. Cape Race lay nearly due north, and fog in 
 this neighbourhood is a standing feature. 
 
 Sometimes for days together the horizon is confined to 
 a dim circle in which the ship's head and stern are lost ; 
 sometimes it is of a kind known as intermittent clear 
 in patches, foul, blanket-like in others. And here, as 
 O'Hagan acknowledged, some vessels move at full speed 
 trusting to their horns and their heels, and others go slow. 
 Here the dead slow of a mailship is the full speed of a 
 Griselda, and the ship which steams slowly is in greater 
 danger than the ship which steams at full speed. 
 
 Lucy had gone that night for rest to a settee in the 
 smoking-room aft. She did not expect to sleep. Only 
 those who have graduated at sea can boast of sleep when 
 the fog-horn is on duty. Yet she dozed, waking each 
 time the engines stopped, or again at the more powerful 
 cry of the siren which sometimes was used. That was 
 unearthly, weird, horrible ; but each time Lucy awoke
 
 352 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 to the fact of its scream, she did so with greater reluctance, 
 a greater lassitude and sinking of the nerves which control. 
 Sometimes it seemed she had dozed but a minute ; but 
 on reference to the watch she found time had escaped. 
 Reluctantly she acknowledged it, lying fully dressed 
 all standing, as it is phrased at sea. She pictured the 
 discomfort Den endured on Mount Misery, and would 
 have solaced him. But with the advent of fog he banished 
 her . . . and again she slept. 
 
 She awoke suddenly and lay listening, noting the 
 gyrations of the lamp which bobbed and lurched over the 
 stairs. It was soundless now, yet something had called 
 her, something she had not known before, something 
 which set her shivering as she lay there at question. 
 The night held out no sign which she could read. The 
 heavy air drifted in and made her wet. Her hair was 
 wet, the pillow and the rug which covered her. Her 
 heels pushing on the crimson velvet of the settee as the 
 ship rolled, scrooped as they slid. The jar set her on 
 edge ; and from the confines of space there came to 
 trouble her, Captain Worsdale's phrase so often repeated 
 by Den as evidence of the man's perspicacity. 
 
 " Remember, my boy, now you are in command, there 
 is only a thin sheet of steel between you and Eternity . . . 
 Take that from me and go easy when you can't see. ..." 
 
 Again " It is not you I am afraid of, but the anxiety 
 of all young shipmasters to make a passage smarter 
 than some other body. Keep off that madness. If your 
 company want you to take risks they do not pay you to 
 take come out of it. There are those who do. ..." 
 
 The burden all through this was : Take care you are in 
 a brittle enough box, take every precaution. And now 
 as Lucy lay there so near the sea, listening to the glut- 
 tonous clutch of its fingers, she experienced a dread lest 
 she should be unable to find Den. Nothing yet had 
 attacked the " thin sheet of steel," but Lucy was shaken. 
 Something had happened. She glanced at the watch 
 she wore on her wrist, an evidence of dandyism in the 
 mate's eyes, and saw that it was half-past three. She 
 lay on her elbow listening. The engines were stopped. 
 Would they go on again ? Why did they not ? A far- 
 off boom disturbed her. 
 
 She could face the solitude no longer. Not a soul in
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 35:3 
 
 that ship had any knowledge of her straits but Den, and 
 he could not come near. She had no fear while he wan 
 with her ; only a white-hot desire, which must be kept in 
 subjection, to minister to his comfort. She rose now 
 from her rugs and with a heavy coat thrown over nil, 
 made her way by the plank bridge to the deck, above 
 which O'Hagan stood with his subordinates. 
 
 Lucy crept along gripping the man-rope, swaying with 
 it over a chasm as the ship lurched. She had no fear ; 
 but on the other hand she could not see the dangers which 
 surrounded her. She came groping like a blind man to 
 the end, and saw the small round loom of a port. She 
 advanced and stared through into the engine-room. The 
 sizzling of oil and the smell of it assailed her here. She 
 could see it dancing, spitting on the hot cylinder covers. 
 And all around, as she withdrew her gaze, was the slobber 
 of the sea. 
 
 She stood there, clad in man's garments in order to be 
 near her husband. As a woman she w y ould have had 
 finer opportunities. As a man it seemed inevitable that 
 she must take a man's risks. And the world was very 
 empty just here. 
 
 Space everywhere, space made luminous by a moon 
 somewhere lifted and shining on a world screened in mist. 
 It gave an iridescence to the darkness which had the 
 effect of semi-blindness. Lucy saw men as trees walking 
 without knowing it. It was cold, too, raw, wet, and 
 somewhere farther along that stretch of deck, obstacled 
 by things she did not know, Denis O'Hagan stood in 
 control. Lucy wanted to shout his name, but as a man 
 that was impossible. The ship lurched to starboard. 
 She clutched at the rail and saved herself at the expense 
 of a wrench. She decided to follow the rail, and moved 
 on until having rounded an angle her head came in con- 
 tact with something that stood over her on the left. 
 
 She put out her hand to feel, and it traced the inequali- 
 ties of a clinker-built boat, one of the two which sat so 
 securely lashed on chocks on either side of the ship. She 
 moved on, recognising it as a friend meeting one he knows 
 in a fog-bound street. She groped and came to a stay, 
 something wet and cold to the touch, which spanned her 
 path. She must cross it, get under it, over it she could 
 not decide which. 
 
 Voices made talk somewhere near ; dull, monotonous 
 
 B.F. A A
 
 354 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 voices which said nothing she could hear. She wanted to 
 cry out, to call on Den to come and help her ; but because 
 she was a man she choked back the desire and climbed 
 straddle-legged the wire as nearly in a panic as was per- 
 missible. What was on the other side ? She pushed out 
 to discover. Nothing. An open space beneath which 
 unseen seas climbed and retreated licking the ship's side. 
 Without in the least knowing her nearness to that end 
 about which we prate and gesticulate, Lucy drew back 
 quite certain she must make no more experiments in mid- 
 air, but trust to the deck, the deck she could feel. Far 
 off a hooter brayed to test her. 
 
 She sank on her knees, and with one hand groping 
 before, her lips uttering Den's name, she crawled back 
 from her entanglement. Tears ran down her cheeks 
 unchecked. The fog had blinded her, the fog had made 
 her wet, it could not matter. There was a sense of com- 
 fort in tears, a sense of relief after the long weariness of 
 solitude, strain and risk. She could have hugged the 
 deck upon which she crawled j but she would not cry 
 for help, break down now she had come so far unsuspected. 
 
 Again voices assailed her ears. Minute, far off very 
 blurred and indistinct, not the voices she had listened to 
 previously and again she clung to the deck, uncon- 
 sciously coming nearer the sounding board. Talk, 
 shouts, a jumbled and fascinating mixture accompanied 
 by strange bubblings, came to her ears. The blast as of 
 steam and a noise which shook the ship dull, far off, 
 and in the midst of it a shriek on the Griseldas siren, 
 which for hours it seemed had been silent. The thrill of 
 her engines followed a short spurt ending again in swift, 
 indefinite tremors. 
 
 Something had happened, was happening even at that 
 moment ; but Lucy could not grasp the significance of 
 those sounds except in a confused and inappreciable 
 fashion. Yet she rose from the deck on reaching a barrier 
 and stood clinging to it, calling at last to Den. . . . 
 
 " Captain O'Hagan ! Captain O'Hagan ! " How strange 
 it sounded ! How ridiculous ! Lucy could have laughed ; 
 but for some reason she found her pulses thrilling and knew 
 that at length she was afraid ; that she dared not laugh. 
 
 Afraid of what ? She stood staring into the void, one 
 hand lifted to her lips, questioning what it was she had 
 heard, calling still her husband's name.
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 855 
 
 He did not hear her. He was engaged on evolutions 
 which demand great skill of a commander. He was busy 
 solving the riddle of that unknown thing which, in spite 
 of the fog, had sent signals which had halted the Griselda ; 
 a thing which had waked Lucy and put her in touch with 
 affairs she could not explain a thing inanimate and yet 
 in trouble, holding with a " thin sheet of steel " all those 
 who had worked her from the results of their blindness. 
 And into the wall of fog Lucy sent her cry " Captain 
 O'Hagan ! Hallo ! Hallo 1 " came in clear contralto, 
 iterated, sung, shouted, until a deeper voice fell upon the 
 periods saying 
 
 " Yes yes ! Hallo ! Where are you ? " and she recog- 
 nised that someone was at hand. 
 
 " On the bridge deck ! " she sang again, " between the 
 engine room and the plank bridge. ..." 
 
 " Is it Mr. Brown ? " called the voice. 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 And in Lucy's brain the answer ran on and on thus 
 " or Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones . . . anybody, you know, 
 who is nobody. ..." 
 
 " Stay where you are, sir ... it's thick as peas 
 pudding and twice as nasty," said the voice, and Lucy 
 remained clinging. 
 
 On the other side of the deck, somewhere amidst the 
 fog, voices, thumps, and blows went on in a genial turmoil. 
 One of the crew came groping up a ladder from the main 
 deck, vaulted the rail and stood before Lucy. 
 
 " Bin lookin' fer you hevery-where, sir," he announced, 
 " aft, for'ard, in the smoke-room. I've got to take you 
 to the bridge. The old man sent me. ..." 
 
 " The old man ? " Lucy halted over the description and 
 added, " Oh yes yes, I forgot. What is happening ? " 
 
 " There's bin a collision, ' said the man as he moved 
 forward, " an' we ... 'ear that siren ? " 
 
 "A collision? Are we damaged, then. ... Is that 
 why they are bumping over there by the boats ? " 
 
 " Not wiv us," he gave back in terse sentences, "some 
 chap over there. 'Im that's whistlin'," he jerked with 
 his thumb at the grey wall of fog. " Somethin's 'it 'im 
 an' ee's away fer the cellar. . . .' 
 
 "So we are sending our boats, is that it ? " Lucp 
 inferred, coming near the bridge at last. 
 
 " We're gettin' 'em ready, sir," was his answer. " They 
 
 AA 2
 
 356 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 are froze in wiv paint as per usual . . . and," he added 
 enigmatically, " we've got to find out w'ere ee is." 
 
 He pushed lightly with his elbow, piloting Lucy towards 
 the ladder. " Up there," he grumbled, " you'll find the 
 old man," and Lucy stood alone. 
 
 She paused and caught the siren note more plainly. 
 She seemed confused. Up there ? Oh, of course the 
 bridge was beyond the stairs. She had been so absorbed 
 by the swift sentences of her guide that his departure 
 without fuller information seemed to trouble her. Every- 
 thing was so unreal in this fog except the sense of peril 
 that was very real. She took hold and climbed the 
 ladder in time to see O'Hagan cross rapidly and push the 
 telegraph down to full speed. The siren afar off kept up 
 a nearly continuous wail. 
 
 " Port ! " said O'Hagan, turning back to the wheel. 
 Then, looking aft, " Hurry up with that boat. Some of 
 you prepare No. 2." 
 
 He crossed to the wing and Lucy intercepted him. 
 " You sent for me, Den what is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " Collision, dearest. Somebody in trouble. I thought 
 you would like to see what goes on." He turned sharply 
 on his heel and cried out " How's her head now ? " 
 
 " Nor'-nor'-east, sir," the helmsman sang out. 
 
 " Let her come to north-east by east and steady her 
 on that ! " 
 
 " Aye aye, sir." 
 
 O'Hagan turned to Lucy, gripping her arm and 
 marching with her to the dodger. 
 
 " I got the loom of her just now," he said. " She lies 
 away there." He pointed over the starboard bow. " I 
 don't know whether there is one or two or half a dozen 
 but something is perishing and we can't see. My luck ! 
 perishing, mind, and we can't see ! " He stamped it out, 
 staring round at that part of the horizon which should 
 have shown the dawn and now was silvered. 
 
 " It's your chance, dearest ! " Lucy called in his ear, 
 shivering, clutching his arm. 
 
 " Hist ! for God's sake. Evans is up here some- 
 where." He turned about. " How's her head now ? " 
 
 " Steadied on north-east by east, sir," came the answer. 
 
 " Half speed ! Slow ! " 
 
 From the bridge amidships Evans' calm voice reiterated 
 the order " Half speed slow it is, sir."
 
 A THIN SHEET OF STEEL 357 
 
 O'Hagan breathed more easily. 
 
 The gong clanged. 
 
 ' If,' said Denis, his lips very near Lucy's small ear, 
 " if I have a chance now I shall take it," he whispered, 
 " unless . . . that is " 
 
 She reached up, checking him, touching his lips. 
 
 " Take it, oh my darling . . . and and God be with 
 you," she answered him. 
 
 They gripped hands. The fog streamed past, making 
 them one. Like a veil shaken and torn by the wind it 
 drove between masts and funnel, and again it grew thinner. 
 The light increased with each minute, and O'Hagan, 
 conning his ship, took all risks as he drove her towards 
 that smudge which now showed for what it was against 
 the sky. 
 
 He halted near and whistled with long and short blasts, 
 " I am sending boats," and through the megaphone 
 repeated it. 
 
 A blur of sound drove down the wind to him a roar 
 no man could decipher. 
 
 " Full speed ahead ! " came from O'Hagan's lips. 
 " Starboard hard ! " 
 
 The fog had become a mist under the sun's influence, 
 and the engines thrilled as the old Griselda twisted her nose 
 quite near the sinking vessel. " Stop ! Steady helm ! " 
 
 O'Hagan passed to the bridge wing and cried out, 
 " Lower away there. Get off with you ! " and from the 
 near boat came Treegan's cheery shout " Aye aye, sir ! 
 Down with her ! " 
 
 There was but a moderate breeze, yet the swell ran 
 steeply. The mate moved off with a fine flourish, but 
 No. 3 was caught by the rail as the Griselda rolled down, 
 and in a moment lay battered, sinking. The bo'sun and 
 crew who manned her scrambled for the falls, and three 
 reached. Two clung to the boat, treading water. 
 
 " Clear away No. 4 ! Quick there, lifebuoys overboard. 
 Away and set them going, Evans then come back here." 
 
 O'Hagan turned to the chief's boat, which was halting. 
 " Go on ! " he cried out. " Go on ! " 
 
 And out there in the mist they faced, the clamour was 
 increasing. It became a moan. A hoarse cry from the 
 throats of men tilting slowly into the sea, a bellowing 
 roar from the boilers imprisoned below. It became one 
 in aim and volume a shout lifted to the dome ; and as
 
 358 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 suddenly it became broken, spasmodic ; a brattle of 
 shrieks and yells and bubbling groans. 
 
 The Griselda moved cautiously to the front, nosing her 
 way in a littered sea. She crept up with her three small 
 boats scouting ahead, picking up those who were seen. 
 Men floated on chairs, on gratings, on lifebuoys ; women 
 clung here children, groups of two and three, and some 
 ducked as the boats drew near and passed screaming 
 to their end. Treegan came alongside with a load. A 
 man arrived swimming, but failed at the stroke which 
 should have put him in safety. No one saw him. He 
 sank without sound. 
 
 Out there in the mist a dog swam lustily, yapping as it 
 faced the waves. Evans, as he drew near the ship, 
 captured him and pulled him on board. He shook him- 
 self dry in the faces of those who saved him. The bo'sun's 
 second charge crawled home, and as he sent up his load 
 someone cried to the bridge 
 
 " Dagos, sir," and again, in more detailed phrase, as he 
 helped to push a child up the side " Eye-talians, sir 
 every soul of 'em." 
 
 The mist fell upon them as they worked, and at a signal 
 the boats came in and trailed astern. It grew thicker. 
 It became so dense that, for a while, no further search 
 could be made. The sea rolled lumpily out of a grey- 
 green curtain. It ran cold. Under its soothing touch 
 numbness intervenes and, sleepily, man succumbs. 
 
 They moved veiy slowly in a wide circle, searching 
 seas which were strewn with oddments, buckets, chairs, 
 mattresses, planks ; but no victims until, suddenly, 
 Treegan, who had climbed to the bridge, cried out 
 
 " Yon's one ! " 
 
 In a moment O'Hagan was at his side, staring with him 
 at a face which slowly disappeared. 
 
 " Take charge ! " O'Hagan ordered. " Call one of the 
 boats up. I'm going." 
 
 With a cheery wave of the hand he climbed the rail and 
 dived. 
 
 Lucy stood quite near, watching for him. Cold, still, 
 with hands tightly gripping the rail, she awaited his 
 reappearance. Treegan damned the world and He who 
 made it. She paid no heed. Then with a faint " Hurra ! " 
 sat down quite close to the bridge rail and laughed, 
 remembering that she was a man.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE STAR ? 
 
 O'HAGAN stood on the bridge again, re-clad after that 
 sudden plunge into the depths, questioning what had 
 come to him. 
 
 By hook or by crook, without much prescience, he had 
 stumbled upon a disaster of some magnitude. A passenger 
 vessel of sorts had gone down with " the side ripped out 
 of her " by " some ship which had vanished in the fog " 
 and, out of a total of four hundred and thirty-three 
 passengers and crew, the Griselda had contrived to pick up 
 one hundred and seventy-three. This, at all events, was 
 plain from a glance at her decks ; the rest was gleaned from 
 statements made by those saved. 
 
 Some the Griseldians had plucked straight from the 
 jumbled stress of rafts and gratings, buckets, buoys, 
 and liner chairs ; others from the two boats which the 
 shipwrecked crew had managed to launch ; others again 
 by sheer gallantry, from the sea direct, after a dive. 
 O'Hagan and young Evans shone here, O'Hagan having 
 saved three and Evans two, while Treegan paced the 
 bridge damning the duty which kept him dry. 
 
 And when all these things had been weighed, it became 
 essential to search that fog-bound stretch of sea for others 
 who might still be needing succour. Therefore the 
 Griselda was kept cruising in a circle, her foghorn moaning, 
 like a giant imprisoned and weary of attempted escape. 
 
 O'Hagan stood on the bridge looking down upon a 
 strange scene, Lucy beside him. Through the steaming 
 air it was possible to perceive groups of shaggy-headed 
 men and drenched women. Some lay prone upon the 
 deck while others bent over them, pumping with their 
 arms. Some sat huddled beneath the rail, others stared 
 out into the mist. The main hatchways were crowded 
 with them, the bridge deck held a score ; cabins, fore- 
 castle, all were tenanted by these strange folk, who spoke 
 t he tongues of Southern Europe and were bereft. Blankets ,
 
 360 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 sail-cloth, a jumbled assortment of odd garments, clothed 
 them. They looked up, dull and in fear, each time a gong 
 clanged or the foghorn uttered a blast. A subdued 
 moan moved through the dense grey air as the ship 
 nosed about searching. A cry sometimes of despair, 
 sometimes of fear, of hope, of misery, pierced the mono- 
 tone they made. It was cold. It was impossible to 
 see what came and went, and the hand of Death lay 
 heavily on all. 
 
 Again O'Hagan stood alone on the bridge. Lucy had 
 gone back to her task among the saved. She moved from 
 group to group, talking haltingly in French with those 
 who were able to respond. Treegan, Evans, the engineers, 
 and men who could be spared from duty, went about 
 rendering aid. People who had been dried in the stoke- 
 hold and galley were brought on deck and others taken to 
 the fires. 
 
 So it went on for hours, the Griselda slowly burrowing 
 in the wall of fog, the hum of anguish, terror, despair 
 always accompanying her as she continued her search ; 
 the clouds of wet air hiding her, clogging her movements, 
 making aid hazardous. 
 
 So the day passed ; night fell upon them morning. 
 Only the fog remained. 
 
 While O'Hagan was still three days from port, in clear 
 weather, the Carmania came smoking up the lane from 
 Liverpool, and, answering the Griselda's signals, slowed 
 down and sent boats to relieve her of a portion of her 
 burden. 
 
 This put heart into the wrecked people ; it made it 
 possible to compete with the pressure which had existed, 
 and O'Hagan for the first time began to find himself. 
 You cannot do much for Latins and Slavs if you have the 
 linguistic attainments of the average Anglo-Saxon. It 
 is especially difficult to deal with them when with very 
 good reason they have decided that you, in point of fact, 
 are the cause of their distress. That was the attitude of 
 the majority of those saved, and it was impossible to 
 combat it. 
 
 For O'Hagan, at the end of his tether financially, his 
 home in the hands of those who conduct auctions, rates 
 and taxes lying in store against him, the situation was 
 pitiable, It was salvage this man had prayed for, the
 
 THE STAR? 361 
 
 opportunity of making money to relieve the strain which 
 certainly tended to hamper him, and he found himself 
 impaled instead by the horns of fame. Salvage would 
 have found him both fame and dollars. It was a thing 
 for which his owners, if it was fat and snug and not too 
 costly in the winning, would give him praise. The Black 
 List would see his name expunged but he had earned 
 public praise instead. A dubious inheritance, as sailors 
 know. He might perhaps, as things were, win a star. 
 
 As a matter of fact, he had become famous while still 
 he was forty-eight hours from New York. Stories of his 
 gallantry, so they phrased it, and that of young Evans, 
 given with wonderful fidelity by the Carmanias operator, 
 had already appeared when the giant Cunarder herself 
 arrived. From that moment until the entry of worn 
 Griselda, sketches as well as words filled columns of the 
 press in two continents. 
 
 Now the Griselda got herself into New York very early, 
 and as she thought unobserved, on the seventeenth of 
 September, to face a chorus which was in full swing. It 
 brought a twinkle to O'Hagan's eyes and tears to Lucy's. 
 With the characteristic emphasis of the greatest city in 
 the New World, authorities had combined to give the 
 Griseldians what they called " the time of their lives." 
 
 O'Hagan, in a general way, was not averse to the thing 
 known as recognition ; but the sublime and unexpected 
 manoeuvres of New York's pressmen amazed him as 
 greatly as did their narrative. It is vivifying to be 
 snap-shotted and heroised in England ; it is quite 
 another business in America. 
 
 A new feature arose, too, very early in the campaign 
 which ensued. The Griselda, it was found, carried no 
 means of speech but her flags, which were useless in a fog, 
 and a whistle which was a " futile and archaic mode of 
 making simple speech complex." New York decided, 
 on the second day, while Griselda shivered in dock, that 
 all ships should carry wireless installations, and became 
 very busy ordering presidents and boards to make it 
 compulsory. 
 
 They were busy, too, dissecting the news which had 
 come by wireless and comparing it with the red-hot 
 comments of people in a glow of language. Interviews 
 and statements jostled each other out of all countenance. 
 The Deed of yesterday became a Misdeed of to-day, the
 
 362 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 marvellous prescience of O'Hagan something akin to 
 negligence. There came in sequence the tributes and the 
 diatribes, the criticism and the brushwork of many 
 individuals suddenly become famous ; suddenly blossoming 
 as Judges before the most arbitrary Arbiter of modern 
 days Public Opinion. 
 
 The flair commenced when the papers got in touch with 
 the Car-mania's operator ; but it became riotous when an 
 officer of the Salonos announced that his ship had sent 
 out distress calls which remained unanswered. O'Hagan, 
 too, when he was questioned, admitted at once that 
 although he had heard the foghorns of two vessels, he 
 had no knowledge until he came actually among those 
 who floated and swam, and heard the roar of steam and 
 air, that anything serious had happened. 
 
 Then someone in authority spoke, and the Griseldians 
 were held forth as an example for the sailors of all nations 
 and of all time. America searched, in her newspapers, 
 for precedent in this matter. It asked that a Star 
 should be found which was unique and applicable to this 
 deed ; but none appeared. It became a question whether 
 the States had power to grant decorations to individuals 
 not of its race. It was discovered that in any case the 
 acts had not been performed in the territorial waters of 
 U.S.A. Newfoundland was the defendant Power, but 
 Newfoundland, even if it admitted territorial jurisdiction, 
 had no star. 
 
 Germany, it was said, found it wise to recognise 
 heroism on the high seas. European nations generally, 
 it was pointed out, had, locked up in their care, Orders 
 and Ribbons which may be won by sailors ; but the 
 Power which should speak, which governed the speech- 
 less Griselda, gave no sign. It became recognised at 
 length that no doubt England would speak some day. It 
 was suggested that an Order in Council would be prepared 
 and handed to Captain O'Hagan when he returned. 
 Journalists said very plainly that England was governed 
 by Orders in Council. They were not quite sure what 
 these things were, but they instanced the fact that the 
 Plimsoll Law which once ruled English shipping had been 
 snuffed out by an Order in Council. They looked hope- 
 fully for the day when O'Hagan's countrymen should 
 recognise his misdeeds. They were jovial cynics. 
 
 Then, in the midst of much talk, came a communication
 
 THE STAR? 303 
 
 from the Greek Government, which stated that the King 
 was desirous of recognising the gallantry of those English- 
 men who had come to the rescue of his subjects. The 
 matter was made known in the correct way, with a flourish 
 of trumpets, and O'Hagan sat down to await the arrival 
 of very high honour, one of the highest at the bestowal of 
 the Greek King, a lesser honour for young Evans, and a 
 purse of gold for the rank and file of the Griseldians. The 
 Greek Minister spoke feelingly and with grave appreciation 
 of the signal duty which had fallen to him and New 
 York hummed content. Dinners were eaten, speeches 
 made to which O'Hagan and Treegan and Evans replied, 
 and the world rolled rosily for the Griseldians. 
 
 Then, at a final and lavish display of kindliness on the 
 part of New York underwriters, while at dinner a message 
 was handed to O'Hagan which made him blink. He 
 visualised recognition from England at last. But it 
 came from his owners and said 
 
 " Well done Griselda. We are proud of you. SHARUMS." 
 No star on the horizon here. 
 
 Nothing from the country which should have been the 
 first to speak. " We are proud of you SITARUMS." The 
 Department which rules shipping, silent. Perhaps it had 
 not heard. The din at Whitehall no doubt was, and is, 
 prodigious. Cotton wool is found necessary to stifle it. 
 
 Having failed to find dollars on the high seas, O'Hagan 
 had, at all events, found kudos and the promise of a Star 
 at the hands of Greece. 
 
 O'Hagan put the cable in his pocket and did what he 
 could to enjoy his dinner ; but to Lucy, when he reached 
 her rooms up town that night, he confided the opinion 
 that Sharum had joined the majority which was only 
 another way of saying that Sharum was mad. But Lucy 
 knew that Denis was proud. She caught occasional 
 lapses into self-consciousness. She knew that he thrilled 
 when speakers related how he had dived " in full uniform " 
 from the bridge and picked up a poor devil of a Pole, who 
 kept shouting " Let go ! " " Let go ! " and yet knew no 
 English. She pictured to herself dear Den's full uniform, 
 and the struggle it had been to find even one new suit for 
 that voyage ; and she pictured Den's face as he was 
 hauled into the boat which came to his assistance, and 
 heard his phrase as he climbed the rail to greet her with 
 " Got it this time, Brown," because there were those
 
 364 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 present before whom it would not have been wise to 
 expand. 
 
 For some time the people saved in this fashion con- 
 tinued in the belief that O'Hagan and the Griselda were 
 the delinquents. In spite of the fact that no damage 
 appeared, until a smashed grain-carrier crawled into 
 Halifax nursing hurts which could not have been self- 
 inflicted, the notion survived. Nor was it easy, even then, 
 to explain to a congeries suffering as it had, that the 
 colliding vessel had backed away, and had not been able 
 to return because of the fog. But those who knew 
 recognised the difficulty. 
 
 And now they heroised O'Hagan, Lucy decided he seemed 
 to shrink. He objected to adulation, and said so. He 
 repeated that if he had known what lay before him, he 
 would have been too scared to act. Two hundred and 
 sixty had perished after all. The sea bubbled faces. 
 That was terrible. It pointed to imperfect methods. He 
 told people that sailors were trained acrobats and accus- 
 tomed to lightning rescues of the drowning. He took 
 Lucy's hand and said, " This is the one thing for w r hich 
 we are untrained ; " then, after a small silence " If only 
 this had happened before the kiddie went," and sat down 
 hopeless. It was plain that he was tired and wanted 
 rest. He admitted, when questioned, that wireless 
 telegraphy would be useful in " cargo-wallahs," but 
 asked pathetically who would be expected to work it. 
 
 He said at the last dinner he was called to endure 
 " Make it compulsory that all ships shall be fitted with a 
 Morse signalling lamp at the masthead, and you will 
 enable ships to tell each other what they are going to do 
 anyhow, at night. For day work give me a semaphore. 
 Half the collisions occur because there is no means of 
 saying at once what a ship is going to do. The whistle 
 should be subsidiary. 
 
 " There were minutes," he went on, " as I crept up to 
 the sinking Salonos, when I could have flashed signals and 
 she could have flashed replies to me. We might have done 
 more so. You want something quicker than wireless in 
 an emergency you see what I mean ? Something that 
 can be read in a moment by the officer of the watch. 
 The Navy relies on flashlights and semaphore why 
 should not merchant ships use the same ? . . ."
 
 THE STAR? 805 
 
 Then someone pointed out that in a fog neither were of 
 any service, and O'Hagan took up the challenge at once 
 
 " Nothing is of much service when you cannot see. 
 Even a wireless message is ineffectual in a fog. You may 
 receive it but what can you do ? " 
 
 There was no answer to this, and O'Hagan leaned for- 
 ward to say " Fog masters us. It ties us hand and foot. 
 We cannot move very fast in it. We may not be able to 
 move at all. Then we are at the mercy of those who care 
 to take risks. . . . No, you cannot rely on sound signals- 
 submarine electricity may help here, but not whistles. 
 And," he lashed out, " if ships were built of tougher stuff 
 than the modern steel, and with more appreciation of 
 what they must endure, they would not sink before people 
 had time to rub the sleep out of their eyes or get into their 
 life-belts." 
 
 After that dinner O'Hagan found his way up town to 
 the house which sheltered Lucy. It was far from ships 
 and the port of New York. It knew very little of sailors, 
 and appeared content in its ignorance. It catered for 
 people of small means who yet were travellers. It was 
 plain, therefore, that Denis and Lucy had been at some 
 pains to get out of the rut. They were Mr. & Mrs. O'Hagan, 
 Den's captaincy sunk. 
 
 It seemed necessary, too, that when Lucy came ashore 
 and it was evident she would be called upon to meet other 
 women, that at her rooms she should be garbed as a woman. 
 Men, she pointed out, smiling at her husband, may be 
 puzzled by a woman masquerading as a man, but women 
 would have her pinned out in an hour. 
 
 The difficulty of making a change failed to embarrass 
 Lucy. Indeed, she seemed to have come equipped for it. 
 On the second night of the Griseldas stay in dock, while 
 they were still in a whirl of preparation for the feteing so 
 spontaneously arranged for them, she discarded the thick 
 man's stockings she had worn with her Norfolk suit all 
 day and drew on a pair of Lisle thread. She put on boots 
 in which no man could walk. She donned an ulster which 
 might belong to a person of either sex and, wearing a hat 
 which only required the addition of a veil to make it 
 womanly, stepped down the gangway to meet her husband, 
 who waited at its foot. 
 
 Treegan, who saw her following the trunk which had
 
 366 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 puzzled him when still they were in the London docks, 
 had no suspicion that Mr. Brown was other than he 
 appeared. He had, indeed, no very high opinion of that 
 young man's capacities " Ae wee bit saft," rather 
 expressed the mate's view at the beginning, and the sug- 
 gestion presently made by young Evans, that Mr. Brown 
 was Mrs. O'Hagan masquerading as a man in order to be 
 near her husband, produced mockery. 
 
 " Man ! ye must be wowf," came disdainfully to fluster 
 the second mate and to put him on his mettle. 
 
 Treegan had discussed certain attitudes with young 
 Evans, the second mate, and found them symptomatic 
 " o' pairsons on the road ta the mad-hoose " anyone, it 
 appeared, who chose to voyage in a Tramp while there 
 existed a single Cunarder, or a mile of beach to camp on, 
 was more than " ae wee bit saft, he was looney:" And as 
 for the muffler and cap the man wore " Weel, now, did 
 ye no hear Captain O'Hagan explicate that ? " Then, 
 after Evans had retired in silence to consider this, Treegan 
 came near the binnacle, looked into it and said " Star- 
 board to your course ! Starboard or I shall consider you 
 one o' they new-fangled sailor-men wha get their trainin' 
 in steam." A hit this at Evans and all those who have 
 been compelled by modern conditions to voyage in steamers 
 or remain on shore. 
 
 Ridicule rarely kills. It more often acts as an incentive. 
 Suspicion is followed up until either proof or disproof is the 
 result. And so here. 
 
 When Evans left the bridge on that occasion he came 
 to his room and sat glumly considering the mate's exas- 
 perating tongue. He speculated, too, on the probable 
 future of a man so gifted with blind reason. And while 
 he sat there dangling straws he could not chew the 
 steward came past. He stopped to make a suggestion 
 concerning Mr. Brown. The matter naturally revolved 
 in the ambit provided by the word lunacy on the one 
 hand, and love on the other. 
 
 The second mate had his theories, so too had the 
 steward. The thing had been broached before Treegan 
 discovered so violent an objection to discussion, and on 
 that occasion Treegan was pushed out, ostracised in name 
 and inference by the two plotters who persisted in see- 
 ing ambiguity, salient or dormant, in the phrases of 
 Mr. Brown and Captain O'Hagan.
 
 THE STAR? 367 
 
 On the night following that on which Lucy had gone 
 ashore, just as Evans was ready to turn in, the steward 
 tapped lightly on his door and entered. He carried a 
 bread-basket under his arm, and in it a paper parcel. It 
 contained nothing edible just a pair of shoes, in point 
 of fact, of the kind worn by women who know the value 
 of dainty foot-gear. 
 
 The steward produced them with an eye to effect. He 
 held them forth at length, the paper returned to the 
 basket. 
 
 " What d'ye fink of that, sir ? " he asked, all the 
 conspirator in him to the front. 
 
 Evans knit his brows regarding this trifle. " Hum ! " 
 he said without sparkle, " rather decent. Where did 
 you buy them ? " 
 
 " I didn't buy 'em, sir I found 'em," said the steward. 
 
 And still young Evans chose to be blind. 
 
 " Lucky beggar," he commented. " Where ? " 
 
 " In the old man's room, sir, underneaf 'is bed," said 
 the steward. 
 
 Evans puffed at his pipe, his forehead drawn into 
 wrinkles, refusing inference, refusing, suddenly and for 
 no apparent reason, to consider it, speak of it, know any- 
 thing about what had led up to it. " Plotting against 
 the old man" was the first cause in this new attitude; 
 a meeting with Peter Witterspoon the motive which had 
 brought first causes into prominence. " Plotting against 
 the old man. A jolly good sort too . . . plotting with a 
 flunkey ! " 
 
 He blew a cloud of smoke and said with it " No ; I'm 
 damned if I do." Then aloud, very much in Treegan's 
 manner, " Ou, aye ! I forgot to tell you. Captain 
 O'Hagan asked me to see to them when he went ashore, 
 but I forgot it. They got in his bag by mistake. Roll 
 them together and put them on my settee. I'll send 
 them in the morning." 
 
 " Send ? " the steward ventured, his eyes narrowed, 
 " to Mr. Brown, sir ? " 
 
 " To Mrs. O'Hagan, Cap'n O'Hagan's wife. She came 
 out in the Carmania and is staying across there at 
 Jersey City," Evans snapped out, romancing without 
 shame. " Put them down paper and all. It will do to 
 wrap them in ... and clear out. I'm going to sleep." 
 
 The steward obeyed because he had no option. He
 
 368 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 obeyed as an understrapper does, even in moments of 
 vigorous protest, when he is on board ship ; because no 
 protest is possible. And when he had sacrificed the 
 whole tangible result of his long espionage, he took up 
 his basket and left the room. He looked sad. He 
 acknowledged that he had made a mistake in taking 
 Peter Witterspoon to the second mate's room. He put 
 these ideas into phrases which should have scarified his 
 officer yet nothing came of it. 
 
 When Evans was alone he rose from his pillow, switched 
 on the light and climbed to the settee. He took up the 
 shoes and examined them, turned them over to look at 
 the soles ; nodded, rolled them up and placed them in a 
 drawer, which he locked. 
 
 " Hers ? " he asked softly of the farther bulkhead. 
 " Of course they are hers." 
 
 Then with apparent disregard of the factor known as 
 pay, which in his case at all events was microscopic, he 
 said " If I thought I could get a wife like her I'd marry 
 to-morrow ; damned if I wouldn't." 
 
 He kicked out, arranging his blankets with his feet, 
 punched an unoffending pillow, and straightway sought 
 sleep. 
 
 For the first night since the Griseldas entry into New 
 York, the inactivity of the winches made this possible.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 
 
 PETER WITTERSPOON was in New York. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon sighing, his eyes dim, when all the 
 world would have sworn the world was at his feet. " A 
 man, sir," so goes the phrase, " who only has to hold up 
 his finger if he wants a thing." " A man, whether you 
 believe it or not, able to shake Wall Street or Royal 
 Exchange and look round growling for some other thing 
 to shake." That man sigh for a woman, cross the Pond 
 on a journey which can bring him no nearer to her ; bring 
 him no smiles, no love the thing plainly for which he 
 starved ? 
 
 In any case Peter Witterspoon was in New York. 
 
 He crossed in the Hamburg-Amerika flyer from 
 Southampton because the more staid Carniania was 
 unable to minister to his desire for speed. And he missed 
 the chance of a lifetime when the Cunarder came swiftly 
 in the track of over-crowded Griselda and took from her 
 those half-clad Italians, Greeks and Slavs who dared a new 
 transhipment. He crossed after a week spent in seeking 
 at Riverton and elsewhere, with the aid of Mrs. Faulkner, 
 Lucy's hiding-place ; then he came back to Bearsted 
 Road to interview the husband of the lady who provided 
 beefsteak and kidney pies for her " guests " on Empire 
 Day. 
 
 Mr. Shandon was a person who seldom appeared. He 
 lived in the shades, and when Peter Witterspoon dis- 
 covered him he admitted that London could get on very 
 well without him. But he was a longshoreman, a person 
 versed in many strange practices still found possible near 
 the creeks and gullies of the Isle of Dogs. 
 
 By the transfer of certain coins bearing his Majesty's 
 effigy in golden relief, Peter Witterspoon discovered that 
 Lucy had packed a trunk, labelled it "Mr. T. Brown," 
 and sent it by Carter Paterson, vid Mr. Shandon, to the 
 Griselda. Mr. Shandon proved delivery of the trunk; 
 
 B.F. B B
 
 370 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 he proved that later " after the pubs was closed I took 
 an' showed Mr. T. Brown 'ow to get froo into the docks. 
 
 " I 'ailed a cab," said Mr. Shandon, " an' come down 
 to the edge o' the wharf, take yer oaf, an' just took T. 
 Brown be the arm an' took 'im aboord. Then ee give me 
 ten bob an' I quit. ? Oo was ee ? " Mr. Shandon became 
 confidential ; he winked. " Oo are you lookin' for, any- 
 w'y ? Mrs. O'Agan ? Well, T. Brown's 'er . . . Rummy, 
 ain't it ? Take yer oaf ! 
 
 " Ho yus ! I know you, sir ... no need fer intala- 
 duction 'ere. I see you time an' agen wiv 'er . . . see 
 yer motors . . . see you w'en you fought no one's in the 
 bloomin' street . . . see yer w'en you tike 'em all aw'y 
 to Hepping ; but you never see me. Not it. That's my 
 biz to keep out o' sight, an' it's a job I can do. . . . 
 Know yer ? Lord lumme ! if I didn't know yer d'ye 
 fink I'd let on wot 'appened to 'er as st'yed 'ere wiv my 
 missis an' los' 'er kid ? 
 
 " Take yer oaf ! " said Mr. Shandon with energy ; but 
 not in the way of asseveration it appeared by the context. 
 " But Lord ! hif my wife, wot's fair balmy on that kid 
 wot they los', knew as I went gallifantin' along the docks 
 wiv 'er dressed like a man . . . well, there, it wouldn't 
 be 'ome no longer." 
 
 Mr. Shandon drew the back of his hand across his lips, 
 transferred the price of many dead-enders to the flap of 
 a singularly open pocket, touched his forelock and repeated 
 again " Take yer oaf ! " this time in answer to a sug- 
 gestion from Peter Witterspoon. 
 
 Sharum, Cockspur Street, and a state room in the 
 Hanging - gardens - Ritz - Delmonico mailship Asterias 
 brought Peter Witterspoon without undue fatigue to 
 New York. 
 
 He came down to the Griselda on Sunday when young 
 Evans was the officer in charge and complimented him 
 on his gallantry. He explained that he had an interest 
 in Sharums, Limited, and slowly brought the conversation 
 to track Mr. Brown. Evans, with the mystery of that 
 strange person burning him, told his visitor what he knew, 
 described Mr. Brown, said where he was to be found, and 
 afterwards spoke harshly of his indiscretion to Treegan. 
 But that philosopher reminded him it was " nae use 
 bleatin' over wet sea-boots, the thing tae do was ta dry 
 them oot."
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 371 
 
 But Evans was unable to dry them, " oot or in." 
 Lucy O'Hagan took grave risks when she decided to 
 evade her aunt's protege and face the sea with her hus- 
 band. Witterspoon waved a wand and arrived curled, 
 ready to prosecute a siege ; ready, at all events, to decide 
 whether a siege were possible, ready to take Lucy in his 
 arms and give her the purse of a Rascallion if she would 
 take it. 
 
 But Lucy O'Hagan, daughter of a man who had fallen 
 in defence of his country's honour, wife of one on his way 
 to receive the chronometer-balanced stop-watch which 
 is England's notion of a Mercantile Marine V.C., was not 
 alive to the advantages offered by the epicure son of a 
 man strong enough to build up a fortune by the manu- 
 facture of pills, and weak enough to leave it in that son's 
 hands. 
 
 It came out at their first encounter up there at her 
 rooms, whither he had pursued her, waited for her, caught 
 her. 
 
 She stood flushed, astonished and very beautiful in 
 his eyes, angry at the manner of his insistence. 
 
 " Why are you here ? " she asked. " Who told you 
 where to find me ? " 
 
 " I am here, dear lady, because it would be death to 
 stay away," he pronounced evenly. 
 
 " It might be death to stay," she panted, her face 
 suddenly aflame at his tone. 
 
 " I would welcome it," he bowed, " if by dying I could 
 do you a service." 
 
 "I we have no desire for your services. We are 
 happy in fighting for ourselves, ' she told him, but he 
 came nearer and said quickly 
 
 " You may not be able to fight for yourselves. Circum- 
 stances may be too strong for you. You are a woman. 
 You are not fitted for this life. Why did you not remain 
 in London as I urged ? I had very grave reasons for 
 giving you that advice. If I could have foreseen it, your 
 husband would not have been here either. It it is a 
 very difficult question. I don't care about discussing it, 
 even with you. It may be quite untrue. I am unable 
 to say . . . but I did expect you would rely to some 
 extent on my judgment. Instead of that you come here 
 dressed as a man, by Jove^ and oh ! I say, isn't that 
 rather overdoing the part ? " 
 
 B.B 2
 
 372 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " I don't pretend to follow you," she said in tones 
 which conveyed to his intelligence just how little she 
 missed. 
 
 " Never mind. The point is that I want you to give 
 up this trip. Your aunt is seriously concerned about it, 
 and I want you to promise you will not go back in the 
 Griselda. I would get you to persuade your husband 
 to come out of her too, if I thought there was the smallest 
 chance of his doing so. ... Oh ! I bow down before 
 your husband believe me, I have no intention or desire 
 to belittle him. He has done a fine work finely and the 
 Royal Humane Society should recognise what he has 
 done . . . but, look here, Mrs. O'Hagan, it is no use 
 beating about the bush, I do not want you to sail on the 
 Griselda again. It gives me the jumps to consider it. 
 Wait till O'Hagan has a decent ship ... I will work all 
 I know for him 'pon honour I will although I know it 
 will not bring you nearer to me. I would give him 
 command of my yacht if I thought he would take it, and 
 you could sail in her till the world turns blue ; but, for 
 God's sake, don't go round in these miserable Tramps 
 even to be near your husband. It isn't fair . . . 'pon 
 honour it isn't . . . yes ? " 
 
 He held his breath because with a sudden wave of 
 impatience she interpolated his name. " Yes, I beg your 
 pardon ? " 
 
 Lucy faced him, her cheeks aflame, certain that she 
 must come to the bottom of this matter. " Why do you 
 pester me ? " she cried out. " Wliy why ? " 
 
 " Do I pester you ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Isn't it plain ? " she commented. " You choose a 
 moment when you know my husband is away ; you force 
 your society upon me here in New York where I came 
 to escape you. You put me in difficulty, try to spoil 
 my life, make me act meanly . . . why do you do it 
 why, why ? " 
 
 " Because I love you," said Peter Witterspoon instantly, 
 " and nothing else counts." 
 
 " Love ! " she mocked, angry instantly at this madness ; 
 but he interrupted, beat her down 
 
 *' You made me love you. I had no option in the 
 matter. You were kind to me in India ... I danced 
 with you at Simla. You remember ? " 
 
 " In India you were a gentleman," she said, still in
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 373 
 
 tones of mocking comment, wondering if he would find 
 the inference. 
 
 ' You asked me why I follow you," he pleaded, " and 
 when I tell you, you twit me with lack of breeding. I am 
 what I am. I love you because of yourself, if you like 
 that better. I wish to save you, if you will permit me to 
 force that view. I wish to help you . . . and, oh, my God ! 
 can't you see that I will wait for you, pray for you, see 
 you whenever my money will aid me ; with your consent 
 or without it, now or at any time in the future, while I 
 live ? " The passion of these words consumed him. and 
 for a moment he was quiet. 
 
 Lucy watched him with growing fear. 
 " What is convention to you or me ? " he questioned 
 again, his tongue loose amidst phrases and thoughts which 
 had pursued him even as he had pursued Lucy. " What 
 are shibboleths to any educated man or woman love 
 comes first, does it not ? Is it not the mastering flame ? 
 Do you pretend that the fulminations of bigots, aimed 
 solely at keeping their little perch in situ, trouble you 
 . . . are you afraid ? " 
 
 She laughed because she was afraid, because Peter 
 Witterspoon in this guise was incomprehensible, but 
 mainly because she was afraid, as any young thing is, of 
 passions it does not understand. 
 
 She knew that Peter Witterspoon was the controlling 
 force in that business which had first wrecked her husband 
 and now given him the opportunity for which he had 
 prayed and striven. She knew that Sharum would never 
 have done what he had without compulsion, and there was 
 gratitude in this young girl's he. rt in spite of the 
 laugh. 
 
 " Aren't we here to live our lives and gather as many 
 roses on the way as possible ? " he pressed upon her. 
 " For a man in love love is," he enunciated. " He is 
 the slave of a passion all too rare among men. A man who 
 will not follow where love beckons is unworthy the name of 
 man." 
 
 He moved up and down the room before her, pointing 
 the way he had come. 
 
 " I admit my insignificance, my dilettante attitude ; 
 but I do not admit your right to scorn me because of it. 
 Your husband is great and noble in your eyes ; if I were 
 in his shoes I should not be satisfied with that." He
 
 874 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 shrugged over this, scorn now in his tone, but instantly 
 suppressed. " I do not ask you to leave him. I merely 
 beg for your very kind consideration at such moments as 
 you can spare from him. I ask to be allowed to come 
 sometimes to see you. To meet your husband and your 
 friends. I ask to be one of your party. . . . For the rest, 
 I can wait, although, God knows, that is bitterness in 
 being. . . ." 
 
 He halted some paces distant, obviously distressed, 
 and Lucy said, with less sting than before 
 
 " I am sorry. You must believe me when I tell you 
 that . . . oh, well ! if I had guessed in India what " 
 
 He came swiftly to her feet at this, kneeling beside her. 
 
 " Yes yes yes ? " he cried out. 
 
 " What you tell me now," she continued steadily, " I 
 should have avoided you." 
 
 " Avoided me why ? " 
 
 She drew back. " Isn't it obvious ? Oh, be quiet ! " 
 she begged. " Be a man ! If these people hear you . . . 
 there are no doors here." 
 
 He rose from her side and stood hungrily looking down 
 at her. 
 
 "It is because I am a man that I hate and loathe your 
 marriage," he raged. " O'Hagan stole you from me. I 
 might have won if he had not been near. . . . Nonsense ! 
 I can't put it aside. Don't I tell you I love you ? Don't 
 you comprehend what that means to a man like me ? Can't 
 you guess ? It is heaven or it is hell for some of us and, 
 I think, I could have made it heaven for you. ..." 
 
 He crossed again, drawing near, and in an instant 
 Lucy moved to the exit and called out. 
 
 He caught her by the arms too late and leaned down, 
 whispering 
 
 " When the man comes, order a glass of lemonade, iced 
 water anything." 
 
 " And if I refuse ? " she returned, flinching. 
 
 " I shall hold you in my arms and kiss you. . . ." 
 
 She struggled to free herself, crying out " Coward ! 
 Coward ! " 
 
 " Promise he is coming," he insisted, his lips very 
 near. 
 
 With a sudden slackening of endurance she bowed, 
 crossed to a chair, and sat down, white and scared. Peter 
 Witterspoon found a chair which rocked. He swayed
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 
 
 restfully to and fro, his breath giving evidence of the stvc 
 he endured. 
 
 A negro servant entered, received his order, passed out, 
 and returned carrying a tray. With the intuition of one 
 whose province it is to wait on others he read the signs, 
 set the glass before Peter Witterspoon and withdrew, 
 pocketing a coin. 
 
 " That," said Lucy, with frigid contempt, " was cowardly 
 you are a cur, you understand ? " 
 
 " Dear lady," he smiled in spite of a dawning fear, 
 " even your whip is worth striving for." 
 
 He stood up, searching her face. He recognised that 
 with some women this would have been an interlude ; 
 but with Lucy O'Hagan it was the end. 
 
 ' You promised to stay behind when you were in 
 London," he complained, catching at straws, " but you 
 did not keep your word." 
 
 " I promised, as you term it," she answered, her eyes 
 suffused, " because I could not escape in any other way. 
 If I could have trusted you I might have stayed . . . 
 but how was that possible when you showed me every 
 minute you only thought of yourself ? " 
 
 Her eyes filled, and she ended on a rush of trouble 
 " Can't you understand that I love my husband ? 
 Isn't that sufficient explanation . . of of nvy being 
 here ? " 
 
 Her anguish touched him as perhaps no other mood 
 could. He discovered he had been to blame. It dawned 
 upon him that he had behaved like a cad, like a cur, as 
 she had said. That hurt him. He could not explain his 
 action. A child could have shamed him here. A 
 philosopher could have put him in touch with the truth. 
 But Peter Witterspoon, fumbling with the new jargon 
 of irresponsibility, said " it had come over him." Obvious 
 even to the sterility who mistakes passion for love. It 
 was contemptible contemptible. 
 
 He explained in a voice vibrating very much as he 
 desired 
 
 " I wanted to do you a service. I wanted to persuade 
 you to leave the Griselda, because she is not sale. You 
 understand ? not safe. But I spoil everything I touch 
 except gold. That accumulates. I have too much gold ; 
 but you who have so little will not let me help. Your 
 suspicion maddened me." He had it now ; tightly he
 
 376 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 gripped it. " Maddened me in spite of myself. And now 
 you are angry with me. ..." 
 
 He looked for some negation here, but Lucy remained 
 silent, bowed over the sofa end. 
 
 He took up his hat and stick. " Won't you forgive me ? " 
 he pleaded. 
 
 Her shoulders moved. She strove for control and said 
 " How can I ? How can I ? Let me think," her mind 
 busy on the advice he had given. 
 
 He still lingered, watching her, shaken by the know- 
 ledge that this was the end. He put it to the test, his 
 voice pitched low 
 
 " May I come again . . . may I call ? " 
 
 " No no ! Go away . . . please go away." 
 
 ' ' I will write, ' ' he announced. ' ' I must get your forgive- 
 ness. I will not trouble you again, unless you call me." 
 
 With that he left her. He became quite sure that he had 
 made a very dignified exit. 
 
 How much to tell Den, how little to tell him, very soon 
 became the question over which Lucy puzzled. 
 
 She was so young, so inexperienced, so alone. She 
 loved her husband, and was pathetically certain of his 
 love ; but she had no woman friend. She remembered 
 Den's face that night when last Peter Witterspoon had 
 come between them. She dreaded that look. The appal- 
 ling indifference it showed, even in the face of death, to 
 her presence, astonished and bewildered her. She could 
 not fathom the meaning of his silence as he kneeled over 
 their dead child. It was not anger. It would be absurd 
 to describe it as insensibility. It was a stiffening, a 
 momentary holding back from all communion with one 
 who, for some reason, he seemed to consider unworthy. 
 
 Lucy could not read Peter Witterspoon with the know- 
 ledge of a man ; she could not class him as one she might 
 not trust, whom she must keep always at a distance. 
 And chance had so ordered it that he, in a sense, held her 
 in his power. There was nothing occult about this, no 
 indiscretion or stupidity of youth, but just the fact that 
 Peter Witterspoon was the controlling force, as she under- 
 stood it, in the company which owned Griselda. That is to 
 say, he had sufficient influence to insist, in answer to her 
 prayer, on some sort of tardy justice being shown to one 
 who had been harshly treated.
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 377 
 
 The man's immense wealth oppressed her. She imagined 
 him juggling with life and death ; pursuing her until 
 Den grew restive and turned. She dreaded that momcnl , 
 which might so easily come. It drugged her faculties and 
 made her, as a little while ago she would have said, " see 
 snakes where only jungle grass existed." She decided to 
 tell Den everything, after an hour's thought. She crossed 
 to Battery Park and revelled in the glorious outlook, the 
 Hudson blushing, the ships all purple above, all hre to 
 seaward ; she returned to meet him at the restaurant at 
 which they were to dine, resolute not to burden him more, 
 to tell him what was essential. Then, after a jovial 
 greeting, she noticed a shade on Den's face which called 
 for comment. 
 
 She leaned forward over their table and said in that 
 confidential fashion he loved " No bothers, oh dearest ? " 
 
 " Only Peter Witterspoon has come over," he said 
 evenly. " He was on the ship yesterday chattering as 
 usual, so I am told." 
 
 " I know," she choked. " I was going to tell you. 
 He has been up." 
 
 " To see you ? Oh, well what does he want ? " 
 
 " He wants you to give up the ship and he wants me 
 not to go home in her. ' 
 
 " Hum ! Has he any proposal to make as to what I am 
 to do if I leave the ship ? he asked in sarcastic com- 
 ment. 
 
 " He says he will find you a ship which is worthy of 
 you. He calls the Griselda a tramp or he woulo^ give 
 you command of his yacht and let me sail with you." 
 
 O'Hagan looked up, thoughtful, quiet, as was his fashion. 
 " We couldn't do that, could we, Mem-sahib ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then if he comes again, tell him to mind his own busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " He will not come again, my husband," she said, serene 
 in her confidence to read. Then swiftly leaning near, she 
 touched his hands. " Is the ship safe ? " she asked, her 
 face alight, the index of her love. 
 
 " Safe ? Oh, yes why ? " 
 
 " I heard something. ..." 
 
 " From Witterspoon ? " he frowned. 
 
 " No in dock. Before we sailed, you know." 
 
 " What was it ? "
 
 378 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Something about deckloads, oh dearest." 
 
 He replied a shade more thoughtfully " I understand 
 there will be none this trip . . . but, in any case, I 
 believe she will do our turn. She is old, I admit, but there 
 are lots worse at sea. Pray God we may never have to 
 sample them." 
 
 And that ended Lucy's attempt to explain the inex- 
 plicable, to get Denis' confidence in this matter which 
 slowly assumed proportions which threatened her peace 
 and his. Den hated the name or sight of Peter Witter- 
 spoon ; but Lucy could not suppose he was jealous. 
 
 He was not. He was too sane for jealousy. He could 
 not look in eyes which lighted at his approach and find 
 room for doubt. He knew that Peter Witterspoon had 
 given him his ship. He knew that Lucy found the motive 
 power which drove him and he remembered from deep 
 in the past, that David, when he had looked upon Bath- 
 sheba, made Uriah the bearer of a letter ordering Joab 
 to place him in the thick of the fight, and to retire so th ;t 
 the enemy might slay him. 
 
 But here Denis O'Hagan permitted imagination to sway 
 him. He saw Peter Witterspoon in the light of a modern 
 David, searching out means for the removal of one who 
 stood between him and happiness. He saw Lucy as one 
 but dimly conscious of a pursuit which she did nothing 
 to foster. He saw her in her beautiful purity and faith 
 still turning to the man who had been unable to pro- 
 vide her with means to save her child. He saw himself 
 cloyed by difficulty, unable even now to render to a wife 
 the love and gentleness which were her due. He knew that 
 these things beat a man down, make him boorish, forget- 
 ful, impatient ; therefore, he refused to smudge Lucy's 
 soul by argument, or to give a handle to suspicion by 
 vengeance. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon, for good or for ill, had come once 
 more into their lives, and they had to face his presence. 
 What was, was. What would be, would be. No fighting 
 could alter that, no stupid pitting of muscle against muscle, 
 force against force. If wit could win, he would win ; if not, 
 he would be snuffed out. It is written and we are the 
 children of Him who wrote. 
 
 Denis O'Hagan had all the Celtic vice of introspection. 
 He had all the Celtic headiness of a victory won in dreams. 
 And against him was set Peter Witterspoon.
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 379 
 
 Dull, too, this business man, in the sense of soul know- 
 ledge ; dull, and likely to remain unkindled by his 
 trappings of millions. If Peter Witterspoon moved out 
 of his groove the world groaned somewhere. If, because 
 of a perceived injustice, he withdrew investments, some- 
 where in dim tenements tortured hinds cried to the God 
 who ordered life. If, in view of a whim or scruple or 
 risk, he gave orders to his brokers to move capital, the 
 small and the great, the worker and the man of leisure 
 all were touched, perhaps by death, perhaps by want. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon, dull or riot, could read these things 
 truly ; but he was unable to read in Lucy's glance a soul in 
 arms. He only saw eyes that dazzled him. He could not 
 gauge the fear she had lest some clash should spoil Den's 
 chance now that he had won fame. He could not know 
 that she lived for the recognition of that wonderful act of 
 Den's, because, in Peter Witterspoon's eyes, no wonderful 
 act appeared. He deprecated openly the stir which had 
 been made, and Sharum presently wrote at some length to 
 explain that if all ships were compelled to carry wireless 
 installations, then good-bye to the present boom. 
 
 Peter Witterspoon suffered from mental indigestion. 
 He was weary of ships and would gladly be quit of them. 
 He moved in the limelight of New York's home life as 
 one of the world's great ones. If the ability to write 
 fat cheques constitutes greatness, then was he great ; but 
 at this moment of pained abstention Peter Witterspoon 
 more nearly approached the Temple gates than at any 
 other period. 
 
 He wrote to Lucy begging her to give him peace by 
 sailing in the Cunarder, and received an answer from 
 O'Hagan which troubled him more. He replied by 
 stating that he had been in communication with Sharum, 
 who cabled that Mrs. O'Hagan might accompany her 
 husband if she desired to do so. Then he washed his 
 hands and took ship for the West Indies. 
 
 So the tides moved for these three out there in the keen 
 airiness of the New World. Ebb and flow. The ordered 
 sequence of mutable things. 
 
 Now the Griselda, which was to carry these two to the 
 Motherland, slowly got herself unladen, cleaned, and 
 commenced methodically to take in those cases and casks 
 which are known as cargo, without which the English
 
 380 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 nation, of all others, would go hungry to bed. How deep 
 she would be when all was shipped remained uncertain. 
 Whether a deckload would be added to increase her 
 jauntiness, one could not discern. There came a whisper 
 about " Logs and tallow which would have to go on 
 deck," but the notion fizzled. O'Hagan gave no sign. 
 
 The papers, too, had quite forgotten in the pressure of 
 events that the Griselda at any time had occupied 
 attention. She seemed a very ordinary specimen of 
 British Trampdom, or Linerdom, whichever it happened 
 to be ; nothing in any sense heroic or masterful. Some- 
 times her nose was in the air, sometimes her tail. She 
 was painted in sections. She had a big list to port to-day, 
 a list to starboard to-morrow. There was no sort of 
 certainty which end of her would be prominent the day 
 after to-morrow. She looked sometimes like a scow, 
 and sometimes gave the idea of razor-like proportions 
 hidden by the water and the scum and the floating filth 
 of a dock. 
 
 She had received, as far as New York was concerned, 
 her baptismal fire ; and somebody would see that she 
 was duly recognised in the world's blue books. In the 
 phrase of the country which received her fees, she was 
 already a back number. It is possible she resented this, 
 considered it an indignity. It may have explained her 
 ungainly attitudes, but it did not explain why, when 
 these eccentricities had been acknowledged, her name 
 again filled space in the papers, or why Treegan and young 
 Evans stood damning in the bridge. 
 
 " Look at this ! " said Treegan. 
 
 He twisted the paper and Evans stared obliquely down 
 its columns. He read out the staring headlines : 
 
 " THE GRISELDA AGAIN. 
 
 Withdrawal of Promised Orders. 
 Substitution of 
 
 Others. 
 Tin for Gold. 
 
 Action of British Government. 
 
 Captain O'Hagan's 
 
 Position. 
 
 His Views. 
 
 Ours."
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 381 
 
 ^ Treegan read this out with characteristic emphasis. 
 Evans commented. 
 
 "Seems to me," said the chief, "someone's bein' 
 diddled." 
 
 " I have it in writing," Evans announced, " and I'll 
 hold 'em to it." 
 
 " Hold ? Who ? " 
 ' The Greek Minister." 
 
 14 You canna," said Treegan with decision. "He's 
 just a wee understrapper body like the rest of us, an' has 
 tae do as he's telled." 
 
 " I'm thinking," said Evans after further investigation, 
 " that the chaps who handled cash come best out of this 
 swim." 
 
 " Recht ! " Treegan made answer. " When it's a case 
 o' medals vairsus solatium for the British sailor, grab 
 hold o' solatium. There's a taste tae solatium ; the 
 ither," he shrugged out, " is, weel it's maybe here an' 
 it's maybe there. I'm no enamoured o' buttons when 
 they're gee'n tae save folks brass." 
 
 That may be taken as the considered opinion of the 
 two officers ; but not of their captain. Their case was 
 simple, his complex. The escutcheons of Treegan and 
 Evans had received new lustre ; O'Hagan's retained its 
 smudge. No heartening message had come from England, 
 no word of commendation from those who had judged 
 him. For O'Hagan the news produced heartache. It 
 seemed almost as though Authority, in spite of Captain 
 Worsdale, pursued him of set purpose. He questioned 
 whether Witterspoon was at the back of it ; but made no 
 allusion to his suspicions. Yet the thing stood over him 
 as a set-back. 
 
 Lucy had no love for newspapers, and now that Den's 
 name no longer appeared she neglected them entirely. 
 In consequence she was ignorant of the present comment. 
 
 She had discovered that Den was oppressed and less 
 ready to smile. She caught a strained look in his eyes 
 on occasion, and she recognised the almost pathetic 
 tenderness he showed her. It was as it had been during 
 the days of his trial at Jake Hall, and again during the 
 long probation at Glasgow. She wondered. Her nights 
 became restless. 
 
 They moved about this new city which neither knew, 
 staring at the evidences of wealth and prosperity, but the
 
 382 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 spot they loved best of all was Battery Park with the 
 marvellous bay, Governor's Island, the Statue of Liberty 
 and wonderful procession of ships coming and going 
 vanishing up the Hudson, up East River and sinking in 
 the seaward haze. Together they ascended to the top- 
 most storey of the Singer Building and gazed upon New 
 York, came down to the street and stared up. They 
 stood on Brooklyn Bridge and crossed searching out new 
 points of view, and they saw it all with the avidity of 
 children who presently must say farewell. The flashed 
 advertisements over Broadway entranced them it was 
 a show, a show, and they were seeing it all for the first 
 time, with the idea looming in their minds that it also 
 would be the last. 
 
 So they came hand in hand to their final week and 
 stood for a memorable hour watching from their favourite 
 Battery Park the sunset dying behind New Jersey 
 Heights. The lights were already twinkling on river and 
 on shore ; the afterglow had passed and the mammoth 
 buildings, stealing ships and shadowed walks were tinged 
 with crimson. Afar off was the roar of a City's railways, 
 the clang of bells mellowed by distance. Occasionally a 
 hooter sounded, but the moment was one of peace a 
 peace which seemed fantastic, which presently would be 
 dispelled by the brooding Force towering over all in the 
 flaming west. 
 
 Denis linked Lucy's arm and drew her close. " It looks 
 wicked," he said softly, " wicked and we must go." 
 
 " Back to the homeland, dearest," she answered, her 
 cheek on his shoulder, " back to claim your Star." 
 
 " Back to the fight," he swiftly told her. " Back to 
 make them eat their words if not their acts. There is no 
 star for sailors, no honour but the thing any man may win 
 who walks into a pond to save a drowning cat. Let it 
 lie. It is not worth the value of the suit I swam in." 
 
 " But but, oh dearest, there is the Star of Greece. 
 You won it ! I saw you win it. . . ." 
 
 " Quite true yet even that, it appears, we may not 
 receive." 
 
 Something in his manner made Lucy shiver. She clung 
 tightly to his arm, her eyes on his in the fading light. 
 
 " But the Greek Minister said at the banquet 
 
 she began ; then halted, and added brokenly, " What has 
 happened now, oh my darling ? Tell me.' v
 
 THE SILENCE OF ENGLAND 383 
 
 He faced her there within sound of the sea, only a short 
 distance from the scene of his triumphant entry into New 
 York, and said, more calmly than before 
 
 " The King of Greece has been talked to by our Board 
 of Trade and Foreign Office. These folk look upon 
 Orders as things to be worn by permanent officials and 
 Under-Secretaries of State, so that they may be decked 
 and envied when they march through London crowds to 
 a levee. If sailor men wore them they would be valueless. 
 Besides, owners object to skippers with the rank of a 
 baronet. Sharum or Witterspoon somebody has ob- 
 jected and the Board of Trade, which is the humble and 
 very obedient servant of all who have a union to back them, 
 has made representations. Result ? Oh, the usual thing, 
 dear child. I go down. Young Evans goes down. In 
 deference to our Government's wish, the Greek Govern- 
 ment propose to bestow ' third class ' rank instead of 
 ' first.' Tinfoil instead of gold . . . and, as far as I am 
 concerned, it may keep it eat it put it where a monkey 
 puts the nuts." 
 
 Lucy clung to him in silence. Throbbing though, her 
 heart bowed before this supreme littleness. She seemed 
 stunned. Perhaps the bitterness he betrayed added to 
 her sense of fear. It appeared, indeed, that England 
 delighted in tricking the men who feed her as well as those 
 who fight her battles. 
 
 " You shouldn't have married a sailor, Kiddy," he said, 
 as she waited, searching for light. " A sailor can't climb. 
 He is the wrong type to begin with. He has Wanderlust 
 in his blood. He lives for the open spaces, for the wilds, 
 and the acquisition of dollars is is very difficult for him 
 . . . sorry I'm a sailor, oh dearest. It handicaps you." 
 
 She took his mood instantly, and looked up with smiling 
 eyes, very near the sad, stern face he showed her. 
 
 " It is I who handicap you," she faltered. 
 
 " You little witch ? " 
 
 " Me," she decided, her hands firm on his arm. 
 
 " Then I love my handicap," he laughed. ' May the 
 good God find me no worse ! 
 
 And so they passed throbbing into the night which had 
 closed upon them.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MINATORY 
 
 THE Griseldas winches clattered. Shouts from the 
 throats of frowsy Italians, working slave-like in the home 
 of freedom, added to the jangle. Strange orders, stranger 
 epithets, made havoc of America's claim to assimilate all 
 nations. Grouped in the glare of clustered lights men 
 shouted and jeered in Italian and Spanish forward of 
 the bridge, and wrestled with casks and Teutonic gutturals 
 abaft it. 
 
 New York stevedores know their business. There is 
 little mixing of Latin, Teuton or Slav in the gangs which 
 handle cargo. They avoid a confusion of tongues lest 
 the seal of the Tower should be added to their difficulties. 
 
 The Griselda sweated steam at every pore. She had 
 the appearance of a vast hive in the hands of a bee- 
 master preparing to collect honey. The steam he used to 
 still the bees' anger ascended in jerks and jets, and hung 
 over the lights in wreathing columns. And through it 
 came the cries of the bees, the hum, the buzz, the scream 
 and clash of the honey jars. 
 
 An orgy of collection, storage, and trundling made way 
 there in the steam. The bee-master swore. The bees 
 who, it appears, refused to be assimilated or asphyxiated, 
 swore too ; the jargon they created rose through the steam 
 and, carried by the breeze, met the jargon of other workers 
 on other hives, and passed, groaning, to the heavens. 
 And the stars which light America's night looked down 
 twinkling upon the world of men as who should say 
 " What a fuss they make these children ! what a mad- 
 ness is their vaunted civilisation ! Send rain ! Send 
 rain to cool them ! " 
 
 The rain came in generous stream ; but it only added 
 to the din, to the risks, to the shouts and oaths in Italian, 
 Spanish, German, until a sling slipped. Then, in sudden 
 frenzy of silent work, men gathered together two still 
 Lithuanians and carted them on wheels into the night.
 
 MINATORY 385 
 
 The Griseldd's scuppers spouted rain, gurgling approval. 
 " Hither we come, 
 
 Throbbing we come, 
 Out of the slums where they sing 
 Death to the Rule of a King. 
 
 Over the sea, 
 
 To the Land of the Free, 
 Prepared to be Scholars, 
 To earn you good Dollars, 
 
 We nave come ! 
 Oh God ! We have come." 
 
 The Griselda was rushed that is all. It became neces- 
 sary, at the last moment, lest freight should be stolen by 
 some German or French or Italian barbarian competitor, 
 to add to Griselda' s burden a deckload of casks and things 
 which might not legally be placed in her hold. O'Hagan 
 saw the agents. He might with equal benefit have seen 
 the Statue of Liberty, or said a litany to the boss of Cen- 
 tral Pacific Railroad. For this is a matter which is out- 
 side the jurisdiction of British shipmasters. It is arranged 
 in cabinets and offices far from the high seas or the docks. 
 It is part of the Law of Exchange, which is the natural 
 outcome of all development. It is part of the process 
 which keeps fed the heart of that Great Empire which 
 beats so calmly amidst the floundering ships that paddle 
 and screw and tack to keep it warm ships which clothe 
 it, aid in its defence, draw close the scattered clansmen 
 and get for their guerdon the lectures and sneers of an 
 amazing neglect. 
 
 O'Hagan was a Bottle-filler ; Treegan, Evans and the 
 crew of the Griselda, down to the tapered indignity and tail 
 of things known as " the boy," were Bottle-fillers. They 
 were there to fill the nations crocks and pans, even as the 
 Lithuanians, Slavs, Italian and Spanish emigrants are, in 
 New York, Chicago, and all other giant cities of civilised 
 hustle, to fill the crocks and pans of America. How these 
 things are filled is of small importance. Fill them. If 
 you " peg out " in the process there are others, hungry, 
 aching to step into your shoes. If you become mad in the 
 process, do we not supply, out of our great-hearted benevo- 
 lence, asylums where you may be caged lest you do your- 
 self an injury ? If you become broken on the wheel, 
 have we not prepared places where you shall be made whole 
 do we not dower and speechify over the question of 
 our provision so that you may be mended, patched* 
 
 B.F. c c
 
 886 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 prepared to take again your place in the ranks, on crutches 
 or in a go-cart ? 
 
 Out of the dark we come. Through the dark we march 
 blindfold to accomplish destiny. Into the dark we 
 return. 
 
 Lucy O'Hagan was one of the wanderers here. Denis 
 O'Hagan, Treegan, Evans all were wanderers, all in the 
 hands of an unavoidable Fate, shackled, bound, not like 
 Ixion for a vile attempt on Hera, but to a flaming wheel 
 known as the Law of Supply and Demand. To the 
 jugglery and injustice and unseen misery of Competition. 
 Lucy O'Hagan on that night of storm and breaking lay 
 for the last time where she could see the lights of Freedom 
 which gleam over New York, the sky signs which proclaim 
 in arresting flashes the beneficence and cheap gaudery of 
 hustler tradesmen. She lay awake because Den was 
 absent. She pretended the lights gave her solace because 
 they gave her company. 
 
 In that fashion it is quite easy for a time to score off self. 
 But the girl, like her husband, was tired of the even 
 acknowledgment of failure, the dull and exasperating 
 crunch of the thing they fought. And now, it appeared, 
 poor, tired old Griselda must carry as a deckload weight 
 which would make her crank. 
 
 Treegan the authority here for O'Hagan had tested 
 her only in fine weather. Crank ? " Ou aye, more than 
 ae trifle, I'm thinkin', but a dorlach to the stack o' last 
 voyage. She wull do ... she wull do." 
 
 There was all the " differ," he explained to young Evans, 
 between " ninety tons o' top weight and one hunner an' 
 seventy-five." " Given ordinair weather she wull carry 
 it grand . . . wi un-ordinair weather she might clear her 
 decks. Ou aye ! an' us." 
 
 This by degrees came to Lucy's ears. In jibs and jabs, 
 as it were, of talk the whole press and circumstance was 
 put before the girl who had decided to follow the fortunes 
 of a man who was a Bottle-filler. She learned that the 
 steward had disappeared because of it, that the bo'sun 
 and two of the hands were missing for the same reason, 
 and that Treegan minimised the hatred he had for deck- 
 loads because he was married and could not run. 
 
 But O'Hagan said nothing after that one call on his 
 agents He might resign. He might indeed do any of 
 the fool actions open to persons entangled in the cogs of
 
 MINATORY 387 
 
 Supply and Demand. He might apply for a cage in one 
 of the asylums put up by Philanthropy and get it, by 
 simulating madness. Otherwise he must keep his teeth 
 shut, get out his sextant, determine his compass errors, 
 and start on his way for the Homeland. 
 
 These were some of the lessons Lucy had learned during 
 her coverture. She had seen the Trial at Jake Hall, and 
 had suffered, under its sentence, even to the loss of her 
 child and her home ; yet they made no great impression 
 on her as she lay considering the companionship of the 
 lights of New York. They kept her awake that is all. 
 But then Den was awake too, watching at the docks the 
 final straws as they were placed on Griselda's back ; 
 wondering, as Lucy wondered, why in the world she did 
 not kick them off Here. 
 
 Ten o'clock on a glum day with the wind making talk 
 in the squat masts of adjacent " liners " ; the sea blown 
 white on the Jersey shore, spitting, no doubt, on Sandy 
 Hook ; and Lucy coming on board boldly by day clad in 
 the garb of her sex. 
 
 The ulster which had taken Tom Brown from the 
 steward's scrutiny still cloaked her ; she wore the same 
 cap-like hat, the same small boots and gaiters ; but the 
 dark eyes glanced to-day through a veil which in some 
 way seemed part of the grey fox fur which nestled round 
 her neck. 
 
 Treegan would know, young Evans would know ; but 
 they were white men, accustomed to the sea, and full of 
 a seaman's icverence for women. O'Hagan introduced 
 his officers with a word which made them Lucy's slaves 
 and his. No difficulty to-day in reaching the Griselda, 
 no tribulation or uncertainty on the score of Peter Witter- 
 spoon ; all misadventure swept away now that she stood 
 on the bridge, listened to the song of the wind, and the 
 haunting dread of pursuit was ended. 
 
 " Free ! " she turned to O'Hagan as they crept past 
 Battery Park. " Good-bye, New York ! Good-bye, sky- 
 scrapers, sky-signs, most wonderful Hudson, good-bye ! 
 Free ! oh dearest, to be with you ! " 
 
 O'Hagan turned to face her and saw lips very firm, 
 eyes brilliant in a face suffused but at peace. 
 
 " Free ? " He smiled back his hand a moment on her 
 arm. " Aye just that 1 " 
 
 CC2
 
 388 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 They moved down the bay in face of a breeze which 
 whipped small wavelets into white turbulence, listening 
 to the scream it made over the land. They crept down 
 the Narrows, bowed to their first swell off Coney Island 
 then on through channels, skirting buoys, till Sandy 
 Hook lay astern and the purple waters of North Atlantic 
 climbed in hills to obstruct their passage. 
 
 Half way to Nantucket night drew the curtain upon 
 them with the solemnity of a Moslem spreading his carpet 
 for prayer. It came sedately upon clouded heavens, 
 peeped a while through windows which blazed upon the 
 track Griselda made ; lighted her, made her ruddy 
 amidst the hills she traversed and went out. 
 
 From the man perched on the forward bridge came the 
 cry of those who watch as one struck the bell " Light's 
 bright and all's well ! " 
 
 Griselda acknowledged it by a plunge which left the deck 
 white, gurgling, like water in a tank which has stirred. 
 
 The sound of slopping seas accompanied her in her 
 march towards the dawn. 
 
 So, for days and nights the Griselda faced those slogging 
 rollers with the patience of all driven things. She 
 plunged, reared, tossed back the brine and climbed again. 
 A gale sang in her ears ; but it lacked sting, lacked force. 
 There was no venom in the squalls, none of the couched 
 fury of intent. It blew from the north where already 
 the land was white and snow-girt. Its breath was cold 
 cold as the comfort of those who moved in dull sequence 
 from the wheel to the look-out and from look-out to 
 forecastle. 
 
 A chill cave this rest-house, feeding-house of Griselda s 
 crew ; triangular, built of steel and grimed with the 
 scourings of dead and gone sailor-men. It lay in the eyes 
 of the ship, but eyes it had none. Blinkers screwed hard 
 upon round portlets admitted water, but obstinately kept 
 out light. Just a grim cave for Jack to shelter in, seek 
 sleep in, consume that giant bill of fare which Parliament 
 has ordained that he shall eat. A place where he may 
 mend his torn " duds," wash his shirt, dry his oilskins, 
 smoke his pipe and launch blood-stained talk at the men 
 who are his watch-mates.
 
 MINATORY 389 
 
 A wet, dim, unventilated home for the molluscs and 
 limpets who for four hours had clung to the steel shell 
 that carried them London ward. A cave-like space with 
 slimy floor a floor that was scrubbed with a scraper, 
 which never was dry which usually held a few inches of 
 water skippering to and fro to keep the men hard, and 
 now held six. 
 
 A bogey stood in the cave puffing smoke, even as the 
 molluscs and limpets who lounged in bunks above it ; 
 spitting as they spat each time a sea climbed and touched 
 its funnel ; flinging hot ashes upon the sodden deck in 
 simple spleen perhaps the lord who built the thing, 
 or the lord who sold it, may know whether this be 
 possible. 
 
 The limpets swore it was spleen. The molluscs were 
 of opinion it was stupidity ; but the stove itself said 
 plainly it was tired of alternate heat and cold tired of 
 the seas which trickled down and reached it. That is 
 why it spat and sizzled. That is why the men who 
 lounged in bunks struggling with sleep, damned the stove 
 and sometimes let it lie fallow. 
 
 Each time the Griselda slammed at a roller the hiss of 
 a thousand squirts accompanied the boom which sounded 
 in the cavern ; each time her stern sank Niagara thundered 
 overhead. From fo'c'sle-head to well-deck from every 
 scoop and gully, dipping there in the murk above the 
 cavern. In some ships the forecastle is called the pit, 
 in others the cavern, in others Hell. All point to the same 
 dismal end. But the limpets and molluscs who had 
 christened Griselda s sheltering thatch scarcely knew the 
 point of their jest. 
 
 Griselda climbing rollers which had no driving force 
 behind them was a wet and stupid specimen of the things 
 which are hammered out in scores to carry the shoddy 
 supplies which England demands and cannot grow. 
 Without a deckload she was a dabbler, wet, slow, the 
 sport of a gale should it find her ; but with a deckload, 
 gale or no gale, she was wicked. Her engines could make 
 her quake yet they could not make her spin. She was 
 just a drudge, a beast of burden run at an economic 
 speed, upon which the sea could leap and strive to smash 
 her, sectionally. 
 
 Once or twice in her life the seas had nearly won ; but 
 that was before the carriage of deckloads in winter came
 
 390 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 into favour with the lords who rule, and she had staggered 
 through. 
 
 It is fine to fight the sea, to pit intelligence against 
 force and win through a flurry of snow or hail or cyclone, 
 with a ship which is competent to fight ; but there is no 
 fight in the staid cargo boxes which crawl as the Griselda 
 crawled from dawn to dark and from dark to dawn at 
 seven or eight knots an hour. If they meet a gale which 
 is a gale they founder or turn turtle. 
 
 Last voyage, as Treegan bore witness, because of a glut 
 of cargo they gave her a deckload which made her dizzy. 
 " One hundred and seventy-five tons o' top- weight . . . 
 ou aye ! more than a mouthful . . . an' we managed to 
 scrape inta Queenstoon a place standin' ready for us 
 by the maircy o' God . . . an' there the knackers had a 
 look at us an' said theengs, Cap'n O'Hagan, I wadna 
 care to repeat." 
 
 Sharum would have rid himself of Griselda on that 
 happening; but the boom ran high, tonnage was scarce, 
 and he was under contract to appear yet again with a 
 " bottom " of certain displacement, and the Griselda 
 sailed for New York with Denis O'Hagan as master. A 
 man, you will understand, who would have been adjudged 
 mad to refuse so fine an opportunity. 
 
 So this was Griselda's last caper under the red ensign ; 
 and they had given her every incentive to make it her 
 last for all time. Willy-nilly when she reached home 
 she would go to the knackers. Perhaps Norway or Japan 
 or Italy all growing wary of late would look kindly on 
 her and buy her. Perhaps some Jew of the East might 
 make a bid for her, change her name and keep her as a 
 trap to drown pilgrims on their way to win the green 
 turban. Some day when the gods were angry she would 
 go. But the Red Ensign would fly over her no longer ; 
 the house-flag under which Sharum had grown fat and the 
 crews of Griselda thin would be dowsed at last. Time, 
 the conqueror, had won. She had helped Sharum to 
 climb. He stood on a pinnacle very plainly assailable. 
 Peter Witterspoon, sorrowing in New York, or gone to 
 drown sorrow in the West Indies, especially desired to 
 keep his name out of tricksy adventure. Therefore word 
 had gone round that Griselda would be sold. No hint of 
 her capacity for mischief, her pendulum-like swing, her 
 time-worn boilers. Let those learn who bought. Other-
 
 MINATORY 391 
 
 wise how may the round world wag and geegaws be 
 found to bring light into the eyes of those who love us ? 
 
 The wind soughed in Griselda's iron shrouds up there in 
 the dark. Her short masts cut unerringly the segment 
 of a circle against heavens which were glum, glum as the 
 sea which lay under them. A door banged, iron upon 
 iron, somewhere in that pair of alleyways beneath the 
 bridge which gathered the seas and sent them aft like a 
 mill-race. Young Evans coming from his room to take 
 his watch up there upon the bridge stepped through it. 
 
 The chief met him at the engine-room exit. 
 
 "What's come tae the weather?" he asked, grimly 
 critical of the booing outlook. 
 
 " Been through your condensers and got the salt 
 wrung out of it," said Evans. 
 
 " It's wet to saturation," the chief admitted, " but 
 there's nae blacklead in my 'condensers,' as ye ca' 'em. 
 What's the glass doin' ? " 
 
 " Low 28-85, and going lower." 
 
 " I'm gaein' ta bed," said the engineer. " I'm verra 
 tired o' twilight. If ye come across the sun, or ae moon 
 ... or even at a pinch ae star that shines oot ... let 
 me know. I'll get up an' look at it." 
 
 He clanged his door. Evans moved through the swirl 
 and reached the bridge, where the same note met 
 him. 
 
 " Somethin's brewin'," said Treegan, as they came 
 together. " The old man says we're in for dirt. That's 
 true we are. Dirt spelled big an' large, an' dinna you 
 forget it. I'm gaein' ta bed we'll be roused out before 
 long. The course is N. 73 E. . . . she's doin' grand 
 aboot seven knots. An' ye'll ca' the old man if ony 
 change comes. He's lying doon in chart-room. . . ." 
 
 Dirt was about. True, it was in being if smudged 
 horizon, glum clouds which seemed to touch the mast- 
 heads, and the slop and thump of seas undriven yet 
 leaping on board be the indices. Neither O'Hagan nor 
 his officers had any doubt on this head ; but the man 
 who can prophesy whether the still thing we term Force 
 will develop here or there on the chart he examines, or in 
 some other sphere, is unborn. 
 
 Now at ten o'clock Evans went to the navigator's room 
 and reported.
 
 392 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " It looks bad, sir. The glass has steadied on 28-75, 
 It pumps a bit." 
 
 Pumps. That is one of the signs that the thing which 
 was brewing is brewed, that all Bottle-fillers should be 
 prepared. 
 
 O'Hagan read the barometer and stood watching the 
 mercury. Young Evans had spoken by the book. It 
 pumped. The gyrations made by the instrument pointed 
 to their lurching progress. Griselda had a curious knack 
 of rolling. It was time O'Hagan went on deck. He 
 switched off the light and passed out. 
 
 Glum. Glum. A world of passionless torpor ; clouds 
 which enveloped them as in a case ; seas rolling in the 
 form of swell from the north steep, long, but, as yet, 
 unlashed. 
 
 Griselda wallowed solemnly in the valleys formed by the 
 hills. Sometimes the hills tipped her, sometimes rolled 
 on board, sometimes struck her and fell back with a 
 splash that suggested exasperation. 
 
 And the black night couched over all, throwing out 
 warnings which were minatory, listening to the twitterings 
 of those who were Bottle-fillers. 
 
 " Black as the Earl of Hell's riding-boots ! " said the 
 man who steered. " It's a knock-out." 
 
 " Black as my bunk in the fo'c'sle," said a grim person, 
 who swore to his apprentice companion. " W'en we get 
 'ome out o' this, sell yer bloomin' soul to get shut of the 
 sea."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SP LEND IDS MEND AX 
 
 AFTER O'Hagan had been on the bridge an hour he 
 had learned just how hardly they were to be tried. lie 
 recognised, too, that the experience was due. Had they 
 not found fine weather all the days of their outward 
 journey ? Had it not been fine in New York ? Could he, 
 as a sailor, expect to sail kid-gloved about the world, 
 escaping gales for ever ? Since that passage in the 
 Sphinx he had scarcely come in touch with a gale worthy 
 the name but now they would see one. 
 
 That took him away on a flight which told him he had 
 promised to call Lucy to his side if necessity arose. He 
 questioned whether the moment had quite come, and 
 decided at once that presently, if he knew anything of sea 
 and sea life, he would be unable to leave the bridge. 
 
 He crossed and said to Evans, who marched to and fro 
 near the compass 
 
 " I am going aft to call Mrs. O'Hagan. Keep a look 
 out until I get back." 
 
 Evans moved to the wing section, acknowledging the 
 order, and O'Hagan hastened aft. He went by way of 
 the flying bridge, that plank-like structure which Lucy 
 had crossed on the night of fog, when he had won his star, 
 and midway to the poop he paused to stand awhile, 
 staring into the blackness. The jar of something heavy, 
 something which moved as the ship rolled, told him it 
 was time to be up and doing. He swung from the bridge 
 by a guy rope to obtain further knowledge, escaped 
 crushing by a miracle of handiness, and climbed again 
 to the bridge. 
 
 In that short interval he had seen peril at its birth. 
 
 The darkness was a factor which swiftly assumed new 
 proportions ; the gale for which they waited lifted a 
 minatory finger, now that he had seen. He completed 
 his journey to the cabin at a run, opened Lucy's door and 
 found he had no occasion to call her. She was awake, the
 
 394 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 light fully on. He saw that she was dressed to her petti- 
 coat and wore rubbers. Water rilled across the bare 
 deck, and she came to him at a run because the Griselda 
 compelled speed when she swooped at a roller. 
 
 O'Hagan caught her and held her close " Steady ! 
 little Mem-sahib," he said in her ear. " Can't play tricks 
 these times . . . couldn't you sleep ? " 
 
 They swayed together like dancers preparing for 
 bacchanalian steps in a tango, and quickly recovered 
 balance. 
 
 " I was so scared," Lucy answered, her face against 
 his, her arms round his neck. " Something's banging. 
 It woke me. I was dreaming of collisions there ! 
 What is it ? " 
 
 The note was heavier here. It came with the booming 
 stroke of a drum, the clang of iron. 
 
 " A cask," he said for her peace, " has broken adrift in 
 the wash. Wait a moment. Cling on while I speak to 
 the bridge." 
 
 He helped her to the settee and crossed to the tube. 
 He whistled and stood waiting, then, after a short pause, 
 said " Is that the second officer ? " 
 
 A faint reply came back and O'Hagan said 
 
 " Call all hands. Get the chief out as soon as possible. 
 I shall be on the bridge in a few minutes. Get them out 
 quickly." 
 
 Again came the soft, purring answer and a chord 
 from the sea which drowned it. O'Hagan replaced the 
 whistle and turned round " We shall have to be slippery, 
 too, Kiddy." He came over and took her by the waist, 
 holding her while he explained. 
 
 " The deck cargo is adrift down aft here," he said in 
 her ear. " Don't be scared. It's part of the game. I 
 spotted it as I crossed the bridge just now. Lucky I came 
 to call you instead of using the whistle. ... I think it 
 is only fair to tell you, seeing it woke you, eh, dearest ? " 
 
 She accepted that, a smile on her lips as she watched 
 him. Only fools are blind, she said in her heart, but even 
 a fool could read you, oh my husband ! 
 
 " Always tell me," she said aloud. " I am not scared if I 
 know. The booming woke me and I wondered . . . then 
 I heard the sea. Help me to dress. I must come on deck. 
 
 " I came for you, ' he said \vith what indifference he 
 could. " We shall be dancing presently."
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 395 
 
 " I knew it." 
 
 !' How ? " 
 
 " Going to be very horrid ? " she asked, ignoring this, 
 her eyes on his. 
 
 He nodded. With his head on one side, critical of her 
 dress, he said " I think you would have a better chance 
 . . . of, of getting about if you rigged Tom Brown fashion 
 to-night, oh dearest. A big ulster over all, no one can 
 know ? " 
 
 And again she read his anxiety without comment 
 beyond " Yes I agree. Petties are in the way on the 
 bridge. . . . How she does jump about." She unfastened 
 a band and kicked free. " Give me my knickics, dear 
 dearest . . . bottom drawer under the bunk." She drew 
 off her rubbers and sat balanced on the settee, clinging 
 to the rope he had fixed her life-line she called it 
 laughing at his gravity. 
 
 He told her as he slithered to the drawer that the 
 ends of a ship were always worse than the middle, and 
 Lucy accepted his explanation with a glance which 
 caressed. " Of course they are. Isn't that why they 
 put cabins over the screw and in the bows for the crew- 
 people ? " 
 
 " The crew-people," he smiled back, " are limpets in 
 these days. The only qualifications for a sailor are that 
 he can speak ten words in English and stick on ... two- 
 thirds of our men can do neither." 
 
 The ship swooped savagely at a roller and leaned down. 
 The water gushed over towards the saloon door as O'Hagan 
 handed the garments. He crossed back through the 
 slurry and called up the bridge. 
 
 " Let me know when the chief is on deck," he ordered, 
 and replaced the whistle. 
 
 He stood near guarding his wife as she dressed, listening 
 to the thud of seas as they lolloped on board. Sometimes 
 he kept her with one arm about her waist, sometimes 
 only by main force could he keep her from a swift dash at 
 the opposite bulkhead. He questioned whether nainsook 
 was sufficiently warm for the conditions which presently 
 would arrive and said 
 
 " Haven't you a flannel shirt you can put on over that ? 
 Wrap up, Mem-sahib. It will be cold.' 
 
 " I'll borrow one of yours," she smiled back at him. 
 " Tom Brown hadn't much of a kit and I must get
 
 396 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 you. . . ." She came at him with a run, her hands 
 lifted. " Catch me ! Quick ! Quick ! " 
 
 He caught her and in a passion of tenderness, fear, 
 ecstasy, kissed her as a man will who has seen danger 
 and averted it, who has seen that in spite of his obvious 
 failure the girl he has won still has faith in him. 
 
 " You recognise it's going to be bad ? " he asked under 
 his breath. " You recognise it ? " 
 
 Lucy faced him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes spark- 
 ling. " I recognise that I am with you," she gave him, 
 glowing. 
 
 " It may be too much for the Griselda, dearest," he 
 whispered as they lurched to windward and a sea climbed 
 slobbering at the ports. 
 
 " If I have you with me, it does not matter, does it 
 about Griselda? " 
 
 " Together then " he smiled and held her close. " To- 
 gether win or lose ? " 
 
 " Together ! " she responded and met his lips. 
 
 The bridge speaking tube raised a sharp trill and 
 O'Hagan called into it and listened 
 
 " Yes chief there ? . . . Right. Tell him to meet 
 me on the poop deck at once." 
 
 He took a quick survey of the room, pocketed a 
 revolver and joined Lucy, who awaited him on the stairs. 
 He slammed the door as he passed through it and took 
 Lucy's arm. The stairs were dark ; even the light from 
 a skylight which stood abaft the companion was shut out 
 now by the closed doors at the top. 
 
 " It s like going into a tunnel," Lucy whispered, 
 gripping his arm. 
 
 " Or a drain," he joked, supporting her. " Half our 
 days are spent in a drain." 
 
 He was uplifted and buoyant in the belief that he had 
 succeeded in blinding her ; but the phrase " in a drain " 
 recurred again and again as he stood waiting. He 
 wondered what had given birth to it, and found himself 
 staring at a sea which swirled level with the rail. It 
 would be horrid to drown, madness to watch others 
 drown. He would rather use the pistol he had pocketed 
 . . . but there was Lucy to consider ; they might not 
 drown, and people who use pistols because someone is 
 standing on their toes are not the type a man cares to 
 grip by the hand,
 
 SPLENDIDE MEND AX 397 
 
 His gaze took in the threatening aspect. It was black. 
 He refused to minimise it; and this new bother with the 
 deckload increased his anxiety. Deckloads are a curse. 
 They were the result of greed our competitive system. 
 It was a deckload that caused the loss of the Sphinx, and 
 now that his future depended on getting the Griselda to 
 her corner in Royal Albert Dock the same peril had 
 arisen. Well they could fight. There would be no 
 pistols. Fight! Good God! as though that availed; 
 as though anything availed for men entangled in the cogs 
 of Supply and Demand. 
 
 And yet he might win ! He saw the possibility. It 
 crossed his mind in a dozen aspects ; what if he did win ? 
 one of them. 
 
 Would they reverse, quash or whatever it was, their 
 judgment on him ? Would a double-first in the Arena 
 of Deeds wipe out that deadly and pursuant discriminat- 
 ing influence known as the Black List, which held him 
 down ? Would the Foreign Office alter its opinion ? A 
 wonderful headiness mastered him as he stood there 
 looking down into the drain. He decided that England, 
 the splendid country of his adoption which evolved 
 persons who argued that deckloads were safe because 
 they permitted no space for lodgment of the seas, would 
 back him here. 
 
 He had come a long way on the road to success. He 
 had decided to fight this thing to* the end to go out 
 fighting if need be ; but to fight if it were only to prove 
 once again that he was not a fool, that he was not addicted 
 to drink, that the loss of the Sphinx was due to her deck- 
 load and to nothing else under God's stars. . . . He had 
 come a long way ; but not all the way. He had seen too 
 much on that hurried visit to the well deck. And there 
 it must remain. At all hazards he had blinded Lucy. 
 
 He drew her to the rail at the break of the poop. 
 Together they stared down at the chaos of the well. Seas 
 rolled there as among the rocks off the nearest headland- 
 seas for ever charging and retreating, creaming, running 
 pell-mell to find exit ; bashing, thrashing, tearing amidst 
 the casks and cases lashed there to earn dividends for 
 Griselda s shareholders. 
 
 Safe ? Of course, on paper, it was safe. Risk ? 
 Naturally statisticians, sitting comfortably in warm 
 offices, proved to all comers the risk was infinitesimal.
 
 S98 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 But O'Hagan, leaning over that boiling pot, Treegan 
 beside him, Lucy at his elbow, knew just how great was 
 the risk, how futile were arguments, either pro or con., 
 at this moment. 
 
 " Get the hands with you and see what you can do," 
 O'Hagan ordered. " Look after yourselves and the 
 devil take the cargo. If you can secure it, do so if not, 
 pitch it overboard." 
 
 Treegan, with a watch at his command, summoned 
 from sleep they had earned, climbed into the well and 
 the fight was in being. Four sailors, two boys in the 
 process of acquiring knowledge, one officer, constituted 
 the forlorn hope which set out to prove the risk was 
 overrated ; to prove that space occupied by cases cannot 
 hold seas. The seas swirled over them as they descended. 
 
 The chief gave orders briskly as he climbed into the 
 swirl " Steam on the winch there, Larry. Get her coat 
 off, you boys. Open your cocks an' run her through 
 gingerly ! " 
 
 He vanished in the black night, and O'Hagan, holding 
 Lucy's arm, made his way to the bridge. 
 
 " Anything in sight ? " he asked Evans. 
 
 " Nothing, sir." 
 
 " Good I will take the watch. I want you to go aft 
 with the chief. Do all you can as quickly as you can, 
 and let me have word from time to time. We shall have 
 wind presently." 
 
 Evans moved away at once. Eight was the company, 
 there, to whom this task, which had caused the loss of 
 the Sphinx, was assigned. 
 
 Six men and two boys, working presently in the glare 
 of cargo lamps, which Treegan found means to hang over 
 them. 
 
 And the seas swirled waist high at each roll ; the cases 
 clanged ; iron doors, crowbars, slices clanged, the winch 
 spirted gusts of steam, gurgling sometimes, hissing some- 
 times, and Treegan, with Evans beside him, found new 
 swear words to fit the occasion. 
 
 They worked with an energy which was eloquent of 
 their danger. They worked as men work in a mine when 
 the roof has made a prison for those who are in far-off 
 galleries. And sometimes they succeeded and sometimes 
 they failed. Breast high the lolloping seas came upon 
 them, knee high they trailed to the gutters. At all angles
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 309 
 
 the deck stood under them. From all sides came a 
 torrent, eating its way into the heart of the deckload ; 
 stealing a case, stealing a cask, tugging at the ropes and 
 chains which bound them ; jamming a man, nipping a 
 boy devilish in attack ; subtle, quick, strong, ready in 
 a moment to smash one who was down. 
 
 Midnight saw them fighting under the blear dome 
 which stooped to shut in the Griselda, to hide her, keep her 
 from the sight of those who, perchance, might consider 
 her conquered. It saw men wet to the skin, torn, bruised, 
 but undaunted. It saw men fighting for life with a full 
 knowledge of what otherwise would be theirs. It saw 
 them baffled by the weight and ferocity of attack, four 
 men, two boys, two officers, dropping their tools and 
 tramping after the mate for their " refresher." It saw 
 these Bottle-fillers emptying a bottle ; taking each of them 
 in dirt or blood stained fingers the glass which held 
 three pennyworth of rum, drinking their tot ; getting 
 new heart in them something to make them savage, 
 ready, as they said, to sacrifice their soul-case for a share- 
 holder's dividend. It saw them re-enter the arena and 
 start work. It listened to the bang and crash of iron and 
 timber ; of a squeal which ended in laughter. 
 
 Each cask that went overboard in the blind slurry of 
 black water rushing there in the well, meant something 
 off the dividend Griselda would pay ; each case smashed a 
 shortage over which someone would mourn. The act 
 of God would come in here ; come in to save shareholders 
 at the expense of those who write risks. True. That is 
 the splendide mendax of the sea, a phrase upon which 
 even the unlearned have learned to frown. 
 
 O'Hagan stood at the wing of the bridge, taking duty 
 for his officers. Lucy, with a girdle of rope about her 
 waist, clung on beside him. In place of her flapping 
 ulster she now wore a Bottle-filler's suit of yellow oilskins. 
 Her trousers were tied with ropeyarns at the top of her 
 boots, a lashing was round her waist, both sleeves were 
 gathered in at the wrists and fastened over mits. She 
 wore a yellow sou'wester over her cap and beautiful hair, 
 and she smiled, considering the sight she presented. 
 
 It rained steadily. Wind came in gusts, as from the 
 mouth of a cave ; cold, biting wind, which made those 
 two pray for a run, for a walk, anything to stir the blood
 
 400 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 and bring warmth but they could not run. Griselda, 
 under the influence of top-weight, made it uncertain 
 which side of her would presently be uppermost. There- 
 fore, Lucy remained seated and tied. 
 
 It was two o'clock, and the Griseldians had won. Ten 
 minutes ago Treegan marshalled his draggle-tailed legion 
 and took them off to bed. He said they had earned it, 
 and no one challenged the statement but those two who 
 remained at the wheel and look-out, working double- 
 tides without additional pay. Treegan, Evans and the 
 crowd had won. They had proved, with the help of a tot 
 or two, that there was no risk. Deck cargoes were safe. 
 For the moment some seemed inclined to bless deck 
 cargoes their own at all events. Had it not found them 
 ' twa goes o' rum ? " and who that has taken rum in 
 these conditions^can find heart to curse the cause which 
 won it ? 
 
 They had won. Now they were in bed wet still, 
 but getting warm, tobacco to inspire them. Only the 
 bruises and cuts they had received troubled them but 
 these might have been worse. Lying in their narrow 
 pews, Treegan and Evans scarcely better served, they told 
 in fierce speech what would have happened if Bill Smith 
 and Ted Flanaghan " hadn't come acrost that 'ole wot 
 the sea 'ad torn, an' plugged it, an' got the water drained 
 out of 'er." 
 
 And O'Hagan, marching to and fro between wheelhouse 
 and Lucy, admitted, because she had heard Treegan 
 report it, that it was providential the thing had been 
 discovered. 
 
 " A ventilator washed away shorn off at the deck, 
 Mem-sahib. It left a fine hole. One of them found it by 
 falling into it might have broken his leg, by Jove . . . 
 but he didn't." 
 
 He stood over the dodger seeking to determine what 
 faced them up there in the cave of the winds. 
 
 But nothing appeared. All black darkness, rain and 
 a rising breeze scarcely a gale. 
 
 ^ At three o'clock there came a note of wrath upon the 
 sullen patchwork of cloud and sea. A rent in the heavens 
 through which, for a moment, other worlds stood out 
 shining, poised, as it were, before a lifted curtain. 
 
 The note swirled and rose to a scream. It died away 
 and the rent vanished.
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 401 
 
 O'Hagan stood there unmoved, but watching the 
 northern horizon. In sailing ship days he would have 
 waited no longer. The warnings he had received were 
 sufficient. He would have called out all hands. Sails 
 would have been clewed up, stay-sails run down, and 
 men and boys would have been busy stowing canvas. 
 
 But in the tramps and liners which bring us food and 
 paper and coats and cosmetics, and incidentally find 
 dividends for shareholders while our fields lie idle, the 
 only sane order is screw down and twist ventilators. And 
 to that you may add, if you will, rig life lines. O'Hagan 
 could do no less. He stood on the bridge very much as 
 an engineer stands on the footplate of a locomotive when 
 it rushes into a tunnel. What he would meet in the 
 tunnel he could not say. Whether it would be as black 
 as it looked was in the lap of the gods. Screw down 
 your ventilators, caulk them if there be time. Twist the 
 cowls up there over the stokehold, so that the black squad 
 may keep dry. A tramp is a machine. Good. Let 
 her rip into the tunnel. 
 
 But a difference exists. A train runs on lines which 
 are of steel, guided and warned by a fine network of 
 signals ; a tramp runs on lines which are traced on a 
 chart by people who have no hand in the driving, who 
 scarcely know the sea or its moods, and have small 
 occasion to learn. 
 
 Griselda, stone-heroine of the Teutons, slopped boldly 
 towards the tunnel. She rolled at it and the wash of 
 water in her well decks sounded high above the swish of 
 her passage. Noises from the stokehold came clanging to 
 the bridge. The clatter of a shovel, the escape of steam, 
 voices from the men who delved for coal, all came resonant 
 and round to the vault which held her, echoed and died. 
 
 A lull had begun. A failing of the gale, such as it was, 
 which had throttled them since leaving New York. A 
 still, brooding, pondering halt as though He who lifted 
 the whip paused to consider where best He might strike. 
 Griselda lay guzzling the brine on either hand, playing 
 at see-saw in the face of Omnipotent Force ; pretending 
 she was competent to roll and lurch and hang shivering 
 on her bends as the Strathmuir, fashioned as we have seen 
 by Glasgow. 
 
 O'Hagan released the line which held Lucy to the rail 
 and led her to the chart-room. 
 
 B.F. D D
 
 402 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Switch on the light and read the glass for me," he 
 begged. " I mustn't blind myself. Don't come out till 
 I knock, but switch off the light as soon as you have made 
 your reading." 
 
 " A-cha, Sahib, can do," she smiled up at him. 
 
 " It will be pumping, Mem-sahib get a mean as 
 nearly as possible." 
 
 And again as he opened and closed the door upon her 
 she gave him the Eastern acknowledgment. 
 
 O'Hagan returned and spoke through a tube into the 
 engine-room. " How are the wells ? " he asked, and got 
 for answer that all were normal except No. 4, where five 
 feet still remained. " But we're getting it under. She'll 
 be dry in an hoor," said a Scot. 
 
 Satisfactory so far. It might be worse. Five minutes 
 elapsed, then O'Hagan went round to find Lucy. She 
 was clinging to the door-handle, the light out, ready with 
 her reckoning 
 
 " Twenty-eight ninety, as nearly as I can get, oh 
 dearest," she reported. 
 
 " Pumping much ? " 
 
 " Two to three tenths and there are sparks or some- 
 thing in the tube." 
 
 "Hum. . . ." 
 
 " That bad ? " she asked as he led her back to her 
 corner. 
 
 " It's going to sneeze," he said, " but we are ready. 
 We can stand it ... there's lots of sea-room here." He 
 glanced around. " It will come out there where the 
 stars showed just now." 
 
 " A gale ? " she questioned a little wistfully he thought 
 but he dared not deceive her here. In an hour the 
 thing would be upon them, or, at latest, with sunrise. 
 He came quite near her and took her hand. 
 
 " It will be heavy," he said, his cheek touching the wet 
 glove she wore. 
 
 ; ' Worse than that night in the Strathmuir ? " 
 
 " Worse without doubt. One of the Atlantic parti- 
 culars one of the sort we used to ask for when we were 
 running the Easting down in the old days, or when we 
 were past the Western Islands and homeward bound. . . . 
 
 " Generally we got one, too," he chuckled, " sometimes 
 half a dozen on end, sometimes two or three rolled in one. 
 Coming home from Melbourne, too, anywhere between
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 403 
 
 South Cape and the Horn we danced before gales and 
 asked for them . . . but that was in a sailing ship, oh 
 dearest cadet ship if that is plainer, and we knew what 
 to do with a breeze. . . . 
 
 " Steamers want quiet weather. Sailing ships want 
 wind that is the difference between them. . . . Gules ! 
 Good heavens, to read the accounts of some of the 
 passages one would imagine that gales were hurricanes, 
 cyclones, typhoons, everything of the biggest. Atlantic 
 gales are pretty bad but they rarely touch hurricane 
 force, luckily. The boats make hurricanes of them. 
 That is the truth. If a hurricane really swept the Atlantic 
 to-day between forty and fifty north latitude half 
 England would be in mourning to-morrow. Luckily 
 they don't make your dear mind easy on that. . . ." 
 
 He did not tell her that 28.75 and 28.90 were cyclonic 
 readings at this season ; that the sparks she saw pointed 
 to one of the worst of Atlantic gales. Not a word either 
 of that deckload which troubled him, in spite of the fact 
 that Treegan had managed to secure it. 
 
 But he did not know Griselda. And had he known 
 her, there was but one order he could give " Screw down 
 and caulk ventilators," and after that " spray oil upon 
 the water while she lets you." 
 
 Again he marched, considering the portents, sometimes 
 halting to speak a word to Lucy, to ask if her chair was 
 firm, to look through the small slide into the binnacle. 
 Once he scribbled a note and sent it to the engineer on 
 duty. 
 
 A blur confronted him each time he paused to look 
 ahead. A brumous smudge without horizon or any hint 
 of it. No lights anywhere but the dim phosphorescent 
 gleam down there in the well, and the shimmer overside 
 as they struck fire from the seas. Less wind again. 
 Swell becoming confused, leaping at the bow as well as 
 the beam. Pish ! Nothing in sight but the spume it 
 made. The crash of slopping seas the only sound. 
 Someone yawned down there in the stokehold. 
 
 " Eyah ! " 
 
 He rattled his shovel and a furnace door clanged. More 
 work accomplished. Relief near. Thank God ! 
 
 O'Hagan stared out upon his command ; this vessel, 
 which had enabled him to win a star and now mocked from 
 the black darkness he faced, 
 
 D D 2
 
 404 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 She was there to respond to his call, should he call ; 
 to do his bidding ; to twist hither and thither while her 
 rudder remained good. She was there as a dim figure of 
 something that throbbed and swayed beneath his feet. 
 Something he could feel but could not see ; something 
 which moved and splashed, twisted, lurched, groaned, 
 burrowing like a mole in seas which marched with in- 
 creasing sting. 
 
 He stood there watching her, searching the horizon, 
 and an acrid smell assailed his nostrils ; he moved at once 
 to the compass and stood sniffing, twisting the binnacle. 
 
 " Smell anything ? " he called out to Lucy. 
 
 " Smoke," she replied from her corner. 
 
 " See anything out there to windward ? " 
 
 " Nothing, oh dearest," came back after a pause. 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Something passing ! " he called back. He crossed, 
 and blew a blast on the whistle, a long note. 
 
 Then after a minute sounded the answer the deep and 
 sonorous bellow of one of the flyers. 
 
 The smoke passed. The steamship passed. They had 
 not seen her, but O'Hagan knew that a greyhound had 
 overhauled them, brushed past, and that all was well. 
 
 Then from the fiddley grating came the voice of one of 
 the black squad 
 
 " Say, Bill, wot's the difference between a mail-boat an' 
 a tramp ? " 
 
 And an answering voice which said " Difference ? All 
 the bloomin' world. One drowns millionaires and the 
 other drowns sailors." 
 
 " Call yerself a sailor bah ! " 
 
 " Board o' Trade does not me, sonny. Get dahn to 
 yer job." 
 
 Eight bells. Four o'clock. Something brewing up 
 there in the dark. O'Hagan examining the lashings of 
 Lucy's chair, and pulling tight a life-line for his own 
 protection. He came over and stood a moment to cheer 
 her. 
 
 " Sure you are warm, little girl ? " 
 
 " Quite quite." 
 
 She captured his hand and hugged it. 
 
 " It will be on us now," he said, stooping near. " Better 
 go into the chart-room and lie down ? "
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 405 
 
 "I will stay here, unless unless it makes you anxious." 
 
 He knew that he was anxious, but he knew, too, that 
 the chart-room would not alter that. He pressed her 
 hand, and said 
 
 " No stay for a time, at all events," then moved away 
 to send a message to turn out the crew. 
 
 A call this for those drenched sea-boys who were drying 
 in their bunks ; a call for Evans and Treegan to get out of 
 their too small bunks ; get into war-paint and tackle their 
 duty. 
 
 ' There's something adrift down aft again," O'Hagan 
 announced when Treegan stood beside him. " You must 
 get the hands together and see what you can do with 
 it. . . ." 
 
 " It wull be the casks," said the chief. " There's nae 
 lashin' spun that wull hold them in this wash. An' if I 
 can't secure them, what wull I do ? " 
 
 " Put them over the side, my friend. I leave it to you." 
 
 " It's dune, sir," said Treegan. " I gie ye my word on 
 that." 
 
 Out there in the north-east a gleam appeared as the 
 chief left. In three minutes it had lifted to an arch 
 which spanned the heavens midway to the zenith. Then 
 a squall swept up to give life to the game, to give men 
 something to fight. To brush away this pot-house gloom 
 and let them see what came. 
 
 It advanced whirring, and nearly in line with the swell 
 which had kept them rolling thus far from New York. 
 Wind, rain, hail accompanied it, and the Griselda swayed 
 white upper works upon the dazed sea. It came towering 
 under the dome which was their world, hung one moment 
 overhead and flamed. Blue lightning tore the black 
 envelope which shut them in four or five rivulets, zig-zag, 
 brilliant, down, up, across ; and a roar crashed out, 
 drowning all sound. It flung from high heaven a bolt 
 forged where none wield hammer, grip tongs, or batter on 
 an anvil and Griselda, ambling staidly her eight knots, 
 failed to intercept it. 
 
 She lay over to the gale, astonished at its vigour, lighted 
 one dazzling moment from truck to waterline, then passed 
 hissing into black night swiftly as she had emerged. 
 
 The squalls kept her alive. They came upon her in 
 screaming and swift succession. The swell became a sea, 
 capped and militant. It broke on board with drum-like
 
 406 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 thud, which speaks of weight, of force, whipped up and set 
 roving amidst bollards and hatches, winches, steam-pipes, 
 and all the paraphernalia of equipment. It came battering 
 upon closed doors, upon skylights, climbing to the poop 
 deck, the bridge, smashing at windows and tearing with 
 giant fingers at the lashings of the deckload. 
 
 In ten minutes the seas were a hissing expanse of white 
 foam, torn by the wind, beaten flat by the hail ; seas 
 which twisted under the attack and aimed surreptitious 
 prods at the Griselda, pushing at her, leaping at her, 
 pouring broadsides upon her and the netted atoms who 
 fought her. From stem to stern, for one gorgeous hour, 
 Griselda showed but her plank bridges, spanning chasms 
 which brimmed with white spume as she rolled. 
 
 No deckload visible now, but plenty of room for the 
 seas. Cases grinding, casks working loose, lashings, 
 planks, quoins ; all those driven-in wedges with their cun- 
 ning admixture of rope and chain and screw and batten 
 at hazard now that Force was abroad. The netted atoms 
 at work though, striving in a fine fury of intelligent aim 
 to beat back the black god who drove, flicking with his 
 whip at their vitals. Treegan and Evans led them on 
 " Before the sea gets up, my sons ! " was the word. 
 " Over with her ! Bang goes saxpence ! " 
 
 Sometimes the stars peeped down upon them, some- 
 times a squall flung hail and blackness ; at every moment 
 the lurching became heavier, the risks they ran in that 
 swirl more terrible. They worked in a dun glow, which 
 presently would be daylight a coppery tinge glazed over 
 sea and sky, wonderful to consider. 
 
 Up there on the bridge O'Hagan watched and strove to 
 dodge the seas. With the helm and engines he worked 
 his ship so that the impact should be lessened ; twisting 
 her so that she might plunge less steeply in the next abyss. 
 And in the engine-room were men who assisted the gover- 
 nor, men who obeyed that clanging telegraph set up before 
 them ; who twisted levers, opened and shut valves, 
 shouting orders at those who fired. They stood on grat- 
 ings, close-penned against the sea by steel walls, which 
 hummed as the fires hummed, crackled as under gunfire, 
 hissed as the ashes hissed and spat, now that water 
 rilled upon the plates. Machines elsewhere were helping 
 pumps set on brackets and bulkheads these ; pumps 
 with plungers gurgling, crossheads clucking, steam
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 407 
 
 hissing; pumps which must keep that water down 
 which was growing, otherwise in all that clanging space 
 there would be silence, cranks at rest, fires cold, Griselda 
 still. 
 
 Three bells. Half -past five. Dark still and likely to 
 be darker. Clouds racing to smother that glow which the 
 wilderness had produced ; to blot out that small band of 
 Bottle-fillers who strove so noisily, with Treegan and 
 Evans at their head, to rid Griselda of those casks and 
 cases which should have earned dividends for her share- 
 holders. 
 
 " Bang goes saxpence ! Bang goes a dollar ! pot o' 
 it 1 Got ! ' Ma mither will no let me hae any mair Oxo 
 she says it makes me grow oot o' ma claes ! ' ' sang 
 a voice. 
 
 " Who says grog oh ? " another. 
 
 And through the din a squall crept up, clouds screening 
 it, and found the Griselda lurching as of old, inclined to 
 tilt and shoot all those noisy ones into the sea. It found 
 her lurching, climbing with infinite pain the hills which 
 rose in her path, slithering into the valleys they sucked. 
 With the pertinacity of a machine intended by her makers 
 to maintain an even keel she ploughed towards the dawn. 
 
 O'Hagan scented what was coming, but could not 
 gauge its approach nor its weight. A squall lifted in an 
 arch out there in the gloom. That he knew. Rain and 
 hail accompanied it, hissing down the slopes. They were 
 surfeited with squalls yet others advanced. No door- 
 ways here for shelter, no roof to screen, no lee side only 
 the declared fury of the wilderness striking at their throat. 
 
 O'Hagan brought his ship nearer the wind. He strove 
 to meet the seas with less shock, and in the near distance, 
 broad on the bow moved one of those giants which the 
 oceans keep in store and send out on occasion to sweep 
 the seas clean. 
 
 No line of skirmishers climbing before to give warning. 
 Only the wind note, the crash of seas in the wells, the 
 scythe-like approach of hail. 
 
 O'Hagan crept to the high side and stood a moment 
 before Lucy. He took her hands. " Come into the 
 chart-room, dearest. It isn't fit for you here." 
 
 " Can you come too ? " she asked throbbing, drawing 
 him near. 
 
 " Not now ! "
 
 408 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 " Then I will stay, oh dearest." 
 
 " Right. God bless you ! " 
 
 He squeezed her hands, and she saw him move away. 
 He took up his stand as before near the compass, the 
 telegraphs, close to the open window of the wheel house. 
 It was just possible sometimes to catch an outline of him 
 against the dark background, a gleam thrown by the 
 binnacle on his face, a gleam on the wet surface of his 
 oilskins or sou'wester. 
 
 She sat shivering in her chair, cramped and cold in 
 spite of her denial, because in some dim way she under- 
 stood. Den had not said there was peril, but Lucy knew. 
 Her voyages to the East had given her a hint, the Strath- 
 muir had shown very plainly what a deep-laden vessel 
 may do in a sea-way. She knew what she knew. 
 
 Out there in the blackness, behind that drumming 
 canvas which screened her, a giant sea moved down to 
 intercept them. It advanced in stages, darkness its 
 cloak. It came with a fizzle of white at its crest, spewing, 
 fresh from a march which had seen bergs, floes and the 
 bare shelters of the pack. Through the sea of whales it 
 had come, growing in height, in extent and momentum. 
 From the white edge of the world where the kayak is to 
 be seen, to the Atlantic it had come, threatening in its 
 march all those monsters which dart, not as the kayaks 
 from headland to headland and bay to bay ; but from 
 world to world, carrying men and women, music and 
 swimming-baths to amuse them, where the land is not. 
 Here, too, go strange fire ships, carrying loads and some- 
 times spilling them ; things which spit hot ashes upon the 
 sea, throw dust in its face ; which swerve, butt and lash 
 at it, mocking it, shouting of mastery, of the triumph of 
 steel and steam and skill twitting the sea of a new 
 tameness which has come to it. 
 
 It came angry from the silences to spy upon noise, 
 and trapped that greyhound which had skimmed past 
 Griselda. It smashed three round ports from her side, 
 climbed and cut a navigator seventy feet lifted in air, 
 then passed grumbling to find other victims. 
 
 It saw Griselda far down in the blackness, dreeing her 
 
 weird, as they say, scrambling along towards the dawn, 
 
 her decks crammed a white picture of incompetence 
 
 seeking to escape. 
 
 Fair game for the sea ! One of the triumphs ! One
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX 409 
 
 of the haphazard, too-proud-to-learn type. One of the 
 scow sort that gutter along trusting to steel, who pretend 
 there is nothing to learn. One of the kind a sea will take 
 in its arms and break in two while men snigger and say 
 " The Act of God ! " One of the kind the sea will take 
 up and turn over, so that its cold omnipotence shall be 
 visible wriggling in air. 
 
 It came by slow stages out of the dark, lapsing, swelling, 
 and arrived alongside, sucking out a hollow for Griselda 
 to lie in. It took her at a moment when her propeller 
 was throttled, at a moment when O'Hagan, noting the 
 roar it made, strove with helm and engine to meet it. 
 It came quite buoyantly from its march and struck one 
 smashing blow, and Griselda lay down before it, wallowing 
 in the torrent it flung. 
 
 Out of the dark we come. Through the dark we march 
 blindfold to accomplish destiny. Into the dark we 
 return. 
 
 There came other blows. A flick at the stern, a smack 
 at the bridge, a general fusillade of sound but the 
 Griselda no longer fought. She tilted.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DAWN 
 
 STEAM broke over the bridge from somewhere near in 
 a volume which amazed. A concatenation of sounds 
 ripped through the roar it made shouts, cries, the falling 
 of weights. 
 
 O'Hagan pulled himself gasping from the lee rail 
 whither he had been flung. He commenced to climb 
 towards the wheelhouse, shouting out, " Starboard there ! 
 Starboard ! " And with the order came Lucy's name. 
 He called for her, and felt wonder on receiving her answer. 
 He cried out to cheer her. " Good old Griselda," reached 
 the wheelhouse, and demanded starboard helm of the 
 man who clung there like one dazed. 
 
 " Something's gone, sir," he ventured. " She won't 
 answer." 
 
 O'Hagan forgot the belching steam, and said 
 
 " Rubbish ! Put it over ! " 
 
 The man pointed to the indicator. " It's hard over," 
 he said, " but she don't budge ! " 
 
 " Keep it so. Watch her and let me know if she comes 
 to." He rang up the telegraph and left it at full speed. 
 And again he climbed, calling to Lucy. 
 
 He came near and learned she was safe. " Here ! 
 Here, oh dearest ... I thought you were gone ! " 
 
 " No. Please God, we'll pull through yet. A near 
 squeak though." 
 
 He kneeled beside her, unfastening the lashings which 
 held her. " We must get you out of this, oh my soul ! " 
 he called to her. " We must get somewhere where the 
 seas can't climb. . . . Wheelhouse for the moment. 
 On deck there ! On deck ! " He turned, shouting into 
 the void, but the roar of steam and the song of the gale 
 were his answer. He stooped and took Lucy in his 
 arms. " Come ! " he said in her ear, astonished at the 
 coldness of her cheek, " we will get out of this. I I can't 
 quite grasp what has happened."
 
 DAWN 411 
 
 As the Griselda lurched to windward he ran for the 
 door and entered. He clanged it to, unconscious that it 
 clanged, and crossing found a place where Lucy could 
 cling while a wheelhouse remained. He found that the 
 helmsman had vanished. Then very intent on solving 
 this riddle of loneliness, he stood by the lee door and saw 
 how the seas poured over his ship. She careened even 
 as he watched, and the seas swept her decks as a river 
 in spate sweeps its bed. Something continued to crush 
 away there beyond his vision. 
 
 He determined to go aft, and moved off blowing his 
 call. In the engine-room as he passed a port he heard 
 banging, a curious muttering roar. He cried out to know 
 who was there, and his voice came back to him. He could 
 obtain no answer, no sight here of those who should be 
 at work. He reached the after end of the saloon deck and 
 called for the mate, then a man wriggled up from the well 
 and sat gripping the rail at his feet. 
 
 " Where's the chief ? " demanded the captain. 
 
 " Gawd knows. . . . I've not set eyes on 'im since she 
 rilled. Think she's goin' ? " 
 
 The steam roared through the fiddleys, making speech 
 difficult. 
 
 " Steady, my son ! Seen the second mate, bo'sun 
 anyone ? " O'Hagan shouted. 
 
 " Gawd knows," said the man, " an' Ee won't tell us." 
 
 He gurgled the phrase and suddenly collapsed. Then 
 O'Hagan saw that his leg trailed. A sea boomed high 
 and sprayed them. The man slipped away. O'Hagan 
 leaned over the rail shouting " On deck there ! Clear 
 away the boats ! Clear away ! " 
 
 The men he ordered, Evans, Treegan and those who 
 were netted, no longer fought down there to save cargo, 
 but for life. They swam and sank. They had been 
 caught by the sea, crushed by cases, casks ; maimed and 
 thrust out of the world. They struggled :.t the entrance 
 of another. In a rage of blind anger they cursed the 
 scow that had held them. 
 
 O'Hagan fought his way back to the bridge. He moved, 
 groping in a squall of rain and hail past the chart-room, 
 and found it gone. It seemed that he was alone in the 
 ship, then presently he discovered to leeward men clearing 
 away the boats. Their shouts came up in a fine jangle, 
 shorn of coherence. Yet he knew that the black squad
 
 412 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 fought here, men newly arrived from stokehold and 
 engine-room, and one who met him said in blasphemous 
 phrasing that a boiler had shifted, bust the stays, bust a 
 steam-pipe, and belched the chaps as was near. . . . 
 
 " Where's the chief ? " 
 
 "Down there flayed." 
 
 O'Hagan came at a run to the wheelhouse, and found 
 Lucy clinging still to the wheel. Again she cried out 
 welcoming him " Dear dearest ! I thought you were 
 lost. Den ! Den ! take me too when you go ! " 
 
 He gathered her in his arms. The Griselda quailed 
 under them. Bubbling noises were added to the jangle. 
 The end was at hand perhaps it would come swiftly, 
 perhaps slowly. It might be that they would outlive this 
 terror ... it might be it would silence them. 
 
 Den found a lifebelt from the rack and fastened it 
 about Lucy. He seized another and slipped arms into 
 its loops while she fastened it. They stood one moment 
 lip to lip, then emerged linked to face what came. 
 
 Numb already, that child of Major Faulkner's, drenched 
 by the sea, cold from the endless watch up there on the 
 bridge, but a smile on her lips as she moved out with her 
 husband. 
 
 " You should have stayed for the Carmania / " he 
 cried in her ear. 
 
 " You couldn't stay then how could I ? " 
 
 And again he hugged her, his thoughts racing, his eyes 
 grasping the chances, the perils a captain without a 
 command, one whose ship lay dead under him, a few 
 noisy ones struggling for escape. 
 
 They came to the place where these worked, launching 
 a boat. The confusion was amazing, yet one directed 
 who knew. They lowered as O'Hagan came near. Men 
 stood and sat in it, others were at the falls. An engineer 
 shouted, and the boat moved swiftly down too swiftly. 
 O'Hagan sprang close, crying out " Easy does it ! 
 Steady there, steady af t ! " 
 
 No one heard. Sea and steam conspired to blot out 
 all order. The boat touched water, caught in the ship's 
 side, and turned over. 
 
 Again the sea scored, slapping at the white sides of the 
 thing it had conquered. A squall joined hands in 
 jubilation. It screamed out over them as they worked, 
 and Griselda lurched down, obeying it.
 
 DAWN 413 
 
 ^ angle became steeper. It became so steep that 
 O'Hagan caught Lucy by the waist and scrambled to the 
 high rail. He shouted as he went 
 
 '' This way ! She's going over ! Quick's the word ! " 
 
 Some followed. Others stayed, trafficking' with a boat 
 which still remained in the davits. They strove in a fury 
 of zeal until water met them, and they realised the Grisclda 
 would turn turtle. Then they, too, let full the tackles and 
 tried to climb ; but the angle was more steep they were 
 unable to climb. They saw high above them people 
 scrambling over the rail. They saw the dawn spread red 
 and yellow behind them, and the towering bulk of the 
 ship's decks careening overhead. They let go, and sprang 
 into the sea. 
 
 Out there was a boat. Chance might so order it that 
 they reached. They swam as the Griselda turned over, 
 they swam as those others climbed, they swam and came 
 to the boat's side. 
 
 Up there in the glare the ship's bilge appeared steel 
 plates coated thinly with barnacles, shell-fish, grass, 
 succulent slug-like things, green, slimy stuff which made 
 those who crawled there slip ; which tore their hands, 
 cut through the oilskins they wore, and permitted four 
 only to reach the high shelter of her keel. 
 
 Denis O'Hagan came here, Lucy half in his arms. He 
 crouched there under the fin-like steel which stood above 
 them, crooning over the girl he had won. Twice he had 
 fallen and twice succeeded in rescue now he bent down, 
 panting. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? Are you cut ? Look at your hands, 
 oh dearest ! . . . Look ! " 
 
 He drew a muffler from his neck and wiped the salt 
 from her face. " Hurt, my wife ? Hurt ? " he reiterated. 
 
 She gave no answer. She seemed stunned. He could 
 not recall what struck her. Yet she was quiet. 
 
 She shivered in his arms, nestling near perhaps unwit- 
 tingly now, clinging as all her life she had clung. . . . 
 
 Look up ! Look up ! " he prayed, tears blinding 
 him. "My Mem-sahib. . . . Look up. ... You are 
 safe you are mine ! " 
 
 Over there two others crouched, staring at the sea. 
 Again Lucy shivered in his arms. 
 
 Faint, tired, bruised ; at the end of their tether these 
 two. Day growing over them, red, yellow, flaming in the
 
 414 THE BOTTLE-FILLERS 
 
 eye of the gale. Wind, sea, hail, sleet a glorious blend 
 spraying them, pelting them, dulling them. 
 
 Down there was a boat lurching in spume, bottom up 
 like Grlselda. If he would reach it O'Hagan must stir. 
 At any moment their shelter might vanish, turn over 
 again, plunge, disappear. 
 
 Yet they were quiet. The squall had coated them 
 white. It was cold. The wind came at them with a 
 personal attack that proved its intent. It scattered the 
 white hail in their faces as they crouched there, waiting 
 and in silence. 
 " Den ! " 
 
 He heard his name and drew her close. 
 " Oh, my wife ! " he gave back. 
 
 " I thought," she said slowly, " that somehow I had 
 missed you . . . that you were gone. You won't go 
 now, will you ? " She laughed gently in his arms 
 laughed, and the pale god stood over her, beckoning. 
 
 " Kiddy ! " he cried out, holding her. " Keep up, oh 
 dearest keep up." 
 
 " No use, Den . . . Baba is calling . . . and I don't 
 think I could walk any farther ... do you ? " 
 
 She lay silent. Her lips moved. Perhaps she talked 
 now with Baba . . . perhaps God looked down, and in 
 His mercy made the way smooth for her. Perhaps He 
 sent word to him who wielded the whip, and said " Make 
 an end." 
 
 A squall loomed near so, too, a ship. But the squall 
 reached first. 
 
 At its impact, Grlselda, obeying as always the unstable 
 sea, dipped a little forward, dipped a little aft ; quivered 
 and took up a bow wave which flicked off one of those 
 who crouched ; quivered again and flicked off a second 
 stooped and made a great effort to reach those two who 
 remained. 
 
 So still they sat, so huddled, it seemed they did not 
 see the end approach. 
 
 And the sea, curling high, flicked them also into the 
 void. 
 
 UUAUDUHY, AQNBW, & CO. LD., PltlNIEKS, LONDON AMD TONBBIDGB.