Norman Springer

“ Martin shivered at the sound of Sails' dismal croaking. See the night! He could see nothing. The other's voice came out of an impenetrable void. Above him, beneath him, all about him, was nothing but blackness, thick, clinging gloom. The Stygian, fog-filled night crushed, like a heavy, intangible weight; one choked for breath.
Martin felt like an atom lost in back immensity. He wanted to shout at the top of his voice. But what he did do was lift his voice gently, so the words would not arouse the sleepers in the cabin.
"Little Billy! Billy!" he called. ”

“ Yet Martin seemed to hear, above the thunder of the surf in the fog beneath him, a distant, ominous rumbling, as if the slumbering Vulcan of the mountain were snoring in his sleep.
But it was the mountainside that longest held Martin's fascinated gaze. For, in her fiery past, the volcano had clad her flanks with black lava that was now molded into a vast chaos of fantastic architecture and sculptures. It was as if an army of crazy artists had here expended their lunatic energies. ”

“ She returned his love! The love he had seen lighting her eyes, but which he could never force her to acknowledge by words, she had unmistakably admitted by action. In that black moment in the cabin, she had bared her heart to him—bared it fearlessly before all that hostile, leering company. His love was returned. Ruth loved him!
Such was the origin of the exultant thrills that shot brightly through Martin's despair. But the triumphant thought was momentary. Love could not brighten their lot; nay, love but made more numerous the grim host of cruel fears that pressed upon him. Ruth—God! ”

“ At that hour, the sun had dipped for its brief concealment beneath the horizon, and the fog, which had been a gray-brown curtain in daylight, was now an all-enshrouding cloak of blackness that rendered eyesight useless.
Literally, Martin could not see his hand before his face. Nor could he see the door to the cabin alleyway, that he had just closed, though he had stepped but a couple of paces away from it. Nor could he see Sails, though the latter stood but an arm's length distant. Sails's hoarse whisper came through the gloom:
"Ye see the night, lad? Och, 'tis a night for evil!" ”

“ Hasty man, your dear bosun!"
"'Tis true," admitted Little Billy. "He requires coddling, does my bosun. Red hair always does. My bosun has a tender heart, and he is a creature of impulse. Beneath that rough exterior surges the artistic temperament. But tell me, was the bosun, by any chance, inquiring for one Little Billy?"
"He was," said Martin. "Not only inquiring for Little Billy, but weeping for him, fighting for him—and for the larcerated feelings of the dear mate of the brig Cohasset. Of course, I know you are Little Billy." ”

“ For nothing was changed. There, leaning over the taffrail, staring shoreward, was the Japanese mate, Asoki, in the exact attitude in which Martin had last seen him, when he entered the caves in Ichi's wake. The man seemed not to have budged since then. And forward, the guards were still at the hatches. He saw Yip step out of the gallery, empty a pot overside, and stand there by the rail, gazing aft.
Asoki suddenly came to life, walked over to the skylight and glanced below, and then struck six bells' on the bell that hung by the wheel. ”

“ Moto and Ichi held for a moment a chattering interchange of their native speech.
Martin peered into this other opening, his agitated mind half-expecting to see the startling vision again, flashing white in the interior blackness. But beyond a few feet of sand floor and black lava walls, he saw nothing. The opening in the elephant head led into a narrow gallery, a hallway into the mountain.
A blast of hot, sulfur-tainted air swirled out of the opening. It made his eyes smart. Coincidentally, his ears were assailed by strange sound. ”

“ The live heart of this old volcano was nothing else than a tremendous boiler, and this chasm was the boiler's safety valve. But, God—how far down must be the fires! Miles, perhaps. He wondered if Moto had yet reached bottom.
Gradually, he became conscious that the roar was diminishing, that the vapors no longer gushed forth in such volume. He had lost track of time; he felt he had always been sitting here by the edge of the pit; he had forgotten all about the other Japs, all about the bosun and Ruth. The noise had even driven Ruth from his conscious mind. ”

“ It was true there was no one ashore to grieve at his disappearance, save good Mrs. Meagher. But how in the world did the hunchback discover that fact? Come what might, he was done with his old drab life, done with musty legal forms, done with the job he so loathed. There was a jubilant tinge to his thoughts. Why, he was just where he had so often longed to be—"Out There where Things happened!"
That all-pervading screaming that rang in his ears—why, that was the wind whistling through the rigging, overhead, the storm king's brazen voice that he had so often dreamed of hearing. ”

“ It was bleak and lantern-jawed, with a gash for a mouth, and a great beak of a nose that thrust out between two cold gray eyes. He was quite bald. An impressive appearing old man, not one to inspire affection but fear. One year of service had endowed Martin with no sense of loyalty or liking for the man. Now, he returned Smatt's gaze with one of indifference, tinged with hostility.
"Blake, I wish you to execute a mission for me tonight," said Smatt. ”

“ Moto chopped off short the word he was saying, and Martin saw his body stiffen and his eyes dilate. Even Ichi betrayed agitation, and Martin saw a violent but quickly mastered emotion flit across his yellow features.
The eery wail died quite away, and Martin's scalp stopped crawling. Ichi turned to him with a somewhat shaken smile; Martin saw that the Japanese gentleman's nostrils were twitching nervously, and that his voluble speech was really an effort to regain composure.
"Have no afraid. The sound of much strangeness is from the cave of the wind," said Ichi. "It is from the deep place. ”

“ Had the boatswain mentioned a fear of being met on his return to his ship, with a flailing capstan-bar, or a dish of belaying-pin soup, Martin would have understood. Mates were hasty men. He could have properly sympathized with the boatswain over such a prospective fate. He could have given him legal advice as to his rights. But this mate of the brig Cohasset; this mate who commanded nosegays on natal occasions; this mate who inspired love, and brought bibulous tears to the eyes of this toping giant! ”

“ There was a subtle and lasting change of character in that brief moment—Martin Blake, law clerk, became of the dead past, and Martin Blake, adventurer, stepped into the law clerk's boots.
"It is too risky to make a rush through this door," Little Billy was saying. "They would hear us and be on guard. We will try the next window."
He darted to the window, and Martin followed. The purposeful hunchback was a stimulating surprise, a far cry from the eloquent Little Billy of the fire hydrant to the energetic Little Billy of the moment! The man of words become the man of action. ”

“ Gone before Martin could utter his cry of warning—or recognition. Gone before the stranger could move.
For, when the sailor cast away the rope, the strain on the tackle was released, and the freed hauling line whipped snakelike through the air as it rushed through the sheaves. The two men on the ledge fell backward, as their lifeline collapsed; the blocks, with no weight to hold them taut dropped from the rock; and the two poor wretches sliding down the incline towards the pit dragged the tackle after them. ”

“ It grew and grew, became for a moment a harsh menacing, overwhelming screech, and then slowly subsided to the murmurous moaning that never ceased.
"It happens continuously," commented Little Billy. "Every hour or so, since I've been ashore. Blow the roof off some day. Here comes the rest of it."
"The rest of it" was the rumble and the little quake. It brought vividly before Martin's eyes the horrid picture of the ghostly lighted chasm, and the yellow men falling to their death. It brought disquietude to another mind, also. Ichi emitted a wail of pure terror. ”

“ Martin came on deck to find the bows turned northward, toward the Bering, and the yards braced sharp to catch the slant from the dying trades.
The Cohasset raced northward, though not as swiftly as she had raced southward. The winds were light, though generally fair, and the brig made the most of them.
The weather grew steadily cooler; the brilliant tropics were left behind, and they entered the gray wastes of the North Pacific. Forward and aft were smiling faces and optimistic prophecies, for the ship was making a record passage. ”

“ And I would rather be dead than mated with that heartless wretch!"
"Aye, and I would rather see you dead," commented Captain Dabney. "Carew's life smells to heaven. He is more odorous than those yellow men who own him."
"If you knew the Pacific, you would know Carew," explained Little Billy to Martin. "He is the best and least favorably known blackleg between the two poles. He is an Englishman—the cast-off son of some noble house, I believe. And he is a cruel, treacherous, brave, and cunning beast! ”

“ The second window overhead was suddenly alight, and a booming voice was cursing in the room. Martin rolled off the edge and fell into the boatswain's arms.
Then he was on his feet, running, by the boatswain's side. Just in front of him raced the hunchback, and a queer figure in man's clothes, whose long hair streamed behind. He heard men shouting.
They passed the corner and started across the Embarcadero toward the wharves. Far down the street a police whistle was blowing shrilly. Behind them, the Black Cruiser was spewing forth its brood. ”

“ As Martin looked, Carew engaged himself with filling and lighting his pipe, and seemed to be totally unconscious of the disheveled young man standing before him, with wrists manacled behind his back.
Martin was again surprised, as he had been that night in San Francisco, with the incongruity of Wild Bob's appearance contrasted with his activities. Was this splendid figure of a man the vicious outlaw of wide and evil repute? The renegade thief? The persecutor of women? The pitiless butcher of defenseless men? ”

“ Why, there were likely dead men in the city morgue as a result, and old Smatt, judging himself betrayed by his clerk, might swear him a murderer. He was a vindictive old man, Martin knew. And Spulvedo—he knew he had shot Spulvedo; he had seen the man drop.
Martin felt a qualm at that remembrance—shooting a man was a new and terrible experience, and his conscience had scruples concerning the sanctity of human life. ”

“ Just before him, over the closed door to the saloon, was the inscription Smatt had spoken of, in plain black letters, "Black Cruiser Saloon, Diego Spulvedo, Prop." It was a sordid and unprepossessing exterior; Martin felt that the Black Cruiser would prove the anti-climax to his evening's adventures.
The second-hand of his watch climbed toward the hour. He knew old Smatt's passion for exact punctuality; not a second before the appointed time must he enter the place. The hand touched the required point. Martin felt of the paper in his pocket and opened the door. ”

“ The fingers lifted from Martin's neck. The relief from the shooting pain was instant, though his misused nerves continued to prick their protest.
Ruth panted to master her emotion. Then she flung hot words at Carew, words colored with scorn and loathing.
"Oh, you unspeakable brute!" she cried. "You coward! It is like you to find pleasure in inflicting pain upon a helpless man, and a defenseless woman! What is it you wish me to tell you? Come, speak up. Don't sit cringing in that chair!"
"By Heaven, girl, you'll go too far!" commenced Carew. ”

“ Carew was afraid of the girl! Martin, with the lover's insight, discerned and interpreted that lurking shadow. For Carew's fear was bred of man's nature, and made strong by the intensity of his wild emotion; the fear was a vicious nature shamed, an impure love abashed, by the virgin goodness of the woman.
The fleeting glance Martin had of the conflict in Carew's mind conveyed meaningful information to his own love-sharpened senses. Carew was baffled by the girl.
It was Ichi who interrupted the tense silence that followed Ruth's entry. He beckoned to Yip, and then bowed low before Ruth. ”

“ Then, Martin suddenly discovered that his ideal was neither a rosy Daughter of the Dawn, nor a tragic Queen of the Night—she was a merry-faced, neutral-tinted Sister of the Afternoon, a girl with brown hair, so dark as to be black by night, and big brown eyes. A girl with a rich contralto voice that commanded or cajoled in a most distracting fashion. A girl who commanded respect by her mastery of a masculine profession, yet who thereby sacrificed none of her appealing femininity. A girl named Ruth LeMoyne. ”

“ They took a turn or two on the deck in sorrowful silence, Martin limping somewhat painfully, and the big man accommodating his stride to the other's progress. The brig was running before the wind, over a sun-sparkled, white capped sea; every rag she owned was spread, and the breeze snored aloft like an organ. The bosun paused at the poop break, snorted into his large red handkerchief, and pretended to inspect the drawing of the mainsail. ”