The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

showing people over it. There she lies. A beauty, all right.”

      They saw the Seamew, black of hull, with a fine gold stripe winking along her run, spoon-bowed, overhung of stern, sweet of line, a typical Gloucester fisherman model designed for speed and endurance; the type that can come smashing home with every inch of canvas set, and hold deep packed with cod through a gale that makes many a deepwater skipper shorten sail and crawl to windward for open water. All the canvas was stowed aboard the Seamew, but it did not take much for Jim to imagine her with topsails full, main and fore, jumbo and jib, fisherman’s staysail set between the masts, the sea foaming at her entry, creaming along her run, fanning out in ivory traceries on the green jade of the sea in her wake. Here was no toy, but a ship after his own heart, capable of sailing the seven seas, not needing a large crew to handle her, but comfortable in calm or seaway for all aboard. And she had an engine, almost a necessity in the South Seas, where currents are strong and wind capricious.

      Brasswork well polished blinked here and there along her deck. Even at that distance they could tell she was shipshape, controlled by a man who might be a bit of a tyrant with his crew, but knew how to treat a proper vessel.

      Jim’s face glowed with approval. The steward had gone to his telephone. Kitty watched Lyman’s face, unconsciously reflecting its approval. Lynda Warner seemed more doubtful.

      “A little small, isn’t she,” she asked, “for a long voyage?”

      “She would be alongside a liner,” said Jim, “But she’s seaworthy and she’s just about ideal for our purpose—if we can get her.”

      “Mr. Rickard’s coming right over,” said the steward, coming up. “I said there were two ladies in a party who were admiring his boat and he said he was coming over, anyway. I didn’t say anything about a charter over the phone. Best to wait and see what humor he’s in.” He got them chairs and they watched the shifting panorama of the bay, with San Francisco seated in the midst of her hills; the crossing ferries, lumber steamers and freighters passing through the Gate; scow-schooners high decked with hay from upriver, the helmsman perched high on a scaffold back of the load; the gulls; a destroyer maneuvering to prove up her compasses by the government marks set on the shores. The tide was coming in from the ocean, and all the yachts in the club flotilla dipped and curtsied. The wind came with the tide bringing salty savors. A flush slowly stained the girl’s cheeks deeper and deeper until Jim gazed in wonderment at this augmented beauty of one he already thought perfect.

      “I love the sea,” she said. “It’s in my blood, I suppose. And I love the Seamew. I hope we get her.”

      Rickard turned out to be much what they had anticipated, a burly, tanned man who looked awkward in clothes that were too much in the latest mode as to cut and pattern. But he was courteous enough and indubitably pleased to have his boat admired by a party, one of whom, Jim, was an expert, another, Kitty, more than ordinarily wise concerning schooners.

      “You ought to own her,” he said to Kitty. “You’d sail her in a blow, you would, and not worry about your complexion or your permanent wave. All ladies aren’t alike, or all men. If there were more boats like mine here we could have a real race or two—outside, around the Farallones and back, down to San Diego and back, or up to the Sound. But these bay water sailors think an annual cruise down to Santa Cruz is really sailing.” Kitty took her cue, and glanced at Jim.

      “I wish I did own her,” she said. “I couldn’t afford to buy her, but I’ve been wanting for ever so long to take a trip through the South Seas. And this is just the boat.”

      Her praise was justified, the Seamew was more than merely well found. The seamanship of the ex-mate had prevented him from breaking out with his ship as he had done with the unknown quantity—clothes. The fittings were good, even luxurious, but they were convenient and chosen for wear and solid comfort rather than show. There would be a cabin apiece for Kitty and Lynda, one for Newton and one for Jim, as skipper, all opening on the main cabin, besides a small stateroom amidships that would do for the officers. There was even a small bath, a well appointed galley. The engine was powerful, in good condition. There were water tanks and gasoline tanks enough for a long voyage, ample room for stores. The only scant place was the forecastle quarters. Rickard’s ideas of a crew’s right of comfort were nil.

      “She’s got everything but wireless.” Rickard boasted. “She’s a beauty. Eight knots and a half on her engines, and she’ll rate up to fifteen when the wind’s right. She’ll sail right into it and come about for the asking. She’s fine lined, but she isn’t over tender; you can handle her between spokes. She’s a man’s boat, but a child could steer her. I might let you have her, if you paid me enough and put up a sufficient bond. I’ll want her back, but I don’t need her anymore this season. It’s hard to get men and keep them in shape when you only have the boat in commission a quarter of the time they have to be paid for. I’d as lief sail round a duck pond as cruise inside the bay. To tell you the truth, Miss Whiting, I’m thinking of getting married—shortly. The future Mrs. Rickard is not over fond of the water, but I hope to win her round later on. I won’t sell the Seamew, but I might charter her—to the right parties.”

      Rickard had smiled when he first mentioned price and he smiled again as he finished speaking. Without being offensive, it was plain that he found Kitty attractive, that he was the bluff type, hard enough with men, but wax before the glances of a pretty woman. In his way, and given it, a good enough sort of sea scout.

      “What are your ideas on figures?” asked Jim.

      “Fifteen hundred dollars for the season, whether you need her for two months or six. A bottomry bond for twenty-five thousand dollars.”

      “Cash?”

      “Or negotiable securities acceptable to my lawyers.” Kitty looked at Jim, who nodded. Five hundred a month would be cheap for the Seamew; the amount of the bond could not replace her since the war. Arrangement was speedily made to draw contract and make payment. Rickard agreed to meet them the next morning at the hotel.

      “I have three good men who might be glad to go along,” he said. “I don’t know about the steward. You’ll need four for crew, outside of a mate. Then there’s the engineer and a cook. Steward’ll wait on cabin, cook for’ard. That’s how I brought her round from the other side. I take it you’re sailing her?” he asked Lyman.

      “Yes. You don’t know of a mate? Rather take one who was recommended.”

      “I haven’t seen one I could recommend to be mate of a brick barge. I’m my own sailing master. I’ve tried out half a dozen lazy lubbers as mate and I fired the last a week ago. As I say, my trouble is that I pay ’em full time and use ’em less than half. You’ll find mates and men scattered all along the waterfront looking for jobs. Some of ’em turned farmers and fruit pickers. Some of ’em in the canneries. Some of ’em fishing for salmon in Puget Sound. But a lot left doin’ nothing. Can I take you across to San Francisco in my launch? That doesn’t go with the schooner but it’s at your service.”

      But they had an idea that acceptance might conflict with his plans or those of the future Mrs. Rickard and they took the ferry. Now it seemed as if they were really started, with unexpected luck to begin with. The Seamew had no cook at present, nor steward, Rickard providing those from his house servants whenever he went cruising. The three sailors of his crew seemed adequate men, two of them Norwegians and the third a Scotch-Irishman. They were deepwater men and they knew the yacht. Jim spoke to them tentatively and they were willing to make the trip, wages to be the same as Rickard paid. He had not used his engine of late, and had no engineer.

      “I’ll have to hunt a mate, a steward, a cook, an engineer, and a sailor,” said Jim. “I don’t imagine that’ll be much trouble, except about the cook. We don’t want to be poisoned. I’d suggest a Chinaman; Jap for second choice. They don’t mind the sea. Then there are the supplies, a few charts and—I shall need a sextant,” he added after a slight pause. “You see I haven’t any tools of my own,” he said with a flush. “I imagine Rickard may let us take his chronometers.”

      “You’ll need