T never really got much beyond the rumor stage—Captain James Kelly of the S. S. Andaman saw to that. It wouldn't have done him any good, or his line, and since England was troubled with railway strikes and war scares at Agadir, things which happened on the other side of the globe were apt to be crowded out of the newspapers.
But he couldn't stop the rumors, and “Our Special Correspondent” in Colombo made out quite a fair story for his paper at home. It didn't appear; seemingly the editor thought the poor devil had taken to drink and was raving. In fact, all that did appear in the papers were two short and apparently disconnected notices. The first ran somewhat as follows, and was found under the Shipping Intelligence:
“The S. S. Andaman arrived yesterday at Colombo. She remained to carry out repairs to her wireless, and will leave tomorrow for Plymouth.”
And the second appeared some two or three months after:
“No news has yet been heard of the S. Y. Firefly, which left Colombo some months ago for an extensive cruise in the Indian Ocean. It is feared that she may have foundered with all hands in one of the recent gales.”
But she didn't—the sea was as calm as the proverbial duck pond when the S. Y. Firefly went down in a thousand fathoms of water not far from the Cocos Islands. And but for the grace of Heaven and Jim Maitland that fate would have overtaken the good Andaman instead.
And so for your eyes only, Mrs. Jim, I will put down the real facts of the case. For your eyes only, I say, because I'm not absolutely sure that legally speaking he was quite justified.
HE S. S. Andaman was a vessel of some three thousand tons. She was in reality a cargo boat carrying passengers, in that passengers were the secondary consideration. There was only one class, and the accommodation was sufficient for about thirty people. Twelve knots was her maximum speed, and she quivered like jelly if you tried to get more out of her. And last, but not least, Captain James Kelly had been her skipper for ten years, and loved her with the love only given to men who go down to the sea in ships.
When Jim and I went on board she was taking in cargo, and Kelly was busy. He was apparently having words with the harbor master over something, and the argument had reached the dangerous stage of politeness. But Jim had sailed in her before, and a minute or two later a delighted chief steward was shaking hands with him warmly.
“This is great, sir!” he cried. “We got a wireless about the berths, but we had no idea it was from you.”
“You can fix us up, Bury?” asked Jim.
“Sure thing, Mr. Maitland,” answered the other. “We've only got twelve on board: two Yanks, a colored gentleman, two ladies and a missionary bunch.” We had followed him below and he was showing us our cabins. “Seven of 'em, sir,” he went on, “with two crates of Bibles and prayer books, all complete. Maybe you saw them sitting around on deck as you came on board.”
“Can't say I did, Bury,” said Jim indifferently.
HEY never go ashore, sir,” continued the steward. “We've been making all the usual calls, and you'd have thought they'd have liked to go ashore and stretch their legs—but they didn't. There they sit from morning till night reading and praying, till they fairly give you the hump.”
“It doesn't sound like one long scream of excitement,” said Jim. “But if they're happy, that's all that matters. Come on, Dick. Let's go up and see if old man Kelly is still being polite.”
We went on deck to find that the argument was finished, and with a shout of delight the skipper recognized Jim. Jim went forward to meet him, and for a moment or two I stood where I was, idly watching the scene on the quay. And then quite distinctly I heard a voice from behind me say, “By God! It's Jim Maitland.” Now as a remark it was so ordinary when Jim was about that I never gave it a thought. In that part of the world one heard it, or its equivalent, whenever one entered a hotel or even a railway carriage.
And so, as I say, I didn't give it a thought for a moment or two, until Jim's voice hailed me, and I turned around to be introduced to the skipper. It was then that I noticed two benevolent-looking clergymen seated close to me in two deck chairs. Their eyes were fixed on the skipper and on Jim, while two open Bibles adorned their knees. Not another soul was in sight; there was not the slightest doubt in my mind that it was one of them who had spoken. And as I stood talking with the skipper and Jim my mind was subconsciously working.