# The Cruise of the Dry Dock/A Modern Columbus

CHAPTER IX
A MODERN COLUMBUS
Hardly knowing what to expect the two advanced into the cabin, when the figure turned and looked at them with pallid countenance.
“It's Caradoc!” cried Madden in great astonishment and relief. “Scots, Smith, you gave us a jolt! We thought—what's the matter, old chap? Heat again?”
The Englishman's long face was strained. “Would you—take that decanter away, please!” he begged unsteadily.
Instantly Leonard understood the temptation into which Caradoc had unwittingly wandered. A strong odor of wine pervaded the cabin, and Smith's knock-out had given his nerves a great craving for a stimulant.
Without a word, Leonard walked to the table, took the wine bottle by its neck and heaved it through the open port. The three men in their ​half costumes stood listening intently until it chucked into the sea below. All three seemed to feel relief at the sound.
“That's all right, Caradoc,” said Madden with a note of comfort in his voice, “all right, old chap. It won't be like this always.”
“I was unstrung—rotten heat,” grumbled the Englishman in acute self-disgust. “I thought I was getting over all—” he shifted the topic suddenly: “What do you make out of all this?”
“Completest mystery I ever ran into—the crew deserted for some reason——”
“And they had a feast and a celebration before they went. What cause of rejoicing they discovered in this place is more than I can fancy.”
An inspection showed Smith was correct. What the boys had taken for bloodstains in their first excitement were splashes of wine. The table was still laden with dishes and eatables. Broken glass around the table showed that the diners had followed the old custom of breaking their goblets after toasts.
“They were having a last square meal before ​taking to their boats,” speculated Leonard.
“But the boats are still here, sir,” objected Greer.
“There seems to be no explanation,” gloomed Caradoc.
“If we gathered this up and took it to the men, they would thank us heartily,” suggested Greer.
“That's a fact,” agreed Madden, setting to work at once. “Here, pile these plates on trays and we'll load 'em in the small boat.”
The three adventurers set to work busily, carrying the provisions, which were still fresh and wholesome, to the port dinghy which lay toward the dock.
As they worked they speculated further on what could have brought about such an extraordinary situation. Their guesses ranged from water spouts to savages. Presently Caradoc cut in with:
“It's not so much how the Minnie B got here, as it is how we are going to handle her.”
“We'll man her and sail home,” said Greer.
“We'll have to ballast her first,” declared Leonard. “She won't run this way.”
​“We have enough coal on the dock for that, sir.”
“In a flat sea like this,” suggested Caradoc, “we can warp the schooner to the front of the barge and load the coal directly in her hold.”
By this time the dinghy was loaded and the three swung her out of the davits into the sea below. Then they threw down a rope ladder and climbed below. Greer went back to the stern, picked up an oar and began to scull.
The sun sank as the little boat worked her way through the lanes of seaweed, and the great dock threw long purple shadows across the highly colored ocean. Caradoc looked at the great structure intently. The setting sun rimmed its great shape in brilliant red, but the bulk of it lay in deep wine-like shadow. The boys gazed at it musingly.
“A fine structure to desert, isn't it?” said Caradoc in a low tone.
“Just what I was thinking,” sympathized Madden. “I suppose we could send a tug back and find her?”
“Doubtful, in this fantastic place.”
“The current is fairly well charted; still, it ​may take us some time to reach port——” Both men fell into a musing silence as Greer nibbled the boat forward with the single oar.
“The thing's worth over a million pounds,” appraised Caradoc.
Suddenly Madden straightened with an idea. “How about hitching that schooner to the dock and towing her?”
“What an American idea!” Caradoc lifted his voice slightly.
“Would we—make any—headway, sir, with the schooner's—light machinery?” asked Greer, his sentence punctuated by shoves at his oar.
“We would have to try and see. Besides, we would have to do little else than help the current we are in. The Atlantic eddy sweeps through the Caribbean close to the South American coast. If we could control our direction slightly, we would perhaps make La Guayra or the Port of Spain.”
“With a seven or eight mile current that would take us months—years… What is the distance to La Guayra?” this from Smith.
“Something around fifteen hundred miles. ​But that isn't the point. It isn't how long it takes us, it's can we do it. Had you thought of the salvage end of this thing?”
“Salvage, no. We'll get salvage on the schooner—a bagatelle.”
Madden shook his head, “No, I believe we ought to get salvage on the whole dock.”
“Salvage on the dock!” Caradoc opened his eyes. “We'd be jolly well near millionaires. No, that's impossible. A crew can't salve their own vessel.”
“Yes, but we are not the crew of the dock,” insisted Madden, “at least not the navigating crew. The men of the Vulcan were that. We are nothing but painters——”
“Oh, that's a quibble—nothing but a quibble!” objected Caradoc.
“Well, anyway, I think there is a rule that if a crew rescue their own craft under circumstances of extreme peril, they come in as salvors. I'll look it up in Malone's books when we get back.”
At that moment their ears caught a cheering from the dock, which came to them as a small sound almost lost over the immense flat sea. ​Greer paused in his work to wave a hand, which was extremely sociable for him. The men bunched on the forward pontoon, waved and shouted at the little boat. As the noise grew louder, questions shaped themselves in the uproar.
“W'ot did ye make of 'er?” “Was there anywan aboard?” “W'ot ship is she?” “Can we git a berth hoff this bloomin' dock?”
Madden held up his hands for silence and shouted a reply.
“We have a meal for you—a dinner!”
A great shouting and cheering broke out at this. It is strange how much more pressing is the small need of a dinner than the large need of a rescue. The mystery of the schooner was overlooked in a sight of the plates and victuals.
“Oh, look, there it is—bread and meat!” “And, say, ain't that fish?” “And that goose or something!”
Eager hands reached down as Madden and Caradoc handed up the platters. “To the mess room, to the mess room!” directed Leonard.
“Sure, sure, we wouldn't touch a mouthful for hanything!” cried Mulcher earnestly.
​“Misther Madden, you're a wonder!” extolled Hogan.
Then the three men climbed up and were received clamorously. Even the silent Greer found himself beset with a temporary bunch of admirers. All began talking of the Minnie B, asking questions. Caradoc unbent his dignity and explained what he had observed.
Leonard went straight to the officer's cabin, eager to satisfy his curiosity about salvage. A whole fortune shimmered before his vision if law allowed the crew to salve the dock. He turned into the hot cabin, struck a light and ran his eyes over the mate's shelf of books. He soon found what he was hunting, “Abbot's Law of Merchant's Ships and Seamen.”
Leonard sat down at his desk, placed the light close by and began a sweating search for the legal rule applicable to salvage. It was Madden's intention to attempt to get the dock to port no matter what the law said, but he knew his best chance of getting the crew to cooperate was through possible prize money.
Like all legal works, Abbott gave shading decisions on both sides of the topic. As the ​lad read on he discovered many questions were involved.
What constitutes the crew of a vessel? Can a towed vessel have a navigating crew? Could a lawful crew be composed of ordinary laborers, or would it be necessary for them to be able seamen?
All these points and many others were involved, but Leonard plodded patiently through the legal labyrinth, and finally decided that he and his crew were eligible for prize money. He then fell to estimating the probable amount the crew would receive. The dock was easily worth a million pounds, or say five million dollars. It would lack one or two hundred thousand totting up a full five million, but Leonard's imagination was in no mood to balk at a paltry two hundred thousand more or less. Say five million! The share of the salvors would amount to—say fifty per cent, two and a half million. Distribute this among twelve men. There he was, two hundred and eight thousand, three hundred and thirty-three dollars and thirty-three cents. Or say two hundred thousand dollars.
Madden drew a long breath and opened his ​eyes at his own figures. Was it possible? He doubted it! He believed it!
He stared out of his open port onto the fantastic sea, amazed that a great fortune should drift in to him from such a place. What would he do? How should he live? He could go anywhere, do anything. There came to him suddenly the precepts of his old teacher in economics at college: “A fortune is a great moral responsibility. A rich man is a trustee of society.” Did he have the brains to wield this money and make it mean something to the world? The thought of wealth always comes with a question. A man's answer to that question determines whether he is a man or a thing.
Before Leonard could reach any sort of decision, Gaskin rang his gong for dinner. The boy arose and walked buoyantly towards the mess hall. He was hungry, too. Ever since he had cut rations, he had been eating the same fare as the men.
The tropical night was falling as the men joyously entered to a full-fledged, satisfying, if secondhand, meal. They came in laughing, joking boisterously, wondering about the schooner.
​When the men had strung around the long table, Mike Hogan arose and the men became quiet as if at some preconcerted signal. The Irishman gave a slightly embarrassed bob toward Leonard and began in an extra rich brogue:
“Misther Madden, sir——”
Leonard glanced up in surprise. “What's worrying you, Mike?”
“Th' bhoys, sir, have been thinkin' as how we would loike to ixpress our appreciation av what ye've done for us, sir, in a little spache, something loike a little spache av wilcome, sir, an' asked me to do it, if ye don't moind.”
“Go ahead,” nodded Madden, “but don't expect much of a response from me. I'm no speaker and——”
“Go on, Mike!” “Go to it, Mike!” “Take a sip of water, Mike, like a reg'lar one, and cut loose.”
With this encouragement, the Celt moistened his dry lips, thrust out his chest, and after a momentary fumble, stuck three fingers in his shirt front.
“It's me pr-roud privilege, ladies and ​gintilmin, to wilcome to our midst, a gintilmin bearin' in wan hand a distinguished ancistry, a spirit av enterprise and a hear-rt av courage, while wid his other, he snatches a dinner for his starvin' min out o' th' middle av th' Sargasso Sea. Oi rayfer to our distinguished commander, Captain Leonard Madden of America.”
A burst of applause followed this period. Hogan beamed, bowed deeply to left and right; his voice went up an octave and he proceeded:
“Ladies an' gintilmin, me mind runs back through th' pages av histh'ry, lookin' for a name fit to be compared with him but I don't find none. There is Columbus and Peary and Stanley and Amundsen, all av thim gr-reat min, but whin you come to compare thim with our hero, phwat have they done?
“Look at Columbus. What is his claim to glory? Did Columbus iver swim out into th' stinkin' Sargasso and come back with a good dinner for his star-r-vin' min? Histh'ry does not say so. He discovered America, Columbus did. What is America? A whole continint. Anybody that was sailin' by would have noticed it. But, gintilmin, a dinner is a very small thing ​and they are har-rd to discover, as ivry wan of you lads very will know. Columbus wint out in thray ships, our gallant captain wint out in his undhershirt and a straw hat. I say thray cheers for our gallant captain!”
The cheers were given with a hearty good will and the orator sat down smiling broadly and moistening his dry lips with his tongue. Then the diners desired a response.
It struck Madden to propose salving the dock while the crowd was mellow. He arose when the noise subsided somewhat.
“I thank you fellows very much for the kind opinion you entertain of me, and now I want to lay a proposition before you.”
“Hear! Hear the captain!” called two or three cockneys in hoarse good humor.
“I want to say that to-morrow we are going to man the schooner and sail for home.”
The men were in a bubbling mood, and cheered this with cries of “Good! Good!”
“What I wish you to decide is, whether we shall tow the dock, or sail with the schooner alone?”
“With the schooner alone, sor!” “Schooner ​alone!” “We 'ave enough of th' dock!” came an instant chorus.
Leonard held up a hand, “One moment. I want you to have a voice in this decision. An attempt to tow the dock will be highly adventurous, no doubt dangerous. You were not hired for any such service, and I wish to leave it to a vote.”
“Good, very good, sor! Let's 'ave th' question!”
“Just one moment. You must consider the salvage involved in this matter. If we save the schooner, we will receive as prize money about one-half her value. If we save the dock, we will receive about half her value. The dock is worth a million pounds, about five million dollars. So each man would receive for his portion, in event we salved the dock about… two hundred thousand dollars… a fortune.”
A profound silence fell over the diners. They hunched forward, staring fixedly out of sunburned, gross, dissipated faces. Longshores-men, the scum of London, who had worked all their lives for half a pound a week, gaped at the idea of two hundred thousand dollars.
​Somebody repeated the sum hoarsely. Suddenly they raised an uproar.
“We'll take 'er, sir!” “We'll tow th' dock, sor!” “We weel tow zee dock to zee moon for zat!” “Sphend our loives and die rich min!”
The strong imagination of wealth ran around the table like wine. Deschaillon responded first.
“Voila! One meellion francs! I weel buy a pond near Paris and raise bull frogs. I weel buy a decoration and be a knight. I weel——”
“I'll start an undertaker shop!” glowed Galton, “and my old mother shall have a bit of ground to raise flowers.”
“Glory be!” chanted Hogan, “Oi'll wear a tall hat, a long-tailed coat and carry a silver-headed cane, and thin Susie Maloney and Bridget O'Malley and Peggy O'Brien will be sorry they iver tossed up their saucy noses at th' love o' an honest lad!”
“I'll own a kennel of bulldogs,” growled Mulcher, “and 'ave a fight hev'ry day.”
All this was given in chorus and much of it lost. Those who didn't speak aloud their heart's desires thought them. Fortune had shown her golden form to these crude men for a fleeting ​instant, and dreams, long hidden in their hearts, suddenly leaped to life. They were poor dreams, selfish dreams, foolish dreams, but for the moment they poised, like liberated fairies, for a flight to the land where dreams come true.
“We sail in the morning,” explained Madden, “for a South American port. Is there anyone in this crew who knows anything about running a marine engine?”
The men fell silent and looked inquiringly at each other. Fortune was beginning to show herself elusive, even in the Sargasso, save to those who know.
“I b'lieve not,” said Mulcher.
“We could raise steam, sir,” suggested Galton, “and then pull all the levers and twist th' w'eels, sir and see w'ot'd 'appen.”
“W'ot 'ud 'appen!” cried two or three voices. “W'y, we'd hall be blowed galley west, 'at's w'ot'd 'appen!”
“Sure Misther Madden can figger it out!” suggested Hogan cheerfully.
“We might leave th' dock and run 'er 'ome by sail,” suggested Galton.
“No! No! Take th' dock!” “We'll run'er ​by steam!” “Steam's th' word!” A storm of determination cried down any such suggestion.
“D'ye mean a dozin str-rong min can't run one little engine!” shouted Hogan; “r-rich min, too! It's a shame, lads, we haven't a dhrop o' something to dhrink the health av th' ixpedition.”
“Yes, Mister Madden, a drop o' something!” urged another voice.
At that moment, Gaskin entered the door with suppressed excitement showing through his usually imperturbable manner.
“Hi—Hi beg pardon, Mister Madden. Hi, don't want to interrupt, but—” he rubbed his hands with a little bob—“but would you 'ave th' goodness to step outside for a look, sir. Hi think th' Minnie B is on fire.”
And the fairy dreams, evoked by a wave of Fortune's wand, crept silently back into the hearts of their owners.