Howard Pease - The Tattooed Man

Howard Pease THE TATTOOED MAN

A tale of strange adventures, befalling Tod Moran, mess boy of the tramp steamer "Araby," upon his first voyage from San Francisco to Genoa, via the Panama canal

Pease, Howard, 1894-1974

Producer's Note

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P.S. Исправлено множество (несколько сотен) ошибок оцифровки, но какая-то часть их могла остаться незамеченной или нерасшифрованной.

Contents:

PART ONE

I. Missing and Guilty .................. 3

II. Grinning Dragons ................. 12

III. S.S. “Araby” ...................... 22

IV. The Cabin Aft .................... 35

V. Outward Bound ................... 45

VI. Man Overboard! ................. 56

VII. The Lifeboat .................... 68

PART TWO. THE FIGHT IN THE FORECASTLE

I. Southern Waters ..................... 85

II. The Enmity of Red Mitchell ........ 98

III. Sharks ............................... 106

IV. Mock Woo of Panama ............. 121

V. To Colon! To Colon! ................ 132

VI. Tod Shows His Fists ................ 141

VII. Black Gang vs. Deck Crew ....... 154

VIII. Captain Tom Jarvis ............... 163

PART THREE. ON THE TRAIL OF NEIL MORAN

I. A Secret Meeting in Marseilles ...... 177

II. The Third-Class Compartment ..... 187

III. At the Villa Paradis ................. 199

IV. The Prisoner ........................ 208

V. Escape ................................ 214

VI. The Story of the Annie Jamison .. 230

VII. Shanghai Passage ................... 240

PART FOUR. THE DOOMED SHIP

I. High Adventure ....................... 253

II. Mr. Hawkes Shows His Hand ........ 264

III. In the Stokehold ..................... 275

IV. Midnight .............................. 288

V. Abandon Ship! ........................ 299

VI. "I Take Command, Mr. Hawkes" ... 312

VII. Making Port ......................... 324

PART ONE

CHAPTER I MISSING AND GUILTY

SEA fog hazed like spindrift along the San Francisco water front. Tod Moran, coming from the echoing halls of the Ferry Building to the Embarcadero, paused uncertainly upon the damp pavement. On train and ferry, he had been leaping gloriously through pages of high romance with a gentleman adventurer and his "noble, brave men of the sea," and now, upon stepping out of the rose-tinted covers of his book, he was momentarily startled, as though he had strayed into another world.

About him were the strange, muffled sounds of a February morning when the city is smothered in mist: the distant clang of cable cars, the hoarse cries of newsboys, the dull rumble of trucks and drays passing moment, debating what he should say to the manager. After all, perhaps his fears were groundless; his brother might have had a bad passage out, and in port, of course, a purser was always busy. Yet Neil had never failed to write before. He knew how his younger brother looked forward to receiving a letter stamped Marseilles or Genoa or Port Said. Perhaps Neil was ill with fever again—that jungle fever which he had contracted upon a voyage up the Amazon for cacao. With renewed anxiety, Tod returned to the office and opened its begrimed glass door.

Behind a counter facing the entrance, a girl sat typing, her slender hands flying deftly over the keys. She glanced up from her machine with a questioning smile. Her eyes were kind, Tod saw, and her hair the colour of bronze.

"Could I—could I see the manager?" Tod stammered.

"He's outside just now," the girl answered quickly. "Will you wait?"

Tod seated himself on a bench near the door. His gaze strayed past the girl and settled upon a glass door leading to a rear office. In black letters on the glass were the words:

Jasper Swickard, Manager

At the sight of the name, Tod's restlessness increased. With a nervous movement of his hand, he rose and crossed to the counter. "Do you think," he asked, "that the manager will be back soon?"

"Oh, yes; he's just outside on the Araby."

"Is that the ship?"

"Yes; you'll find Mr. Swickard there—if it's very important." A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"It is important," Tod rejoined. "I'm looking for my brother. It's been several months since I've heard from him."

At his words, the girl turned and directed upon him a startled gaze. The smile left her lips. "Your brother?" she uttered softly. "And his name?"

"Neil Moran."

Tod, leaning over the counter, saw the blood drain suddenly from her face. Her glance fluttered past him out the door to the wharf; then she rose and quickly crossed to the counter. "Of course; you're Tod," she said with a little catch in her voice. "He told me of you—often."

"Neil? You know my brother?" Tod questioned eagerly.

The girl glanced over her shoulder and raised a warning hand. "We've only a moment. Don't let Mr. Swickard know I've been talking to you."

"Yes, but Neil! Where is he?" Involuntarily, he lowered his voice to match her tone. "What's happened?"

"I wish I knew. . . . Hush—Mr. Swickard!"

She slipped back to her desk, and a light run of chatter came from her lips. "In just a moment. You don't mind waiting, do you? He's very busy this morning."

Tod looked up. The outer door had opened and the manager of the European-Pacific Company entered. Crossing to a desk, he hurriedly glanced through some papers in a file. Tod watched him closely. He saw a slender, well-dressed man of thirty-five or forty, with sleek dark hair over eyes narrow and crafty.

"Mr. Swickard," said the girl, "a young man to see you."

"I'm busy, Miss Murray, as you see," snapped the manager. "What's he want?"

Tod spoke up. "I wanted to ask you about—my brother."

"Your brother?" The man turned slowly to face the boy; his beady black eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Who are you?" he said in even tones. "What's your name?"

"Moran—Tod Moran, sir."

Mr. Swickard stared impassively. Only --">