THE BARGE OF HAUNTED LIVES

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited

LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.

TORONTO

THE BARGE OF HAUNTED LIVES

BY

J. AUBREY TYSON

AUTHOR OF “THE SCARLET TANAGER”

New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1923

All rights reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Copyright, 1923,

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and Electrotyped. Published, 1923.

FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY NEW YORK

CHAPTER I A SALT MARSH ADVENTURE

For more than two hours, a solitary hunter, crouching in a reed-covered sneak-boat that was drawn close to a muddy bank topped with coarse, yellow grass, had been gazing moodily skyward or across the broad expanse of gloomy marshes to the north of Great South Bay. Near him a score of gray and black decoy ducks bobbed lightly on the chill, drab waters of a wide creek, but their complacent attitudes thus far had failed to inspire among vagrant wildfowl any desire to seek their companionship.

The hunter was a thick-set, sullen-looking man, with a broad, clean-shaven face and thick, curly gray hair. He had only one eye—a greenish-yellow, searching left eye which often produced uncanny effects on persons on whom it gazed. For five years it had been this man’s wont to go down to Sellersville on the first day of November. There he was known to Captain Peters, the boathouse-keeper, as Colonel Canbeck. From Peters he hired a little sloop, with a rusty motor that was barely powerful enough to drive the craft up and down the tidal creeks, which, flowing through the monotonous expanse of salt meadows, empty into Great South Bay.

The sloop had a closed cabin in which were a couple of bunks, a folding table, several lockers and a stove. Canbeck’s shooting trips lasted one week, and he always went [Pg 4]on them alone, seldom getting more than ten or twelve miles from the Peters boathouse. Upon arriving at the shooting grounds, he would anchor the sloop, and for two or three days at a time the little craft would remain at the same anchorage. Leaving the sloop alone, Canbeck would paddle off in a sneak-boat, sometimes a mile or two distant, and, after floating his decoys, he would sit motionless for hours, within his screen of reeds, except when, fortune favoring him, he was engaged in bringing down and gathering in such wildfowl as exposed themselves to his unerring aim.

It was now a few minutes after four o’clock, and the gray sky and lapping waters were growing more chill and dark. It was Canbeck’s first day out this season, and since ten o’clock in the morning his gun had been silent. With an exclamation of disgust, he deposited it in the bottom of the boat and began preparations for his return to the sloop.

As the duckhunter, with reluctant hands, began to draw in one of the strings to which his floating decoys were attached, he swept a last questioning glance around him. Suddenly the expression of bored resignation on his features gave place to one of mild interest. Faintly, at first, but soon more distinctly, he heard the distant drone of an airplane. For several moments his attempts to locate the plane were vain; then he saw it—a small, black blot on the western sky. Uncertain concerning the course it was taking, Canbeck reflected that it probably was one of the machines attached to the Mineola flying field and now was returning to its base.

But, as the drone became more viciously assertive, Canbeck observed that the great, man-made hawk was speeding eastward, leaving Mineola further and further behind it, following a course which would take it directly [Pg 5]over his head. As it drew nearer, however, it veered suddenly, and Canbeck saw it was a seaplane, flying at a height of about six hundred feet above creeks and meadows. Immediately after it veered, it circled toward the west and mounted higher. After proceeding about a mile in that direction, it turned again and headed eastward, gliding lightly and gracefully downward, in the manner of an albatross as it sinks to the surface of the sea.

As the high, muddy bank of the creek hid from his view the final stage of the seaplane’s descent, Canbeck fell to speculating on the purpose of the airman in bringing down his craft at such a time and place. The creek in which he had spent the day emptied into the bay at a point scarcely more than two hundred yards from where he now sat in his sneak-boat, and it was apparent that it was just beyond the mouth of the creek that the flying-boat had come to water. But from that direction there now came no sound.

The impulse to seek some point from which the movements of the seaplane might be viewed was so slight that Canbeck quickly smothered it. He lighted his pipe, smoked reflectively for several minutes, then addressed himself to the task of taking in his decoys. He was thus engaged when a succession of clattering, explosive sounds, near the mouth of the creek, indicated that the motors of the seaplane again were in action.

Nearly three minutes passed, however, before the flying-boat became visible to the eyes of the watching duckhunter. Now, once more clear of the bay, it was headed seaward. Higher and higher it mounted toward the darkening sky, then, turning, it took a westerly course.

Canbeck still was watching the retreating plane when his attention was attracted by the quacking of frightened [Pg 6]ducks. He promptly crouched, picked up his gun and raised its muzzle. A few moments later he discharged both barrels and three ducks, out of a flock of a dozen, dropped into the stream. He was preparing to paddle out to gather in the dead wildfowl when a quiet voice near him caused him to start and turn abruptly.

“I beg your pardon, but will you tell me whether it will be possible for me to get to a railway station to-night?”

The soft, well-modulated voice was that of a woman, who stood on the bank near the sneak-boat. The duckhunter, frowning, looked at the speaker with astonishment. Habitually morose, he had as little liking for women as they had for him, but in the aspect of this one there was something that fairly startled him. Had he seen her in a ballroom, in the lobby of a hotel, behind the footlights of a stage or on the deck of a transatlantic liner, she would have held his gaze for a few moments, then he would have passed on, phlegmatically admitting to himself that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but would have given no more thought to her.

In this environment, however, the rare beauty of this stranger affected him strangely, and the thrill that passed through him was of the sort that may come to a man in the presence of the supernatural. He promptly combated and conquered the awe with which she inspired him, but he never could have described her. More soberly appraising her, Canbeck saw the speaker was young, rather above the average height of her sex, with a straight, admirably proportioned figure, a matchless complexion, black hair and dark eyes that had the lustre of moonlighted waters. Her hair was disordered, however, and her gray Tam-o’-Shanter was a little askew. She wore a neatly fitting tailor-made gown of heavy gray [Pg 7]cloth, and the protection afforded by the jacket of this was supplemented by a plaid golf cape. Her stockings and high shoes were spattered with mud.

For several moments the duckhunter stared vacantly at the young woman who had hailed him. She repeated her question:

“Can you tell me if it will be possible for me to get to a railway to-night?”

“How, in Heaven’s name, did you get out here?” Canbeck demanded.

“I came in the seaplane,” the young woman replied, and now there was a note of sharpness in her voice.

The duckhunter, turning deliberately, gazed thoughtfully toward where the flying-boat appeared to be scarcely larger than an eagle in the distance.

“The devil you did!” he muttered; then, in a louder voice, he asked: “Why did it leave you in such a place as this?”

“Frankly, I do not know. I was compelled to alight, however.”

“Compelled!” Canbeck exclaimed. “Am I to understand that you were left here against your will?”

“It is scarcely such a place as a woman would select to pass the night,” the fair stranger retorted, curtly.

“You are right,” the duckhunter assented. “But how did it happen that—”

“Pardon me if I remind you that I was the first to ask a question and that it still is unanswered,” interrupted the young woman, with some severity. “Will it be possible for me to get to a railway station at which I can get a train for New York to-night?”

“I am very much afraid it will not be possible, madame,” Canbeck replied, with rather more politeness in his manner than had been apparent before. “It already is [Pg 8]getting dark and the tide is ebbing. The nearest railway station is at Sellersville, which, in a direct line, is seven miles from here, but between the village and this spot are several creeks, so the meadows cannot be crossed on foot. In order to get there by my sloop we would have to leave this creek, go out into the bay and enter a long, winding creek which only a native can navigate after nightfall—a distance of about eleven miles. I am not a Long Islander and so am not competent to undertake the task.”

The expression of distrust that had settled on the young woman’s features gradually disappeared while the duckhunter was speaking. There was something in the aspect and voice of the speaker which encouraged the fair aeronaut in the belief that he was a man who could be trusted. When she first had met the gaze of that single eye she had been conscious of a feeling of creepiness and suddenly awakened fear. But, as Canbeck spoke, he looked away from her. His voice was deep, clear and deliberate, and, despite his rough garb, there was something in the man that bespoke a certain degree of refinement. Being a young woman of quick perception, the fair stranger also recognized the fact that this man’s spirit of chivalry was rather more perfunctory than earnest—in short, that his aid would be offered as a result of a sense of duty rather than a sense of pleasure. She was only twenty-two and he was well past fifty, but she involuntarily straightened her Tam-o’-Shanter and glanced ruefully at the mud on her skirt and cape.

“Is that the boat to which you refer?” she asked, as Canbeck paused.

“Oh, bless you, no! This is only a sneaker. The boat I speak of is that little sloop over yonder. There’s a cabin on her, with a couple of bunks and a stove. The centerboard trunk divides the cabin, and a piece of tarpaulin will [Pg 9]make a couple of rooms of it, with a bunk in each. I can get a hot supper, if you like, and you can turn in afterward on your side of the tarpaulin and centerboard. As soon as the sun is up I’ll get you to Sellersville.”

An expression of vexation settled on the young woman’s face and she compressed her lips slightly.

“You have nothing to do, then, with the canal-boat?” she asked.

“With the canal-boat!” Canbeck repeated wonderingly.

“Yes—it is a canal-boat, isn’t it? Or is it a barge?”

“I am afraid I do not understand you,” replied the duckhunter.

The young woman frowned impatiently.

“I mean the boat that is lying in the other creek,” she said.

“I did not know that there was a boat of any kind in the other creek,” Canbeck explained.

Once more the young woman was looking at him searchingly, and, as she looked, distrust again entered her eyes.

“How long have you been here—here in this creek?” she asked.

“I entered it from the bay about seven o’clock this morning, but I saw no boat in the other creek.”

She looked over her shoulder.

“True,” she said, “one cannot see it from here. It does not show above the bank and the meadow grass. There is a canal-boat there, however, and, while I was in that miserable seaplane I saw smoke issuing from the stovepipe on the roof of the deckhouse.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the duckhunter, and the expression of relief on his features was unmistakable. “Most canal-boats have the families of their captains on board, so we may be able to find a woman on this, and a woman [Pg 10]doubtless can make you more comfortable than I can. We will see.”

“You will go with me?”

“Certainly—if you will permit me to do so. It is better, perhaps, that you should not go alone.”

Canbeck drew in his decoys; then he paddled his boat to the bank.

“Shall I take your gun?” the young woman asked, as the duckhunter prepared to disembark from his craft.

“If you will, please.”

The manner in which she took the weapon from his hand indicated that firearms were not strange to her.

“The ducks you shot are drifting downstream,” she said, suggestively.

“I can spare them. I did pretty well this morning.”

Canbeck threw on the bank the big stone that did service as an anchor, then, taking his gun from the small, gloved hands that held it, he led the way over the spongy surface of the meadow toward the neighboring creek.

As the young woman followed her conductor, she saw that his shoulders were broad and square and that his thick-set figure was singularly erect. Then, too, there was something in the precision of his steps that suggested that there had been a period in his life during which he had carried arms for purposes other than shooting ducks.

“An army man, and probably a West Pointer,” she murmured.

They had only about three hundred yards to go and the distance soon was covered. When they arrived at the creek, the duckhunter saw that the young woman had spoken truly. There was a long, broad, black barge lying beside the bank of the creek—a creek scarcely more than three times the width of the boat itself. From the [Pg 11]stovepipe on the roof of the deckhouse a thin cloud of smoke was issuing.

The port rail of the boat was against, and some three feet below, the bank. The duckhunter stepped aboard, and, grasping a rough wooden stool, he placed it in such a position that his companion could step on it from the bank above. This done, he extended her a hand and helped her aboard.

Without speaking, Canbeck led the way to the door of the deckhouse at the stern. This was closed, and he knocked. To the knock there was no reply. Canbeck grasped the knob and thrust the door open cautiously.

The duckhunter now found himself in a dingy, unpainted cabin which was manifestly a storeroom. It was about twelve feet wide and fourteen long, and was filled with barrels and wooden cases which, it was plain, contained provisions. At the forward end appeared the head of a companionway. To the left, rising from the floor to the roof, was the pipe whose top had been seen from without.

“Queer barge—this!” he muttered. “They are doing their cooking below.”

He drew a thick, stubby wooden pipe from his pocket and with this he rapped sharply several times on the door at the foot of the companionway. This summons also failed to elicit an answer. Finding that this door, too, was unlocked, Canbeck pushed it open. The fair aeronaut, standing on the steps behind him, saw him stop suddenly as an exclamation of amazement fell from his lips.

From the half-open door came a flood of mellow light and an odor which was suggestive of that which permeates the atmosphere of cathedrals after the celebration of a mass—the odor which emanates from swinging censers borne by priests.

[Pg 12]

“You had better wait there,” said the duckhunter in a low voice, as, moving back a step, he glanced over his shoulder at his companion.

But the aeronaut was a woman, and so it came to pass that when the duckhunter, having entered the apartment, heard the door close behind him with a soft click, he found his companion was beside him.

“Why did you not stay outside?” the duckhunter demanded sharply.

The young woman, looking around her with wide, staring eyes, gave no heed to his question.

“In the name of all that is wonderful—” she began.

With a shrug of impatience, the duckhunter turned to the door and grasped the knob.

“They’ve locked us in!” he muttered.

She heard him now.

“Locked us in!” she exclaimed with sudden apprehension. “Who do you mean by ‘they’?”

“How should I know? But come—let’s get away from this door.”

Grasping the young woman roughly by one of her arms, Canbeck led her a few paces to the left.

“Keep your back to this wall and your eyes on the curtains at the other end of the room,” he cautioned in a low voice.

The first part of his advice she heeded, the second she ignored, for the spectacle which now offered itself to her view was so extraordinary that her curiosity exceeded her fears.

The apartment was about thirty-five feet in length, twenty in breadth and ten in height. The walls were covered with rich crimson damask and those on the sides were pierced by niches of polished black wood—there being twelve niches in all. In each niche was a statue [Pg 13]wrought in gleaming white marble. Though these statues represented different subjects, all possessed two remarkable features in common. Each represented a human figure, which, like many of the sculptures of Auguste Rodin, was only partly hewn from the rough block. In no instance, however, was the face of the statue revealed, each being hidden in a manner that differed from the others. The features of one female figure were covered with the hands, while those of a second were obscured by a veil. The form of a tense-muscled man appeared to be struggling to free itself from the rough block from which it was hewn with great perfection of detail, but the head, thrown backward, was still a part of the block and only a few outlines of the face were even faintly perceptible.

Other faces were hidden by falling, dishevelled hair, behind masks or within the closed visors of helmets.

At the further end of the apartment was a broad doorway which was approached by three wide, carpet-covered steps. On each side of these steps, on a low pedestal, was a full suit of armor. Each right gauntlet grasped an upright lance and the raised visors of the helmets revealed the hideous faces of grinning skulls. In the doorway hung a pair of heavy velvet curtains of the same color as the damask-covered walls, and, on each side of the doorway, niches in the wall held large Etruscan vases. The apartment was lighted by numerous candelabra set in the walls between the niches.

The floor was covered with a large Oriental rug of which the prevailing colors were red, black and yellow. The carved ceiling was black, with a curious mosaic centerpiece from which depended a heavy bronze chain that sustained a large and elaborately wrought lamp of Arabesque design. The lamp hung over the center of a table about ten feet long and six feet wide—a table with [Pg 14]appointments scarcely less remarkable than the room in which it had a place. A snowy cloth, hanging low over the sides and ends of this concealed its wood and carvings, but on the cloth were crystal and gold and silverware befitting a feast of royalty.

The table was laid for ten persons, there being four chairs at each side and one at each end. The chairs were of carved ebony, with arms, the seats and backs being covered with heavy Japanese brocade of black and gold. Other chairs of similar design stood against the wall, as did also several ottomans that were covered with costly skins and rugs.