FOOTLOOSE AND FREE

Rebelled Against His Masters, Escapedfrom Bondage, Became a Vagabond uponthe Face of the Earth and the BlueWaters, and Vowed an Accounting ofHimself to No Man but His Autobi-ographer."

It may be added that Shackles is thebest and closest friend his autobiographerever had ! Not that Shackles is his realname, but he is so called here, because,like many another young man earning asalary and living in a big city, he was soused to the gyves that shackled him tohis desk that he never thought seriouslyof the possibility of knocking them off,until——

Then came the great rebellion ofShackles! He had been acting queerlyfor days. The other fellows in the officewhere he worked noticed it. Some al-lowed that he needed a vacation, as, infact, everybody did.

The weather was New York City inJuly. The asphalt in the streets wassoft and reeking and laborious to thetread. The sound of traffic was a sullen,depressed, and depressing groan. Byday the city fairly panted as it lay pros-trated under a steaming blanket of hu-midity. By night the monster of brickand steel sweated and gasped in a breath-

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HY was it that earlywriters of travel andadventure by landand sea so often en-titled their work "ATrue Account"?

Was it because quill-drivers were greaterliars in those days? Or was the readerless, or more, gullible? Or was therein existence a sort of literary "PureFood Law" which compelled vendors ofpersonal experiences to brand their waresaccurately?

This last may have been the case, forwe also find the brand on each verse re-lating to the adventures of a hoary oldsuspect who said he had been to sea, manand boy, for over a hundred years, andwho went in search of the North Polebefore Peary was in swaddling clothes.

By STEPHEN CHALMERS

ILLUSTRATED BY THORNTON D. SKIDMORE

Shackles, a Slave, Rebels Against His Masters, Escapes fromBondage, and Becomes a Vagabond Upon the Blue Waters

"And we found it, too,Without much ado,And that is the truth," said he!

All of which is aside from the mat-ter in hand. This preamble asserteditself, somehow, in place of the real be-ginning, which was to have been that"Here Begins a True Account of theTravels and Adventures of One Shack-les, a Slave, of New York City, Who

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less stillness.Heavy - lungedh u m a n i t ycamped on theroofs andprayed formorning withthoughts of icedcoffee and afrappéd melonwedge in a tile-floored foodmorgue underthe feeble-breath of anelectric fan.

No wonderShackles actedqueerly. Nowonder thatfrom his desk inthe tall officebuilding, hiseyes lingeredwistfully on thecool, wet-look-ing Hudson,which was visible from his perch, andwatched the steamers that came andwent to and from the big, breezy oceanand the green islands beyond. No won-der he rebelled!

Probably thousands of other victimsof the summer city and the office gyvesrebel, but get no farther. But this par-ticular Shackles went farther. Fortu-nately for the execution of his idea, hewas blessed with few of the ties thatbind. Habit was the worst and mosttenacious of his bonds, as it is with mostpersons similarly situated. But just asthe office fan broke down and the galleyslaves groaned in unison, Shackles de-cided that habit is a bad habit and thathe, at least, would break it in the faceof all precedent.

"Here am I ," said he to himself, star-ing from his perch and through the win-dow at a graceful fiddle-bowed steamerthat was slipping up the river to herwharf; "here am I drawing so manypesos in my envelope each week, swelter-ing seven hours a night in an eight-by-ten-room with a hundred tons of brickand mortar overhead, and by day stewinglike a mole in an underground runway

FROM HIS DESK HIS EYES LINGERED

WISTFULLY ON THE COOL HUDSON

when I'm notscraping myheels on a highstool."

Why in thun-der did he do it?That was whatShackles want-ed to know,when the wholegreen universe,the entireseven, salty,s p r a y - s w e p tseas and all thewinds of thecompass's thir-ty - two pointswere laughingat him.

"Shack le s ! "cried the Slave-Driver, a slavehimself, pro-moted from theoars, "call upthe building

agent and tell him the fan's busted."Shackles turned a wild eye upon his

superior."Go to the devil!" said he, in the man-

ner of a balloon suddenly pricked.The Slave-Driver nearly fainted."I'm through! I quit!" said Shackles,

with the simplicity of a mind made up.He closed his books, climbed down

from his perch, and walked to the win-dow, so that he could have a better viewof that graceful steamer with the fiddle-bow. The Slave-Driver, a slave himself,was rendered momentarily human againin the face of this unprecedented case ofdesperate revolt. He came to Shackles'sside.

"What's the matter, boy?" he askedgently. "Has the heat got you?"

"Not a bit," said the rebel, "but I justdon't see it."

"See what?""Why in thunder a man, healthy,

young, red-blooded, and with two hun-dred and forty-seven dollars salted away,should stay harnessed to a desk whenevery thermometer in town's light-headed and the whole world is his forthe taking.

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As the Slave-Driver handed back theclipping he turned upon Shackles a facethat was actually understanding andsympathetic.

"Why should he?" said he. It mayhave been concurrence with Shackles'sideas. Of course, it was difficult for theSlave-Driver to comprehend how a mancould acquire in a moment the nervenecessary to smash the routine-habit ofyears.

But the idea appealed to the Slave-Driver, too, although he saw how utterlyabsurd any such radical procedure wouldbe in his own case. The Erie mightchange its suburban time-table or theWaldorf burn down during his absence!

"Wh-what are you going to do, Shack-les?" he asked uncertainly.

"I'm going to add an 's' to my nameand hike for the Other Side of Beyond,"said Shackles.

"Where's that?""I d'know," said the rebel, "but,"

pointing through the window to thegraceful, fiddle-bowed steamer whichhad precipitated the revolt, "there's thesteamer that goes there, I think, andI'm going down to find out about it rightaway."

Then Shackles put on his hat and de-parted, leaving the entire galley crewresting on their oars and staring at oneanother.

Shackles was mad! Of course, thatwas to be expected. They would all gomad some day, but each hoped that whenthe end came he would be able to lie off

sanely in a pleasant mountain sanitariumat the expense of the firm, or have savedenough to live at a farmhouse and fishin a little brook where the farmer usedto hook whoppers—when he was a boy.

"Well," said the Slave-Driver, smoth-ering his sympathy of necessity, "if anymore of you are getting the disease, let'shear about it. If not, you fellows hadbetter put your noses to the grindstoneinstead of gaping through the windowat a tramp steamship!"

Until lunch-time the silence wasbroken only by the scratching of pensfrom the vicinity of bowed heads andthe sound of the agent's man tinkeringwith the "busted" fan. And throughthe open window of the office buildingcame a whiff of the river and of Jerseyfields, like lapping water and beckoningfruits unto fettered Tantalus.

Shackles figured that he would findthe attractive steamer with the rakishlines and the fiddle-bow somewhere inthe vicinity of West Twelfth Street.When he left prison he headed in thatdirection.

As he walked through the streets, withhis hat slewed in the direction of hisright eye, he noticed that the drone oftraffic seemed pitched in a higher, cheer-ier key; also that while the thermometerstood at 90°, the heat did not seem soobjectionable and there was even aseductive glamor about the sunshine.Only the people in the streets seemedmore uncomfortable and martyr-like;but possibly that was because they wereslaves still and Shackles was shackless.The yoke of bondage was lifted fromhis neck; the spirit of vagabondage wasdancing in his heart.

Of course, he reflected, he could havewaited his turn and taken his vacationwhen it came due. That was what hehad saved the two hundred and forty-seven dollars for.

And then he began to laugh inwardly!There was something so very absurdabout a man putting aside a dollar ortwo every week for the annual vacation,which he would have to take when theslave-owners decreed. Then he wouldbe permitted leave of absence to spendhis savings in one or other of the places

To wake at mornAnd hear the little laughOf the lake-wind in the trees;

To watch at dawnThe rising sunbeams kissThe mist-crowned, towering peaksAnd glide down to the plains—

Ah, that is Life !Not this—

To wake at mornAnd hear the swelling roarOf Man, Beast, and Machine,Toiling in murky air

And city's sweat !

"Here!" he broke off, diving into avest-pocket and producing a clipping."Read that—the bit I've marked."

The Slave-Driver took the clipping.It was a bit of newspaper verse—of akind. One part was marked.

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cut and dried for the business of ab-sorbing vacation moneys.

In the limited two weeks he mighthave time to take a run to Havana, turnthree times around the Prado, and comeback to work with a coat of sudden tanor sea-raw. He might go to the moun-tains and breathe the balsams and loaf ina canoe and get back with a pleasantmemory of lakes and forests, also a vaguedisappointed sense of "nothing hap-pened." If his vacation fell due in thehunting season, he might shoot a deeror land a rather large trout. Hemight——

But the only certainty of a two-weeks'hunting trip—at least as Shackles hadfound it—is that just when you haveshaken the city feeling and settled downto a genuine appreciation of the bigsilences, it is time to return; and youcome back to the city in a state of re-bellion more acute than when youstarted.

No—no more of these for Shackles.He had decided that the only vacationis that which has the errant spirit at itsfoundation—the determination to putforth in search of what may turn up bythe way, with a determination that ismerely nominal and subject to changeupon a whim, and with a time-limit thatis fixed only by luck.

"I don't know where I'm going,"quoth Shackles, "but I'm on my way,and come wind or weather, I'm goingto make two hundred and forty-sevendollars go farther than any like amountever did before!"

He turned into West Street, borderedon the right by warehouses and sailors'taverns and on the left by piers,wharf-sheds, sailing-ships, steamers, andglimpses of the lively sunlit river be-tween. The air was heavy with theodor of foreign cargoes—raw sugar,rum, kauri gum, allspice, coffee, hides,and—what not?

Shackles drew a deep breath and hisstep quickened to a longer, lighter pace.

Who says there is no poetry in docksmells ! More than in any night-jasmineunder a moon, or any romantic reminis-cence of dead rose-leaves. In every vari-ation of West Street's odors Shacklesconjured a picture—palmy islands where

the breakers roared to windward, deepjungles where naked Indians tapped rub-ber trees, golden valleys where yokedoxen dragged wainloads of cane to therumbling mills and the fuming coppers,wide pampas where queer-hatted vaque-ros roped the fattening beeves

Shackles snuffed ! And he was freeas the wind to blow whither he listed!

Fifteen minutes later he saw her atclose quarters for the first time—thegraceful, fiddle-bowed steamer that wasforever to be associated with the hap-piest, most care-free weeks of his life.He came to a halt in the inner shadowsof the pier and looked up at her liftedhead, whereon was set in letters of gold—HESPERIDES.

Then—Was it the name that releasedthe contents of some little brain-cell?It suggested phrases that shaped them-selves into lilting lines. It was some-thing about "the sheen of the far-sur-rounding seas and islands that were theHesperides" of many a boyish dream.

It puzzled him until a whole verserippled through his mind. Then heknew that Longfellow had been a Knightof the Endless Trail, or, at least, of thehankering to follow it.

I remember the black w h a r v e s and theslips,

And the sea-tides tossing free;And Spanish sai lors with bearded lips,And the beauty and mys t e r y of the ships,

And the magic of the sea.

Although filled with the same fascina-tion, when he climbed the gangwayShackles saw never a sign of a sailorwith bearded lips or earrings. Instead,when he reached the purser's office be-low, he found a nattily uniformed officerengaged in a heated altercation with asecond ditto ditto.

"This packet," the first was saying,"might as well be a Horn windjammerwith a slop-chest containing Killer'sKure-All and a bottle of cough-drops,as put to sea with a paid surgeon whois to discharge the company's medicalobligations without a decent supply ofdrugs."

"But, my dear Doctor——" protestedthe Purser, with a distinctly Englishaccent.

"Don't 'dear Doctor' me!" shouted

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the other, with a suggestion of Edin-burgh. "You know what happened atSavanilla last trip—whole ship held upbecause a fat man had rheumatism andthey thought it was the plague. Hewouldn't have had rheumatism if I couldhave filled him up with asperin; andthere wasn't a grain on the ship. It's thecompany's low-down thrift!"

The Doctor indignantly started forthe companion.

"Excuse me," said Shackles to thePurser. "Wil l you please inform mewhere——"

"And what's more!" stormed theDoctor, returning to the attack, regard-less of floor rights. "There's no chloro-form—not a drop. Suppose a lady de-veloped appendicitis? I'd laugh for amonth if the Old Man broke his legand I had to saw it off."

"Pardon me, Doctor," said the Pur-ser, strangely unruffled, "but your dis-respect toward the commander is deplor-able. Also, you are obstructing the busi-ness of this ship. This gentleman——"

"This is ship's business and the gen-tleman will have to wait his turn," saidthe Doctor, giving Shackles a momen-tary benefit of his glare. "But I wishmerely to add one thing: If I, as sur-geon, again have occasion to demand thatthe bar be opened that I, as surgeon, mayobtain a bottle of whisky for medicalpurposes, and if my word, as surgeon ofthis ship, is again doubted and the afore-said bottle of whisky is held up pendinga permit from the Old Man, I'll reportthe matter to the medical chief of theline. Make a note of that, sir!"

Again the Doctor made for the com-panion.

"I wanted to ask you where this shipis bound for and when?" said Shacklesto the Purser quickly.

"We sail in two days," said the Pur-ser pleasantly, "for——"

"I am surgeon of this ship!" shoutedthe fiery Doctor from the companion,"and captain, commodore, or anybodyelse dare not encroach upon my medicalauthority aboard."

"Are you through?" demanded Shack-les tartly.

"What d'y' mean, sir!" snorted theDoctor.

"I mean that if you've quit, stay quit.If you haven't, get it all off your chestand let somebody else have a show."

The Doctor glared at Shackles. ThePurser tactfully came between them.

"Why don't you see the New Yorkagent, Doctor?" he suggested.

The Doctor turned on his heel, afterannihilating Shackles and the Purserwith one sweeping glare.

"Go and poison hens!" he snapped,and disappeared up the companion.

"Don't mind the Doctor," said thePurser. "He's often like that, but he'sas good as gold. He got a sunstroke inAustralia, but you mustn't ever mentionit in his hearing. His bee is that ifsomething happened aboard he'd be shortof the very drug or instrument that herequired.

THE SLAVE DRIVER, A SLAVE HIMSELF,

PROMOTED FROM THE OARS

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298

"But—you were saying? Oh, yes.We sail in two days for Southampton,England."

Shackles's heart fell, as did his face.Southampton! A rakish, fiddle-bowedsteamer with the name, Hesperides, sail-ing for any such measly, cut-and-dried,tourist clearing-house as Southampton!

"Of course, if you're bound for Eng-land, you could go direct. It takes usthirty days to arrive, for we have to callat Jamaica, Panama, Colombia, and allsorts of places before we get there."

"Jamaica, Panama, Colombia, and—all sorts of places!" Shackles echoed, hisface lighting up. "Then I want to goto Southampton. What's the price?"

"Better see the agent," said the Pur-ser, "but I believe it is about one hun-dred and twenty-five dollars in Ameri-can money. This is an English ship,you know. But between ourselves," add-ed the Purser in quite a friendly way,"do you really want to come with us?It's always jolly having young fellowsalong, but it's frightfully hot in thetropics just now—July."

"Hotter than New York?""Personally speaking—no. I've been

around a good deal, and this is the hot-test hole on earth in summer."

"I'm coming!" said Shackles. "We'llshake hands on it. And you fellowswon't treat me as if I were a—a regularpassenger, will you?—seeing I'm goingall the way with you?"

"We'll make you one of us," said thePurser, who was himself quite young."Jolly glad to have you. Let's start inright away. It's awfully hot. Let'shave a gin-wicket."

"A what!""Why, you an American and don't

know what a gin-wicket is! The chiefsteward learned to make 'em when hewas ashore here last trip. Gin-rickey?Well, it's some bally name like that, butit's a corking drink in hot weather.Good Lord! Look where he comesagain."

It was the Doctor once more, but thistime he was sailing in a gentler breeze.He was accompanied by a handsome,erect old man, who looked like KingEdward and was attired in a shoulder-strapped uniform of white drill.

The Doctor nodded curtly to the Pur-ser and bowed courteously to Shackles.

"I wish to apologize," said he to thelatter abruptly. "I have a hasty temper,and you caught me when I was furious—yes, sir, furious at the thriftiness ofthis worthless company. Also, when Itold you to go and poison hens it was amere figure of speech, intended to con-vey my utter disgust with the world atlarge. Is my apology acceptable?"

It was. While the Doctor and Shack-les shook hands on it, the handsome manwith the King Edward face was makingstrange passes over the Doctor's shoulderat the Purser.

"All right, you old heathen," said thePurser. "I was just going to, but asyou're here we'll order the wickets—wickeys, I mean—and while they're com-ing, we'll shake the bones. Come inside,Mr. Shackles.

"Mr. Shackles, this is the Chief—thechief engineer. You have already metthe Doctor. Both are beyond the paleof a gentleman's serious regard. Chief,Mr. Shackles is going all the way roundwith us."

"Good Lord, what a fool!" the Doc-tor fairly exploded.

"Young man," said the Chief, in asoft drawl that was faintly old, "wasyour upbringing fairly good?"

When Shackles assured the old engi-neer that his parents had been poor buthonest, the Chief shook his head.

"So young, too," he murmured, strok-ing his beard as he shook the bones andthrew four aces!

"I' l l let it stand," said he, turning atwinkling eye upon the Doctor.

When he left the good ship Hesper-ides, bound for the agent's office, Shack-les was happy. The ship smells were asincense, the clatter of the loading en-gines the music of the spheres. Evenwhen he got his ticket from the agent,that commercial record was a page ofromance, for on the reverse side it borea strange tale of possible adventure.

It there and thereby declared that ifthe Hesperides did not land one Shacklesat Southampton, England, it would notbe the ship's fault nor the company'sliability, but an unforeseen accident dueto the Hand of God upon the high seas,

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or attacks by the King's en-emies, or pirates, or mutiny,or barratry of master andcrew. Furthermore, if theship were disabled en route,it would be the privilege andright of the captain, at hisdiscretion, to land one Shac-kles, wherever it seemed ex-pedient, be it on a desert is-land or in the wilds of Yuca-tan; and the said Shackleshereby agreed that he wouldhave no kick coming, orwords to that effect.

At the agent's he had alsoprocured a folder. The out-side informed him that in hermeanderings toward Eng-land, the Hesperides wouldvisit Kingston (Jamaica),Colon (Panama), PuertoColombia, La Guayra (Ven-ezuela), Port of Spain(Trinidad), B r i d g e t o w n(Barbados) and St. Mi-chael's (Azores).

To visit ten different coun-tries in a month for one hun-dred and twenty-five dollars!And some of those fellowscame back from a vacationand bragged for years of hav-ing fished for two weeks atNew York's back door!

Inside that folder was amap of more than half theworld. A dotted line zig-zagged all over it, showingthe proposed journeyings ofthat same Shackles who, onlythis morning, had been gyvedto a stool in a skyscraperoffice. Before he went tobed that night the edges ofthe folder were well-wornand the map itself was cov-ered with pencil marks, foron the way uptown Shackleshad met acquaintances. Be-fore each and every one hehad spread the map, flour-ished the pencil, and ex-plained everything (includ-ing the suddenness) with an enthusiasmthat could not have been exceeded—even

by that comic opera British consul whowaved a map of his Chinese railway con-

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER HE SAW HER AT CLOSE

QUARTERS FOR THE FIRST TIME

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cessions and explained that "we go fromhyah to hyah and from thah to thah!"

His friends were amused; yet theymore than half-envied any young manwho, for any reason whatever, couldseem to have cornered all the joy of be-ing alive !

When Shackles retired, the bedswayed. Lest anyone should frown, letit be understood that he was merelydreaming he was already at sea. Theblessed map lay on a chair by his bed-side, and his mind's eye was travelingafar with all the eager anticipation ofa school-emancipated lad, or a man whohas recovered his youth after years ofdull routine.

To be happy for at least a month issomething few mortals can achieve; itis an earthly eternity of happiness; butShackles bade fair to achieve it. For to-morrow was to be the height of antici-pation, next day the sailing—the firstactual thrill of freedom. Then wouldcome the open sea, where the days wouldnever be too long, and the first landfallwould be that which was first for anearlier dreamer-adventurer, although themap called it Watling's Island, insteadof San Salvador.

Then strange islands to right and leftand foreign lands ahead. Palms, flying-fish, new fruits, new colors, and olddreams made new by the stirred mem-ories of history; and each joy would bethe forerunner of another, for the real-izations of the day would yield only tothe anticipations of the morrow.

Lucky Shackles! Happy Shackles!From your heart, do you honestly saythat Shackles was so very young? Evenso, from your heart do you not wish thatyou were such an unspoiled enthusiast ashe was then ?

When he awoke next morning it wasas if the spring of the mattress was sud-denly released, for he fairly shot out onto the floor. The zest of life is a greatthing for making willing risers.

He spent the morning packing, and itcertainly is strange what a pleasure pack-ing can be at the fore-end of a holiday.He bought nothing but a rakish whiteyachting cap and a pair of deck shoes,Clothes that were at all suited to a NewYork summer were fit for any place not

hotter than Hades. And he had to besparing with his balance of one hundredand nineteen dollars, if he did not wishto make the return trip to New Yorkas a fo'c'sle hand.

When he entered the skyscraper officeshortly after lunch-time, the galley slavesopined that Shackles was madder thanever. But it was a salutary madnessthis. It had made him a changed beingalready. His eyes were bright; the dis-contented droop had gone from hismouth-corners; his step was light and hismanner jubilant.

He told them he was going—how,when, and where. He spread the map,went through the "hyah to hyah" busi-ness for the fiftieth time. Then he ledthe entire gang of slaves to the windowoverlooking the river and pointed out theHesperides where she lay at the wharf,her spars, her graceful bow, and the tipsof her two slim funnels showing.

A peculiar silence fell upon the gyvedslaves. Shackles wondered. Then hewas filled with a kind of self-reproach.He was selfish. He had forgotten theirgyves. What he was saying might beall-interesting to him, but there weresome persons it must hurt.

"Well, boys, to tell you the truth,"said he, suddenly apologetic, "I had togo. I needed a holiday. I was justabout all in."

That made a difference. They shookhim by the hand and seemed glad tothink that they could hold out for alittle longer against the demon of soul-destroying monotony. And they hopedhe would feel better when he got back—and "send us a picture-postcard fromsome of those places, won't you?"

Shackles felt a little subdued as heleft the office. They had never seemedsuch a decent "bunch" before. Hewished—yes, he wished that he had themoney and could invite at least one ofthem to come along and share his fun.

And—what a queer composite a hu-man being is !—it was all he could do tokeep the tears back next day when, justtwo minutes before sailing-time, thewhole gang of office slaves rushed aboardthe Hesperides, headed by the old Slave-Driver himself. It was Saturday andthe minute the office closed upon the half

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BEFORE EACH AND EVERY ONE HE HAD SPREAD THE MAP,

FLOURISHED THE PENCIL, AND EXPLAINED EVERYTHING

day, they had all kicked off their gyvesand made for the wharf.

The Doctor and the Purser, who hadbeen leaning by the rail with their newfriend, Shackles, slipped away on theinstant. They understood. Even thenthe shore bell was ringing and the Hes-perides had given three whistles.

"Good-bye, Shackles," said a youngslave who was supporting his mother. "I

wish—well, what's the use? But mayyou have the time of your life, Shack-les!"

"So long," said a second. "I'd bescared to do what you're doing. You'llgo broke and wish you'd never started.But if you have a good time there's no-body in the office will grudge you."

The old Slave-Driver, who was aslave himself, came last. There was a

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sparkle in his eyes as he grasped Shack-les's hand.

"Enjoy yourself, boy. If I were asyoung as you——–" He stopped short.They were shouting at the gangway. "Ifanything goes wrong," he added in ahurried whisper, "I'm good for—forfifty, Shackles!"

They were all gone. The steamer wasblowing again, and there was a thrill oflife in the rail against which Shacklesleaned. He had looked forward to thismoment—the actual get-away. But hedid not notice it now. He remained bythe rail in a reverie while the graceful,

fiddle-bowed steamer slipped down theharbor. It was only when the Hesper-ides was abreast of Sandy Hook that hestraightened up and turned his backupon the sun-illumined towers of thecity.

"What a bunch of God's good menare chained up in that cage of brick andsteel," he muttered.

A warm, salt breeze brushed him inthe face as the fiddle-bow swung towardthe south. Something primitive swelledin the heart and lungs of the adventurer.He was free and the world was histo take !

( To be continued )

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