Project Gutenberg Australia
a treasure-trove of literature
treasure found hidden with no evidence of ownership


Title: Tales of Pirates and Blue Water
Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *
eBook No.: 0701021.txt
Language:  English
Date first posted: September 2007
Date most recently updated: September 2007

This eBook was produced by: Mike Brown


Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions
which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice
is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular
paper edition.

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this
file.

This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at
http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html

To contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Title: Tales of Pirates and Blue Water
Author: Arthur Conan Doyle





CONTENTS


TALES OF PIRATES

CAPTAIN SHARKEY: HOW THE GOVERNOR OF SAINT KITT'S CAME HOME
THE DEALINGS OF CAPTAIN SHARKEY WITH STEPHEN CRADDOCK
THE BLIGHTING OF SHARKEY
HOW COPLEY BANKS SLEW CAPTAIN SHARKEY
THE "SLAPPING SAL"
A PIRATE OF THE LAND - ONE CROWDED HOUR


TALES OF BLUE WATER

THE STRIPED CHEST
THE CAPTAIN OF THE "POLESTAR"
THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE
JELLAND'S VOYAGE
J. HABAKUK JEPHSON'S STATEMENT
THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX

* * * * *



CAPTAIN SHARKEY: HOW THE GOVERNOR OF SAINT KITT'S CAME HOME


When the great wars of the Spanish Succession had been brought to an end
by the Treaty of Utrecht, the vast number of privateers which had been
fitted out by the contending parties found their occupation gone. Some
took to the more peaceful but less lucrative ways of ordinary commerce,
others were absorbed into the fishing-fleets, and a few of the more
reckless hoisted the Jolly Roger at the mizzen and the bloody flag at
the main, declaring a private war upon their own account against the
whole human race.

With mixed crews, recruited from every nation, they scoured the seas,
disappearing occasionally to careen in some lonely inlet, or putting in
for a debauch at some outlying port, where they dazzled the inhabitants
by their lavishness and horrified them by their brutalities.

On the Coromandel Coast, at Madagascar, in the African waters, and above
all in the West Indian and American seas, the pirates were a constant
menace; With an insolent luxury they would regulate their depredations
by the comfort of the seasons, harrying New England in the summer and
dropping south again to the tropical islands in the winter.

They were the more to be dreaded because they had none of that
discipline and restraint which made their predecessors, the Buccaneers,
both formidable and respectable. These Ishmaels of the sea rendered an
account to no man, and treated their prisoners according to the drunken
whim of the moment. Flashes of grotesque generosity alternated with
longer stretches of inconceivable ferocity, and the skipper who fell
into their hands might find himself dismissed with his cargo, after
serving as boon companion in some hideous debauch, or might sit at his
cabin table with his own nose and his lips served up with pepper and
salt in front of him. It took a stout seaman in those days to ply his
calling in the Caribbean Gulf.

Such a man was Captain John Scarrow, of the ship _Morning Star_, and yet
he breathed a long sigh of relief when he heard the splash of the
falling anchor and swung at his moorings within a hundred yards of the
guns of the citadel of Basseterre. St. Kitt's was his final port of
call, and early next morning his bowsprit would be pointed for Old
England. He had had enough of those robber-haunted seas. Ever since he
had left Maracaibo upon the Main, with his full lading of sugar and red
pepper, he had winced at every topsail which glimmered over the violet
edge of the tropical sea. He had coasted up the Windward Islands,
touching here and there, and assailed continually by stories of villainy
and outrage.

Captain Sharkey, of the 20-gun pirate barque, _Happy Delivery_, had passed
down the coast, and had littered it with gutted vessels and with
murdered men. Dreadful anecdotes were current of his grim pleasantries
and of his inflexible ferocity. From the Bahamas to the Main his
coal-black barque, with the ambiguous name, had been freighted with
death and many things which are worse than death. So nervous was Captain
Scarrow, with his new full-rigged ship and her full and valuable lading,
that he struck out to the west as far as Bird's Island to be out of the
usual track of commerce. And yet even in those solitary waters he had
been unable to shake off sinister traces of Captain Sharkey.

One morning they had raised a single skiff adrift upon the face of the
ocean. Its only occupant was a delirious seaman, who yelled hoarsely as
they hoisted him aboard, and showed a dried-up tongue like a black and
wrinkled fungus at the back of his mouth. Water and nursing soon
transformed him into the strongest and smartest sailor on the ship. He
was from Marblehead, in New England, it seemed, and was the sole
survivor of a schooner which had been scuttled by the dreadful Sharkey.

For a week Hiram Evanson, for that was his name, had been adrift beneath
a tropical sun. Sharkey had ordered the mangled remains of his late
captain to be thrown into the boat, "as provisions for the voyage," but
the seaman had at once committed them to the deep, lest the temptation
should be more than he could bear. He had lived upon his own huge frame,
until, at the last moment, the _Morning Star_ had found him in that
madness which is the precursor of such a death. It was no bad find for
Captain Scarrow, for, with a short-handed crew, such a seaman as this
big New Englander was a prize worth having. He vowed that he was the
only man whom Captain Sharkey had ever placed under an obligation.

Now that they lay under the guns of Basseterre, all danger from the
pirate was at an end, and yet the thought of him lay heavily upon the
seaman's mind as he watched the agent's boat shooting out from the
custom-house quay.

"I'll lay you a wager, Morgan," said he to the first mate, "that the
agent will speak of Sharkey in the first hundred words that pass his
lips."

"Well, captain, I'll have you a silver dollar, and chance it," said the
rough old Bristol man beside him.

The negro rowers shot the boat alongside, and the linen-clad steersman
sprang up the ladder.

"Welcome, Captain Scarrow!" he cried. "Have you heard about Sharkey?"

The captain grinned at the mate.

"What devilry has he been up to now?" he asked.

"Devilry! You've not heard, then! Why, we've got him safe under lock and
key here at Basseterre. He was tried last Wednesday, and he is to be
hanged tomorrow morning."

Captain and mate gave a shout of joy, which an instant later was taken
up by the crew. Discipline was forgotten as they scrambled up through
the break of the poop to hear the news. The New Englander was in the
front of them with a radiant face turned up to heaven, for he came of
the Puritan stock.

"Sharkey to be hanged" he cried. "You don't know, Master Agent, if they
lack a hangman, do you?"

"Stand back!" cried the mate, whose outraged sense of discipline was
even stronger than his interest at the news. "I'll pay that dollar,
Captain Scarrow, with the lightest heart that ever I paid a wager yet.
How came the villain to be taken?"

"Why, as to that, he became more than his own comrades could abide, and
they took such a horror of him that they would not have him on the ship.
So they marooned him upon the Little Mangles to the south of the
Mysteriosa Bank, and there he was found by a _Portobello_ trader, who
brought him in. There was talk of sending him to Jamaica to be tried,
but our good little governor, Sir Charles Ewan, would not hear of it.
'He's my meat,' said he, 'and I claim the cooking of it.' If you can
stay till to-morrow morning at ten, you'll see the joint swinging."

"I wish I could," said the captain, wistfully, "but I am sadly behind
time now. I should start with the evening tide."

"That you can't do," said the agent with decision. "The Governor is
going back with you."

"The Governor!"

"Yes. He's had a dispatch from Government to return without delay. The
fly-boat that brought it has gone on to Virginia. So Sir Charles has
been waiting for you, as I told him you were due before the rains."

"Well, well!" cried the captain, in some perplexity, "I'm a plain
seaman, and I don't know much of governors and baronets and their ways.
I don't remember that I ever so much as spoke to one. But if it's in
King George's service, and he asks a cast in the _Morning Star_ as far as
London, I'll do what I can for him. There's my own cabin he can have and
welcome. As to the cooking, it's lobscouse and salmagundy six days in
the week; but he can bring his own cook aboard with him if he thinks our
galley too rough for his taste."

"You need not trouble your mind, Captain Scarrow," said the agent. "Sir
Charles is in weak health just now, only clear of a quartan ague, and it
is likely he will keep his cabin most of the voyage. Dr. Larousse said
that he would have sunk had the hanging of Sharkey not put fresh life
into him. He has a great spirit in him, though, and you must not blame
him if he is somewhat short in his speech."

"He may say what he likes and do what he likes so long as he does not
come athwart my hawse when I am working the ship," said the captain. "He
is Governor of St. Kitt's, but I am Governor of the _Morning Star_. And,
by his leave, I must weigh with the first tide, for I owe a duty to my
employer, just as he does to King George."

"He can scarce be ready to-night, for he has many things to set in order
before he leaves."

"The early morning tide, then."

"Very good. I shall send his things aboard to-night, and he will follow
them to-morrow early if I can prevail upon him to leave St. Kitt's
without seeing Sharkey do the rogue's hornpipe. His own orders were
instant, so it may be that he will come at once. It is likely that Dr.
Larousse may attend him upon the journey."

Left to themselves, the captain and mate made the best preparations
which they could for their illustrious passenger. The largest cabin was
turned out and adorned in his honour, and orders were given by which
barrels of fruit and some cases of wine should be brought off to vary
the plain food of an ocean-going trader. In the evening the Governor's
baggage began to arrive--great ironbound ant-proof trunks, and official
tin packing-cases, with other strange-shaped packages, which suggested
the cocked hat or the sword within. And then there came a note, with a
heraldic device upon the big red seal, to say that Sir Charles Ewan made
his compliments to Captain Scarrow, and that he hoped to be with him in
the morning as early as his duties and his infirmities would permit.

He was as good as his word, for the first grey of dawn had hardly begun
to deepen into pink when he was brought alongside, and climbed with some
difficulty up the ladder. The captain had heard that the Governor was an
eccentric, but he was hardly prepared for the curious figure who came
limping feebly down his quarterdeck, his steps supported by a thick
bamboo cane. He wore a Ramillies wig, all twisted into little tails like
a poodle's coat, and cut so low across the brow that the large green
glasses which covered his eyes looked as if they were hung from it. A
fierce beak of a nose, very long and very thin, cut the air in front of
him. His ague had caused him to swathe his throat and chin with a broad
linen cravat, and he wore a loose damask powdering-gown secured by a
cord round the waist. As he advanced he carried his masterful nose high
in the air, but his head turned slowly from side to side in the helpless
manner of the purblind, and he called in a high, querulous voice for the
captain.

"You have my things?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir Charles."

"Have you wine aboard?"

"I have ordered five cases, sir?"

"And tobacco."

"There is a keg of Trinidad."

"You play a hand at piquet?"

"Passably well, sir."

"Then up anchor, and to sea!"

There was a fresh westerly wind, so by the time the sun was fairly
through the morning haze, the ship was hull down from the islands. The
decrepit Governor still limped the deck, with one guiding hand upon the
quarter-rail.

"You are on Government service now, captain," said he. "They are
counting the days till I come to Westminster, I promise you. Have you
all that she will carry?"

"Every inch, Sir Charles?"

"Keep her so if you blow the sails out of her. I fear, Captain Scarrow,
that you will find a blind and broken man a poor companion for your
voyage."

"I am honoured in enjoying your Excellency's society," said the captain.
"But I am sorry that your eyes should be so afflicted."

"Yes, indeed. It is the cursed glare of the sun on the white streets of
Basseterre which has gone far to burn them out."

"I had heard also that you had been plagued by a quartan ague."

"Yes; I have had a pyrexy, which has reduced me much."

"We had set aside a cabin for your surgeon."

"Ah, the rascal! There was no budging him, for he has a snug business
amongst the merchants. But hark!"

He raised his ring-covered hand in the air. From far astern there came
the low deep thunder of cannon.

"It is from the island!!" cried the captain in astonishment. "Can it be
a signal for us to put back?" The Governor laughed.

"You have heard that Sharkey, the pirate, is to be hanged this morning.
I ordered the batteries to salute when the rascal was kicking his last,
so that I might know of it out at sea. There's an end of Sharkey!"

"There's an end of Sharkey!" cried the captain; and the crew took up
the cry as they gathered in little knots upon the deck and stared back
at the low, purple line of the vanishing land.

It was a cheering omen for their start across the Western Ocean, and the
invalid Governor found himself a popular man on board, for it was
generally understood that but for his insistence upon an immediate trial
and sentence, the villain might have played upon some more venal judge
and so escaped. At dinner that day Sir Charles gave many anecdotes of
the deceased pirate; and so affable was he, and so skilful in adapting
his conversation to men of lower degree, that captain, mate, and
Governor smoked their long pipes and drank their claret as three good
comrades should.

"And what figure did Sharkey cut in the dock?" asked the captain.

"He is a man of some presence," said the Governor.

"I had always understood that he was an ugly, sneering devil," remarked
the mate.

"Well, I dare say he could look ugly upon occasions," said the Governor.

"I have heard a New Bedford whaleman say that he could not forget his
eyes," said Captain Scarrow. "They were of the lightest filmy blue, with
red-rimmed lids. Was that not so, Sir Charles?"

"Alas, my own eyes will not permit me to know much of those of others!
But I remember now that the Adjutant-General said that he had such an
eye as you describe, and added that the jury were so foolish as to be
visibly discomposed when it was turned upon them. It is well for them
that he is dead, for he was a man who would never forget an injury, and
if he had laid hands upon any one of them he would have stuffed him with
straw and hung him for a figure-head."

The idea seemed to amuse the Governor, for he broke suddenly into a
high, neighing laugh, and the two seamen laughed also, but not so
heartily, for they remembered that Sharkey was not the last pirate who
sailed the western seas, and that as grotesque a fate might come to be
their own. Another bottle was broached to drink to a pleasant voyage,
and the Governor would drink just one other on the top of it, so that
the seamen were glad at last to stagger off--the one to his watch and
the other to his bunk. But when after his four hours' spell the mate
came down again, he was amazed to see the Governor in his Ramillies wig,
his glasses, and his powdering-gown still seated sedately at the lonely
table with his reeking pipe and six black bottles by his side.

"I have drunk with the Governor of St. Kitt's when he was sick," said
he, "and God forbid that I should ever try to keep pace with him when he
is well."

The voyage of the _Morning Star_ was a successful one, and in about three
weeks she was at the mouth, of the British Channel. From the first day
the infirm Governor had begun to recover his strength, and before they
were half-way across the Atlantic he was, save only for his eyes, as
well as any man upon the ship. Those who uphold the nourishing qualities
of wine might point to him in triumph, for never a night passed that he
did not repeat the performance of his first one. And yet he would be out
upon deck in the early morning as fresh and brisk as the best of them,
peering about with his weak eyes, and asking questions about the sails
and the rigging, for he was anxious to learn the ways of the sea. And he
made up for the deficiency of his eyes by obtaining leave from the
captain that the New England seaman--he who had been cast away in the
boat--should lead him about, and above all that he should sit beside him
when he played cards and count the number of the pips, for unaided he
could not tell the king from the knave.

It was natural that this Evanson should do the Governor willing service,
since the one was the victim of the vile Sharkey, and the other was his
avenger. One could see that it was a pleasure to the big American to
lend his arm to the invalid, and at night he would stand with all
respect behind his chair in the cabin and lay his great stub-nailed
forefinger upon the card which he should play. Between them there was
little in the pockets either of Captain Scarrow or of Morgan, the first
mate, by the time they sighted the Lizard.

And it was not long before they found that all they had heard of the
high temper of Sir Charles Ewan fell short of the mark. At a sign of
opposition or a word of argument his chin would shoot out from his
cravat, his masterful nose would be cocked at a higher and more insolent
angle, and his bamboo cane would whistle up over his shoulder. He
cracked it once over the head of the carpenter when the man had
accidentally jostled him upon the deck. Once, too, when there was some
grumbling and talk of a mutiny over the state of the provisions, he was
of opinion that they should not wait for the dogs to rise, but that they
should march forward and set upon them until they had trounced the
devilment out of them. "Give me a knife and a bucket!" he cried with an
oath, and could hardly be withheld from setting forth alone to deal with
the spokesman of the seamen.

Captain Scarrow had to remind him that though he might be only
answerable to himself at St. Kitt's, killing became murder upon the high
seas. In politics he was, as became his official position, a stout prop
of the _House of Hanover_, and he swore in his cups that he had never met
a Jacobite without pistolling him where he stood. Yet for all his
vapouring and his violence he was so good a companion, with such a
stream of strange anecdote and reminiscence, that Scarrow and Morgan had
never known a voyage pass so pleasantly.

And then at length came the last day, when, after passing the island,
they had struck land again at the high white cliffs at Beachy Head. As
evening fell the ship lay rolling in an oily calm, a league off from
Winchelsea, with the long dark snout of Dungeness jutting out in front
of her. Next morning they would pick up their pilot at the Foreland, and
Sir Charles might meet the king's ministers at Westminster before the
evening. The boatswain had the watch, and the three friends were met for
a last turn of cards in the cabin, the faithful American still serving
as eyes to the Governor. There was a good stake upon the table, for the
sailors had tried on this last night .to win their losses back from
their passenger. Suddenly he threw his cards down, and swept all the
money into the pocket of his long-flapped silken waistcoat.

"The game's mine!" said he.

"Heh, Sir Charles, not so fast!" cried Captain Scarrow; "you have not
played out the hand, and we are not the losers."

"Sink you for a liar!" said the Governor. "I tell you that I _have_ played
out the hand, and that you _are_ a loser." He whipped off his wig and his
glasses as he spoke, and there was a high, bald forehead, and a pair of
shifty blue eyes with the red rims of a bull terrier.

"Good God!" cried the mate. "It's Sharkey!"

The two sailors sprang from their seats, but the big American castaway
had put his huge back against the cabin door, and he held a pistol in
each of his hands. The passenger had also laid a pistol upon the
scattered cards in front of him, and he burst into his high, neighing
laugh.

"Captain Sharkey is the name, gentlemen," said he, "and this is Roaring
Ned Galloway, the quartermaster of the _Happy Delivery_. We made it hot,
and so they marooned us: me on a dry Tortuga cay, and him in an oarless
boat. You dogs--you poor, fond, water-hearted dogs--we hold you at the
end of our pistols!"

"You may shoot, or you may not!" cried Scarrow, striking his hand upon
the breast of his frieze jacket. "If it's my last breath, Sharkey, I
tell you that you are a bloody rogue and miscreant, with a halter and
hell-fire in store for you."

"There's a man of spirit, and one of my own kidney, and he's going to
make a very pretty death of it!" cried Sharkey. "There's no one aft
save the man at the wheel, so you may keep your breath, for you'll need
it soon. Is the dinghy astern, Ned?"

"Ay, ay, captain!"

"And the other boats scuttled?"

"I bored them all in three places."

"Then we shall have to leave you, Captain Scarrow. You look as if you
hadn't quite got your bearings yet. Is there anything you'd like to ask
me?"

"I believe you're the devil himself!" cried the captain. "Where is the
Governor of St. Kitt's?"

"When last I saw him his Excellency was in bed with his throat cut. When
I broke prison I learnt from my friends--for Captain Sharkey has those
who love him in every port--that the Governor was starting for Europe
under a master who had never seen him. I climbed his verandah and I paid
him the little debt that I owed him. Then I came aboard you with such of
his things as I had need of, and a pair of glasses to hide these
tell-tale eyes of mine, and I have ruffled it as a governor should. Now,
Ned, you can get to work upon them."

"Help! Help! Watch ahoy!" yelled the mate; but the butt of the pirate's
pistol crashed down on to his head, and he dropped like a pithed ox.
Scarrow rushed for the door, but the sentinel clapped his hand over his
mouth, and threw his other arm round his waist.

"No use, Master Scarrow," said Sharkey. "Let us see you go down on your
knees and beg for your life."

"I'll see you--" cried Scarrow, shaking his mouth clear.

"Twist his arm round, Ned. Now will you?"

"No; not if you twist it off."

"Put an inch of your knife into him."

"You may put six inches, and then I won't."

"Sink me, but I like his spirit!" cried Sharkey. "Put your knife in your
pocket, Ned. You've saved your skin, Scarrow, and it's a pity so stout a
man should not take to the only trade where a pretty fellow can pick up
a living. You must be born for no common death, Scarrow, since you have
lain at my mercy and lived to tell the story. Tie him up, Ned."

"To the stove, captain?"

"Tut, tut!" there's a fire in the stove. None of your rover tricks, Ned
Galloway, unless they are called for, or I'll let you know which of us
two is captain and which is quartermaster. Make him fast to the table."

"Nay, I thought you meant to roast him!" said the quartermaster. You
surely do not mean to let him go?"

"If you and I were marooned on a Bahama cay, Ned Galloway, it is still
for me to command and for you to obey. Sink you for a villain, do you
dare to question my orders?"

"Nay, nay, Captain Sharkey, not so hot, sir!" said the quartermaster,
and, lifting Scarrow like a child, he laid him on the table. With the
quick dexterity of a seaman, he tied his spreadeagled hands and feet
with a rope which was passed underneath, and gagged him securely with
the long cravat which used to adorn the chin of the Governor of St.
Kitt's.

"Now, Captain Scarrow, we must take our leave of you," said the pirate.
"If I had half a dozen of my brisk boys at my heels I should have had
your cargo and your ship, but Roaring Ned could not find a foremast hand
with the spirit of a mouse. I see there are some small craft about, and
we shall get one of them. When Captain Sharkey has a boat he can get a
smack, when he has a smack he can get a brig, when he has a brig he can
get a barque, and when he has a barque he'll soon have a full-rigged
ship of his own--so make haste into London town, or I may be coming
back, after all, for the _Morning Star_."

Captain Scarrow heard the key turn in the lock as they left the cabin.
Then, as he strained at his bonds, he heard their footsteps pass up the
companion and along the quarter-deck to where the dinghy hung in the
stern. Then, still struggling and writhing, he heard the creak of the
falls and the splash of the boat in the water. In a mad fury he tore and
dragged at his ropes, until at last, with flayed wrists and ankles, he
rolled from the table, sprang over the dead mate, kicked his way through
the closed door, and rushed hatless on to the deck.

"Ahoy! Peterson, Armitage, Wilson!" he screamed. "Cutlasses and pistols!
Clear away the long-boat! Clear away the gig! Sharkey, the pirate, is
in yonder dinghy. Whistle up the larboard watch, bo'sun, and tumble into
the boats all hands."

Down splashed the long-boat and down splashed the gig, but in an instant
the coxswains and crews were swarming up the falls on to the deck once
more.

"The boats are scuttled!" they cried. "They are leaking like a sieve."

The captain gave a bitter curse. He had been beaten and outwitted at
every point. Above was a cloudless, starlit sky, with neither wind nor
the promise of it. The sails flapped idly in the moonlight. Far away lay
a fishing-smack, with the men clustering over their net.

Close to them was the little dinghy, dipping and lifting over the
shining swell.

"They are dead men!" cried the captain. "A shout all together, boys, to
warn them of their danger." But it was too late.

At that very moment the dinghy shot into the shadow of the fishing-boat.
There were two rapid pistol-shots, a scream, and then another
pistol-shot, followed by silence. The clustering fishermen had
disappeared. And then, suddenly, as the first puffs of a land-breeze
came out from the Sussex shore, the boom swung out, the mainsail filled,
and the little craft crept out with her nose to the Atlantic.



THE DEALINGS OF CAPTAIN SHARKEY WITH STEPHEN CRADDOCK


Careening was a very necessary operation for the old pirate. On his
superior speed he depended both for overhauling the trader and escaping
the man-of-war. But it was impossible to retain his sailing qualities
unless he periodically--once a year, at the least--cleared his vessel's
bottom from the long, trailing plants and crusting barnacles which
gather so rapidly in the tropical seas.

For this purpose he lightened his vessel, thrust her into some narrow
inlet where she would be left high and dry at low water, fastened blocks
and tackles to her masts to pull her over on to her bilge, and then
scraped her thoroughly from rudder-post to cutwater.

During the weeks which were thus occupied the ship was, of course,
defenceless; but, on the other hand, she was unapproachable by anything
heavier than an empty hull, and the place for careening was chosen with
an eye to secrecy, so that there was no great danger.

So secure did the captains feel, that it was not uncommon for them, at
such times, to leave their ships under a sufficient guard and to start
off in the long-boat, either upon a sporting expedition or, more
frequently, upon a visit to some outlying town, where they turned the
heads of the women by their swaggering gallantry, or broached pipes of
wine in the market square, with a threat to pistol all who would not
drink with them.

Sometimes they would even appear in cities of the size of Charleston,
and walk the streets with their clattering sidearms--an open scandal to
the whole law-abiding colony. Such visits were not always paid with
impunity. It was one of them, for example, which provoked Lieutenant
Maynard to hack off Blackbeard's head, and to spear it upon the end of
his bowsprit. But, as a rule, the pirate ruffled and bullied and drabbed
without let or hindrance, until it was time for him to go back to his
ship once more.

There was one pirate, however, who never crossed even the skirts of
civilization, and that was the sinister Sharkey, of the barque _Happy
Delivery_. It may have been from his morose and solitary temper, or, as
is more probable, that he knew that his name upon the coast was such
that outraged humanity would, against all odds, have thrown themselves
upon him, but never once did he show his face in a settlement.

When his ship was laid up he would leave her under the charge of Ned
Galloway--her New England quartermaster--and would take long voyages in
his boat, sometimes, it was said, for the purpose of burying his share
of the plunder, and sometimes to shoot the wild oxen of Hispaniola,
which, when dressed and barbecued, provided provisions for his next
voyage. In the latter case the barque would come round to some
prearranged spot to pick him up and take on board what he had shot.

There had always been a hope in the islands that Sharkey might be taken
on one of these occasions; and at last there came news to Kingston which
seemed to justify an attempt upon him. It was brought by an elderly
logwood-cutter who had fallen into the pirate's hands, and in some freak
of drunken benevolence had been allowed to get away with nothing worse
than a slit nose and a drubbing. His account was recent and definite.
The _Happy Delivery_ was careening at Torbec on the south-west of
Hispaniola. Sharkey, with four men, was buccaneering on the outlying
island of La Vache. The blood of a hundred murdered crews was calling
out for vengeance, and now at last it seemed as if it might not call in
vain.

Sir Edward Compton, the high-nosed, red-faced Governor, sitting in
solemn conclave with the commandant and the head of the council, was
sorely puzzled in his mind as to how he should use his chance. There was
no man-of-war nearer than Jamestown, and she was a clumsy old fly-boat,
which could neither overhaul the pirate on the seas, nor reach her in a
shallow inlet. There were forts and artillerymen both at Kingston and
Port Royal, but no soldiers available for an expedition.

A private venture might be fitted out--and there were many who had a
blood-feud with Sharkey--but what could a private venture do? The
pirates were numerous and desperate. As to taking Sharkey and his four
companions, that, of course, would be easy if they could get at them;
but how were they to get at them on a large well-wooded island like La
Vache, full of wild hills and impenetrable jungles? A reward was offered
to whoever could find a solution, and that brought a man to the front
who had a singular plan, and was himself prepared to carry it out.

Stephen Craddock had been that most formidable person, the Puritan gone
wrong. Sprung from a decent Salem family, his ill-doing seemed to be a
recoil from the austerity of their religion, and he brought to vice all
the physical strength and energy with which the virtues of his ancestors
had endowed him. He was ingenious, fearless, and exceedingly tenacious
of purpose, so that when he was still young his name became notorious
upon the American coast.

He was the same Craddock who was tried for his life in Virginia for the
slaying of the Seminole Chief, and, though he escaped, it was well known
that he had corrupted the witnesses and bribed the judge.

Afterwards, as a slaver, and even, as it was hinted, as a pirate, he had
left an evil name behind him in the Bight of Benin. Finally he had
returned to Jamaica with a considerable fortune, and had settled down to
a life of sombre dissipation. This was the man, gaunt, austere, and
dangerous, who now waited upon the Governor with a plan for the
extirpation of Sharkey.

Sir Edward received him with little enthusiasm, for in spite of some
rumours of conversion and reformation, he had always regarded him as an
infected sheep who might taint the whole of his little flock. Craddock
saw the Governor's mistrust under his thin veil of formal and restrained
courtesy.

"You've no call to fear me, sir," said he; "I'm a changed man from what
you've known. I've seen the light again, of late, after losing sight of
it for many a black year. It was through the ministration of the Rev.
John Simons, of our own people. Sir, if your spirit should be in need of
quickening, you would find a very sweet savour in his discourse."

The Governor cocked his Episcopalian nose at him. "You came here to
speak of Sharkey, Master Craddock," said he.

"The man Sharkey is a vessel of wrath," said Craddock. "His wicked horn
has been exalted over long, and it is borne in upon me that if I can cut
him off and utterly destroy him, it will be a goodly deed, and one which
may atone for many backslidings in the past. A plan has been given to me
whereby I may encompass his destruction."

The Governor was keenly interested, for there was a grim and practical
air about the man's freckled face which showed that he was in earnest.
After all, he was a seaman and a fighter, and, if it were true that he
was eager to atone for his past, no better man could be chosen for the
business.

"This will be a dangerous task, Master Craddock," said he.

"If I meet my death at it, it may be that it will cleanse the memory of
an ill-spent life. I have much to atone for."

The Governor did not see his way to contradict him. "What was your
plan?" he asked.

"You have heard that Sharkey's barque, the _Happy Delivery_, came from
this very port of Kingston?"

"It belonged to Mr. Codrington, and it was taken by Sharkey, who
scuttled his own sloop and moved into her because she was faster," said
Sir Edward.

"Yes; but it may be that you have never heard that Mr. Codrington has a
sister ship, the _White Rose_, which lies even now in the harbour, and
which is so like the pirate, that, if it were not for a white paint
line, none could tell them apart."

"Ah! and what of that?" asked the Governor keenly, with the air of one
who is just on the edge of an idea.

"By the help of it this man shall be delivered into our hands."

"And how?"

"I will paint out the streak upon the _White Rose_, and make it in all
things like the _Happy Delivery_. Then I will set sail for the Island of
La Vache, where this man is slaying the wild oxen. When he sees me he
will surely mistake me for his own vessel which he is awaiting, and he
will come on board to his own undoing."

It was a simple plan, and yet it seemed to the Governor that it might be
effective. Without hesitation he gave Craddock permission to carry it
out, and to take any steps he liked in order to further the object which
he had in view. Sir Edward was not very sanguine, for many attempts had
been made upon Sharkey, and their results had shown that he was as
cunning as he was ruthless. But this gaunt Puritan with the evil record
was cunning and ruthless also.

The contest of wits between two such men as Sharkey and Craddock
appealed to the Governor's acute sense of sport, and though he was
inwardly convinced that the chances were against him, he backed his man
with the same loyalty which he would have shown to his horse or his
cock.

Haste was, above all things, necessary, for upon any day the careening
might be finished, and the pirates out at sea once more. But there was
not very much to do, and there were many willing hands to do it, so the
second day saw the _White Rose_ beating out for the open sea. There were
many seamen in the port who knew the lines and rig of the pirate barque,
and not one of them could see the slightest difference in this
counterfeit. Her white side line had been painted out, her masts and
yards were smoked, to give them the dingy appearance of the
weather-beaten rover, and a large diamond shaped patch was let into her
foretopsail.

Her crew were volunteers, many of them being men who had sailed with
Stephen Craddock before--the mate, Joshua Hird, an old slaver, had been
his accomplice in many voyages, and came now at the bidding of his
chief.

The avenging barque sped across the Caribbean Sea, and, at the sight of
that patched topsail, the little craft which they met flew left and
right like frightened trout in a pool. On the fourth evening Point
Abacou bore five miles to the north and east of them.

On the fifth they were at anchor in the Bay of Tortoises at the Island
of La Vache, where Sharkey and his four men had been hunting. It was a
well-wooded place, with the palms and underwood growing down to the thin
crescent of silver sand which skirted the shore. They had hoisted the
black flag and the red pennant, but no answer came from the shore.
Craddock strained his eyes, hoping every instant to see a boat shoot out
to them with Sharkey seated in the sheets. But the night passed away,
and a day and yet another night, without any sign of the men whom they
were endeavouring to trap. It looked as if they were already gone.

On the second morning Craddock went ashore in search of some proof
whether Sharkey and his men were still upon the island: What he found
reassured him greatly. Close to the shore was a boucan of green wood,
such as was used for preserving the meat, and a great store of barbecued
strips of ox-flesh was hung upon lines all round it. The pirate ship had
not taken off her provisions, and therefore the hunters were still upon
the island.

Why had they not shown themselves? Was it that they had detected that
this was not their own ship? Or was it that they were hunting in the
interior of the island, and were not on the lookout for a ship yet?
Craddock was still hesitating between the two alternatives, when a Carib
Indian came down with information. The pirates were in the island, he
said, and their camp was a day's march from the sea. They had stolen his
wife, and the marks of their stripes were still pink upon his brown
back. Their enemies were his friends, and he would lead them to where
they lay.

Craddock could not have asked for anything better; so early next
morning, with a small party armed to the teeth, he set off under the
guidance of the Carib. All day they struggled through brushwood and
clambered over rocks, pushing their way farther and farther into the
desolate heart of the island. Here and there they found traces of the
hunters, the bones of a slain ox, or the marks of feet in a morass, and
once, towards evening, it seemed to some of them that they heard the
distant rattle of guns.

That night they spent under the trees, and pushed on again with the
earliest light. About noon they came to the huts of bark, which, the
Carib told them, were the camp of the hunters, but they were silent and
deserted. No doubt their occupants were away at the hunt and would
return in the evening, so Craddock and his men lay in ambush in the
brushwood around them. But no one came, and another night was spent in
the forest. Nothing more could be done, and it seemed to Craddock that
after the two days' absence it was time that he returned to his ship
once more.

The return journey was less difficult, as they had already blazed a path
for themselves. Before evening they found themselves once more at the
Bay of Palms, and saw their ship riding at anchor where they had left
her. Their boat and oars had been hauled up among the bushes, so they
launched it and pulled out to the barque.

"No luck, then!" cried Joshua Hird, the mate, looking down with a pale
face from the poop.

"His camp was empty, but he may come down to us yet," said Craddock,
with his hand on the ladder.

Somebody upon deck began to laugh. "I think," said the mate, "that these
men had better stay in the boat."

"Why so?"

"If you will come aboard, sir, you will understand it." He spoke in a
curious hesitating fashion.

The blood flushed to Craddock's gaunt face.

"How is this, Master Hird?" he cried, springing up the side. "What mean
you by giving orders to my boat's crew?"

But as he passed over the bulwarks, with one foot upon the deck and one
knee upon the rail, a tow-bearded man, whom he had never before observed
aboard his vessel, grabbed suddenly at his pistol. Craddock clutched at
the fellow's wrist, but at the same instant his mate snatched the
cutlass from his side.

"What roguery is this?" shouted Craddock, looking furiously around him.
But the crew stood in little knots about the deck, laughing and
whispering amongst themselves without showing any desire to go to his
assistance. Even in that hurried glance Craddock noticed that they were
dressed in the most singular manner, with long riding-coats,
full-skirted velvet gowns and coloured ribands at their knees, more like
men of fashion than seamen.

As he looked at their grotesque figures he struck his brow with his
clenched fist to be sure that he was awake. The deck seemed to be much
dirtier than when he had left it, and there were strange, sun-blackened
faces turned upon him from every side. Not one of them did he know save
only Joshua Hird. Had the ship been captured in his absence? Were these
Sharkey's men who were around him? At the thought he broke furiously
away and tried to climb over to his boat, but a dozen hands were on him
in an instant, and he was pushed aft through the open door of his own
cabin.

And it was all different from the cabin which he had left. The floor was
different, the ceiling was different, the furniture was different. His
had been plain and austere. This was sumptuous and yet dirty, hung with
rare velvet curtains splashed with wine-stains, and panelled with costly
woods which were pocked with pistol-marks.

On the table was a great chart of the Caribbean Sea, and beside it, with
compasses in his hand, sat a clean-shaven, pale-faced man with a fur cap
and a claret-coloured coat of damask. Craddock turned white under his
freckles as he looked upon the long, thin, high-nostrilled nose and the
red-rimmed eyes which were turned upon him with the fixed, humorous gaze
of the master player who has left his opponent without a move.

"Sharkey?" cried Craddock.

Sharkey's thin lips Opened and he broke into his high, sniggering laugh.

"You fool!" he cried, and, leaning over, he stabbed Craddock's shoulder
again and again with his compasses. "You poor, dull-witted fool, would
you match yourself against me?"

It was not the pain of the wounds, but it was the contempt in Sharkey's
voice which turned Craddock into a savage madman. He flew at the pirate,
roaring with rage, striking, kicking, writhing, and foaming. It took six
men to drag him down on to the floor amidst the splintered remains of
the table--and not one of the six who did not bear the prisoner's mark
upon him. But Sharkey still surveyed him with the same contemptuous eye.
From outside there came the crash of breaking wood and the clamour of
startled voices.

"What is that?" asked Sharkey.

"They have stove the boat with cold shot, and the men are in the water."

"Let them stay there," said the pirate. Now, Craddock, you know where
you are. You are aboard my ship the _Happy Delivery_, and you lie at my
mercy: I knew you for a stout seaman, you rogue, before you took to this
long-shore canting. Your hands then were no cleaner than my own. Will
you sign articles, as your mate has done, and join us, or shall I heave
you over to follow your ship's company?"

"Where is my ship?" asked Craddock.

"Scuttled in the bay."

"And the hands?"

"In the bay, too."

"Then, I'm for the bay also."

"Hock him and heave him over." said Sharkey.

Many rough hands had dragged. Craddock out upon deck, and Galloway, the
quartermaster, had already drawn his hanger to cripple him, when Sharkey
came hurrying from his cabin with an eager face.

"We can do better with the hound" he cried. "Sink me if it is not a rare
plan. Throw him into the sail-room with the irons on, and do you come
here, quartermaster, that I may tell you what I have in my mind."

So Craddock, bruised and wounded in soul and body, was thrown into the
dark sail-room, so fettered that he could not stir hand or foot, but his
northern blood was running strong in his veins, and his grim spirit
aspired only to make such an ending as might go some way towards atoning
for the evil of his life. All night he lay in the curve of the bilge
listening to the rush of the water and the straining of the timbers
which told him that the ship was at sea, and driving fast. In the early
morning someone came crawling to him in the darkness over the heaps of
sails.

"Here's rum and biscuits," said the voice of his late mate. "It's at the
risk of my life, Master Craddock, that I bring them to you."

"It was you who trapped me and caught me as in a snare!" cried Craddock.
"How shall you answer for what you have done?"

"What I did I did with the point of a knife betwixt my blade-bones."

"God forgive you for a coward, Joshua Hird. How came you into their
hands?"

"Why, Master Craddock, the pirate ship came back from its careening upon
the very day that you left us. They laid us aboard, and, short-handed as
we were, with the best of the men ashore with you, we could offer but a
poor defence. Some were cut down, and they were the happiest. The others
were killed afterwards. As to me, I saved my life by signing on with
them."

"And they scuttled my ship?"

"They scuttled her, and then Sharkey and his men, who had been watching
us from the brushwood, came off to the ship. His mainyard had been
cracked and fished last voyage, so he had suspicions of us, seeing that
ours was whole. Then he thought of laying the same trap for you which
you had set for him."

Craddock groaned.

"How came I not to see that fished mainyard?" he muttered. "But whither
are we bound?"

"We are running north and west."

"North and west! Then we are heading back towards Jamaica."

"With an eight-knot wind."

"Have you heard what they mean to do with me?"

"I have not heard. If you would but sign the articles--"

"Enough, Joshua Hird! I have risked my soul too often."

"As you wish I have done what I could. Farewell!"

All that night and the next day the _Happy Delivery_ ran before the
easterly trades, and Stephen Craddock lay in the dark of the sail-room
working patiently at his wrist-irons. One he had slipped off at the cost
of a row of broken and bleeding knuckles, but, do what he would, he
could not free the other, and his ankles were securely fastened.

From hour to hour he heard the swish of the water, and knew that the
barque must be driving with all set in front of the trade-wind. In that
case they must be nearly back again to Jamaica by now. What plan could
Sharkey have in his head, and what use did he hope to make of him?
Craddock set his teeth, and vowed that if he had once been a villain
from choice he would, at least, never be one by compulsion.

On the second morning Craddock became aware that sail had been reduced
in the vessel, and that she was tacking slowly, with a light breeze on
her beam. The varying slope of the sail-room and the sounds from the
deck told his practised senses exactly what she was doing. The short
reaches showed him that she was manoeuvring near shore, and making for
some definite point. If so, she must have reached Jamaica. But what
could she be doing there?

And then suddenly there was a burst of hearty cheering from the deck,
and then the crash of a gun above his head, and then the answering
booming of guns from far over the water. Craddock sat up and strained
his ears. Was the ship in action? Only the one gun had been fired, and
though many had answered there were none of the crashings which told of
a shot coming home.

Then, if it was not an action, it must be a salute. But who would salute
Sharkey, the pirate? It could only be another pirate ship which would do
so. So Craddock lay back again with a groan, and continued to work at
the manacle which still held his right wrist.

But suddenly there came the shuffling of steps outside, and he had
hardly time to wrap the loose links round his free hand, when the door
was unbolted and two pirates came in.

"Got your hammer, carpenter?" asked one, whom Craddock recognized as the
big quartermaster. "Knock off his leg shackles, then. Better leave the
bracelets--he's safer with them on."

With hammer and chisel the carpenter loosened the irons.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Craddock.

"Come on deck and you'll see."

The sailor seized him by the arm and dragged him roughly to the foot of
the companion. Above him was a square of blue sky cut across by the
mizzen gaff with the colours flying at the peak. But it was the sight of
those colours which struck the breath from Stephen Craddock's lips. For
there were two of them, and the British ensign was flying above the
Jolly Roger--the honest flag above that of the rogue.

For an instant Craddock stopped in amazement, but a brutal push from the
pirates behind drove him up the companion ladder. As he stepped out upon
deck, his eyes turned up to the main, and there again were the British
colours flying above the red pennant, and all the shrouds and rigging
were garlanded with streamers.

Had the ship been taken, then? But that was impossible, for there were
the pirates clustering in swarms along the port bulwarks, and waving
their hats joyously in the air. Most prominent of all was the renegade
mate, standing on the fo'c'sle head, and gesticulating wildly. Craddock
looked over the side to see what they were cheering at, and then in a
flash he saw how critical was the moment.

On the port bow, and about a mile off, lay the white houses and forts of
Port Royal, with flags breaking out everywhere over their roofs. Right
ahead was the opening of the palisades leading to the town of Kingston.
Not more than a quarter of a mile off was a small sloop working out
against the very slight wind. The British ensign was at her peak, and
her rigging was all decorated. On her deck could be seen a dense crowd
of people cheering and waving their hats, and the gleam of scarlet told
that there were officers of the garrison among them.

In an instant, with the quick perception of a man of action, Craddock
saw through it all. Sharkey, with that diabolical cunning and audacity
which were among his main characteristics, was simulating the part which
Craddock would himself have played, had he come back victorious. It was
in his honour that the salutes were firing and the flags flying. It was
to welcome him that this ship with the Governor, the commandant, and the
chiefs of the island was approaching. In another ten minutes they would
all be under the guns of the Happy Delivery, and Sharkey would have won
the greatest stake that ever a pirate played for yet.

"Bring him forward," cried the pirate captain, as Craddock appeared
between the carpenter and the quartermaster. "Keep the ports closed, but
clear away the port guns, and stand by for a broadside. Another two
cable lengths and we have them."

"They are edging away," said the boatswain. "I think they smell us."

"That's soon set right," said Sharkey, turning his filmy eyes upon
Craddock. "Stand there, you--right there, where they can recognize you,
with your hand on the guy, and wave your hat to them. Quick, or your
brains will be over your coat. Put an inch of your knife into him, Ned.
Now, will you wave your hat? Try him again, then. Hey, shoot him! Stop
him!"

But it was too late. Relying upon the manacles, the quartermaster had
taken his hands for a moment off Craddock's arm. In that instant he had
flung, off the carpenter and, amid a spatter of pistol bullets, had
sprung the bulwarks and was swimming for his life. He had been hit and
hit again, but it takes many pistols to kill a resolute and powerful man
who has his mind set upon doing something before he dies. He was a
strong swimmer, and, in spite of the red trail which he left in the
water behind him, he was rapidly increasing his distance from the
pirate.

"Give me a musket!" cried Sharkey, with a savage oath.

He was a famous shot, and his iron nerves never failed him in an
emergency. The dark head appearing on the crest of a roller, and then
swooping down on the other side, was already half-way to the sloop.
Sharkey dwelt long upon his aim before he fired. With the crack of the
gun the swimmer reared himself up in the water, waved his hands in a
gesture of warning, and roared out in a voice which rang over the bay.
Then, as the sloop swung round her head-sails, and the pirate fired an
impotent broadside, Stephen Craddock, smiling grimly in his death agony,
sank slowly down to that golden couch which glimmered far beneath him.



THE BLIGHTING OF SHARKEY


Sharkey, the abominable Sharkey, was out again. After two years of the
Coromandel coast, his black barque of death, the _Happy Delivery_, was
prowling off the Spanish Main, while trader and fisher flew for dear
life at the menace of that patched fore-topsail, rising slowly over the
violet rim of the tropical sea.

As the birds cower when the shadow of the hawk falls athwart the field,
or as the jungle folk crouch and shiver when the coughing cry of the
tiger is heard in the nighttime, so through all the busy world of ships,
from the whalers of Nantucket to the tobacco ships of Charleston, and
from the Spanish supply ships of Cadiz to the sugar merchants of the
Main, there spread the rumour of the black curse of the ocean.

Some hugged the shore, ready to make for the nearest port, while others
struck far out beyond the known lines of commerce, but none were so
stout-hearted that they did not breathe more freely when their
passengers and cargoes were safe under the guns of some mothering fort.

Through all the islands there ran tales of charred derelicts at sea, of
sudden glares seen afar in the nighttime, and of withered bodies
stretched upon the sand of waterless Bahama Keys. All the old signs were
there to show that Sharkey was at his bloody game once more.

These fair waters and yellow-rimmed palm-nodding islands are the
traditional home of the sea rover. First it was the gentleman
adventurer, the man of family and honour, who fought as a patriot,
though he was ready to take his payment in Spanish plunder.

Then, within a century, his debonair figure had passed to make room fur
the buccaneers, robbers pure and simple, yet with some organized code of
their own, commanded by notable chieftains, and taking in hand great
concerted enterprises.

They, too, passed with their fleets and their sacking of cities, to make
room for the worst of all, the lonely, outcast pirate, the bloody
Ishmael of the seas, at war with the whole human race. This was the vile
brood which the early eighteenth century had spawned forth, and of them
all there was none who could compare in audacity, wickedness, and evil
repute with the unutterable Sharkey.

It was early in May, in the year 1720, that the _Happy Delivery_ lay with
her fore-yard aback some five leagues west of the Windward Passage,
waiting to see what rich, helpless craft the trade-wind might bring down
to her.

Three days she had lain there, a sinister black speck, in the centre of
the great sapphire circle of the ocean. Far to the south-east the low
blue hills of Hispaniola showed up on the skyline.

Hour by hour as he waited without avail, Sharkey's savage temper had
risen, for his arrogant spirit chafed against any contradiction, even
from Fate itself. To his quartermaster, Ned Galloway, he had said that
night, with his odious neighing laugh, that the crew of the next
captured vessel should answer to him for having kept him waiting so
long.

The cabin of the pirate barque was a good-sized room, hung with much
tarnished finery, and presenting a strange medley of luxury and
disorder. The panelling of carved and polished sandal-wood was blotched
with foul smudges and chipped with bullet-marks fired in some drunken
revelry.

Rich velvets and laces were heaped upon the brocaded settees, while
metal-work and pictures of great price filled every niche and corner,
for anything which caught the pirate's fancy in the sack of a hundred
vessels was thrown haphazard into his chamber. A rich, soft carpet
covered the floor, but it was mottled with wine-stains and charred with
burned tobacco.

Above, a great brass hanging-lamp threw a brilliant yellow light upon
this singular apartment, and upon the two men who sat in their
shirt-sleeves with the wine between them, and the cards in their hands,
deep in a game of piquet. Both were smoking long pipes, and the thin
blue reek filled the cabin and floated through the skylight above them,
which, half opened, disclosed a slip of deep violet sky spangled with
great silver stars.

Ned Galloway, the quartermaster, was a huge New England wastrel, the one
rotten branch upon a goodly Puritan family tree. His robust limbs and
giant frame were the heritage of a long line of God-fearing ancestors,
while his black savage heart was all his own. Bearded to the temples,
with fierce blue eyes, a tangled lion's mane of coarse, dark hair, and
huge gold rings in his ears, he was the idol of the women in every
waterside hell from the Tortugas to Maracaibo on the Main. A red cap, a
blue silken shirt, brown velvet breeches with gaudy knee-ribbons, and
high sea-boots made up the costume of the rover Hercules.

A very different figure was Captain John Sharkey. His thin, drawn,
clean-shaven face was corpse-like in its pallor, and all the suns of the
Indies could but turn it to a more deathly parchment tint. He was part
bald, with a few lank locks of tow-like hair, and a steep, narrow
forehead. His thin nose jutted sharply forth, and near-set on either
side of it were those filmy blue eyes, red-rimmed like those of a white
bull-terrier, from which strong men winced away in fear and loathing.
His bony hands, with long, thin fingers which quivered ceaselessly like
the antennae of an insect, were toying constantly with the cards and the
heap of gold moidores which lay before him. His dress was of some sober
drab material, but, indeed, the men who looked upon that fearsome face
had little thought for the costume of its owner.

The game was brought to a sudden interruption, for the cabin door was
swung rudely open, and two rough fellows--Israel Martin, the boatswain,
and Red Foley, the gunner--rushed into the cabin. In an instant Sharkey
was on his feet with a pistol in either hand and murder in his eyes.

"Sink you for villains!" he cried. "I see well that if I do not shoot
one of you from time to time you will forget the man I am. What mean you
by entering my cabin as though it were a Wapping alehouse?"

"Nay, Captain Sharkey," said Martin, with a sullen frown upon his
brick-red face, "it is even such talk as this which has set us by the
ears. We have had enough of it."

"And more than enough," said Red Foley, the gunner. "There be no mates
aboard a pirate craft, and so the boatswain, the gunner, and the
quartermaster are the officers."

"Did I gainsay it?" asked Sharkey with an oath.

"You have miscalled us and mishandled us before the men, and we scarce
know at this moment why we should risk our lives in fighting for the
cabin and against the fo'c'sle."

Sharkey saw that something serious was in the wind. He laid down his
pistols and leaned back in his chair with a flash of his yellow fangs.

"Nay, this is sad talk," said he, "that two stout fellows who have
emptied many a bottle and cut many a throat with me, should now fall out
over nothing. I know you to be roaring boys who would go with me against
the devil himself if I bid you. Let the steward bring cups and drown all
unkindness between us."

"It is no time for drinking, Captain Sharkey," said Martin. "The men are
holding council round the mainmast, and may be aft at any minute. They
mean mischief, Captain Sharkey, and we have come to warn you."

Sharkey sprang for the brass-handled sword which hung from the wall.

"Sink them for rascals!" he cried. "When I have gutted one or two of
them they may hear reason."

But the others barred his frantic way to the door.

"There are forty of them under the lead of Sweetlocks, the master," said
Martin, "and on the open deck they would surely cut you to pieces. Here
within the cabin it may be that we can hold them off at the points of
our pistols."

He had hardly spoken when there came the tread of many heavy feet upon
the deck. Then there was a pause with no sound but the gentle lapping of
the water against the sides of the pirate vessel. Finally, a crashing
blow as from a pistol-butt fell upon the door, and an instant afterwards
Sweetlocks himself, a tall, dark man, with a deep red birth-mark blazing
upon his cheek, strode into the cabin. His swaggering air sank somewhat
as he looked into those pale and filmy eyes.

"Captain Sharkey," said he, "I come as spokesman of the crew."

"So I have heard, Sweetlocks," said the captain, softly. "I may live to
rip you the length of your vest for this night's work."

"That is as it may be, Captain Sharkey," the master answered, "but if
you will look up you will see that I have those at my back who will not
see me mishandled."

"Cursed if we do." growled a deep voice from above, and glancing upwards
the officers in the cabin were aware of a line of fierce, bearded,
sun-blackened faces looking down at them through the, open skylight.

"Well, what would you have?" asked Sharkey. "Put it in words, man, and
let us have an end of it."

"The men think," said Sweetlocks, "that you are the devil himself, and
that there will be no luck for them whilst they sail the sea in such
company. Time was when we did our two or three craft a day, and every
man had women and dollars to his liking, but now for a long week we have
not raised a sail, and save for three beggarly sloops, have taken never
a vessel since we passed the Bahama Bank. Also, they know that you
killed Jack Bartholomew, the carpenter, by beating his head in with a
bucket, so that each of us goes in fear of his life. Also, the rum has
given out, and we are hard put to it for liquor. Also, you sit in your
cabin whilst it is in the articles that you should drink and roar with
the crew. For all these reasons it has been this day in general meeting
decreed--"

Sharkey had stealthily cocked a pistol under the table, so it may have
been as well for the mutinous master that he never reached the end of
his discourse, for even as he came to it there was a swift patter of
feet upon the deck, and a ship lad, wild with his tidings, rushed into
the room.

"A craft!" he yelled. "A great craft, and close aboard us!"

In a flash the quarrel was forgotten, and the pirates were rushing to
quarters. Sure enough, surging slowly down before the gentle trade-wind,
a great full-rigged ship, with all sail set, was close beside them.

It was clear that she had come from afar and knew nothing of the ways of
the Caribbean Sea, for she made no effort to avoid the low, dark craft
which lay so close upon her bow, but blundered on as if her mere size
would avail her.

So daring was she, that for an instant the rovers, as they flew to loose
the tackles of their guns, and hoisted their battle-lanterns, believed
that a man-of-war had caught them napping.

But at the sight of her bulging, portless sides and merchant rig a shout
of exultation broke from amongst them, and in an instant they had swung
round their fore-yard, and darting alongside they had grappled with her
and flung a spray of shrieking, cursing ruffians upon her deck.

Half a dozen seamen of the night-watch were cut down where they stood,
the mate was felled by Sharkey and tossed overboard by Ned Galloway, and
before the sleepers had time to sit up in their berths, the vessel was
in the hands of the pirates.

The prize proved to be the full-rigged ship _Portobello_--Captain Hardy,
master--bound from London to Kingston in Jamaica, with a cargo of cotton
goods and hoop-iron.

Having secured their prisoners, all huddled together in a dazed,
distracted group, the pirates spread over the vessel in search of
plunder, handing all that was found to the giant quartermaster, who in
turn passed it over the side of the _Happy Delivery_ and laid it under
guard at the foot of her mainmast.

The cargo was useless, but there were a thousand guineas in the ship's
strong-box, and there were some eight or ten passengers, three of them
wealthy Jamaica merchants, all bringing home well-filled boxes from
their London visit.

When all the plunder was gathered, the passengers and crew were dragged
to the waist, and under the cold smile of Sharkey each in turn was
thrown over the side--Sweetlocks standing by the rail and ham-stringing
them with his cutlass as they passed over, lest some strong swimmer
should rise in judgment against them. A portly, grey-haired woman, the
wife of one of the planters, was among the captives, but she also was
thrust screaming and clutching over the side.

"Mercy, you hussy!" neighed Sharkey, "you are surely a good twenty years
too old for that."

The captain of the _Portobello_, a hale-, blue-eyed greybeard, was the
last upon the deck. He stood, a thickset resolute figure, in the glare
of the lanterns, while Sharkey bowed and smirked before him.

"One skipper should show courtesy to another," said he, "and sink me if
Captain Sharkey would be behind in good manners! I have held you to the
last, as you see, where a brave man should be; so now, my bully, you
have seen the end of them, and may step over with an easy mind."

"So I shall, Captain Sharkey," said the old seaman, "for I have done my
duty so far as my power lay. But before I go over I would say a word, in
your ear."

"If it be to soften me, you may save your breath. You have kept us
waiting here for three days, and curse me if one of you shall live!"

"Nay, it is to tell you what you should know. You have not yet found
what is the true treasure aboard of this ship."

"Not found it? Sink me, but I will slice your liver, Captain Hardy, if
you do not make good your words! Where is this treasure you speak of?"

"It is not a treasure of gold, but it is a fair maid, which may be no
less welcome."

"Where is she, then? And why was she not with the others?"

"I will tell you why she was not with the others. She is the only
daughter of the Count and Countess Ramirez, who are amongst those whom
you have murdered. Her name is Inez Ramirez, and she is of the best
blood of Spain, her father being Governor of Chagre, to which he was now
bound. It chanced that she was found to have formed an attachment, as
maids will, to one far beneath her in rank aboard this ship; so her
parents, being people of great power, whose word is not to be gainsaid,
constrained me to confine her close in a special cabin aft of my own.
Here she was held straitly, all food being carried to her and she
allowed to see no one. This I tell you as a last gift, though why I
should make it to you I do not know, for indeed you are a most bloody
rascal, and it comforts me in dying to think that you will surely be
gallow's-meat in this world, and hell's-meat in the next."

At the words he ran to the rail, and vaulted over into the darkness,
praying as he sank into the depths of the sea, that the betrayal of this
maid might not be counted too heavily against his soul.

The body of Captain Hardy had not yet settled upon the sand forty
fathoms deep before the pirates had rushed along the cabin gangway.
There, sure enough, at the farther end, was a barred door, overlooked in
their previous search. There was no key, but they beat it in with their
gunstocks, whilst shriek after shriek came from within. In the light of
their outstretched lanterns they saw a young woman, in the very prime
and fullness of her youth, crouching in a corner, her unkempt hair
hanging to the ground, her dark eyes glaring with fear, her lovely form
straining away in horror from this inrush of savage blood-stained men.
Rough hands seized her, she was jerked to her feet, and dragged with
scream on scream to where John Sharkey awaited her. He held the light
long and fondly to her face, then, laughing loudly, he bent forward and
left his red handprint upon her cheek.

"'Tis the Rovers' brand, lass, that he marks his ewes. Take her to the
cabin and use her well. Now, hearties, get her under water, and out to
our luck once more."

Within an hour the good ship _Portobello_ had settled down to her doom,
till she lay beside her murdered passengers upon the Caribbean sand,
while the pirate barque, her deck littered' with plunder, was heading
northward in search of another victim.

There was a carouse that night in the cabin of the _Happy Delivery_, at
which three men drank deep. They, were the captain, the quartermaster,
and Baldy Stable, the surgeon, a man who had held the first practice in
Charleston, until, misusing a patient, he fled from justice, and took
his skill over to the pirates. A bloated fat man he was, with a creased
neck and a great shining scalp, which gave him his name. Sharkey had put
for the moment all thought of the mutiny out of his head, knowing that
no animal is fierce when it is over-fed, and that whilst the plunder of
the great ship was new to them he need fear no trouble from his crew. He
gave himself up, therefore, to the wine and the riot, shouting and
roaring with his boon companions. All three were flushed and mad, ripe
for any devilment, when the thought of the woman crossed the pirate's
evil mind. He yelled to the negro steward that he should bring her on
the instant.

Inez Ramirez had now realized it all--the death of her father and
mother, and her own position in the hands of their murderers. Yet
calmness had come with the knowledge, and there was no sign of terror in
her proud, dark face as she was led into the cabin, but rather a
strange, firm set of the mouth and an exultant gleam of the eyes, like
one who sees great hopes in the future. She smiled at the pirate captain
as he rose and seized her by the waist.

"'Fore God! this is a lass of spirit," cried Sharkey; passing his arm
round her. "She was born to be a Rover's bride. Come, my bird, and drink
to our better friendship."

"Article Six!" hiccoughed the doctor. "All _bona robas_ in common."

"Aye! we hold you to that, Captain Sharkey," said Galloway. "It is so
writ in Article Six."

"I will cut the man into ounces who comes betwixt us!" cried Sharkey, as
he turned his fish-like eyes from one to the other. "Nay, lass, the man
is not born that will take you from John Sharkey. Sit here upon my knee,
and place your arm round me so. Sink me, if she has not learned to love
me at sight! Tell me, my pretty, why you were so mishandled and laid in
the bilboes aboard yonder craft?"

The woman shook her head and smiled. "No Inglese--no Inglese," she
lisped. She had drunk off the bumper of wine which Sharkey held to her,
and her dark eyes gleamed more brightly than before. Sitting on
Sharkey's knee, her arm encircled his neck, and her hand toyed with his
hair, his ear, his check. Even the strange quartermaster and the
hardened surgeon felt a horror as they watched her, but Sharkey laughed
in his joy. "Curse me, if she is not a lass of metal!" he cried, as he
pressed her to him and kissed her unresisting lips. But a strange intent
look of interest had come into the surgeon's eyes as he watched her, and
his face set rigidly, as if a fearsome thought had entered his mind.
There stole a grey pallor over his bull face, mottling all the red of
the tropics and the flush of the wine.

"Look at her hand, Captain Sharkey" he cried. "For the Lord's sake, look
at her hand!"

Sharkey stared down at the hand which had fondled him. It was of a
strange dead pallor, with a yellow shiny web betwixt the fingers. All
over it was a white fluffy dust, like the flour of a new-baked loaf. It
lay thick on Sharkey's neck and cheek. With a cry of disgust he flung
the woman from his lap; but in an instant, with a wild-cat bound, and a
scream of triumphant malice, she had sprung at the surgeon, who vanished
yelling under the table. One of her clawing hands grasped Galloway by
the beard, but he tore himself away, and snatching a pike, held her off
from him as she gibbered and mowed with the blazing eyes of a maniac.

The black steward had run in on the sudden turmoil, and among them they
forced the mad creature back into a cabin, and turned the key upon her.
Then the three sank panting into their chairs and looked with eyes of
horror upon each other. The same word was in the mind of each, but
Galloway was the first to speak it.

"A leper!" he cried. "She has us all, curse her!"

"Not me," said the surgeon; "she never laid her finger on me."

"For that matter," cried Galloway, "it was but my beard that she
touched. I will have every hair of it off before morning."

"Dolts that we were!" the surgeon shouted, beating his head with his
hand. "Tainted or no, we shall never know a moment's peace till the year
is up and the time of danger past. 'Fore God, that merchant skipper has
left his mark on us, and pretty fools we were to think that such a maid
would be quarantined for the cause he gave. It is easy to see now that
her corruption broke forth in the journey, and that save throwing her
over they had no choice but to board her up until they should come to
some port with a lazarette."

Sharkey had sat leaning back in his chair with a ghastly face while he
listened to the surgeon's words. He mopped himself with his red
handkerchief, and wiped away the fatal dust with which he was smeared.

"What of me?" he croaked. "What say you, Baldy Stable? Is there a chance
for me? Curse you for a villain! speak out, or I will drub you within an
inch of your life, and that inch also! Is there a chance for me, I say!"

But the surgeon shook his head. "Captain Sharkey," said he, "it would be
an ill deed to speak you false. The taint is on you. No man on whom the
leper scales have rested is ever clean again."

Sharkey's head fell forward on his chest, and he sat motionless,
stricken by this great and sudden horror, looking with his smouldering
eyes into his fearsome future. Softly the mate and the surgeon rose from
their places, and stealing out from the poisoned air of the cabin, came
forth into the freshness of the early dawn, with the soft, scent-laden
breeze in their faces and the first red feathers of cloud catching the
earliest gleam of the rising sun as it shot its golden rays over the
palm-clad ridges of distant Hispaniola.

That morning a second council of the Rovers was held at the base of the
mainmast, and a deputation chosen to see the captain. They were
approaching the after-cabins when Sharkey came forth, the old devil in
his eyes, and his bandolier with a pair of pistols over his shoulder.

"Sink you all for villains!" he cried. "Would you dare to cross my
hawse? Stand out, Sweetlocks, and I will lay you open! Here, Galloway,
Martin, Foley, stand by me and lash the dogs to their kennel!"

But his officers had deserted him, and there was none to come to his
aid. There was a rush of the pirates. One was shot through the body, but
an instant afterwards Sharkey had been seized and was triced to his own
mainmast. His filmy eyes looked round from face to face, and there was
none who felt the happier for having met them.

"Captain Sharkey," said Sweetlocks, "you have mishandled many of us, and
you have now pistolled John Masters, besides killing Bartholomew, the
carpenter, by braining him with a bucket. All this might have been
forgiven you, in that you have been our leader for years, and that we
have signed articles to serve under you while the voyage lasts. But now
We have heard of this _bona roba_ on board, and we know that you are
poisoned to the marrow, and that while you rot there will be no safety
for any of us, but that we shall all be turned into filth and
corruption. Therefore, John Sharkey, we Rovers of the _Happy Delivery_, in
council assembled, have decreed that while there be yet time, before the
plague spreads, you shall be set adrift in a boat to find such a fate as
Fortune may be pleased to send you."

John Sharkey said nothing, but slowly circling his head, he cursed them
all with his baleful gaze. The ship's dinghy had been lowered, and he,
with his hands still tied, was dropped into it on the bight of a rope.

"Cast her off!" cried Sweetlocks.

"Nay, hold hard a moment, Master Sweetlocks" shouted one of the crew.
"What of the wench? Is she to bide aboard and poison us all?"

"Send her off with her mate!" cried another, and the Rovers roared their
approval. Driven forth at the end of pikes, the girl was pushed towards
the boat. With all the spirit of Spain in her rotting body she flashed
triumphant glances at her captors.

"Perros! Perros Ingleses! Lepero, Lepero!" she cried in exultation, as
they thrust her over into the boat.

"Good luck, captain God speed you on your honeymoon!" cried a chorus of
mocking voices, as the painter was unloosed, and the _Happy Delivery_,
running full before the trade-wind, left the little boat astern, a tiny
dot upon the vast expanse of the lonely sea.

* * * * *

Extract from the log of H.M. 50-gun ship _Hecate_ in her cruise off the
American Main.

"Jan. 26, 1721.--This day, the junk having become unfit for food, and
five of the crew down with scurvy, I ordered that we send two boats
ashore at the nor' western point of Hispaniola, to seek for fresh fruit,
and perchance shoot some of the wild oxen with which the island abounds.

"7 p.m.--The boats have returned with good store of green stuff and two
bullocks. Mr. Woodruff, the master, reports that near the landing-place
at the edge of the forest was found the skeleton of a woman, clad in
European dress, of such sort as to show that she may have been a person
of quality. Her head had been crushed by a great stone which lay beside
her. Hard by was a grass hut, and signs that a man had 'dwelt therein
for some time, as was shown by charred wood, bones and other traces.
There is a rumour upon the coast that Sharkey, the bloody pirate, was
marooned in these parts last year, but whether he has made his way into
the interior, or whether he has been picked up by some craft, there is
no means of knowing. If he be once again afloat, then I pray that God
send him under our guns."



HOW COPLEY BANKS SLEW CAPTAIN SHARKEY


The Buccaneers were something higher than a mere band of marauders. They
were a floating republic, with laws, usages, and discipline of their
own. In their endless and remorseless quarrel with the Spaniards they
had some semblance of right upon their side. Their bloody harryings of
the cities of the Main were not more barbarous than the inroads of Spain
upon the Netherlands--or upon the Caribs in these same American lands.

The chief of the Buccaneers, were he English or French, a Morgan or a
Granmont, was still a responsible person, whose country might
countenance him, or even praise him, so long as he refrained from any
deed which might shock the leathery seventeenth-century conscience too
outrageously. Some of them were touched with religion, and it is still
remembered how Sawkins threw the dice overboard upon the Sabbath, and
Daniel pistolled a man before the altar for irreverence.

But there came a day when the fleets of the Buccaneers no longer
mustered at the Tortugas, and the solitary and outlawed pirate took
their place. Yet even with him the tradition of restraint and of
discipline still lingered; and among the early pirates, the Avorys, the
Englands, and the Robertses, there remained some respect for human
sentiment. They were more dangerous to the merchant than to the seaman.

But they in turn were replaced by more savage and desperate men, who
frankly recognized that they would get no quarter in their war with the
human race, and who swore that they would give as little as they got. Of
their histories we know little that is trustworthy. They wrote no
memoirs and left no trace, save an occasional blackened and bloodstained
derelict adrift upon the face of the Atlantic. Their deeds could only be
surmised from the long roll of ships which never made their port.

Searching the records of history, it is only here and there in an
old-world trial that the veil that shrouds them seems for an instant to
be lifted, and we catch a glimpse of some amazing and grotesque
brutality behind.

Such was the breed of Ned Low, of Gow the Scotchman, and of the infamous
Sharkey, whose coal-black barque, the _Happy Delivery_, was known from the
Newfoundland Banks to the mouths of the Orinoco as the dark forerunner
of misery and of death.

There were many men, both among the islands and on the Main, who had a
blood feud with Sharkey, but not one who had suffered more bitterly than
Copley Banks, of Kingston. Banks had been one of the leading sugar
merchants of the West Indies. He was a man of position, a member of the
Council, the husband of a Percival, and the cousin of the Governor of
Virginia. His two sons had been sent to London to be educated, and their
mother had gone over to bring them back. On their return voyage the
ship, the _Duchess of Cornwall_, fell into the hands of Sharkey, and the
whole family met with an infamous death.

Copley Banks said little when he heard the news, but he sank into a
morose and enduring melancholy. He neglected his business, avoided his
friends, and spent much of his time in the low taverns of the fishermen
and seamen. There, amidst riot and devilry, he sat silently puffing at
his pipe, with a set face and a smouldering eye. It was generally
supposed that his misfortunes had shaken his wits, and his old friends
looked at him askance, for the company which he kept was enough to bar
him from honest men.

From time to time there came rumours of Sharkey over the sea. Sometimes
it was from some schooner which had seen a great flame upon the horizon,
and approaching to offer help to the burning ship, had fled away at the
sight of the sleek, black barque, lurking like a wolf near a mangled
sheep. Sometimes it was a frightened trader, which had come tearing in
with her canvas curved like a lady's bodice, because she had seen a
patched fore-topsail rising slowly above the violet waterline. Sometimes
it was from a Coaster, which had found a waterless Bahama cay littered
with sun-dried bodies.

Once there came a man who had been mate of a Guinea-man, and who had
escaped from the pirate's hands. He could not speak--for reasons which
Sharkey could best supply--but he could write, and he did write, to the
very great interest of Copley Banks. For hours they sat together over
the map, and the dumb man pointed here and there to outlying reefs and
tortuous inlets, while his companion sat smoking in silence, with his
unvarying face and his fiery eyes.

One morning, some two years after his misfortune, Mr. Copley Banks
strode into his own office with his old air of energy and alertness. The
manager stared at him in surprise, for it was months since he had shown
any interest in business.

"Good morning, Mr. Banks!" said he.

"Good morning, Freeman. I see that _Ruffling Harry_ is in the Bay."

"Yes, sir; she clears for the Windward Islands on Wednesday."

"I have other plans for her, Freeman. I have determined upon a slaving
venture to Whydah."

"But her cargo is ready, sir."

"Then it must come out again, Freeman. My mind is made up, and the
_Ruffling Harry_ must go slaving to Whydah."

All argument and persuasion were vain, so the manager had dolefully to
clear the ship once more.

And then Copley Banks began to make preparations for his African voyage.
It appeared that he relied upon force rather than barter for the filling
of his hold, for he carried none of those showy trinkets which savages
love, but the brig was fitted with eight nine-pounder guns and racks
full of muskets and cutlasses. The after sail-room next the cabin was
transformed into a powder magazine, and she carried as many round shot
as a well-found privateer. Water and provisions were shipped for a long
voyage.

But the preparation of his ship's company was most surprising. It made
Freeman, the manager, realize that there was truth in the rumour that
his master had taken leave of his senses. For, under one pretext or
another, he began to dismiss the old and tried hands, who had served the
firm for years, and in their place he embarked the scum of the port--men
whose reputations were so vile that the lowest crimp would have been
ashamed to furnish them.

There was Birthmark Sweetlocks, who was known to have been present at
the killing of the logwood cutters, so that his hideous scarlet
disfigurement was put down by the fanciful as being a red afterglow from
that great crime. He was first mate, and under him was Israel Martin, a
little sun-wilted fellow who had served with Howell Davies at the taking
of Cape Coast Castle.

The crew were chosen from amongst those whom Banks had met and known in
their own infamous haunts, and his own table-steward was a haggard-faced
man, who gobbled at you when he tried to talk. His beard had been
shaved, and it was impossible to recognize him as the same man whom
Sharkey had placed under the knife, and who had escaped to tell his
experiences to Copley Banks.

These doings were not unnoticed, nor yet uncommented upon in the town of
Kingston. The Commandant of the troops--Major Harvey, of the
Artillery--made serious representations to the Governor.

"She is not a trader, but a small warship," said he. "I think it would
be as well to arrest Copley Banks and to seize the vessel."

"What do you suspect?" asked the Governor, who was a slow-witted man,
broken down with fevers and port wine.

"I suspect," said the soldier, "that it is Stede Bonnet over again."

Now, Stede Bonnet was a planter of high reputation and religious
character, who, from some sudden and overpowering freshet of wildness in
his blood, had given up everything in order to start off pirating in the
Caribbean Sea. The example was a recent one, and it had caused the
utmost consternation in the islands. Governors had before now been
accused of being in league with pirates, and of receiving commissions
upon their plunder, so that any want of vigilance was open to a sinister
construction.

"Well, Major Harvey," said he, "I am vastly sorry to do anything which
may offend my friend Copley Banks, for many a time have my knees been
under his mahogany, but in face of what you say there is no choice for
me but to order you to board the vessel and to satisfy yourself as to
her character and destination."

So at one in the morning Major Harvey, with a launchful of his soldiers,
paid a surprise visit to the _Ruffling Harry_, with the result that they
picked up nothing more solid than a hempen cable floating at the
moorings. It had been slipped by the brig, whose owner had scented
danger. She had already passed the Palisades, and was beating out
against the north-east trades on a course for the Windward Passage.

When upon the next morning the brig had left Morant Point a mere haze
upon the Southern horizon, the men were called aft, and Copley Banks
revealed his plans to them. He had chosen them, he said, as brisk boys
and lads of spirit, who would rather run some risk upon the sea than
starve for a living upon the shore. King's ships were few and weak, and
they could master any trader who might come their way. Others had done
well at the business, and with a handy, well-found vessel, there was no
reason why they should not turn their tarry jackets into velvet coats.
If they were prepared to sail under the black flag, he was ready to
command them; but if any wished to withdraw, they might have the gig and
row back to Jamaica.

Four men out of six-and-forty asked for their discharge, went over the
ship's side into the boat, and rowed away amidst the jeers and howlings
of the crew. The rest assembled aft, and drew up the articles of their
association. A square of black tarpaulin had the white skull painted
upon it, and was hoisted amidst cheering at the main.

Officers were elected, and the limits of their authority fixed. Copley
Banks was chosen captain, but, as there are no mates upon a pirate
craft, Birthmark Sweetlocks became quartermaster, and Israel Martin the
boatswain.

There was no difficulty in knowing what was the custom of the
brotherhood, for half the men at least had served upon pirates before.
Food should be the same for all, and no man should interfere with
another man's drink! The captain should have a cabin, but all hands
should be welcome to enter it when they chose.

All should share and share alike, save only the captain, quartermaster,
boatswain, carpenter, and master-gunner, who had from a quarter to a
whole share extra. He who saw a prize first should have the best weapon
taken out of her. He who boarded her first should have the richest suit
of clothes aboard of her. Every man might treat his own prisoner, be it
man or woman, after his own fashion. If a man flinched from his gun, the
quartermaster should pistol him. These were some of the rules which the
crew of the _Ruffling Harry_ subscribed by putting forty-two crosses at
the foot of the paper upon which they had been drawn.

So a new rover was afloat upon the seas, and her name before a year was
over became as well known as that of the _Happy Delivery_. From the
Bahamas to the Leewards, and from the Leewards to the Windwards, Copley
Banks became the rival of Sharkey and the terror of traders. For a long
time the barque and the brig never met, which was the more singular, as
the _Ruffling Harry_ was for ever looking in at Sharkey's resorts; but at
last one day, when she was passing down the inlet of Coxon's Hole, at
the east end of Cuba, with the intention of careening, there was the
_Happy Delivery_, with her blocks and tackle-falls already rigged for the
same purpose.

Copley Banks fired a shotted salute and hoisted the green trumpeter
ensign, as the custom was among gentlemen of the sea. Then he dropped
his boat and went aboard.

Captain Sharkey was not a man of a genial mood, nor had he any kindly
sympathy for those who were of the same trade as himself. Copley Banks
found him seated astride upon one of the after guns, with his New
England quartermaster, Ned Galloway, and a crowd of roaring ruffians
standing about him. Yet none of them roared with quite such assurance
when Sharkey's pale face and filmy blue eyes were turned upon him.

He was in his shirt-sleeves, with his cambric frills breaking through
his open red satin long-flapped vest. The scorching sun seemed to have
no power upon his fleshless frame, for he wore a low fur cap, as though
it had been winter. A many-coloured band of silk passed across his body
and supported a short murderous sword, while his broad, brass-buckled
belt was stuffed with pistols.

"Sink you for a poacher!" he cried, as Copley Banks passed over the
bulwarks. "I will drub you within an inch of your life, and that inch
also! What mean you by fishing in my waters?"

Copley Banks looked at him, and his eyes were like those of a traveller
who sees his home at last.

"I am glad that we are of one mind," said he, "for I am myself of
opinion that the seas are not large enough for the two of us. But if you
will take your sword and pistols and come upon a sand-bank with me, then
the world will be rid of a damned villain whichever way it goes."

"Now this is talking!" cried Sharkey, jumping off the gun and holding
out his hand. "I have not met many who could look John Sharkey in the
eyes and speak with a full breath. May the devil seize me if I do not
choose you as a consort! But if you play me false, then I will come
aboard of you and gut you upon your own poop."

"And I pledge you the same!" said Copley Banks, and so the two pirates
became sworn comrades to each other.

That summer they went north as far as the Newfoundland Banks, and
harried the New York traders and the whale-ships from New England. It
was Copley Banks who captured the Liverpool ship, _House of Hanover_, but
it was Sharkey who fastened her master to the windlass and pelted him to
death with empty claret-bottles.

Together they engaged the King's ship _Royal Fortune_, which had been sent
in search of them, and beat her off after a night action of five hours,
the drunken, raving crews fighting naked in the light of the
battle-lanterns, with a bucket of rum and a pannikin laid by the tackles
of every gun. They ran to Topsail Inlet in North Carolina to refit, and
then in the spring they were at the Grand Caicos, ready for a long
cruise down the West Indies.

By this time Sharkey and Copley Banks had become very excellent friends,
for Sharkey loved a whole-hearted villain, and he loved a man of metal,
and it seemed to him that the two met in the captain of the _Ruffling
Harry_. It was long before he gave his confidence to him, for cold
suspicion lay deep in his character. Never once would he trust himself
outside his own ship and away from his own men.

But Copley Banks came often on board the _Happy Delivery_, and joined
Sharkey in many of his morose debauches, so that at last any lingering
misgivings of the latter were set at rest. He knew nothing of the evil
that he had done to his new boon companion, for of his many victims how
could he remember the woman and the two boys whom he had slain with such
levity so long ago! When, therefore, he received a challenge to himself
and to his quartermaster for a carouse upon the last evening of their
stay at the Caicos Bank, he saw no reason to refuse.

A well-found passenger ship had been rifled the week before, so their
fare was of the best, and after supper five of them drank deeply
together. There were the two captains, Birthmark Sweetlocks, Ned
Galloway, and Israel Martin, the old buccaneersman. To wait upon them
was the dumb steward, whose head Sharkey split with his glass, because
he had been too slow in the filling of it.

The quartermaster had slipped Sharkey's pistols away from him, for it
was an old joke with him to fire them cross-handed under the table, and
see who was the luckiest man. It was a pleasantry which had cost his
boatswain his leg, so now, when the table was cleared, they would coax
Sharkey's weapons away from him on the excuse of the heat, and lay them
out of his reach.

The captain's cabin of the _Ruffling Harry_ was in a deck-house upon the
poop, and a stern-chaser gun was mounted at the back of it. Round shot
were racked round the wall, and three great hogsheads of powder made a
stand for dishes and for bottles. In this grim room the five pirates
sang and roared and drank, while the silent steward still filled up
their glasses, and passed the box and the candle round for their
tobacco-pipes. Hour after hour the talk became fouler, the voices
hoarser, the curses and shoutings more incoherent, until three of the
five had closed their bloodshot eyes, and dropped their swimming heads
upon the table.

Copley Banks and Sharkey were left face to face, the one because he had
drunk the least, the other because no amount of liquor would ever shake
his iron nerve or warm his sluggish blood. Behind him stood the watchful
steward, for ever filling up his waning glass. From without came the low
lapping of the tide, and from over the water a sailor's chanty from the
barque.

In the windless tropical night the words came clearly to their ears:

     "A trader sailed from Stepney Town,
Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail!
      A trader sailed from Stepney Town
        With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown.
        Ho, the bully Rover Jack,
        Waiting with his yard aback
      Out upon the Lowland Sea."

The two boon companions sat listening in silence. Then Copley Banks
glanced at the steward, and the man took a coil of rope from the
shot-rack behind him.

"Captain Sharkey," said Copley Banks, "do you remember the _Duchess of
Cornwall_, hailing from London, which you took and sank three years ago
off the Statira Shoal?"

"Curse me if I can bear their names in mind," said Sharkey. "We did as
many as ten ships a week about that time."

"There were a mother and two sons among the passengers. Maybe that will
bring it back to your mind."

Captain Sharkey leant back in thought, with his huge thin beak of a nose
jutting upwards. Then he burst suddenly into a high treble, neighing
laugh. He remembered it, he said, and he added details to prove it.

"But burn me if it had not slipped from my mind!" he cried. "How came
you to think of it?"

"It was of interest to me," said Copley Banks, "for the woman was my
wife and the lads were my only sons."

Sharkey stared across at his companion, and saw that the smouldering
fire which lurked always in his eyes had burned up into a lurid flame.
He read their menace, and he clapped his hands to his empty belt. Then
he turned to seize a weapon, but the bight of a rope was cast round him,
and in an instant his arms were bound to his side. He fought like a wild
cat and screamed for help.

"Ned" he yelled. "Ned Wake up Here's damned villainy Help, Ned, help!"

But the three men were far too deeply sunk in their swinish sleep for
any voice to wake them, Round and round went the rope, until Sharkey was
swathed like a mummy from ankle to neck. They propped him stiff and
helpless against a powder barrel, and they gagged him with a
handkerchief, but his filmy, red-rimmed eyes still looked curses at
them. The dumb man chattered in his exultation, and Sharkey winced for
the first time when he saw the empty mouth before him. He understood
that vengeance, slow and patient, had dogged him long, and clutched him
at last.

The two captors had their plans all arranged, and they were somewhat
elaborate.

First of all they stove the heads of two of the great powder barrels,
and they heaped the contents out upon the table and floor. They piled it
round and under the three drunken men, until each sprawled in a heap of
it. Then they carried Sharkey to the gun and they triced him sitting
over the port-hole, with his body about a foot from the muzzle. Wriggle
as he would he could not move an inch either to right or left, and the
dumb man trussed him up with a sailor's cunning, so that there was no
chance that he should work free.

"Now, you bloody devil," said Copley Banks, softly, "you must listen to
what I have to say to you, for they are the last words that you will
hear. You are my man now, and I have bought you at a price, for I have
given all that a man can give here below, and I have given my soul as
well."

"To reach you I have had to sink to your level. For two years I strove
against it, hoping that some other way might come, but I learnt that
there was no other way. I've robbed and I have murdered--worse still, I
have laughed and lived with you--and all for the one end. And now my
time has come, and you will die as I would have you die, seeing the
shadow creeping slowly upon you and the devil waiting for you in the
shadow."

Sharkey could hear the hoarse voices of his rovers singing their chanty
over the water.

    "Where is the trader of Stepney Town?
Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stick a-bending!
     Where is the trader of Stepney Town?
     His gold's on the capstan, his blood's on his gown.
       All for bully Rover Jack,
       Reaching on the weather tack
     Right across the Lowland Sea."

The words came clear to his ear, and just outside he could hear two men
pacing backwards and forwards upon the deck. And yet he was helpless,
staring down the mouth of the nine-pounder, unable to move an inch or to
utter so much as a groan. Again there came the burst of voices from the
deck of the barque.

    "So it's up and it's over to Stornoway Bay,
Pack it on I Crack it on! Try her with the stun-sails!
       It's off on a bowline to Stornoway Bay,
       Where the liquor is good and the lasses are gay,
         Waiting for their bully Jack,
         Watching for him sailing back,
       Right across the Lowland Sea."

To the dying pirate the jovial words and rollicking tune made his own
fate seem the harsher, but there was no softening in his venomous blue
eyes. Copley Banks had brushed away the priming of the gun, and had
sprinkled fresh powder over the touch-hole. Then he had taken up the
candle and cut it to the length of about an inch. This he placed upon
the loose powder at the breach of the gun. Then he scattered powder
thickly over the floor beneath, so that when the candle fell at the
recoil it must explode the huge pile in which the three drunkards were
wallowing.

"You've made others look death in the face, Sharkey," said he; "now it
has come to be your own turn. You and these swine here shall go
together." He lit the candle-end as he spoke, and blew out the other
lights upon the table. Then he passed out with the dumb man, and locked
the cabin door upon the outer side. But before he closed it he took an
exultant look backwards and received one last curse from those
unconquerable eyes. In the single dim circle of light that ivory-white
face, with the gleam of moisture upon the high, bald forehead, was the
last that was ever seen of Sharkey.

There was a skiff alongside, and in it Copley Banks and the dumb steward
made their way to the beach, and looked back upon the brig riding in the
moonlight just outside the shadow of the palm trees. They waited and
waited, watching that dim light which shone through the stern port. And
then at last there came the dull thud of a gun, and an instant later the
shattering crash of the explosion. The long, sleek, black barque, the
sweep of white sand, and the fringe of nodding, feathery palm trees
sprang into dazzling light and back into darkness again. Voices screamed
and called upon the bay.

Then Copley Banks, his heart singing within him, touched his companion
upon the shoulder, and they plunged together into the lonely jungle of
the Caicos.



THE "SLAPPING SAL"


It was in the days when France's power was already broken upon the seas,
and when more of her three-deckers lay rotting in the Medway than were
to be found in Brest harbour. But her frigates and corvettes still
scoured the ocean, closely followed ever by those of her rival. At the
uttermost ends of the earth these dainty vessels, with sweet names of
girls or of flowers, mangled and shattered each other for the honour of
the four yards of bunting which flapped from the end of their gaffs.

It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped with the
dawning, and now the rising sun tinted the fringe of the storm-wrack as
it dwindled into the west and glinted on the endless crests of the long,
green waves. To north and south and west lay a skyline which was
unbroken save by the spout of foam when two of the great Atlantic seas
dashed each other into spray. To the east was a rocky island, jutting
out into craggy points, with a few scattered clumps of palm trees and a
pennant of mist streaming out from the bare, conical hill which capped
it. A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and, at a safe distance from it,
the British 32-gun frigate _Leda_, Captain A. P. Johnson, raised her
black, glistening side upon the crest of a wave, or swooped down into an
emerald valley, dipping away to the nor'ard under easy sail. On her
snow-white quarter-deck stood a stiff little brown-faced man; who swept
the horizon with his glass.

"Mr. Wharton!" he cried, with a voice like a rusty hinge.

A thin, knock-kneed officer shambled across the poop to him.

"Yes, sir."

"I've opened the sealed orders, Mr. Wharton."

A glimmer of curiosity shone upon the meagre features of the first
lieutenant. The _Leda_ had sailed with her consort, the _Dido_, from Antigua
the week before, and the admiral's orders had been contained in a sealed
envelope.

"We were to open them on reaching the deserted island of Sombriero,
lying in north latitude eighteen, thirty-six, west longitude
sixty-three, twenty-eight. Sombriero bore four miles to the north-east
from our port-bow when the gale cleared, Mr. Wharton."

The lieutenant bowed stiffly. He and the captain had been bosom friends
from childhood. They had gone to school together, joined the navy
together, fought again and again together, and married into each other's
families, but so long as their feet were on the poop the iron discipline
of the service struck all that was human out of them and left only the
superior and the subordinate. Captain Johnson took from his pocket a
blue paper, which crackled as he unfolded it.

"The 32-gun frigates _Leda_ and _Dido_ (Captains A. P. Johnson and James
Munro) are to cruise from the point at which these instructions are read
to the mouth of the Caribbean Sea, in the hope of encountering the
French frigate _La Gloire_ (48), which has recently harassed our merchant
ships in that quarter. H.M. frigates are also directed to hunt down the
piratical craft known sometimes as the _Slapping Sal_ and sometimes as the
_Hairy Hudson_, which has plundered the British ships as per margin,
inflicting barbarities upon their crews. She is a small brig, carrying
ten light guns, with one twenty-four pound carronade forward. She was
last seen upon the 23rd ult. to the north-east of the island of
Sombriero.

"(Signed) JAMES MONTGOMERY
"(_Rear-Admiral_).
"H.M.S. _Colossus_, Antigua."

"We appear to have lost our consort," said Captain Johnson, folding up
his instructions and again sweeping the horizon with his glass. "She
drew away after we reefed down. It would be a pity if we met this heavy
Frenchman without the _Dido_, Mr. Wharton. Eh?"

The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.

"She has eighteen-pounders on the main and twelves on the poop, sir,"
said the captain. "She carries four hundred to our two hundred and
thirty-one. Captain de Milon is the smartest man in the French service.
Oh, Bobby boy, I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my side up against
her." He turned on his heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse. "Mr.
Wharton," said he, looking back sternly over his shoulder, "get those
square sails shaken out and bear away a point more to the west."

"A brig on the port-bow," came a voice from the forecastle.

"A brig on the port-bow," said the lieutenant.

The captain sprang upon the bulwarks and held on by the mizzen-shrouds,
a strange little figure with flying skirts and puckered eyes. The lean
lieutenant craned his neck and whispered to Smeaton, the second, while
officers and men came popping up from below and clustered along the
weather-rail, shading their eyes with their hands--for the tropical sun
was already clear of the palm trees. The strange brig lay at anchor in
the throat of a curving estuary, and it was already obvious that she
could not get out without passing under the guns of the frigate. A long,
rocky point to the north of her held her in.

"Keep her as she goes, Mr. Wharton," said the captain. "Hardly worth
while our clearing for action, Mr. Smeaton, but the men can stand by the
guns in case she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bow-chasers and send
the small-arm men to the forecastle."

A British crew went to its quarters in those days with the quiet
serenity of men their daily routine. In a few minutes, without fuss or
sound, the sailors were knotted round their guns, the marines were drawn
up and leaning on their muskets, and the frigate's bowsprit pointed
straight for her little victim.

"Is it the _Slapping Sal_, sir?"

"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Wharton."

"They don't seem to like the look of us, sir. They've cut their cable
and are clapping on sail."

It was evident that the brig meant struggling for her freedom. One
little patch of canvas fluttered out above another, and her people could
be seen working like madmen in the rigging. She made no attempt to pass
her antagonist, but headed up the estuary. The captain rubbed his hands.

"She's making for shoal water, Mr. Wharton, and we shall have to cut her
out, sir. She's a footy little brig, but I should have thought a
fore-and-after would have been more handy."

"It was a mutiny, sir."

"Ah, indeed"

"Yes, sir, I heard of it at Manilla: a bad business, sir. Captain and
two mates murdered. This Hudson, or _Hairy Hudson_ as they call him, led
the mutiny. He's a Londoner, sir, and a cruel villain as ever walked."

"His next walk will be to Execution Dock, Mr. Wharton. She seems heavily
manned. I wish I could take twenty topmen out of her, but that would be
enough to corrupt the crew of the ark, Mr. Wharton."

Both officers were looking through their glasses at the brig. Suddenly
the lieutenant showed his teeth in a grin, while the captain flushed a
deeper red.

"That's _Hairy Hudson_ on the after-rail, sir."

"The low, impertinent blackguard! He'll play some other antics before we
are done with him. Could you reach him with the long eighteen, Mr.
Smeaton?"

"Another cable length will do it, sir."

The brig yawed as they spoke, and as she came round a spurt of smoke
whiffed out from her quarter. It was a pure piece, of bravado, for the
gun could scarce carry half-way. Then with a jaunty swing the little
ship came into the wind again, and shot round a fresh curve in the
winding channel.

"The water's shoaling rapidly, sir," repeated the second lieutenant.

"There's six fathoms by the chart."

"Four by the lead, sir."

"When we clear this point we shall see how we lie. Ha! I thought as much
Lay her to, Mr. Wharton. Now we have got her at our mercy."

The frigate was quite out of sight of the sea now at the head of this
river-like estuary. As she came round the curve the two shores were seen
to converge at a point about a mile distant. In the angle, as near shore
as she could get, the brig was lying with her broadside towards her
pursuer and a wisp of black cloth streaming from her mizzen. The lean
lieutenant, who had reappeared upon deck with a cutlass strapped to his
side and two pistols rammed into his belt, peered curiously at the
ensign.

"Is it the Jolly Roger, sir?" he asked.

But the captain was furious.

"He may hang where his breeches are hanging before I have done with
him!" said he. "What boats will you want, Mr. Wharton?"

"We should do it with the launch and the jolly-boat."

"Take four and make a clean job of it. Pipe away the crews at once, and
I'll work her in and help you with the long eighteens."

With a rattle of ropes and a creaking of blocks the four boats splashed
into the water. Their crews clustered thickly into them: bare-footed
sailors, stolid marines, laughing middies,' and in the sheets of each
the senior officers with their stern schoolmaster faces. The captain,
his elbows on the binnacle, still watched the distant brig. Her crew
were tricing up the boarding-netting, dragging round the starboard guns,
knocking new portholes for them, and making every preparation for a
desperate resistance. In the thick of it all a huge man, bearded to the
eyes, with a red nightcap upon his head, was straining and stooping and
hauling. The captain watched him with a sour smile, and then snapping up
his glass he turned upon his heel. For an instant he stood staring.

"Call back the boats!" he cried in his thin, creaking voice. "Clear away
for action there! Cast loose those main-deck guns. Brace back the yards,
Mr. Smeaton, and stand by to go about when she has weight enough."

Round the curve of the estuary was coming a huge vessel. Her great
yellow bowsprit and white-winged figure-head were jutting out from the
cluster of palm trees, while high above them towered three immense masts
with the tricolour flag floating superbly from the mizzen. Round she
came, the deep-blue water creaming under her fore foot, until her long,
curving, black side, her line of shining copper beneath and of
snow-white hammocks above, and the thick clusters of men who peered over
her bulwarks were all in full view. Her lower yards were slung, her
ports triced up, and her guns run out all ready for action. Lying behind
one of the promontories of the island, the lookout men of the _Gloire_
upon the shore had seen the cul de sac into which the British frigate
was headed, so that Captain de Milon had served the _Leda_ as Captain
Johnson had the _Slapping Sal_.

But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best in
such a crisis. The boats flew back; their crews clustered aboard, they
were swung up at the davits and the fall-ropes made fast. Hammocks were
brought up and stowed, bulkheads sent down, ports and magazines opened,
the fires put out in the galley, and the drums beat to quarters. Swarms
of men set the head-sails and brought the frigate round, while the
gun-crews threw off their jackets and shirts, tightened their belts, and
ran out their eighteen-pounders, peering through the open port-holes at
the stately Frenchman. The wind was very light. Hardly a ripple showed
itself upon the clear blue water, but the sails blew gently out as the
breeze came over the wooded banks. The Frenchman had gone about also,
and both ships were now heading slowly for the sea under fore-and-aft
canvas, the _Gloire_ a hundred yards in advance. She luffed up to cross
the _Leda's_ bows, but the British ship came round also, and the two
rippled slowly on in such a silence that the ringing of ramrods as the
French marines drove home their charges clanged quite loudly upon the
ear.

"Not much sea-room, Mr. Wharton," remarked the captain.

"I have fought actions in less, sir."

"We must keep our distance and trust to our gunnery. She is very heavily
manned, and if she got alongside we might find ourselves in trouble."

"I see the shakos of soldiers aboard of her."

"Two companies of light infantry from Martinique. Now we have her!
Hard-a-port, and let her have it as we cross her stern!"

The keen eye of the little commander had seen the surface ripple, which
told of a passing breeze. He had used it to dart across the big
Frenchman and to rake her with every gun as he passed. But, once past
her, the _Leda_ had to come back into the wind to keep out of shoal water.
The manoeuvre brought her on to the starboard side of the Frenchman, and
the trim little frigate seemed to heel right over under the crashing
broadside which burst from the gaping ports. A moment later her topmen
were swarming aloft to set her topsails and royals, and she strove to
cross the _Gloire's_ bows and rake her again. The French captain, however,
brought his frigate's head round, and the two rode side by side within
easy pistol-shot, pouring broadsides into each other in one of those
murderous duels which, could they all be recorded, would mottle our
charts with blood.

In that heavy tropical air, with so faint a breeze, the smoke formed a
thick bank round the two vessels, from which the topmasts only
protruded. Neither could see anything of its enemy save the throbs of
fire in the darkness, and the guns were sponged and trained and fired
into a dense wall of vapour. On the poop and the forecastle the marines,
in two little red lines, were pouring in their volleys, but neither they
nor the seamen-gunners could see what effect their fire was having. Nor,
indeed, could they tell how far they were suffering themselves, for,
standing at a gun, one could but hazily see that upon the right and the
left. But above the roar of the cannon came the sharper sound of the
piping shot, the crashing of riven planks, and the occasional heavy thud
as spar or block came hurtling on to the deck. The lieutenants paced up
and down the line of guns, while Captain Johnson fanned the smoke away
with his cocked-hat and peered eagerly out.

"This is rare, Bobby!" said he, as the lieutenant joined him. Then,
suddenly restraining himself, "What have we lost, Mr. Wharton?"

"Our main topsail yard and our gaff, sir."

"Where's the flag?"

"Gone overboard, sir."

"They'll think we've struck! Lash a boat's ensign on the starboard arm
of the mizzen cross-jackyard."

"Yes, sir."

A round-shot dashed the binnacle to pieces between them. A second
knocked two marines into a bloody, palpitating mash. For a moment the
smoke rose, and the English captain saw that his adversary's heavier
metal was producing a horrible effect. The _Leda_ was a shattered wreck.
Her deck was strewed with corpses. Several of her port-holes were
knocked into one, and one of her eighteen-pounder guns had been thrown
right back on to her breech, and pointed straight up to the sky. The
thin line of marines still loaded and fired, but half the guns were
silent, and their crews were piled thickly round them.

"Stand by to repel boarders!" yelled the captain. "Cutlasses, lads,
cutlasses!" roared Wharton.

"Hold your volley till they touch!" cried the captain of marines.

The huge loom of the Frenchman was seen bursting through the smoke.
Thick clusters of boarders hung upon her sides and shrouds. A final
broadside leapt from her ports, and the mainmast of the _Leda_, snapping
short off a few feet above the deck, spun into the air and crashed down
upon the port guns, killing ten men and putting the whole battery out of
action. An instant later the two ships scraped together, and the
starboard bower anchor of the _Gloire_ caught the mizzen-chains of the
_Leda_ upon the port side. With a yell the black swarm of boarders
steadied themselves for a spring.

But their feet were never to reach that blood-stained deck. From
somewhere there came a well-aimed whiff of grape, and another, and
another. The English marines and seamen, waiting with cutlass and musket
behind the silent guns, saw with amazement the dark masses thinning and
shredding away. At the same time the port broadside of the Frenchman
burst into a roar.

"Clear away the wreck!" roared the captain. "What the devil are they
firing at?"

"Get the guns clear," panted the lieutenant. "We'll do them yet, boys!"

The wreckage was torn and hacked and splintered until first one gun and
then another roared into action again. The Frenchman's anchor had been
cut away, and the _Leda_ had worked herself free from that fatal hug. But
now, suddenly, there was a scurry up the shrouds of the _Gloire_, and a
hundred Englishmen were shouting themselves hoarse: "They're running!
They're running! They're running!"

And it was true. The Frenchman had ceased to fire, and was intent only
upon clapping on every sail that he could carry. But that shouting
hundred could not claim it all as their own. As the smoke cleared it was
not difficult to see the reason. The ships had gained the mouth of the
estuary during the fight, and there, about four miles out to sea, was
the _Leda's_ consort bearing down under full sail to the sound of the
guns. Captain de Milon had done his part for one day, and presently the
_Gloire_ was drawing off swiftly to the north, while the _Dido_ was bowling
along at her skirts, rattling away with her bow-chasers, until a
headland hid them both from view.

But the _Leda_ lay sorely stricken, with her mainmast gone, her bulwarks
shattered, her mizzen-topmast and gaff shot away, her sails like a
beggar's rags, and a hundred of her crew dead and wounded. Close beside
her a mass of wreckage floated upon the waves. It was the stern-post of
a mangled vessel, and across it, in white letters on a black ground, was
painted, "The Slapping Sal."

"By the Lord! it was the brig that saved us!" cried Mr. Wharton. "Hudson
brought her into action with the Frenchman, and was blown out of the
water by a broadside!"

The little captain turned on his heel and paced up and down the deck.
Already his crew were plugging the shot-holes, knotting and splicing and
mending. When he came back, the lieutenant saw a softening of the stern
lines about his eyes and mouth.

"Are they all gone?"

"Every man. They must have sunk with the wreck."

The two officers looked down at the sinister name, and at the stump of
wreckage which floated in the discoloured water. Something black washed
to and fro beside a splintered gaff and a tangle of halliards. It was
the outrageous ensign, and near it a scarlet cap was floating.

"He was a villain, but he was a Briton!" said the captain, at last. "He
lived like a dog, but, by God, he died like a man!"



A PIRATE OF THE LAND - ONE CROWDED HOUR


The place was the Eastbourne-Tunbridge road, not very far from the Cross
in Hand--a lonely stretch, with a heath running upon either side. The
time was half-past eleven upon a Sunday night in the late summer. A
motor was passing slowly down the road.

It was a long, lean Rolls-Royce; running smoothly with a gentle purring
of the engine. Through the two vivid circles cast by the electric
head-lights the waving grass fringes and clumps of heather streamed
swiftly like some golden cinematograph, leaving a blacker darkness
behind and around them. One ruby-red spot shone upon the road, but no
number-plate was visible within the dim ruddy halo of the tail-lamp
which cast it. The car was open and of a tourist type, but even in that
obscure light, for the night was moonless, an observer could hardly fail
to have noticed a curious indefiniteness in its lines. As it slid into
and across the broad stream of light from an open cottage door the
reason could be seen. The body was hung with a singular loose
arrangement of brown holland. Even the long black bonnet was banded with
some close-drawn drapery.

The solitary man who drove this curious car was broad and burly. He sat
hunched up over his steering-wheel, with the brim of a Tyrolean hat
drawn down over his eyes. The red end of a cigarette smouldered under
the black shadow thrown by the headgear. A dark ulster of some
frieze-like material was turned up in the collar until it covered his
ears. His neck was pushed forward from his rounded shoulders, and he
seemed, as the car now slid noiselessly down the long sloping road, with
the clutch disengaged and the engine running free, to be peering ahead
of him through the darkness in search of some eagerly-expected object.

The distant toot of a motor-horn came faintly from some point far to the
south of him. On such a night, at such a place, all traffic must be from
south to north when the current of London week-enders sweeps back from
the watering-place to the capital--from pleasure to duty. The man sat
straight and listened intently. Yes, there it was again, and certainly
to the south of him. His face was over the wheel and his eyes strained
through the darkness. Then suddenly he spat out his cigarette and gave a
sharp intake of the breath. Far away down the road two little yellow
points had rounded a curve. They vanished into a dip, shot upwards once
more, and then vanished again. The inert man in the draped car woke
suddenly into intense life. From his pocket he pulled a mask of dark
cloth, which he fastened securely across his face, adjusting it
carefully that his sight might be unimpeded. For an instant he uncovered
an acetylene hand-lantern, took a hasty glance at his own preparations,
and laid it beside a Mauser pistol upon the seat alongside him. Then,
twitching his hat down lower than ever, he released his clutch and slid
downward his gear-lever. With a chuckle and shudder the long, black
machine, sprang forward, and shot with a soft sigh from her powerful
engines down the sloping gradient. The driver stooped and switched off
his electric head-lights. Only a dim grey swathe cut through the black
heath indicated the line of his road. From in front there came presently
a confused puffing and rattling and clanging as the oncoming car
breasted the slope. It coughed and spluttered on a powerful,
old-fashioned low gear, while its engine throbbed like a weary heart.
The yellow, glaring lights dipped for the last time into a switchback
curve. When they reappeared over the crest the two cars were within
thirty yards of each other. The dark one darted across the road and
barred the other's passage, while a warning acetylene lamp was waved in
the air. With a jarring of brakes the noisy new-corner was brought to a
halt.

"I say," cried an aggrieved voice, "'pon my soul, you know, we might
have had an accident. Why the devil don't you keep your head-lights on?
I never saw you till I nearly burst my radiators on you!"

The acetylene lamp, held forward, discovered a very angry young man,
blue-eyed, yellow-moustached, and florid, sitting alone at the wheel of
an antiquated twelve-horse Wolseley. Suddenly the aggrieved look upon
his flushed face changed to one of absolute bewilderment. The driver in
the dark car had sprung out of the seat, a black, long-barrelled,
wicked-looking pistol was poked in the traveller's face, and behind the
further sights of it was a circle of black cloth with two deadly eyes
looking from as many slits.

"Hands up!" said a quick, stern voice. "Hands up or, by the Lord--"

The young man was as brave as his neighbours, but the hands went up all
the same.

"Get down!" said his assailant, curtly.

The young man stepped forth into the road, followed closely by the
covering lantern and pistol. Once he made as if he would drop his hands,
but a short, stern word jerked them up again.

"I say, look here, this is rather out o' date, ain't it?" said the
traveller. "I expect you're joking--what?"

"Your watch," said the man behind the Mauser pistol.

"You can't really mean it!"

"Your watch, I say!"

"Well, take it, if you must. It's only plated, anyhow. You're two
centuries out in time, or a few thousand miles longitude. The bush is
your mark--or America. You don't seem in the picture on a Sussex road."

"Purse," said the man. There was something very compelling in his voice
and methods. The purse was handed over.

"Any rings?"

"Don't wear 'em."

"Stand there. Don't move!"

The highwayman passed his victim and threw open the bonnet of the
Wolseley. His hand, with a pair of steel pliers, was thrust deep into
the works. There was the snap of a parting wire.

"Hang it all, don't crock my car!" cried the traveller.

He turned, but quick as a flash the pistol was at his head once more.
And yet even in that flash, whilst the robber whisked round from the
broken circuit, something had caught the young man's eye which made him
gasp and start. He opened his mouth as if about to shout some words.
Then with an evident effort he restrained himself.

"Get in," said the highwayman.

The traveller climbed back to his seat.

"What is your name?"

"Ronald Barker. What's yours?"

The masked man ignored the impertinence. "Where do you live?" he asked.

"My cards are in my purse. Take one."

The highwayman sprang into his car, the engine of which had hissed and
whispered in gentle accompaniment to the interview. With a clash he
threw back his side-brake, flung in his gears, twirled the wheel hard
round, and cleared the motionless Wolseley. A minute later he was
gliding swiftly, with all his lights gleaming, some half-mile southward
on the road, while Mr. Ronald Barker, a side-lamp in his hand, was
rummaging furiously among the odds and ends of his repair-box for a
strand of wire which would connect up his electricity and set him on his
way once more.

When he had placed a safe distance between himself and his victim, the
adventurer eased up, took his booty from his pocket, replaced the watch,
opened the purse, and counted out the money. Seven shillings constituted
the miserable spoil. The poor result of his efforts seemed to amuse
rather than annoy him, for he chuckled as he held the two half-crowns
and the florin in the glare of his lantern. Then suddenly his manner
changed. He thrust the thin purse back into his pocket, released his
brake, and shot onwards with the same tense bearing with which he had
started upon his adventure. The lights of another car were coming down
the road.

On this occasion the methods of the highwayman were less furtive.
Experience had clearly given him confidence. With lights still blazing
he ran towards the new-comers, and, halting in the middle of the road,
summoned them to stop. From the point of view of the astonished
travellers the result was sufficiently impressive. They saw in the glare
of their own headlights two glowing discs on either side of the long,
black-muzzled snout of a high-power car, and above the masked face and
menacing figure of its solitary driver. In the golden circle thrown by
the rover there stood an elegant, open-topped, twenty-horse Humber, with
an undersized and very astonished chauffeur blinking from under his
peaked cap. From behind the wind-screen the veil-bound hats and
wondering faces of two very pretty young women protruded, one upon
either side, and a little crescendo of frightened squeaks announced the
acute emotion of one of them. The other was cooler and more critical.

"Don't give it away, Hilda," she whispered. "Do shut up, and don't be
such a silly. It's Bertie or one of the boys playing it on us."

"No, no! It's the real thing, Flossie. It's a robber, sure enough. Oh,
my goodness, whatever shall we do?"

"What an 'ad.'!" cried the other. "Oh, what a glorious 'ad.' Too late
now for the mornings, but they'll have it in every evening paper, sure."

"What's it going to cost?" groaned the other. "Oh, Flossie, Flossie, I'm
sure I'm going to faint. Don't you think if we both screamed together we
could do some good? Isn't he too awful with that black thing over his
face? Oh, dear, oh, dear! He's killing poor little Alf!"

The proceedings of the robber were indeed somewhat alarming. Springing
down from his car, he had pulled the chauffeur out of his seat by the
scruff of his neck. The sight of the Mauser had cut short all
remonstrance, and under its compulsion the little man had pulled open
the bonnet and extracted the sparking plugs. Having thus secured the
immobility of his capture, the masked man walked forward, lantern in
hand, to the side of the car. He had laid aside the gruff sternness with
which he had treated Mr. Ronald Barker, and his voice and manner were
gentle, though determined. He even raised his hat as a prelude to his
address.

"I am sorry to inconvenience you, ladies," said he, and his voice had
gone up several notes since the previous interview. "May I ask who you
are?"

Miss Hilda was beyond coherent speech, but Miss Flossie was of a sterner
mould.

"This is a pretty business," said she. "What right have you to stop us
on the public road, I should like to know?"

"My time is short," said the robber, in a sterner voice. "I must ask you
to answer my question."

"Tell him, Flossie! For goodness' sake be nice to him!" cried Hilda.

"Well, we're from the Gaiety Theatre, London, if you want to know," said
the young lady. "Perhaps you've heard of Miss Flossie Thornton and Miss
Hilda Mannering? We've been playing a week at the Royal at Eastbourne,
and took a Sunday off to ourselves. So now you know!"

"I must ask you for your purses and for your jewellery."

Both ladies set up shrill expostulations, but they found, as Mr. Ronald
Barker had done, that there was something quietly compelling in this
man's methods. In a very few minutes they had handed over their purses,
and a pile of glittering rings, bangles, brooches and chains was lying
upon the front seat of the car. The diamonds glowed and shimmered like
little electric points in the light of the lantern. He picked up the
glittering tangle and weighed it in his hand.

"Anything you particularly value?" he asked the ladies; but Miss Flossie
was in no humour for concessions.

"Don't come the Claude Duval over us," said she. "Take the lot or leave
the lot. We don't want bits of our own given back to us."

"Except just Billy's necklace!" cried Hilda, and snatched at a little
rope of pearls. The robber bowed, and released his hold of it.

"Anything else?"

The valiant Flossie began suddenly to cry. Hilda did the same. The
effect upon the robber was surprising. He threw the whole heap of
jewellery into the nearest lap.

"There! there! Take it!" he said. "It's trumpery stuff, anyhow. It's
worth something to you, and nothing to me."

Tears changed in a moment to smiles.

"You're welcome to the purses. The 'ad.' is worth ten times the money.
But what a funny way of getting a living nowadays I Aren't you afraid of
being caught? It's all so wonderful, like a scene from a comedy."

"It may be a tragedy," said the robber.

"Oh, I hope not--I'm sure I hope not" cried the two ladies of the drama.

But the robber was in no mood for further conversation. Far away down
the road tiny points of light had appeared. Fresh business was coming to
him, and he must not mix his cases. Disengaging his machine, he raised
his hat, and slipped off to meet this new arrival, while Miss Flossie
and Miss Hilda leaned out of their derelict car, still palpitating from
their adventure, and watched the red gleam of the tail-light until it
merged into the darkness.

This time there was every sign of a rich prize. Behind its four grand
lamps set in a broad frame of glittering brasswork the magnificent
sixty-horse Daimler breasted the slope with the low, deep, even snore
which proclaimed its enormous latent strength. Like some rich-laden,
high-pooped Spanish galleon, she kept her course until the prowling
craft ahead of her swept across her bows and brought her to a sudden
halt. An angry face, red, blotched, and evil, shot out of the open
window of the closed limousine. The robber was aware of a high, bald
forehead, gross pendulous cheeks, and two little crafty eyes which
gleamed between creases of fat.

"Out of my way, sir! Out of my way this instant!" cried a rasping voice.
"Drive over him, Hearn! Get down and pull him off the seat. The fellow's
drunk--he's drunk, I say!"

Up to this point the proceedings of the modern highwayman might have
passed as gentle. Now they turned in an instant to savagery. The
chauffeur, a burly, capable fellow, incited by that raucous voice behind
him, sprang from the car and seized the advancing robber by the throat.
The latter hit out with the butt-end of his pistol, and the man dropped
groaning on the road. Stepping over his prostrate body the adventurer
pulled open the door, seized the stout occupant savagely by the ear, and
dragged him bellowing on to the highway. Then, very deliberately, he
struck him twice across the face with his open hand. The blows rang out
like pistol-shots in the silence of the night. The fat traveller turned
a ghastly colour and fell back half senseless against the side of the
limousine. The robber dragged open his coat, wrenched away the heavy
gold watch-chain with all that it held, plucked out the great diamond
pin that sparkled in the black satin tie, dragged off four rings--not
one of which could have cost less than three figures--and finally tore
from his inner pocket a bulky leather note-book. All this property he
transferred to his own black overcoat, and added to it the man's pearl
cuff-links, and even the golden stud which held his collar. Having made
sure that there was nothing else to take, the robber flashed his lantern
upon the prostrate chauffeur, and satisfied himself that he was stunned
and not dead. Then, returning to the master, he proceeded very
deliberately to tear all his clothes from his body with a ferocious
energy which set his victim whimpering and writhing in imminent
expectation of murder.

Whatever his tormentor's intention may have been, it was very
effectually frustrated. A sound made him turn his head, and there, no
very great distance off, were the lights of a car coming swiftly from
the north. Such a car must have already passed the wreckage which this
pirate had left behind him. It was following his track with a deliberate
purpose, and might be crammed with every county constable of the
district.

The adventurer had no time to lose. He darted from his bedraggled
victim, sprang into his own seat, and with his foot on the accelerator
shot swiftly off down the road. Some way down there was a narrow side
lane, and into this the fugitive turned, cracking on his high speed and
leaving a good five miles between him and any pursuer before he ventured
to stop. Then, in a quiet corner, he counted over his booty of the
evening--the paltry plunder of Mr. Ronald Barker, the rather
better-furnished purses of the actresses, which contained four pounds
between them, and, finally, the gorgeous jewellery and well-filled
note-book of the plutocrat upon the Daimler. Five notes of fifty pounds,
four of ten, fifteen sovereigns, and a number of valuable papers made up
a most noble haul. It was clearly enough for one night's work. The
adventurer replaced all his ill-gotten gains in his pocket, and,
lighting a cigarette, set forth upon his way with the air of a man who
has no further care upon his mind.

It was on the Monday morning following upon this eventful evening that
Sir Henry Hailworthy, of Walcot Old Place, having finished his breakfast
in a leisurely fashion, strolled down to his study with the intention of
writing a few letters before setting forth to take his place upon the
county bench. Sir Henry was a Deputy-Lieutenant of the county; he was a
baronet of ancient blood; he was a magistrate of ten years' standing;
and he was famous above all as the breeder of many a good horse and the
most desperate rider in all the Weald country. A tall, upstanding man,
with a strong clean-shaven face, heavy black eyebrows, and a square,
resolute jaw, he was one whom it was better to call friend than foe.
Though nearly fifty years of age, he bore no sign of having passed his
youth, save that Nature, in one of her freakish moods, had planted one
little feather of white hair above his right ear, making the rest of his
thick black curls the darker by contrast. He was in thoughtful mood this
morning, for having lit his pipe he sat at his desk with his blank
note-paper in front of him, lost in a deep reverie.

Suddenly his thoughts were brought back to the present. From behind the
laurels of the curving drive there came a low, clanking sound, which
swelled into the clatter and jingle of an ancient car. Then from round
the corner there swung an old-fashioned Wolseley, with a
fresh-complexioned, yellow-moustached young man at the wheel. Sir Henry
sprang to his feet at the sight, and then sat down once more. He rose
again as a minute later the footman announced Mr. Ronald Barker. It was
an early visit, but Barker was Sir Henry's intimate friend. As each was
a fine shot, horseman, and billiard-player, there was much in common
between the two men, and the younger (and poorer) was in the habit of
spending at least two evenings a week at Walcot Old Place. Therefore,
Sir Henry advanced cordially with outstretched hand to welcome him.

"You're an early bird this morning," said he. "What's up? If you are
going over to Lewes we Could motor together."

But the younger man's demeanour was peculiar and ungracious. He
disregarded the hand which was held out to him, and he stood pulling at
his own long moustache and staring with troubled, questioning eyes at
the county magistrate.

"Well, what's the matter?" asked the latter.

Still the young man did not speak. He was clearly on the edge of an
interview which he found it most difficult to open. His host grew
impatient.

"You don't seem yourself this morning. What on earth is the matter?
Anything upset you?"

"Yes," said Ronald Barker, with emphasis.

"What has?"

"You have."

Sir Henry smiled. "Sit down, my dear fellow. If you have any grievance
against me, let me hear it."

Barker sat down. He seemed to be gathering himself for a reproach. When
it did come it was like a bullet from a gun.

"Why did you rob me last night?"

The magistrate was a man of iron nerve. He showed neither surprise nor
resentment. Not a muscle twitched upon his calm, set face.

"Why do you say that I robbed you last night?"

"A big, tall fellow in a motor-car stopped me on the Mayfield road. He
poked a pistol in my face and took my purse and my watch. Sir Henry,
that man was you."

The magistrate smiled.

"Am I the only big, tall man in the district? Am I the only man with a
motor-car?"

"Do you think I couldn't tell a Rolls-Royce when I see it--I, who spend
half my life on a car and the other half under it? Who has a Rolls-Royce
about here except you?"

"My dear Barker, don't you think that such a modern highwayman as you
describe would be more likely to operate outside his own district? How
many hundred Rolls-Royces are there in the South of England?"

"No; it won't do, Sir Henry--it won't do! Even your voice, though you
sunk it a few notes, was familiar enough to me. But hang it, man! What
did you do it _for_? That's what gets over me. That you should stick up
me, one of your closest friends, a man that worked himself to the bone
when you stood for the division--and all for the sake of a Brummagem
watch and a few shillings--is simply incredible."

"Simply incredible," repeated the magistrate, with a smile.

"And then those actresses, poor little devils, who have to earn all they
get. I followed you down the road, you see. That was a dirty trick, if
ever I heard one. The City shark was different. If a chap must go
a-robbing, that sort of fellow is fair game. But your friend, and then
the girls--well, I say again, I couldn't have believed it."

"Then why believe it?"

"Because it _is_ so."

"Well, you seem to have persuaded yourself to that effect. You don't
seem to have much evidence to lay before anyone else."

"I could swear to you in a police court. What put the lid on it was that
when you were cutting my wire--and an infernal liberty it was!--I saw that
white tuft of yours sticking out from behind your mask."

For the first time an acute observer might have seen some slight sign of
emotion upon the face of the baronet.

"You seem to have a fairly vivid imagination," said he.

His visitor flushed with anger.

"See here, Hailworthy," said he, opening his hand and showing a small,
jagged triangle of black cloth. "Do you see that? It was on the ground
near the car of the young women. You must have ripped it off as you
jumped out from your seat. Now send for that heavy black driving-coat of
yours. If you don't ring the bell I'll ring it myself, and we shall have
it in. I'm going to see this thing through, and don't you make any
mistake about that."

The baronet's answer was a surprising one. He rose, passed Barker's
chair, and, walking over to the door, he locked it and placed the key in
his pocket.

"You are going to see it through," said he. "I'll lock you in until you
do. Now we must have a straight talk, Barker, as man to man, and whether
it ends in tragedy or not depends on you."

He had half-opened one of the drawers in his desk as he spoke. His
visitor frowned in anger.

"You won't make matters any better by threatening me, Hailworthy. I am
going to do my duty, and you won't bluff me out of it."

"I have no wish to bluff you. When I spoke of a tragedy I did not mean
to you. What I meant was that there are some turns Which this affair
cannot be allowed to take. I have neither kith nor kin, but there is the
family honour, and some things are impossible."

"It is late to talk like that."

"Well, perhaps it is, but not too late. And now I have a. good deal to
say to you. First of all, you are quite right, and it was I who held you
up last night on the Mayfield road."

"But why on earth--"

"All right. Let me tell it my own way. First I want you to look at
these." He unlocked a drawer and he took out two small packages. "These
were to be posted in London to-night. This one is addressed to you, and
I may as well hand it over to you at once. It contains your watch and
your purse. So, you see, bar your cut wire you would have been none the
worse for your adventure. This other packet is addressed to the young
ladies of the Gaiety Theatre, and their properties are enclosed. I hope
I have convinced you that I had intended full reparation in each case
before you came to accuse me?"

"Well?" asked Barker.

"Well, we will now deal with Sir George Wilde, who is, as you may not
know, the senior partner of Wilde and Guggendorf, the founders of the
Ludgate Bank of infamous memory. His chauffeur is a case apart. You may
take it from me, upon my word of honour, that I had plans for the
chauffeur. But it is the master that I want to speak of. You know that I
am not a rich man myself. I expect all the county knows that. When Black
Tulip lost the Derby I was hard hit. And other things as well. Then I
had a legacy of a thousand. This infernal bank was paying 7 per cent on
deposits. I knew Wilde. I saw him. I asked him if it was safe. He said
it was. I paid it in, and within forty-eight hours the whole thing went
to bits. It came out before the Official Receiver that Wilde had known
for three months that nothing could save him. .And yet he took all my
cargo aboard his sinking vessel. He was all right--confound him! He had
plenty besides. But I had lost all my money and no law could help me.
Yet he had robbed me as clearly as one man could rob another, I saw him
and he laughed in my face. Told me to stick to Consols, and that the
lesson was cheap at the price. So I just swore that, by hook or by
crook, I would get level with him. I knew his habits, for I had made it
my business to do so. I knew that he came back from Eastbourne on Sunday
nights. I knew that he carried a good sum with him in his pocket-book.
Well, it's my pocket-book now. Do you mean to tell me that I'm not
morally justified in what I have done? By the Lord, I'd have left the
devil as bare as he left many a widow and orphan if I'd had the time!"

"That's all very well. But what about me? What about the girls?"

"Have some common sense, Barker. Do you suppose that I could go and
stick up this one personal enemy of mine and escape detection? It was
impossible. I was bound to make myself out to be just a common robber
who had run up against him by accident. So I turned myself loose on the
high road and took my chance. As the devil would have it, the first man
I met was yourself. I was a fool not to recognize that old ironmonger's
store of yours by the row it made coming up the hill. When I saw you I
could hardly speak for laughing. But I was bound to carry it through.
The same with the actresses. I'm afraid I gave myself away, for I
couldn't take their little fal-lals, but I had to keep up a show. Then
came my man himself. There was no bluff about that. I was out to skin
him, and I did. Now, Barker, what do you think of it all? I had a pistol
at your head last night, and, by George! whether you believe it or not,
you have one at mine this morning!"

The young man rose slowly, and with a broad smile he wrung the
magistrate by the hand.

"Don't do it again. It's too risky," said he. "The swine would score
heavily if you were taken."

"You're a good chap, Barker," said the magistrate. "No, I won't do it
again. Who's the fellow who talks of 'one crowded hour of glorious life'?
By George! it's too fascinating. I had the time of my life Talk of
fox-hunting! No, I'll never touch it again, for it might get a grip of
me."

A telephone rang sharply upon the table, and the baronet put the
receiver to his ear. As he listened, he smiled across at his companion.

"I'm rather late this morning," said he, "and they are waiting for me to
try some petty larcenies on the county bench."



THE STRIPED CHEST


"What do you make of her, Allardyce?" I asked.

My second mate was standing beside me upon the poop, with his short,
thick legs astretch, for the gale had left a considerable swell behind
it, and our two quarter-boats nearly touched the water with every roll.
He steadied his glass against the mizzen-shrouds, and he looked long and
hard at this disconsolate stranger every time she came reeling up on to
the crest of a roller and hung balanced for a few seconds before
swooping down upon the other side. She lay so low in the water that I
could only catch an occasional glimpse of a pea-green line of bulwark.

She was a brig, but her mainmast had been snapped short off some ten
feet above the deck, and no effort seemed to have been made to cut away
the wreckage, which floated, sails and yards, like the broken wing of a
wounded gull, upon the water beside her. The foremast was still
standing, but the fore-topsail was flying loose, and the headsails were
streaming out in long white pennons in front of her. Never have I seen a
vessel which appeared to have gone through rougher handling.

But we could not be surprised at that, for there had been times during
the last three days when it was a question whether our own barque would
ever see land again. For thirty-six hours we had kept her nose to it,
and if the _Mary Sinclair_ had not been as good a sea-boat as ever left
the Clyde, we could not have gone through. And yet here we were at the
end of it with the loss only of our gig and of part of the starboard
bulwark. It did not astonish us, however, when the smother had cleared
away, to find that others had been less lucky, and that this mutilated
brig, staggering about upon a blue sea, and under a cloudless sky, had
been left, like a blinded man after a lightning flash, to tell of the
terror which is past.

Allardyce, who was a slow and methodical Scotchman, stared long and hard
at the little craft, while our seamen lined the bulwark or clustered
upon the fore shrouds to have a view of the stranger. In latitude 20
and longitude 10, which were about our bearings, one becomes a little
curious as to whom one meets, for one has left the main lines of
Atlantic commerce to the north. For ten days we had been sailing over a
solitary sea.

"She's derelict, I'm thinking," said the second mate.

I had come to the same conclusion, for I could see no sign of life upon
her deck, and there was no answer to the friendly wavings from our
seamen. The crew had probably deserted her under the impression that she
was about to founder.

"She can't last long," continued Allardyce, in his measured way. "She
may put her nose down and her tail up any minute. The water's lipping up
to the edge of her rail."

"What's her flag?" I asked.

"I'm trying to make out. It's got all twisted and tangled with the
halyards. Yes, I've got it now, clear enough. It's the Brazilian flag,
but it's wrong side up."

She had hoisted a signal of distress, then, before her people had
abandoned her. Perhaps they had only just gone. I took the mate's glass
and looked round over the tumultuous face of the deep blue, Atlantic,
still veined and starred with white lines and spoutings of foam. But
nowhere could I see anything human beyond ourselves.

"There may be living men aboard," said I.

"There may be salvage," muttered the second mate. "Then we will run down
upon her lee side, and lie to."

We were not more than a hundred yards from her when we swung our
foreyard aback, and there we were, the barque and the brig, ducking and
bowing like two clowns in a dance.

"Drop one of the quarter-boats," said I. "Take four men, Mr. Allardyce,
and see what you can learn of her."

But just at that moment my first officer, Mr. Armstrong, came on deck,
for seven bells had struck, and it was but a few minutes off his watch.
It would interest me to go myself to this abandoned vessel and to see
what there might be aboard of her. So, with a word to Armstrong, I swung
myself over the side, slipped down the falls, and took my place in the
sheets of the boat.

It was but a little distance, but it took some time to traverse, and so
heavy was the roll, that often, when we were in the trough of the sea,
we could not see either the barque which we had left or the brig which
we were approaching. The sinking sun did not penetrate down there, and
it was cold and dark in the hollows of the waves, but each passing
billow heaved us up into the warmth and the sunshine once more. At each
of these moments, as we hung upon a white-capped ridge between the two
dark valleys, I caught a glimpse of the long, pea-green line, and the
nodding foremast of the brig, and I steered so as to come round by her
stern, so that we might determine which was the best way of boarding
her. As we passed her we saw the name _Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria_ painted
across her dripping counter.

"The weather side, sir," said the second mate. "Stand by with the
boathook, carpenter!" An instant later we had jumped over the bulwarks,
which were hardly higher than our boat, and found ourselves upon the
deck of the abandoned vessel.

Our first thought was to provide for our own safety in case--as seemed
very probable--the vessel should settle down beneath our feet. With this
object two of our men held on to the painter of the boat, and fended her
off from the vessel's side, so that she might be ready in case we had to
make a hurried retreat. The carpenter was sent to find out how much
water there was, and whether it was still gaining, while the other
seaman, Allardyce and myself, made a rapid inspection of the vessel and
her cargo.

The deck was littered with wreckage and with hencoops, in which the dead
birds were washing about. The boats were gone, with the exception of
one, the bottom of which had been stove, and it was certain that the
crew had abandoned the vessel. The cabin was in a deck house, one side
of which had been beaten in by a heavy sea. Allardyce and I entered it,
and found the captain's table as he had left it, his books and
papers--all Spanish or Portuguese--scattered over it, with piles of
cigarette ash everywhere. I looked about for the log, but could not find
it.

"As likely as not he never kept one," said Allardyce. "Things are pretty
slack aboard a South American trader, and they don't do more than they
can help. If there was one it must have been taken away with him in the
boat."

"I should like to take all these books and papers," said I. "Ask the
carpenter how much time we have."

His report was reassuring. The vessel was full of water, but some of the
cargo was buoyant, and there was no immediate danger of her sinking.
Probably she would never sink, but would drift about as one of those
terrible, unmarked reefs which have sent so many stout vessels to the
bottom.

"In that case there is no danger in your going below, Mr. Allardyce,"
said I. "See what you can make of her, and find out how much of her
cargo may be saved. I'll look through these papers while you are gone."

The bills of lading, and some notes and letters which lay upon the desk,
sufficed to inform me that the Brazilian brig _Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria_
had cleared from Bahia a month before. The name of the captain was
Texeira, but there was no record as to the number of the crew. She was
bound for London, and a glance at the bills of lading was sufficient to
show me that we were not likely to profit much in the way of salvage.
Her cargo consisted of nuts, ginger, and wood, the latter in the shape
of great logs of valuable tropical growths. It was these, no doubt,
which had prevented the ill-fated vessel from going to the bottom, but
they were of such a size as to make it impossible for us to extract
them. Besides these, there were a few fancy goods, such as a number of
ornamental birds for millinery purposes, and a hundred cases of
preserved fruits. And then, as I turned over the papers, I came upon a
short note in English, which arrested my attention.

"It is requested," said the note, "that the various old Spanish and
Indian curiosities, winch came out of the Santarem collection, and which
are consigned to Prontfoot and Neuman, of Oxford Street, London, should
be put in some place where there may be no danger of these very valuable
and unique articles being injured or tampered with. This applies most
particularly to the treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, which must
on no account be placed where anyone can get at it."

The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez! Unique and valuable articles! Here
was a chance of salvage after all! I had risen to my feet with the paper
in my hand, when my Scotch mate appeared in the doorway.

"I'm thinking all isn't quite as it should be aboard of this ship, sir,"
said he. He was a hard-faced man, and yet I could see that he had been
startled.

"What's the matter?"

"Murder's the matter, sir. There's a man here with his brains beaten
out."

"Killed in the storm?" said I.

"Maybe so, sir. But I'll be surprised if you think so after you have
seen him."

"Where is he, then?"

"This way, sir; here in the main-deck house."

There appeared to have been no accommodation below in the brig, for
there was the afterhouse for the captain, another by the main hatchway
with the cook's galley attached to it, and a third in the forecastle for
the men. It was to this middle one that the mate led me. As you entered,
the galley, with its litter of tumbled pots acid dishes, was upon the
right, and upon the left was a small room with two bunks for the
officers. Then beyond there was a place about twelve feet square, which
was littered with flags and spare canvas. All round the walls were a
number of packets done up in coarse cloth and carefully lashed to the
woodwork. At the other end was a great box, striped red and white,
though the red was so faded and the white so dirty that it was only
where the light fell directly upon it that one could see the colouring.
The box was, by subsequent measurement, four feet three inches in
length, three feet two inches in height, and three feet
across--considerably larger than a seaman's chest.

But it was not to the box that my eyes or my thoughts were turned as I
entered the store-room. On the floor, lying across the litter of
bunting, there was stretched a small, dark man with a short, curling
beard. He lay as far as it was possible from the box, with his feet
towards it and his head away. A crimson patch was printed upon the white
canvas on which his head was resting, and little red ribbons wreathed
themselves round his swarthy neck and trailed away on to the floor, but
there was no sign of a wound that I could see, and his face was as
placid as that of a sleeping child.

It was only when I stooped that I could perceive his injury, and then I
turned away with an exclamation of horror. He had been pole-axed;
apparently by some person standing behind him. A frightful blow had
smashed in the top of his head and penetrated deeply into his brain. His
face might well be placid, for death must have been absolutely
instantaneous, and the position of the wound showed that he could never
have seen the person who had inflicted it.

"Is that foul play or accident, Captain Barclay?" asked my second mate,
demurely.

"You are quite right, Mr. Allardyce. The man has been murdered, struck
down from above by a sharp and heavy weapon. But who was he, and why did
they murder him?"

"He was a common seaman, sir," said the mate. "You can see that if you
look at his fingers." He turned out his pockets as he spoke and brought
to light a pack of cards, some tarred string, and a bundle of Brazilian
tobacco.

"Hullo, look at this!" said he.

It was a large, open knife with a stiff spring blade which he had picked
up from the floor. The steel was shining and bright, so that we could
not associate it with the crime, and yet the dead man had apparently
held it in his hand when he was struck down, for it still lay within his
grasp.

"It looks to me, sir, as if he knew he was in danger, and kept his knife
handy," said the mate. "However, we can't help the poor beggar now. I
can't make out these things that are lashed to the wall. They seem to be
idols and weapons and curios of all sorts done up in old sacking."

"That's right," said I. "They are the only things of value that we are
likely to get from the cargo. Hail the barque and tell them to send the
other quarter-boat to help us to get the stuff aboard."

While he was away I examined this curious plunder which had come into
our possession. The curiosities were so wrapped up that I could only
form a general idea as to their nature, but the striped box stood in a
good light where I could thoroughly examine it. On the lid, which was
clamped and cornered with metalwork, there was engraved a complex coat
of arms, and beneath it was a line of Spanish which I was able to
decipher as meaning, "The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, Knight
of the Order of Saint James, Governor and Captain-General of Terra Firma
and of the Province of Veraquas." In one corner was the date 1606, and
on the other a large white label, upon which _Polestar_ in English,
"You are earnestly requested, upon no account, to open this box." The
same warning was repeated underneath in Spanish. As to the lock, it was
a very complex and heavy one of engraved steel, with a Latin motto,
which was above a seaman's comprehension.

By the time I had finished this examination of the peculiar box, the
other quarter-boat with Mr. Armstrong, the first officer, had come
alongside, and we began to carry out and place in her the various
curiosities which appeared to be the only objects worth moving from the
derelict ship. When she was full I sent her back to the barque, and then
Allardyce and I, with a carpenter and one seaman, shifted the striped
box, which was the only thing left, to our boat, and lowered it over,
balancing it upon the two middle thwarts, for, it was so heavy that it
would have given the boat a dangerous tilt had we placed it at either
end. As to the dead man, we left him where we had found him.

The mate had a theory that, at the moment of the desertion of the ship,
this fellow had started plundering, and that the captain in an attempt
to preserve discipline, had struck him down with a hatchet or some other
heavy weapon. It seemed more probable than any other explanation, and
yet it did not entirely satisfy me either. But the ocean is full of
mysteries, and we were content to leave the fate of the dead seaman of
the Brazilian brig to be added to that long list which every sailor can
recall.

The heavy box was slung up by ropes on to the deck of the _Mary Sinclair_,
and was carried by four seamen into the cabin, where, between the table
and the after-lockers, there was just space for it to stand. There it
remained during supper, and after that meal the mates remained with me,
and discussed over a glass of grog the event of the day. Mr. Armstrong
was a long, thin, vulture-like man, an excellent seaman, but famous for
his nearness arid cupidity. Our treasure-trove had excited him greatly,
and already he had begun with glistening eyes to reckon up how much it
might be worth to each of us when the shares of the salvage came to be
divided.

"If the paper said that they were unique, Mr. Barclay, then they may be
worth anything that you like to name. You wouldn't believe the sums that
the rich collectors give. A thousand pounds is nothing to them. We'll
have something to show for our voyage, or I am mistaken."

"I don't think that," said I. "As far as I can see they are not very
different from any other South American curios."

"Well, sir, I've traded there for fourteen voyages, and I have never
seen anything like that chest before. That's worth a pile of money, just
as it stands. But it's so heavy, that surely there must be something
valuable inside it. Don't you think that we ought to open it and see?"

"If you break it open you will spoil it, as likely as not," said the
second mate.

Armstrong squatted down in front of it, with his head on one side, and
his long, thin nose within a few inches of the lock.

"The wood is oak," said he, "and it has shrunk a little with age. If I
had a chisel or a strong-bladed knife I could force the lock back
without doing any damage at all."


The mention of a strong-bladed knife made me think of the dead seaman
upon the brig.

"I wonder if he could have been on the job when someone came to
interfere with him," said I.

"I don't know about that, sir, but I am perfectly certain that I could
open the box. There's a screwdriver here in the locker. Just hold the
lamp, Allardyce, and I'll have it done in a brace of shakes."

"Wait a bit," said I, for already, with eyes which gleamed with
curiosity and with avarice, he was stooping over the lid. "I don't see
that there is any hurry over this matter. You've read that card which
warns us not to open it. It may mean anything or it may mean nothing,
but somehow I feel inclined to obey it. After all, whatever is in it
will keep, and if it is valuable it will be worth as much if it is
opened in the owner's offices as in the cabin of the _Mary Sinclair_."

The first officer seemed bitterly disappointed at my decision.

"Surely, sir, you are not superstitious about it," said he, with a
slight sneer upon his thin lips. "If it gets out of our own hands, and
we don't see for ourselves what is inside it, we may be done out of our
rights; besides--"

"That's enough, Mr. Armstrong," said I, abruptly. "You may have every
confidence that you will get your rights, but I will not have that box
opened to-night."

"Why, the label itself shows that the box has been examined by
Europeans," Allardyce added. "Because a box is a treasure-box is no
reason that it has treasures inside it now. A good many folk have had a
peep into it since the days of the old Governor of Terra Firma."

Armstrong threw the screwdriver down upon the table and shrugged his
shoulders.

"Just as you like," said he; but for the rest of the evening, although
we spoke upon many subjects, I noticed that his eyes were continually
coming round, with the same expression of curiosity and greed, to the
old striped box.

And now I come to that portion of my story which fills me even now with
a shuddering horror when I think of it. The main cabin had the rooms of
the officers round it, but mine was the farthest away from it at the end
of the little passage which led to the companion. No regular watch was
kept by me, except in cases of emergency, and the three mates divided
the watches among them. Armstrong had the middle watch, which ends at
four in the morning, and he was relieved by Allardyce. For my part I
have always been one of the soundest of sleepers, and it is rare for
anything less than a hand upon my shoulder to arouse me.

And yet I was aroused that night, or rather in the early grey of the
morning. It was just half-past four by my chronometer when something
caused me to sit up in my berth wide awake and with every nerve
tingling. It was a sound of some sort, a crash with a human cry at the
end of it, which still jarred upon my ears. I sat listening, but all was
now silent. And yet it could not have been imagination, that hideous
cry, for the echo of it still rang in my head, and it seemed to have
come from some place quite close to me. I sprang from my bunk, and,
pulling on some clothes, I made my way into the cabin.

At first I saw nothing unusual there. In the cold, grey light I made out
the red-clothed table, the six rotating chairs, the walnut lockers, the
swinging barometer, and there, at the end, the big striped chest. I was
turning away with the intention of going upon deck and asking the second
mate if he had heard anything, when my eyes fell suddenly upon something
which projected from under the table. It was the leg of a man--a leg
with a long sea-boot upon it. I stooped, and there was a figure
sprawling upon his face, his arms thrown forward and his body twisted.
One glance told me that it was Armstrong, the first officer, and a
second that he was a dead man. For a few moments I stood gasping. Then I
rushed on to the deck, called Allardyce to my assistance, and came back
with him into the cabin.

Together we pulled the unfortunate fellow from under the table, and as
we looked at his dripping head we exchanged glances, and I do not know
which was the paler of the two.

"The same as the Spanish sailor," said I.

"The very same. God preserve us! It's that infernal chest! Look at
Armstrong's hand!"

He held up the mate's right hand, and there was the screwdriver which he
had wished to use the night before.

"He's been at the chest, sir. He knew that I was on deck and you asleep.
He knelt down in front of it, and he pushed the lock back with that
tool. Then something happened to him, and he cried out so that you heard
him."

"Allardyce," I whispered, "what could have happened to him?"

The second mate put his hand upon my sleeve and drew me into his cabin.

"We can talk here, sir, and we don't know who may be listening to us in
there. What do you suppose is in that box, Captain Barclay?"

"I give you my word, Allardyce, that I have no idea."

"Well, I can only find one theory which will fit all the facts. Look at
the size of the box. Look at all the carving and metal-work which may
conceal any number of holes. Look at the weight of it; it took four men
to carry it. On the top of that, remember that two men have tried to
open it, and both have come to their end through it. Now, sir, what can
it mean except one thing?"

"You mean there is a man in it?

"Of course there is a man in it. You know how it is in these South
American States, sir. A man may be President one week and hunted like a
dog the next."

"They are for ever flying for their lives. My idea is that there is some
fellow in hiding there, who is armed and desperate, and who will fight
to the death before he is taken."

"But his food and drink?"

"It's a roomy chest, sir, and he may have some provisions stowed away.
As to his drink, he had a friend among the crew upon the brig who saw
that he had what he needed."

"You think, then, that the label asking people not to open the box was
simply written in his interest?"

"Yes, sir, that is my idea. Have you any other way of explaining the
facts?"

I had to confess that I had not.

"The question is what are we to do?" I asked.

"The man's a dangerous ruffian who sticks at nothing. I'm thinking it
wouldn't be a bad thing to put a rope round the chest and tow it
alongside for half an hour; then we could open it at our ease. Or if we
just tied the box up and kept him from getting any water maybe that
would do as well. Or the carpenter could put a coat of varnish over it
and stop all the blowholes."

"Come, Allardyce," said I, angrily. "You don't seriously mean to say
that a whole ship's company are going to be terrorized by a single man
in a box. If he's there, I'll engage to fetch him out!" I went to my
room and came back with my revolver in my hand. "Now, Allardyce," said
I. "Do you open the lock, and I'll stand on guard."

"For God's sake, think what you are doing, sir!" cried the mate. "Two
men have lost their lives over it, and the blood of one not yet dry upon
the carpet."

"The more reason why we should revenge him."

"Well, sir, at least let me call the carpenter. Three are better than
two, and he is a good stout man."

He went off in search of him, and I was left alone with the striped
chest in the cabin. I don't think that I'm a nervous man, but I kept the
table between me and this solid old relic of the Spanish Main. In the
growing light of morning the red and white striping was beginning to
appear, and the curious scrolls and wreaths of metal and carving which
showed the loving pains which cunning craftsmen had expended upon it.
Presently the carpenter and the mate came back together, the former with
a hammer in his hand.

"It's a bad business, this, sir," said he, shaking his head, as he
looked at the body of the mate. "And you think there's someone hiding in
the box?"

"There's no doubt about it," said Allardyce, picking up the screwdriver
and setting his jaw like a man who needs to brace his courage. "I'll
drive the lock back if you will both stand by. If he rises let him have
it on the head with your hammer, carpenter Shoot at once, sir, if he
raises his hand. Now!"

He had knelt down in front of the striped chest, and passed the blade of
the tool under the lid. With a sharp snick the lock flew back. "Stand
by!" yelled the mate, and with a heave he threw open the massive top of
the box. As it swung up, we all three sprang back, I with my pistol
levelled, and the carpenter with the hammer, above his head. Then, as
nothing happened, we each took a step forward and peeped in. The box was
empty.

Not quite empty either, for in one corner was lying an old yellow
candlestick, elaborately engraved, which appeared to be as old as the
box itself. Its rich yellow tone and artistic shape suggested that it
was an object of value. For the rest there was nothing more weighty or
valuable than dust in the old striped treasure-chest.

"Well, I'm blessed!" cried Allardyce, staring blankly into it. "Where
does the weight come in, then?"

"Look at the thickness of the sides and look at the lid. Why, it's five
inches through. And see that great metal spring across it."

"That's for holding the lid up," said the mate. "You see, it won't lean
back. What's that German printing on the inside?"

"It means that it was made by Johann Rothstein of Augsburg, in 1606."

"And a solid bit of work, too. But it doesn't throw much light on what
has passed, does it, Captain Barclay? That candlestick looks like gold.
We shall have something for our trouble after all."

He leant forward to grasp it, and from that moment I have never doubted
as to the reality of inspiration, for on the instant I caught him by the
collar and pulled him straight again. It may have been some story of the
Middle Ages which had come back to my mind, or it may have been that my
eye had caught some red which was not that of rust upon the upper part
of the lock, but to him and to me it will always seem an inspiration, so
prompt and sudden was my action.

"There's devilry here," said I. "Give me the crooked stick from the
corner."

It was an ordinary walking-cane with a hooked top. I passed it over the
candlestick and gave it a pull. With a flash a row of polished steel
fangs shot out from below the upper lip, and the great striped chest
snapped at us like a wild animal. Clang came the huge lid into its
place, and the glasses on the swinging rack sang and tinkled with the
shock. The mate sat down on the edge of the table and shivered like a
frightened horse.

"You've saved my life, Captain Barclay!" said he.

So this was the secret of the striped treasure-chest of old Don Ramirez
di Leyra, and this was how he preserved his ill-gotten gains from the
Terra Firma and the Province of Veraquas. Be the thief ever so cunning
he could not tell that golden candlestick from the other articles of
value, and the instant that he laid hand upon it the terrible spring was
unloosed and the murderous steel spikes were driven into his brain,
while the shock of the blow sent the victim backwards and enabled the
chest to automatically close itself. How many, I wondered, had fallen
victims to the ingenuity of the Mechanic of Augsburg. And as I thought
of the possible history of that grim striped chest my resolution was
very quickly taken.

"Carpenter, bring three men and carry this on deck."

"Going to throw it overboard, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Allardyce. I'm not superstitious as a rule, but there are some
things which are more than a sailor can be called upon to stand."

"No wonder that brig made heavy weather, Captain Barclay, with such a
thing on board. The glass is dropping fast, sir, and we are only just in
time."

So we did not even wait for the three sailors, but we carried it out,
the mate, the carpenter, and I, and we pushed it with our own hands over
the bulwarks. There was a white spout of water, and it was gone. There
it lies, the striped chest, a thousand fathoms deep, and if, as they
say, the sea will some day be dry land, I grieve for the man who finds
that old box and tries to penetrate into its secret.



THE CAPTAIN OF THE "POLESTAR"


(Being an extract from the singular journal of JOHN M'ALISTER RAY,
student of medicine.)


September 11th.--Lat. 81 40' N.; long. 2 E. Still lying-to amid
enormous ice-fields. The one which stretches away to the north of us,
and to which our ice-anchor is attached, cannot be smaller than an
English county. To the right and left unbroken sheets extend to the
horizon. This morning the mate reported that there were signs of pack
ice to the south-ward. Should this form of sufficient thickness to bar
our return, we shall be in a .position of danger, as the food, I hear,
is already running somewhat short. It is late in the season, and the
nights are beginning to re-appear. This morning I saw a star twinkling
just over the fore-yard, the first since the beginning of May.

There is considerable discontent among the crew, many of whom are
anxious to get back home to be in time for the herring season, when
labour always commands a high price upon the Scotch coast. As yet their
displeasure is only signified by sullen countenances and black looks,
but I heard from the second mate this afternoon that they contemplated
sending a deputation to the captain to explain their grievance. I much
doubt how he will receive it, as he is a man of fierce temper, and very
sensitive about anything approaching to an infringement of his rights. I
shall venture after dinner to say a few words to him upon the subject. I
have always found that he will tolerate from me what he would resent
from any other member of the crew. Amsterdam Island, at the north-west
corner of Spitzbergen, is visible upon our starboard quarter--a rugged
line of volcanic rocks, intersected by white seams, which represent
glaciers. It is curious to think that at the present moment there is
probably no human being nearer to us than the Danish settlements in the
south of Greenland--a good nine hundred miles as the crow flies. A
captain takes a great responsibility upon himself when he risks his
vessel under such circumstances. No whaler has ever remained in these
latitudes till so advanced a period of the year.

9 p.m.--I have spoken to Captain Craigie, and though the result has been
hardly satisfactory, I am bound to say that he listened to what I had to
say very quietly and even deferentially. When I had finished he put on
that air of iron determination which I have frequently observed upon his
face, and paced rapidly backwards and forwards across the narrow cabin
for some minutes. At first I feared that I had seriously offended him,
but he dispelled the idea by sitting down again, and putting his hand
upon my arm with a gesture which almost amounted to a caress. There was
a depth of tenderness too in his wild dark eyes which surprised me
considerably. "Look here, Doctor," he said, "I'm sorry I ever took
you--I am indeed--and I would give fifty pounds this minute to see you
standing safe upon the Dundee quay. It's hit or miss with me this time.
There are fish to the north of us. How dare you shake your head, sir,
when I tell you I saw them blowing from the masthead?"--this in a sudden
burst of fury, though I was not conscious of having shown any signs of
doubt--"Two-and-twenty fish in as many minutes as I am a living man, and
not one under ten foot. (A whale is measured among whalers not by the
length of its body, but by the length of its whalebone.) Now, Doctor, do
you think I can leave the country when there is only one infernal strip
of ice between me and my fortune? If it came on to blow from the north
to-morrow we could fill the ship and be away before the frost could
catch us. If it came on to blow from the south--well, I suppose the men
are paid for risking their lives, and as for myself it matters but
little to me, for I have more to bind me to the other world than to this
one. I confess that I am sorry for _you_, though. I wish I had old Angus.
Tait who was with me last voyage, for he was a man that would never be
missed, and you--you said once that you were engaged, did you not?"

"Yes," I answered, snapping the spring of the locket which hung from my
watch-chain, and holding up the little vignette of Flora.

"Curse you!" he yelled, springing out of his seat, with his very beard
bristling with passion. "What is your happiness to me? What have I to
do with her that you must dangle her photograph before my eyes?" I
almost thought that he was about to strike me in the frenzy of his rage,
but with another imprecation he dashed open the door of the cabin and
rushed out upon deck, leaving me considerably astonished at his
extraordinary violence. It is the first time that he has ever shown me
anything but courtesy and kindness. I can hear him pacing excitedly up
and down overhead as I write these lines.

I should like to give a sketch of the character of this man, but it
seems presumptuous to attempt such a thing upon paper, when the idea in
my own mind is at best a vague and uncertain one. Several times I have
thought that I grasped the clue which might explain it, but only to be
disappointed by his presenting himself in some new light which would
upset all my conclusions. It may be that no human eye but my own shall
ever rest upon these lines, yet as a psychological study I shall attempt
to leave some record of Captain Nicholas Craigie.

A man's outer case generally gives some indication of the soul within.
The captain is tall and well-formed, with dark, handsome face, and a
curious way of twitching his limbs, which may arise from nervousness, or
be simply an outcome of his excessive energy. His jaw and whole cast of
countenance is manly and resolute, but the eyes are the distinctive
feature of his face. They are of the very darkest hazel, bright and
eager, with a singular mixture of recklessness in their expression, and
of something else which I have sometimes thought was more allied with
horror than any other emotion. Generally the former predominated, but on
occasions, and more particularly when he was thoughtfully inclined, the
look of fear would spread and deepen until it imparted a new character
to his whole countenance. It is at these times that he is most subject
to tempestuous fits of anger, and he seems to be aware of it, for I have
known him lock himself up so that no one might approach him until his
dark hour was passed. He sleeps badly, and I have heard him shouting
during the night, but his cabin is some little distance from mine, and I
could never distinguish the words which he said.

This is one phase of his character, and the most disagreeable one. It is
only through my close association with him, thrown together as we are
day after day, that I have observed it. Otherwise he is an agreeable
companion, well-read and entertaining, and as gallant a seaman as ever
trod a deck. I shall not easily forget the way in which he handled the
ship when we were caught by a gale among the loose ice at the beginning
of April. I have never seen him so cheerful, and even hilarious, as he
was that night, as he paced backwards and forwards upon the bridge amid
the flashing of the lightning and the howling of the wind. He ha told me
several times that the thought of death was a pleasant one to him, which
is a sad thing for a young man to say he cannot be much more than
thirty, though his hair and moustache are already slightly grizzled.
Some great sorrow must have overtaken him and blighted his whole life.
Perhaps I should be the same if I lost my Flora--God knows! I think if
it were not for her that I should care very little whether the wind blew
from the north or the south to-morrow. There, I hear him come down the
companion, and he has locked himself up in his room, which shows that he
is still in an unamiable mood. And so to bed, as old Pepys would say,
for the candle is burning down (we have to use them now since the nights
are closing in), and the steward has turned in, so there are no hopes of
another one.

September 12th.--Calm, clear day, and still lying in the same position.
What wind there is comes from the south-east, but it is very slight.
Captain is in a better humour, and apologised to me at breakfast for his
rudeness. He still looks somewhat distrait, however, and retains that
wild look in his eyes which in a Highlander would mean that he was
"fey"--at least so our chief engineer remarked to me, and he has some
reputation among the Celtic portion of our crew as a seer and expounder
of omens.

It is strange that superstition should have obtained such mastery over
this hard-headed and practical race. I could not have believed to what
an extent it is carried had I not observed it for myself. We have had
a perfect epidemic of it this voyage, until I have felt inclined to
serve out rations of sedatives and nerve-tonics with the Saturday
allowance of grog. The first symptom of it was that shortly after
leaving Shetland the men at the wheel used to complain that they heard
plaintive cries and screams in the wake of the ship, as if something
were following it and were unable to overtake it. This fiction has been
kept up during the whole voyage, and on dark nights at the beginning of
the seal-fishing it was, only with great difficulty that men could be
induced to do their spell. No doubt what they heard was either the
creaking of the rudder-chains, or the cry of some passing sea-bird. I
have been fetched out of bed several times to listen to it, but I need
hardly say that I was never able to distinguish anything unnatural. The
men, however, are so absurdly positive upon the subject that it is
hopeless to argue with them. I mentioned the matter to the captain once,
but to my surprise he took it very gravely, and indeed appeared to be
considerably disturbed by what I told him. I should have thought that he
at least would have been above such vulgar delusions.

All this disquisition upon superstition leads me up to the fact that Mr.
Manson, our second mate, saw a ghost last night--or, at least, says that
he did, which of course is the same thing. It is quite refreshing to
have some new topic of conversation after the eternal routine of bears
and whales which has served us for so many months. Manson swears the
ship is haunted; and that he would not stay in her a day if he had any
other place to go to. Indeed the fellow is honestly frightened, and I
had to give him some chloral and bromide of potassium this morning to
steady him down. He seemed quite indignant when I suggested that he had
been having an extra glass the night before, and I was obliged to pacify
him by keeping as grave a countenance as possible during his story,
which he certainly narrated in a very straightforward and matter-of-fact
way.

"I was on the bridge," he said, "about four bells in the middle watch,
just when the night was at its darkest. There was a bit of a moon, but
the clouds were blowing across it so that you couldn't see far from the
ship. John M'Leod, the harpooner, came aft from the fo'c'sle-head and
reported a strange noise on the starboard bow. I went forrard and we
both heard it, sometimes like a bairn crying and sometimes like a wench
in pain. I've been seventeen years to the country and I never heard
seal, old or young, make a sound like that. As we were standing .there
on the fo'c'sle-head the moon came out from behind a cloud, and we both
saw a sort of white figure moving across the ice-field in the same
direction that we had heard the cries. We lost sight of it for a while,
but it came back on the port bow, and we could just make it out like a
shadow on the ice. I sent a hand aft for the rifles, and M'Leod and I
went down on to the pack, thinking that maybe it might be a bear. When
we got on the ice I lost sight of M'Leod, but I pushed on in the
direction where I could still hear the cries. I followed them for a mile
or maybe more, and then running round a hummock I came right on to the
top of it standing and waiting for me seemingly. I don't know what it
was. It wasn't a bear, anyway. It was tall and white and straight, and
if it wasn't a man nor a woman, I'll stake my davy it was something
worse. I made for the ship as hard as I could run, and precious glad I
was to find myself aboard. I signed articles to do my duty by the ship,
and on the ship I'll stay, but you don't catch me on the ice again after
sundown."

That is his story, given as far as. I can in his own words. I fancy what
he saw must, in spite of his denial, have been a young bear erect upon
its hind legs, an attitude which they often assume when alarmed. In the
uncertain light this would bear a resemblance to a human figure,
especially to a man whose nerves were already somewhat shaken. Whatever
it may have been, the occurrence is unfortunate, for it has produced a
most unpleasant effect upon the crew. Their looks are more sullen than
before, and their discontent more open.

The double grievance of being debarred from the herring fishing and of
being detained in what they choose to call a haunted vessel, may lead
them to do something rash. Even the harpooners, who are the oldest and
steadiest among them, are joining in the general agitation.

Apart from this absurd outbreak of superstition, things are looking
rather more cheerful. The pack which was forming to the south of us has
partly cleared away, and the water is so warms as to lead me to believe
that we are lying in one of those branches of the gulf-stream which run
up between Greenland and Spitzbergen. There are numerous small Medusae;
and sea-lemons about the ship, with abundance of shrimps, so that there
is every possibility of "fish" being sighted. Indeed one was seen
blowing about dinner-time, but in such a position that it was impossible
for the boats to follow it.

September 13th.--Had an interesting conversation with the chief mate,
Mr. Milne, upon the bridge. It seems that our captain is as great an
enigma to the seamen, and even to the owners of the vessel, as he has
been to me. Mr. Milne tells me that when the ship is paid off, upon
returning from a voyage, Captain Craigie disappears, and is not seen
again until the approach of another season, when he walks quietly into
the office of the company, and asks whether his services will be
required. He has no friend in Dundee, nor does anyone pretend to be
acquainted with his early history. His position depends entirely upon
his skill as a seaman, and the name for courage and coolness which he
had earned in the capacity of mate, before being entrusted with a
separate command. The unanimous opinion seems to be that he is not a
Scotchman, and that his name is an assumed one. Mr. Milne thinks that he
has devoted himself to whaling simply fore the reason that it is the
most dangerous occupation which he could select, and that he courts
death in every possible manner. He mentioned several instances of this,
one of which is rather curious, if true. It seems that on one occasion
he did not put in an appearance at the office, and a substitute had to
be selected in his place. That was at the time of the last Russian and
Turkish War. When he turned up again next spring he had a puckered wound
in the side of his neck which he used to endeavour to conceal with his
cravat. Whether the mate's inference that he had been engaged in the war
is true or not I cannot say. It was certainly a strange coincidence.

The wind is veering round in an easterly direction, but is still very
slight. I think the ice is lying closer than it did yesterday. As far as
the eye can reach on every side there is one wide expanse of spotless
white, only broken by an occasional rift or the dark shadow of a
hummock. To the south there is the narrow lane of blue water which is
our sole means of escape, and which is closing up every day. The captain
is taking a heavy responsibility upon himself. I hear that the tank of
potatoes has been finished, and even the biscuits are running short, but
he preserves the same impassable countenance, and spends the greater
part of the day at the crow's nest, sweeping the horizon with his glass.
His manner is very variable, and he seems to avoid my society, but there
has been no repetition of the violence which he showed the other night.

7.30 P.M.--My deliberate opinion is that we are commanded by a madman.
Nothing else can account for the extraordinary vagaries of Captain
Craigie. It is fortunate that I have kept this journal of our voyage, as
it will serve to justify us in case we have to put him under any sort of
restraint, a step which I should only consent to as a last resource.
Curiously enough it was he himself who suggested lunacy and not mere
eccentricity as the secret of his strange conduct. He was standing upon
the bridge about an hour ago, peering as usual through his glass, while
I was walking up and down the quarter-deck. The majority of the men were
below at their tea, for the watches have not been regularly kept of
late. Tired of walking, I leaned against the bulwarks, and admired the
mellow glow cast by the sinking sun upon the great ice-fields which
surround us. I was suddenly aroused from the reverie into which I had
fallen by a hoarse voice at my elbow, and starting round I found that
the captain had descended and was standing by my side. He was staring
out over the ice with an expression in which horror, surprise, and
something approaching to joy were contending for the mastery. In spite
of the cold, great drops of perspiration were coursing down his
forehead, and he was evidently fearfully excited. His limbs twitched
like those of a man upon the verge of an epileptic fit, and the lines
about his mouth were drawn and hard.

"Look!" he gasped, seizing rue by the wrist, but still keeping his eyes
upon the distant ice, and moving his head slowly in a horizontal
direction, as if following some object which was moving across the field
of vision. "Look! There, man, there! Between the hummocks! Now coming
out from behind the far one! You see her--you must see her! There still!
Flying from me, by God, flying from me--and gone!"

He uttered the last two words in a whisper of concentrated agony which
shall never fade from my remembrance. Clinging to the ratlines he
endeavoured to climb up upon the top of the bulwarks as if in the hope
of obtaining a last glance at the departing object. His strength was not
equal to the attempt, however, and he staggered back against the saloon
skylights, where he leaned panting and exhausted. His face was so livid
that I expected him to become unconscious, so lost no time in leading
him down the companion, and stretching him upon one of the sofas in the
cabin. I then poured him out some brandy, which I held to his lips, and
which had a wonderful effect upon him, bringing the blood back into his
white face and steadying his poor shaking limbs. He raised himself up
upon his elbow, and looking round to see that we were alone, he beckoned
to me to come and sit beside him.

"You saw it, didn't you?" he asked, still in the same subdued awesome
tone so foreign to the nature of the man.

"No, I saw nothing."

His head sank back again upon the cushions. "No, he wouldn't without the
glass," he murmured. "He couldn't. It was the glass that showed her to
me, and then the eyes of love--the eyes of love. I say, Doc, don't let
the steward in! He'll think I'm mad. Just bolt the door, will you!"

I rose and did what he had commanded.

He lay quiet for a while, lost in thought apparently, and then raised
himself up upon his elbow again, and asked for some more brandy.

"You don't think I am, do you, Doc?" he asked, as I was putting the
bottle back into the after-locker. "Tell me now, as man to man, do you
think that I am mad?"

"I think you have something on your mind," I answered, "which is
exciting you and doing you a good deal of harm."

"Right there, lad!" he cried, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the
brandy. "Plenty on my mind--plenty! But I can work out the latitude and
the longitude, and I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms. You
couldn't prove me mad in a court of law, could you, now?" It was curious
to hear the man lying back and coolly arguing out the question of his
own sanity.

"Perhaps not," I said; "but still I think you would be wise to get home
as soon as you can, and settle down to a quiet life for a while."

"Get home, eh?" he muttered, with a sneer upon his face. "One word for
me and two for yourself, lad. Settle down with Flora--pretty little
Flora. Are bad dreams signs of madness?"

"Sometimes," I answered.

"What else? What would be the first symptoms?"

"Pains in the head, noises in the ears, flashes before the eyes,
delusions--"

"Ah! what about them?" he interrupted. "What would you call a delusion?"

"Seeing a thing which is not there is a delusion."

"But she was there" he groaned to himself. "She was there!" and rising,
he unbolted the door and walked with slow and uncertain steps to his own
cabin, where I have no doubt that he will remain until to-morrow
morning. His system seems to have received a terrible shock, whatever it
may have been that he imagined himself to have seen. The man becomes a
greater mystery every day, though I fear that the solution which he has
himself suggested is the correct one, and that his reason is affected. I
do not think that a guilty conscience has anything to do with his
behaviour. The idea is a popular one among the officers, and, I believe,
the crew but I have seen nothing to support it. He has not the air of a
guilty man, but of one who has had terrible usage at the hands of
fortune, and who should be regarded as a martyr rather than a criminal.

The wind is veering round to the south to-night. God help us if it
blocks that narrow pass which is our only road to safety! Situated as we
are on the edge of the main Arctic pack, or the "barrier" as it is
called by the whalers, any wind from the north has the effect of
shredding out the ice around us and allowing our escape, while a wind
from the south blows up all the loose ice behind us, and hems us in
between two packs. God help us, I say again!

September 14th.--Sunday, and a day of rest. My fears have been
confirmed, and the thin strip of blue water has disappeared from the
southward. Nothing but the great motionless ice-fields around us, with
their weird hummocks and fantastic pinnacles. There is a deathly silence
over their wide expanse which is horrible.

No lapping of the waves now, no cries of seagulls or straining of sails,
but one deep universal silence in which the murmurs, of the seamen, and
the creak of their boots upon the white shining deck, seem discordant
and out of place. Our only visitor was an Arctic fox, a rare animal upon
the pack, though common enough upon the land. He did not come near the
ship, however, but after surveying us from a distance fled rapidly
across the ice. This was curious conduct, as they generally know nothing
of man, and being of an inquisitive nature, become so familiar that they
are easily captured. Incredible as it may seem, even this little
incident produced a bad effect upon the crew. "Yon puir beastie kens
mair, ay, an' sees mair nor you nor me!" was the comment of one of the
leading harpooners, and the others nodded their acquiescence. It is vain
to attempt to argue against such puerile superstition. They have made up
their minds that there is a curse upon the ship, and nothing will ever
persuade them to the contrary.

The captain remained in seclusion all day except for about half an hour
in the afternoon, when he came out upon the quarter-deck. I observed
that he kept his eye fixed upon the spot where the vision of yesterday
had appeared, and was quite prepared for another outburst, but none such
came. He did not seem to see me, although I was standing close beside
him. Divine service was read as usual by the chief engineer. It is a
curious thing that in whaling vessels the Church of England Prayer-book
is always employed, although there is never a member of that Church
among either officers or crew. Our men are all Roman Catholics or
Presbyterians, the former predominating. Since a ritual is used which is
foreign to both, neither can complain that the other is preferred to
them, and they listen with all attention and devotion, so that the
system has something to recommend it.

A glorious sunset, which made the great fields of ice look like a lake
of blood. I have never seen a finer and at the same time more weird
effect. Wind is veering round. If it will blow twenty-four hours from
the north all will yet be well.

September 15th.--To-day is Flora's birthday. Dear lass! it is well that
she cannot see her boy, as she used to call me, shut up among the
ice-fields with a crazy captain and a few weeks' provisions. No doubt
she scans the shipping list in the Scotsman every morning to see if we
are reported from Shetland. I have to set an example to the men and look
cheery and unconcerned; but God knows, my heart is very heavy at times.

The thermometer is at nineteen Fahrenheit to-day. There is but little
wind, and what there is comes from an unfavourable quarter. Captain is
in an excellent humour; I think he imagines he has seen some other omen
or vision, poor fellow, during the night, for he came into my room early
in the morning, and stooping down over my bunk, whispered, "It wasn't a
delusion, Doc; it's all right!" After breakfast he asked me to find out
how much food was left, which the second mate and I proceeded to do. It
is even less than we had expected. Forward they have half a tank full of
biscuits, three barrels of salt meat, and a very limited supply of
coffee beans and sugar. In the after-hold and lockers there are a good
many luxuries, such as tinned salmon, soups, haricot mutton, etc., but
they will go a very short way among a crew of fifty men. There are two
barrels of flour in the store-room, and an unlimited supply of tobacco.
Altogether there is about enough to keep the men on half rations for
eighteen or twenty days--certainly not more. When we reported the state
of things to the captain, he ordered all hands to be piped, and
addressed them from the quarter-deck. I never saw him to better
advantage. With his tall, well-knit figure, and dark animated face, he
seemed a man born to command, and he discussed the situation in a cool
sailor-like way which showed that while appreciating the danger he had
an eye for every loophole of escape.

"My lads," he said, "no doubt you think I brought you into this fix, if
it is a fix, and maybe some of you feel bitter against me on account of
it. But you must remember that for many a season no ship that comes to
the country has brought in as much oil-money as the old _Polestar_, and
every one of you has had his share of it. You can leave your wives
behind you in comfort, while other poor fellows come back to find their
lassies on the parish. If you have to thank me for the one you have to
thank me for the other, and we may call it quits. We've tried a bold
venture before this and succeeded, so now that we've tried one and
failed we've no cause to cry out about it. If the worst comes to the
worse, we can make the land across the ice, and lay in a stock of seals
which will keep us alive until the spring. It won't come to that,
though, for you'll see the Scotch coast again before three weeks are
out. At present every man must go on half rations, share and share
alike, and no favour to any. Keep up your hearts and you'll pull through
this as you've pulled through many a danger before." These few simple
words of his had a wonderful effect upon the crew. His former
unpopularity was forgotten, and the old harpooner whom I have already
mentioned for his superstition, led off three cheers, which were
heartily joined in by all hands.

September 16th.--The wind has veered round to the north during the
night, and the ice shows some symptoms of opening out. The men are in a
good humour in spite of the short allowance upon which they have been
placed. Steam is kept up in the engine-room, that there may be no delay
should an opportunity for escape present itself. The captain is in
exuberant spirits, though he still retains that wild "fey" expression
which I have already remarked upon. This burst of cheerfulness puzzles
me more than his former gloom. I cannot understand it. I think I
mentioned in an early part of this journal that one of his oddities is
that he never permits any person to enter his cabin, but insists upon
making his own bed, such as it is, and performing every other office for
himself. To my surprise he handed me the key to-day and requested me to
go down there and take the time by his chronometer while he measured the
altitude of the sun at noon. It is a bare little room, containing a
washing-stand and a few books, but little else in the way of luxury,
except some pictures upon the walls. The majority of these are small
cheap oleographs, but there was one water-colour sketch of the head of a
young lady which arrested my attention. It was evidently a portrait, and
not one of those fancy types of female beauty which sailors particularly
affect. No artist could have evolved from his own mind such a curious
mixture of character and weakness. The languid, dreamy eyes, with their
drooping lashes, and the broad, low brow, unruffled by thought or care,
were in strong contrast with the clean-cut, prominent jaw, and the
resolute set of the lower lip. Underneath it in one of the corners was
written, "M.B., aet. 19." That anyone in the short space of nineteen
years of existence could develop such strength of will as was stamped
upon her face seemed to me at the time to be well-nigh incredible. She
must have been an extraordinary woman. Her features have thrown such a
glamour over me that, though I had but a fleeting glance at them, I
could, were I a draughtsman, reproduce them line for line upon this page
of the journal. I wonder what part she has played in our captain's life.
He has hung her picture at the end of his berth, so that his eyes
continually rest upon it. Were he a less reserved man I should make some
remark upon the subject. Of the other things in his cabin there was
nothing worthy of mention--uniform coats, a camp-stool, small
looking-glass, tobacco-box, and numerous pipes, including an oriental
hookah--which, by the by, gives some colour to Mr. Milne's story about
his participation in the war, though the connection may seem rather a
distant one.

11.20 p.m.--Captain just gone to bed after a long and interesting
conversation on general topics. When he chooses he can be a most
fascinating companion, being remarkably well-read, and having the power
of expressing his opinion forcibly without appearing to be dogmatic. I
hate to have my intellectual toes trod upon. He spoke about the nature
of the soul, and sketched out the views of Aristotle and Plato upon the
subject in a masterly manner, He seems to have a leaning for
metempsychosis and the doctrines of Pythagoras. In discussing them we
touched upon modern spiritualism, and I made some joking allusion to the
impostures of Slade, upon which, to my surprise, he warned me most
impressively against confusing the innocent with the guilty, and argued
that it would be as logical to brand Christianity as an error because
Judas, who professed that religion, was a villain. He shortly afterwards
bade me good night and retired to his room.

The wind is freshening up, and blows steadily from the north. The nights
are as dark now as they are in England. I hope to-morrow may set us free
from our frozen fetters.

September 17th.--The Bogie again. Thank Heaven that I have strong nerves
The superstition of these poor fellows, and the circumstantial accounts
which they give, with the utmost earnestness and self-conviction, would
horrify any man not accustomed to their ways. There are many versions of
the matter, but the sum-total of them all is that something uncanny has
been flitting round the ship all night, and that Sandie M'Donald of
Peterhead and "Lang" Peter Williamson of Shetland saw it, as also did
Mr. Milne on the bridge--so, having three witnesses, they can make a
better case of it than the second mate did. I spoke to Milne after
breakfast, and told him that he should be above such nonsense, and that
as an officer he ought to set the men a better example. He shook his
weather-beaten head ominously, but answered with characteristic caution.
"Mebbe, aye, mebbe na, Doctor," he said, "I didna ca' it a ghaist. I
canna' say I preen my faith in sea-bogies an' the like, though there's a
mony as claims to ha' seen a' that and waur. I'm no easy feared, but
maybe your ain bluid would run a bit cauld, mun, if instead o' speerin'
aboot it in daylicht ye were wi' me last night, an' seed an awfu' like
shape, white an' gruesome, whiles here, whiles there, an' it greetin'
and ca'ing in the darkness like a bit lambie that hae lost its mither.
Ye would na' be sae ready to put it a' doon to auld wives' clavers then,
I'm thinkin'." I saw it was hopeless to reason with him, so contented
myself with begging him as a personal favour to call me up the next time
the spectre appeared--a request to which he acceded with many
ejaculations expressive of his hopes that such an opportunity might
never arise.

As I had hoped, the white desert behind us has become broken by many
thin streaks of water which intersect it in all directions. Our latitude
to-day was 80 52' N., which shows that there is a strong southerly
drift upon the pack. Should the wind continue favourable it will break
up as rapidly as it formed. At present we can do nothing but smoke and
wait and hope for the best. I am rapidly becoming a fatalist. When
dealing with such uncertain factors as wind and ice a man can be nothing
else. Perhaps it was the wind and sand of the Arabian deserts which gave
the minds of the original followers of Mahomet their tendency to bow to
kismet.

These spectral alarms have a very bad effect upon the captain. I feared
that it might excite his sensitive mind, and endeavoured to conceal the
absurd story from him, but unfortunately he overheard one of the men
making an allusion to it, and insisted upon being informed about it. As
I had expected, it brought out all his latent lunacy in an exaggerated
form. I can hardly believe that this is the same man who discoursed
philosophy last night with the most critical acumen and coolest
judgment. He is pacing backwards and forwards upon the quarter-deck like
a caged tiger, stopping now and again to throw out his hands with a
yearning gesture, and stare impatiently out over the ice. He keeps up a
continual mutter to himself, and once he called out, "But a little time,
love--but a little time!" Poor fellow, it is sad to see a gallant seaman
and accomplished gentleman reduced to such a pass, and to think that
imagination and delusion can cow a mind to which real danger was but the
salt of life. Was ever a man in such a position as I, between a demented
captain and a ghost-seeing mate? I sometimes think I am the only really
sane man aboard the vessel--except perhaps the second engineer, who is a
kind of ruminant, and would care nothing for all the fiends in the Red
Sea so long as they would leave him alone and not disarrange his tools.

The ice is still opening rapidly, and there is every probability of our
being able to make a start to-morrow morning. They will think I am
inventing when I tell them at home all the strange things that have
befallen me.

12 p.m.--I have been a good deal startled, though I feel steadier now,
thanks to a stiff glass of brandy. I am hardly myself yet, however, as
this handwriting will testify. The fact is, that I have gone through a
very strange experience, and am beginning to doubt whether I was
justified in branding everyone on board as madmen because they professed
to have seen things which did not seem reasonable to my understanding.
Pshaw! I am a fool to let such a trifle unnerve me; and yet, coming as
it does after all these alarms, it has an additional significance, for I
cannot doubt either Mr. Manson's story or that of the mate, now that I
have experienced that which I used formerly to scoff at.

After all it was nothing very alarming--a mere sound, and that was all.
I cannot expect that anyone reading this, if anyone ever should read it,
will sympathise with my feelings, or realize the effect which it
produced upon me at the time. Supper was over, and I had gone on deck to
have a quiet pipe before turning in. The night was very dark--so dark
that, standing under the quarter-boat, I was unable to see the officer
upon the bridge. I think I have already mentioned the extraordinary
silence which prevails in these frozen seas. In other parts of the
world, be they ever so barren, there is some slight vibration of the
air--some faint hum, be it from the distant haunts of men, or from the
leaves of the trees, or the wings of the birds, or even the faint rustle
of the grass that covers the ground. One may not actively perceive the
sound, and yet if it were withdrawn it would be missed. It is only here
in these Arctic seas that stark, unfathomable stillness obtrudes itself
upon you all in its gruesome reality. You find your tympanum straining
to catch some little murmur, and dwelling eagerly upon every accidental
sound within the vessel. In this state I was leaning against the
bulwarks when there arose from the ice almost directly underneath me a
cry, sharp and shrill, upon the silent air of the night, beginning, as
it seemed to me, at a note such as prima donna never reached, and
mounting from that ever higher and higher until it culminated in a long
wail of agony, which might have been the last cry of a lost soul. The
ghastly scream is still ringing in my ears. Grief, unutterable grief,
seemed to be expressed in it, and a great longing, and yet through it
all there was an occasional wild note of exultation. It shrilled out
from close beside me, and yet as I glared into the darkness I could
discern nothing. I waited some little time, but without hearing any
repetition of the sound, so I came below, more shaken than I have ever
been in my life before. As I came down the companion I met Mr. Milne
coming up to relieve the watch. "Weel, Doctor," he said, "maybe that's
auld wives' clavers tae? Did ye no hear it skirling? Maybe that's a
supersteetion? What d'ye think o't noo?" I was obliged to apologise to
the honest fellow, and acknowledge that I was as puzzled by it as he
was. Perhaps to-morrow things may look different. At present I dare
hardly write all that I think. Reading it again in days to come, when I
have shaken off all these associations, I should despise myself for
having been so weak.

September 18th.--Passed a restless and uneasy night, still haunted by
that strange sound. The captain does not look as if he had had much
repose either, for his face is haggard and his eyes bloodshot. I have
not told him of my adventure of last night, nor shall I. He is already
restless and excited, standing up, sitting down, and apparently utterly
unable to keep still.

A fine lead appeared in the pack this morning, as I had expected, and we
were able to cast off our ice-anchor, and steam about twelve miles in a
west-sou'-westerly direction. We were then brought to a halt by a great
floe as massive as any which we have left behind us. It bars our
progress completely, so we can do nothing but anchor again and wait
until it breaks up, which it will probably do within twenty-four hours,
if the wind holds. Several bladder-nosed seals were seen swimming in the
water, and one was shot, an immense creature more than eleven feet long.
They are fierce, pugnacious animals, and are said to be more than a
match for a bear. Fortunately they are slow and clumsy in their
movements, so that there is little danger in attacking them upon the
ice.

The captain evidently does not think we have seen the last of our
troubles, though why he should take a gloomy view of the situation is
more than I can fathom, since everyone else on board considers that we
have had a miraculous escape, and are sure now to reach the open sea.

"I suppose you think it's all right now, Doctor?" he said, as we sat
together after dinner.

"I hope so," I answered.

"We mustn't be too sure--and yet no doubt you are right. We'll all be in
the arms of our own true loves before long, lad, won't we? But we
mustn't be too sure--we mustn't be too sure."

He sat silent a little, swinging his leg thoughtfully backwards and
forwards. "Look here," he continued; "it's a dangerous place this, even
at its best--a treacherous, dangerous place. I have known men cut off
very suddenly in a land like this. A slip would do it sometimes--a
single slip, and down you go through a crack, and only a bubble on the
green water to show where it was that you sank. It's a queer thing," he
continued with a nervous laugh, "but all the years I've been in this
country I never once thought of making a will--not that I have anything
to leave in particular, but still when a man is exposed to danger he
should have everything arranged and ready--don't you think so?"

"Certainly," I answered, wondering what on earth he was driving at.

"He feels better for knowing it's all settled," he went on. "Now if
anything should ever befall me, I hope that you will look after things
for me. There is very little in the cabin, but such as it is I should
like it to be sold, and the money divided in the same proportion as the
oil-money among the crew. The chronometer I wish you to keep yourself as
some slight remembrance of our voyage. Of course all, this is a mere
precaution, but I thought I would take the opportunity of speaking to
you about it. I suppose I might rely upon you if there were any
necessity?"

"Most assuredly," I answered; "and since you are taking this step, I may
as well--"

"You! You!" he interrupted. "_You're_ all right. What the devil is the
matter with you? There, I didn't mean to be peppery, but I don't like to
hear a young fellow, that has hardly began life, speculating about
death. Go up on deck and get some fresh air into your lungs instead of
talking nonsense in the cabin, and encouraging me to do the same."

The more I think of this conversation of ours the less do I like it. Why
should the man be settling his affairs at the very time when we seem to
be emerging from all danger? There must be some method in his madness.
Can it be that he contemplates suicide? I remember that, upon one
occasion he spoke in a deeply reverent manner of the heinousness of the
crime of self-destruction. I shall keep my eye upon him, however, and
though I cannot obtrude upon the privacy of his cabin, I shall at least
make a point of remaining on deck as long as he stays up.

Mr. Milne pooh-poohs my fears, and says it is only the "skipper's little
way." He himself takes a very rosy view of the situation. According to
him we shall be out of the ice by the day after to-morrow, pass Jan
Meyen two days after that, and sight Shetland in little more than a
week. I hope he may not be too sanguine. His opinion may be fairly
balanced against the gloomy precautions of the captain, for he is an old
and experienced seaman, and weighs his words well before uttering them.

* * * * *

The long-impending catastrophe has come at last. I hardly know what to
write about it. The captain is gone. He may come back to us again alive,
but I fear me--I fear me. It is now seven o'clock of the morning of the
19th of September. I have spent the whole night traversing the great
ice-floe in front of us with a party of seamen in the hope of coming
upon some trace of him, but in vain. I shall try to give some account of
the circumstances which attended upon his disappearance. Should anyone
ever chance to read the words which I put down, I trust they will
remember that I do not write from conjecture or from hearsay, but that
I, a sane and educated man, am describing accurately what actually
occurred before my very eyes. My inferences are my own, but I shall be
answerable for the facts.

The captain remained in excellent spirits after the conversation which I
have recorded. He appeared to be nervous and impatient, however,
frequently changing his position, and moving his limbs in an aimless
choreic way which is characteristic of him at times. In a quarter of an
hour he went upon deck seven times, only to descend after a few hurried
paces. I followed him each time, for there was something about his face
which confirmed my resolution of not letting him out of my sight. He
seemed to observe the effect which his movements had produced, for he
endeavoured by an overdone hilarity, laughing boisterously at the very
smallest of jokes, to quiet my apprehensions.

After supper he went on to the poop once more, and I with him. The night
was dark and very still, save for the melancholy soughing of the wind
among the spars. A thick cloud was coming up from the northwest, and the
ragged tentacles which it threw out in front of it were drifting across
the face of the moon, which only shone now and again through a rift in
the wrack. The captain paced rapidly backwards and forwards, and then
seeing me still dogging him, he came across and hinted that he thought I
should be better below--which, I need hardly say, had the effect of
strengthening my resolution to remain on deck.

I think he forgot about my presence after this, for he stood silently
leaning over the taffrail and peering out across the great desert of
snow, part of which lay in shadow, while part glittered mistily in the
moonlight. Several times I could see by his movements that he was
referring to his watch, and once he muttered a short sentence, of which
I could only catch the one word--"ready." I confess to having felt an
eerie feeling creeping over me as I watched the loom of his tall figure
through the darkness, and noted how completely he fulfilled the idea of
a man who is keeping a tryst. A tryst with whom? Some vague perception
began to dawn upon me as I pieced one fact with another, but I was
utterly unprepared for the sequel.

By the sudden intensity of his attitude I felt that he saw something. I
crept up behind him. He was staring with an eager questioning gaze at
what seemed to be a wreath of mist, blown swiftly in a line with the
ship. It was a dim nebulous body, devoid of shape, sometimes more,
sometimes less apparent, as the light fell on it. The moon was dimmed in
its brilliancy at the moment by a canopy of thinnest cloud, like the
coating of an anemone.

"Coming, lass, coming," cried the skipper, in a voice of unfathomable
tenderness and compassion, like one who soothes a beloved one by some
favour long looked for, and as pleasant to bestow as to receive.

What followed happened in an instant. I had no power to interfere. He
gave one spring to the top of the bulwarks, and another which took him
on to the ice, almost to the feet of the pale misty figure. He held out
his hands as if to clasp it, and so ran into the darkness with
outstretched arms and loving words. I still stood rigid and motionless,
straining my eyes after his retreating form, until his voice died away
in the distance. I never thought to see him again, but at that moment
the moon shone out brilliantly through a chink in the cloudy heaven, and
illuminated the great field of ice. Then I saw his dark figure already a
very long way off, running with prodigious speed across the frozen
plain. That was the last glimpse which we caught of him--perhaps the
last we ever shall. A party was organized to follow him, and I
accompanied them, but the men's hearts were not in the work, and nothing
was found. Another will be formed within a few hours. I can hardly
believe I have not been dreaming, or suffering from some hideous
nightmare, as I write these things down.

7.30 P.M.--Just returned dead beat and utterly tired out from a second
unsuccessful search for the captain. The floe is of enormous extent, for
though we have traversed at least twenty miles of its surface, there has
been no sign of its coming to an end. The frost has been so severe of
late that the overlying snow is frozen as hard as granite, otherwise we
might have had the footsteps to guide us. The crew are anxious that we
should cast off and steam round the floe and so to the southward, for
the ice has opened up during the night, and the sea is visible upon the
horizon. They argue that Captain Craigie is certainly dead, and that we
are all risking our lives to no purpose by remaining when we have an
opportunity of escape. Mr. Milne and I have had the greatest difficulty
in persuading them to wait until to-morrow night, and have been
compelled to promise that we will not under any circumstances delay our
departure longer than that. We propose therefore to take a few hours'
sleep, and then to start upon a final search.

September 20th, evening.--I crossed the ice this morning with a party of
men exploring the southern part of the flee, while Mr. Milne went off in
a northerly direction. We pushed on for ten or twelve miles without
seeing a trace of any living thing except a single bird, which fluttered
a great way over our heads, and which by its flight I should judge to
have been a falcon. The southern extremity of the ice-field tapered away
into a long narrow spit which projected out into the sea. When we came
to the base of this promontory, the men halted, but I begged them to
continue to the extreme end of it, that we might have the satisfaction
of knowing that no possible chance had been neglected.

We had hardly gone a hundred yards before M'Donald of Peterhead cried
out that he saw something in front of us, and began to run. We all got a
glimpse of it and ran too. At first it was only a vague darkness against
the white ice, but as we raced along together it took the shape of a
man, and eventually of the man of whom we were in search. He was lying
face downwards upon a frozen bank. Many little crystals of ice and
feathers of snow had drifted on to him as he lay, and sparkled upon his
dark seaman's jacket. As we came up some wandering puff of wind caught
these tiny flakes in its vortex, and they whirled up into the air,
partially descended again, and then, caught once more in the current,
sped rapidly away in the direction of the sea. To my eyes it seemed but
a snow-drift, but many of my companions averred that it started up in
the shape of a woman, stooped over the corpse and kissed it, and then
hurried away across the floe. I have learned never to ridicule any man's
opinion, however strange it may seem. Sure it is that Captain Nicholas
Craigie had met with no painful end, for there was a bright smile upon
his blue pinched features, and his hands were still outstretched as
though grasping at the strange visitor which had summoned him away into
the dim world that lies beyond the grave.

We buried him the same afternoon with the ship's ensign around him, and
a thirty-two pound shot at his feet. I read the burial service, while
the rough sailors wept like children, for there were many who owed much
to his kind heart, and who showed now the affection which his strange
ways had repelled during his lifetime. He went off the grating with a
dull, sullen splash, and as I looked into the green water I saw him go
down, down, down until he was but a little flickering patch of white
hanging upon the outskirts of eternal darkness. Then even that faded
away, and he was gone. There he shall lie, with his secret and his
sorrows and his mystery all still buried in his breast, until that great
day when the sea shall, give up its dead, and Nicholas Craigie come out
from among the ice with the smile upon his face, and his stiffened arms
outstretched in greeting. I pray that his lot may be a happier one in
that life than it has been in this.

I shall not continue my journal. Our road to home lies plain and clear
before us, and the great ice-field will soon be but a remembrance of the
past. It will be some time before I get over the shock produced by
recent events. When I began this record of our voyage I little thought
of how I should be compelled to finish it. I am writing these final
words in the lonely cabin, still starting at times and fancying I hear
the quick nervous step of the dead man upon the deck above me. I entered
his cabin to=night, as was my duty, to make a list of his effects in
order that they might be entered in the official log. All was as it had
been upon my previous visit, save that the picture which I have
described as having hung at the end of his bed had been cut out of its
frame, as with a knife, and was gone. With this last link in a strange
chain of evidence I close my diary of the voyage of the _Polestar_.

[Note by Dr. John M'Alister Ray, senior.--I have read over the strange
events connected with the death of the captain of the _Polestar_, as
narrated in the journal of my son. That everything occurred exactly as
he describes it I have the fullest confidence, and, indeed, the most
positive certainty, for I know him to be a strong-nerved and
unimaginative man, with the strictest regard for veracity. Still, the
story is, on the face of it, so vague and so improbable, that I was long
opposed to its publication. Within the last few days, however, I have
had independent testimony upon the subject which throws a new light upon
it. I had run down to Edinburgh to attend a meeting of the British
Medical Association, when I chanced to come across Dr. P--, an old
college chum of mine, now practising at Saltash, in Devonshire. Upon my
telling him of this experience of my son's, he declared to me that he
was familiar with the man, and proceeded, to my no small surprise, to
give me a description of him; which tallied remarkably well with that
given in the journal, except that he depicted him as a younger man.
According to his account, he had been engaged to a young lady of
singular beauty residing upon the Cornish coast. During his absence at
sea his betrothed had died under circumstances of peculiar horror.]



THE FIEND OF THE COOPERAGE


It was no easy matter to bring the _Gamecock_ up to the island, for the
river had swept down so much silt that the banks extended for many miles
out into the Atlantic. The coast was hardly to be seen when the first
white curl of the breakers warned us of our danger, and from there
onwards we made our way very carefully under mainsail and jib, keeping
the broken water well to the left, as is indicated on the chart. More
than once her bottom touched the sand (we were drawing something under
six feet at the time), but we had always way enough and luck enough to
carry us through. Finally, the water shoaled, very rapidly, but they had
sent a canoe from the factory, and the Krooboy pilot brought us within
two hundred yards of the island. Here we dropped our anchor, for the
gestures of the negro indicated that we could not hope to get any
farther. The blue of the sea had changed to the brown of the river, and,
even under the shelter of the island, the current was singing and
swirling round our bows. The stream appeared to be in spate, for it was
over the roots of the palm trees, and everywhere upon its muddy greasy
surface we could see logs of wood and debris of all sorts which had been
carried down by the flood.

When I had assured myself that we swung securely at our moorings, I
thought it best to begin watering at once, for the place looked as if it
reeked with fever. The heavy river, the muddy, shining banks, the bright
poisonous green of the jungle, the moist steam in the air, they were all
so many danger signals to one who could read them. I sent the long-boat
off, therefore, with two large hogsheads, which should be sufficient to
last us until we made St. Paul de Loanda. For my own part I took the
dinghy and rowed for the island, for I could see the Union Jack
fluttering above the palms to mark the position of Armitage and Wilson's
trading station.

When I had cleared the grove, I could see the place, a long, low,
whitewashed building, with a deep verandah in front, and an immense pile
of palm-oil barrels heaped upon either flank of it. A row of surf boats
and canoes lay along the beach, and a single small jetty projected into
the river. Two men in white suits with red cummerbunds round their
waists were waiting upon the end of it to receive me. One was a large
portly fellow with a greyish beard. The other was slender and tall, with
a pale pinched face, which was half-concealed by a great mushroom-shaped
hat.

"Very glad to see you," said the latter, cordially. "I am Walker, the
agent of Armitage and Wilson. Let me introduce Doctor Severall of the
same company. It is not often we see a private yacht in these parts."

"She's the _Gamecock_," I explained. "I'm owner and captain--Meldrum is
the name."

"Exploring?" he asked.

"I'm a lepidopterist--a butterfly-catcher. I've been doing the west
coast from Senegal downwards."

"Good sport?" asked the Doctor, turning a slow yellow-shot eye 'upon me.

"I have forty cases full. We came in here to water, and also to see what
you have in my line."

These introductions and explanations had filled up the time whilst my
two Krooboys were making the dinghy fast. Then I walked down the jetty
with one of my new acquaintances upon either side, each plying me with
questions, for they had seen no white man for months.

"What do we do?" said the Doctor, when I had begun asking questions in
my turn. "Our business keeps us pretty busy, and in our leisure time we
talk politics."

"Yes, by the special mercy of Providence Severall is a rank Radical, and
I am a good stiff Unionist, and we talk Home Rule for two solid hours
every evening."

"And drink quinine cocktails," said the Doctor. "We're both pretty well
salted now, but our normal temperature was about 103 last year. I
shouldn't, as an impartial adviser, recommend you to stay here very long
unless you are collecting bacilli as well as butterflies. The mouth of
the Ogowai River will never develop into a health resort."

There is nothing finer than the way in which these outlying pickets of
civilization distil a grim humour out of their desolate situation, and
turn not only a bold, but a laughing face upon the chances which their
lives may bring. Everywhere from Sierra Leone downwards I had found the
same reeking swamps, the same isolated fever-racked communities, and the
same bad jokes. There is something approaching to the divine in that
power of man to rise above his conditions and to use his mind for the
purpose of mocking at the miseries of his body.

"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, Captain Meldrum," said the
Doctor. "Walker has gone in to see about it; he's the housekeeper this
week. Meanwhile, if you like, we'll stroll round and I'll show you the
sights of the island."

The sun had already sunk beneath the line of palm trees, and the great
arch of the heaven above our head was like the inside of a huge shell,
shimmering with dainty pinks and delicate iridescence. No one who has
not lived in a land where the weight and heat of a napkin become
intolerable upon the knees can imagine the blessed relief which the
coolness of evening brings along with it. In this sweeter and purer air
the Doctor and I walked round the little island, he pointing out 'the
stores, and explaining the routine of his work.

"There's a certain romance about the place," said he, in answer to some
remark of mine about the dullness of their lives. "We are living here
just upon the edge of the great unknown. Up there," he continued,
pointing to the north-east, "Du Chaillu penetrated, and found the home
of the gorilla. That is the Gaboon country--the land of the great apes.
In this direction," pointing to the south-east, "no one has been very
far. The land which is drained by this river is practically unknown to
Europeans. Every log which is carried past us by the current has come
from an undiscovered country. I've often wished that I was a better
botanist when I have seen the singular orchids and curious-looking
plants which have been cast up on the eastern end of the island."

The place which the Doctor indicated was a sloping brown beach, freely
littered with the flotsam of the stream. At each end was a. curved
point, like a little natural breakwater, so that a small shallow bay was
left between. This was full of floating vegetation, with a single huge
splintered tree lying stranded in the middle of it, the current rippling
against its high black side.

"These are all from up country," said the Doctor. "They get caught in
our little bay, and then when some extra freshet comes they are washed
out again and carried out to sea."

"What is the tree?" I asked.

"Oh, some kind of teak, I should imagine, but pretty rotten by the look
of it. We get all sorts of big hardwood trees floating past here, to say
nothing of the palms. Just come in here, will you?"

He led the way into a long building with an immense quantity of barrel
staves and iron hoops littered about in it.

"This is our cooperage," said he. "We have the staves sent out in
bundles, and we put them together ourselves. Now, you don't see anything
particularly sinister about this building, do you?"

I looked round at the high corrugated iron roof, the white wooden walls,
and the earthen floor. In one corner lay a mattress and a blanket.

"I see nothing very alarming," said I.

"And yet there's something out of the common, too," he remarked. "You
see that bed? Well, I intend to sleep there to-night. I don't want to
buck, but I think it's a bit of a test for nerve."

"Why?"

"Oh, there have been some funny goings on. You were talking about the
monotony of our lives, but I assure you that they are sometimes quite as
exciting as we wish them to be. You'd better come back to the house now,
for after sundown we begin to get the fever-fog up from the marshes.
There, you can see it coming across the river."

I looked and saw long tentacles of white vapour writhing out from among
the thick green underwood and crawling at us over the broad swirling
surface of the brown river. At the same time the air turned suddenly
dank and cold.

"There's the dinner gong," said the Doctor. "If this matter interests
you I'll tell you about it afterwards."

It did interest me very much, for there was something earnest and
subdued in his manner as he stood in the empty cooperage, which appealed
very forcibly to my imagination. He was a big, bluff, hearty man, this
Doctor, and yet I had detected a curious expression in his eyes as he
glanced about him--an expression which I would not describe as one of
fear, but rather that of a man who is alert and on his guard.

"By the way," said I, as we returned to the house, you have shown me the
huts of a good many of your native assistants, but I have not seen any
of the natives themselves."

"They sleep in the hulk over yonder," the Doctor answered, pointing over
to one of the banks.

"Indeed. I should not have thought in that case they would need the
huts."

"Oh, they used the huts until quite recently. We've put them on the hulk
until they recover their confidence a little. They were all half mad
with fright, so we let them go, and nobody sleeps on the island except
Walker and myself."

"What frightened them? I asked.

"Well, that brings us back to the same story. I suppose Walker has no
objection to your hearing all about it. I don't know why we should make
any secret about it, though it is certainly a pretty bad business."

He made no further allusion to it during the excellent dinner which had
been prepared in my honour. It appeared that no sooner had the little
white topsail of the _Gamecock_ shown round Cape Lopez than these kind
fellows had begun to prepare their famous pepper-pot--which is the
pungent stew peculiar to the West Coast--and to boil their yams and
sweet potatoes. We sat down to as good a native dinner as one could
wish, served by a smart Sierra Leone waiting boy. I was just remarking
to myself that he at least had not shared in the general flight when,
having laid the dessert and wine upon the table; he raised his hand to
his turban.

"Anyting else I do, Massa Walker?" he asked.

"No, I think that is all right, Moussa," my host answered. "I am not
feeling very well to-night, though, and I should much prefer if you
would stay on the island."

I saw a struggle between his fears and his duty upon the swarthy face of
the African. His skin had turned of that livid purplish tint which
stands for pallor in a negro, and his eyes looked furtively about him.

"No, no, Massa Walker," he cried, at last, "you better come to the hulk
with me, sah. Look after you much better in the hulk, sah!"

"That won't do, Moussa. White men don't run away from the posts where
they are placed."

Again I saw the passionate struggle in the negro's face, and again his
fears prevailed.

"No use, Massa Walker, sah!" he cried. "S'elp me, I can't do it. If it
was yesterday or if it was tomorrow, but this is' the third night, sah,
an' it's more than I can face."

Walker shrugged his shoulders.

"Off with you then!" said he. "When the mail-boat comes you can get back
to Sierra Leone, for I'll have no servant who deserts me when I need him
most. I suppose this is all mystery to you, or has the Doctor told you,
Captain Meldrum?"

"I showed Captain Meldrum the cooperage, but I did not tell him
anything," said Doctor Severall. "You're looking bad, Walker," he added,
glancing at his companion. "You have a strong touch coming on you."

"Yes, I've had the shivers all day, and now my head is like a
cannon-ball. I took ten grains of quinine, and my ears are singing like
a kettle. But I want to sleep with you in the cooperage to-night."

"No, no, my dear chap. I won't hear of such a thing. You must get to bed
at once, and I am sure Meldrum will excuse you. I shall sleep in the
cooperage, and I promise you that I'll be round with your medicine
before breakfast."

It was evident that Walker had been struck by one of those sudden and
violent attacks of remittent fever which are the curse of the West
Coast. His sallow cheeks were flushed and his eyes shining with fever,
and suddenly as he sat there he began to croon out a song in the
high-pitched voice of delirium.

"Come, come, we must get you to bed, old chap," said the Doctor, and
with my aid he led his friend into his bedroom. There we undressed him
and presently, after taking a strong sedative, he settled down into a
deep slumber.

"He's right for the night," said the Doctor, as we sat down and filled
our glasses once more. "Sometimes it is my turn and sometimes his, but,
fortunately, we have never been down together. I should have been sorry
to be out of it to-night, for I have a little mystery to unravel. I told
you that I intended to sleep in the cooperage."

"Yes, you said so."

"When I said sleep I meant watch, for there will be no sleep for me.
We've had such a scare here that no native will stay after sundown, and
I mean to find out to-night what the cause of it all may be. It has
always been the custom for a native watchman to sleep in the cooperage,
to prevent the barrel hoops being stolen. Well, six days ago the fellow
who slept there disappeared, and we have never seen a trace of him
since. It was certainly singular, for no canoe had been taken, and these
waters are too full of crocodiles for any man to swim to shore. What
became of the fellow, or how he could have left the island, is a
complete mystery. Walker and I were merely surprised, but the blacks
were badly scared and queer Voodoo tales began to get about amongst
them. But the real stampede broke out three nights ago, when the new
watchman in the cooperage also disappeared."

"What became of him?" I asked.

"Well, we not only don't know, but we can't even give a guess which
would fit the facts. The niggers swear there is a fiend in the cooperage
who claims a man every third night. They wouldn't stay in the island
--nothing could persuade them. Even Moussa, who is a faithful bay
enough, would, as you have seen, leave his master in a fever rather than
remain for the night. If we are to continue to run this place we must
reassure our niggers, and I don't know any better way of doing it than
by putting in a night there myself. This is the third night, you see, so
I suppose the thing is due, whatever it may be."

"Have you no clue?" I asked. "Was there no mark of violence, no
blood-stain, no footprints, nothing to give a hint as to what kind of
danger you may have to meet?"

"Absolutely nothing. The man was gone and that was all. Last time it was
old who has been wharf-tender here since the place was started. He was
always as steady as a rock, and nothing but foul play would take him
from his work."

"Well," said I, "I really don't think that this is a one-man job. Your
friend is full of laudanum, and come what might he can be of no
assistance to you. You must let me stay and put in a night with you at
the cooperage."

"Well, now, that's very good of you, Meldrum," said he heartily, shaking
my hand across the table. "It's not a thing that I should have ventured
to propose, for it is asking a good deal of a casual visitor, but if you
really mean it--"

"Certainly I mean it. If you will excuse me a moment, I will hail the
_Gamecock_ and let them know that they need not expect me."

As we came back from the other end of the little jetty we were both
struck by the appearance of the night. A huge blue-black pile of clouds
had built itself up upon the landward side, and the wind came from it in
little hot pants, which beat upon our faces like the draught from a
blast furnace. Under the jetty the river was swirling and hissing,
tossing little white spurts of spray over the planking.

"Confound it!" said Doctor Severall. "We are likely to have a flood on
the top of all our troubles. That rise in the river means heavy rain
up-country, and when it once begins you never know how far it will go.
We've had the island nearly covered before now. Well, we'll just go and
see that Walker is comfortable, and then if you like we'll settle down
in our quarters."

The sick man was sunk in a profound slumber, and we left him with some
crushed limes in a glass beside him in case he should awake with the
thirst of fever upon him. Then we made our way through the unnatural
gloom thrown by that menacing cloud. The river had risen so high that
the little bay which I have described at the end of the island had
become almost obliterated through the submerging of its flanking
peninsula. The great raft of driftwood, with the huge black tree in the
middle, was swaying up and down in the swollen current.

"That's one good thing a flood will do for us," said the Doctor. "It
carries away all the vegetable stuff which is brought down on to the
east end of the island. It came down with the freshet the other day, and
here it will stay until a flood sweeps it out into the main stream.
Well, here's our room, and here are some books and here is my tobacco
pouch, and we must try and put in the night as best we may."

By the light of our single lantern the great lonely room looked very
gaunt and dreary. Save for the piles of staves and heaps of hoops there
was absolutely nothing in it, with the exception of the mattress for the
Doctor, which had been laid in the corner. We made a couple of seats and
a table out of the staves, and settled down together for a long vigil.
Severall had brought a revolver for me and was himself armed with a
double-barrelled shot-gun. We loaded our weapons and laid them cocked
within reach of our hands. The little circle of light and the black
shadows arching over us were so melancholy that he went off to the
house, and returned with two candles. One side of the cooperage was
pierced, however, by several open windows, and it was only by screening
our lights behind staves that we could prevent them from being
extinguished.

The Doctor, who appeared to be a man of iron nerves, had settled down to
a book, but I observed that every now and then he laid it upon his knee,
and took an earnest look all round him. For my part, although I tried
once or twice to read, I found it impossible to concentrate my thoughts
upon the book. They would always wander back to this great empty silent
room, and to the sinister mystery which overshadowed it. I racked my
brains for some possible theory which would explain the disappearance of
these two men. There was the black fact that they were gone, and not the
least tittle of evidence as to why or whither. And here we were waiting
in the same place--waiting without an idea as to what we were waiting
for. I was right in saying that it was not a one-man job. It was trying
enough as it was, but no force upon earth would have kept me there
without a comrade.

What an endless, tedious night it was! Outside we heard the lapping and
gurgling of the great river, and the soughing of the rising wind.
Within, save for our breathing, the turning of the Doctor's pages, and
the high, shrill ping of an occasional mosquito, there was a heavy
silence. Once my heart sprang into my mouth as Severall's book suddenly
fell to the ground and he sprang to his feet with his eyes on one of the
windows.

"Did you see anything, Meldrum?"

"No, did you?"

"Well, I had a vague sense of movement outside that window." He caught
up his gun and approached it. "No, there's nothing to be seen, and yet I
could have sworn that something passed slowly across it."

"A palm leaf, perhaps," said I, for the wind was growing stronger every
instant.

"Very likely," said he, and settled down to his book again, but his eyes
were for ever darting little suspicious glances up at the window. I
watched it also, but all was quiet outside.

And then suddenly our thoughts were turned into a new direction by the
bursting of the storm. A blinding flash was followed by a clap which
shook the building. Again and again came the vivid white glare with
thunder at the same instant, like the flash and roar of a monstrous
piece of artillery. And then down came the tropical rain, crashing and
rattling on the corrugated iron roofing of the cooperage. The big hollow
room boomed like a drum. From the darkness arose a strange mixture of
noises, a gurgling, splashing, tinkling, bubbling, washing,
dripping--every liquid sound that nature can produce from the thrashing
and swishing of the rain to the deep steady boom of the river. Hour
after hour the uproar grew louder and more sustained.

"My word," said Severall, we are going to have the father of all the
floods this time. Well, here's the dawn coming at last and that is a
blessing. We've about exploded the third night superstition, anyhow."

"A grey light was stealing through the room, and there was the day upon
us in an instant. The rain had eased off, but the coffee-coloured river
was roaring past like a waterfall. Its power made me fear for the anchor
of the _Gamecock_.

"I must get aboard," said I. "If she drags she'll never be able to beat
up the river again."

"The island is as good as a breakwater," the Doctor answered. "I can
give you a cup of coffee if you will come up to the house."

I was chilled and miserable, so the suggestion was a welcome one. We
left the ill-omened cooperage with its mystery still unsolved, and we
splashed our way up to the house.

"There's the spirit lamp," said Severall. "If you would just put a light
to it, I will see how Walker feels this morning."

He left me, but was back in an instant with a dreadful face.

"He's gone!" he cried hoarsely.

The words sent a thrill of horror through me. I stood with the lamp in
my hand, glaring at him.

"Yes, he's gone!" he repeated. "Come and look!"

I followed him without a word, and the first thing that I saw as I
entered the bedroom was Walker himself lying huddled on his bed in the
grey flannel sleeping suit in which I had helped to dress him on the
night before.

"Not dead, surely!" I gasped.

The Doctor was terribly agitated. His hands were shaking like leaves in
the wind.

"He's been dead some hours."

"Was it fever?"

"Fever! Look at his foot."

I glanced down and a cry of horror burst from my lips. One foot was not
merely dislocated, but was turned completely round in a most grotesque
contortion.

"Good God," I cried. "What can have done this?"

Severall had laid his hand upon the dead man's chest.

"Feel here," he whispered.

I placed my hand at the same spot. There was no resistance. The body was
absolutely soft and limp. It was like pressing a sawdust doll.

"The breast-bone is gone," said Severall in the same awed whisper. "He's
broken to bits. Thank God that he had the laudanum. You can see by his
face that he died in his sleep."

"But who can have done this?"

"I've had about as much as I can stand," said the Doctor, wiping his
forehead. "I don't know that I'm a greater coward than my neighbours,
but this gets beyond me. If you're going out to the _Gamecock_--"

"Come on!" said I, and off we started. If we did not run it was because
each of us wished to keep up the last shadow of his self-respect before
the other. It was dangerous in a light canoe on that swollen river, but
we never paused to give the matter a thought. He bailing and I paddling
we kept her above water, and gained the deck of the yacht. There, with
two hundred yards of water between us and this cursed island we felt
that we were our own men once more.

"We'll go back in an hour or so," said he. "But we need have a little
time to steady ourselves. I wouldn't have had the niggers see me as I
was just now for a year's salary."

"I've told the steward to prepare breakfast. Then we shall go back,"
said I. "But in God's name, Doctor Severall, what do you make of it
all?"

"It beats me--beats me clean. I've heard of Voodoo devilry, and I've
laughed at it with the others. But that poor old Walker, a decent,
God-fearing, nineteenth-century, Primrose-League Englishman should go
under like this without a whole bone in his body--it's given me a shake,
I won't deny it. But look there, Meldrum, is that hand of yours mad or
drunk, or what is it?"

Old Patterson, the oldest man of my crew, and as steady as the Pyramids,
had been stationed in the bows with a boat-hook to fend off the drifting
logs which came sweeping down with the current. Now he stood with
crooked knees, glaring out in front of him, and one forefinger stabbing
furiously at the air.

"Look at it!" he yelled. "Look at it!"

And at the same instant we saw it.

A huge black tree trunk was coming down the river, its broad glistening
back just lapped by the water. And in front of it--about three feet in
front--arching upwards like the figure-head of a ship, there hung a
dreadful face, swaying slowly from side to side. It was flattened,
malignant, as large as a small beer-barrel, of a faded fungoid colour,
but the neck which supported it was mottled with a dull yellow and
black. As it flew past the _Gamecock_ in the swirl of the waters I saw two
immense coils roll up out of some great hollow in the tree, and the
villainous head rose suddenly to the height of eight or ten feet,
looking with dull, skin-covered eyes at the yacht. An instant later the
tree had shot past us and was plunging with its horrible passenger
towards the Atlantic.

"What was it?" I cried.

"It is our fiend of the cooperage," said Doctor Severall, and he had
become in an instant the same bluff, self-confident man that he had been
before. "Yes, that is the devil who has been haunting our island. It is
the great python of the Gaboon."

I thought of the stories which I had heard all down the coast of the
monstrous constrictors of the interior, of their periodical appetite,
and of the murderous effects of their deadly squeeze. Then it all took
shape in my mind. There had been a freshet the week before. It had
brought down this huge hollow tree with its hideous occupant. Who knows
from what far distant tropical forest it may have come! It had been
stranded on the little east bay of the island. The cooperage had been
the nearest house. Twice with the return of its appetite it had carried
off the watchman. Last night it had doubtless come again, when Severall
had thought he saw something move at the window, but our lights had
driven it away. It had writhed onwards and had slain poor Walker in his
sleep.

"Why did it not carry him off?" I asked.

"The thunder and lightning must have scared the brute away. There's your
steward, Meldrum. The sooner we have breakfast and get back to the
island the better, or some of those niggers might think that we had been
frightened."



JELLAND'S VOYAGE


"Well," said our Anglo-Jap as we all drew up our chairs round the
smoking-room fire, "it's an old tale out yonder, and may have spilt over
into print for all I know. I don't want to turn this club-room into a
chestnut stall, but it is a long way to the Yellow Sea, and it is just
as likely that none of you have ever heard of the yawl _Matilda_, and of
what happened to Henry Jelland and Willy McEvoy aboard of her.

"The middle of the 'sixties was a stirring time out in Japan. That was
just after the Simonosaki bombardment, and before the Daimio affair.
There was a Tory party and there was a Liberal party among the natives,
and the question that they were wrangling over was whether the throats
of the foreigners should be cut or not. I tell you all, politics have
been tame to me since then. If you lived in a treaty port, you were
bound to wake up and take an interest in them. And to make it better,
the outsider had no way of knowing how the game was going. If the
opposition won it would not be a newspaper paragraph that would tell him
of it, but a good old Tory in a suit of chain mail, with a sword in each
hand, would drop in and let him know all about it in a single upper cut.

"Of course it makes men reckless when they are living on the edge of a
volcano like that. Just at first they are very jumpy, and then there
comes a time when they learn to enjoy life while they have it. I tell
you there's nothing makes life so beautiful as when the shadow of death
begins to fall across it. Time is too precious to be dawdled away then,
and a man lives every minute of it. That was the way with us in
Yokohama. There were many European places of business which had to go on
running, and the men who worked them made the place lively for seven
nights in the week.

"One of the heads of the European colony was Randolph Moore, the big
export merchant. His offices were in Yokohama, but he spent a good deal
of his time at his house up in Jeddo, which had only just been opened to
the trade. In his absence he used to leave his affairs in the hands of
his head clerk, Jelland, whom he knew to be a man of great energy and
resolution. But energy and resolution are two-edged things, you know,
and when they are used against you you don't appreciate them so much.

"It was gambling that set Jelland wrong. He was a little dark-eyed
fellow with black curly hair--more than three-quarters Celt, I should
imagine. Every night in the week you would see him in the same place, on
the left-hand side of the croupier at Matheson's _rouge et noir_ table.
For a long time he won, and lived in better style than his employer. And
then came a turn of luck, and he began to lose so that at the end of a
single week his partner and he were stone broke, Without a dollar to
their names.

"This partner was a clerk in the employ of the same firm--a tall,
straw-haired young Englishman called McEvoy. He was a good boy enough at
the start, but he was clay in the hands of Jelland, who fashioned him
into a kind of weak model of himself. They were for ever on the prowl
together, but it was Jelland who led and McEvoy who followed. Lynch and
I and one or two others tried to show the youngster that he could come
to no good along that line, and when we were talking to him we could win
him round easily enough, but five minutes of Jelland would swing him
back again. It may have been animal magnetism or what you like, but the
little man could pull the big one along like a sixty-foot tug in front
of a full-rigged ship. Even when they had lost all their money they
would still take their places at the table and look on with shining eyes
when anyone else was raking in the stamps.

"But one evening they could keep out of it no longer. Red had turned up
sixteen times running, and it was more than Jelland could bear. He
whispered to McEvoy, and then said a word to the croupier.

"'Certainly, Mr. Jelland; your cheque is as good as notes,' said he.

"Jelland scribbled a cheque and threw it on the black. The card was the
king of hearts, and the croupier raked in the little bit of paper.
Jelland grew angry, and McEvoy white. Another and a heavier cheque was
written and thrown on the table. The card was the nine of diamonds.
McEvoy leaned his head upon his hands and looked as if he would faint.
'By God!' growled Jelland, 'I won't be beat,' and he threw on a cheque
that covered the other two. The card was the deuce of hearts. A few
minutes later they were walking down the Bund, with the cool night-air
playing upon their fevered faces.

"'Of course you know what this means,' said Jelland, lighting a cheroot;
we'll have to transfer some of the office money to our current account.
There's no occasion to make a fuss over it. Old Moore won't look over
the books before Easter. If we have any luck, we can easily replace it
before then.'

"'But if we have no luck?' faltered McEvoy.

"'Tut, man, we must take things as they come. You stick to me, and I'll
stick to you, and we'll pull through together. You shall sign the
cheques to-morrow night, and we shall see if your luck is better than
mine.'

"But if anything it was worse. When the pair rose from the table on the
following evening, they had spent over 5,000 of their employer's money.
But the resolute Jelland was as sanguine as ever.

"'We have a good nine weeks before us before the books will be
examined,' said he. 'We must play the game out, and it will all come
straight.'

"McEvoy returned to his rooms that night in an agony of shame and
remorse. When he was with Jelland he borrowed strength from him; but
alone he recognized the full danger of his position, and the vision of
his old white-capped mother in England, who had been so proud when he
had received his appointment, rose up before him to fill him with
loathing and madness. He was still tossing upon his sleepless couch when
his Japanese servant entered the bedroom. For an instant McEvoy thought
that the long-expected outbreak had come, and plunged for his revolver.
Then, with his heart in his mouth, he listened to the message which the
servant had brought.

"Jelland was downstairs, and wanted to see him.

"What on earth could he want at that hour of night? McEvoy dressed
hurriedly and rushed downstairs. His companion, with a set smile upon
his lips, which was belied by the ghastly pallor of his face, was
sitting in the dim light of a solitary candle, with a slip of paper in
his hands.

"'Sorry to knock you up, Willy,' said he. No eavesdroppers, I suppose?'

"McEvoy shook his head. He could not trust himself to speak.

"'Well, then, our little game is played out. This note was waiting for
me at home. It is from Moore, and says that he will be down on Monday
morning for an examination of the books. It leaves us in a tight place.'

"'Monday!' gasped McEvoy; 'to-day is Friday.'

"'Saturday, my son, and 3 a.m. We have not much time to turn round in.'

"'We are lost!' screamed McEvoy.

"'We soon will be, if you make such an infernal row,' said Jelland
harshly. Now do what I tell you, Willy, and we'll pull through yet.'

"'I will do anything--anything.'

"'That's better. Where's your whisky? It's a beastly time of the day to
have to get your back stiff, but there must be no softness with us, or
we are gone. First of all, I think there is something due to our
relations, don't you?'

"McEvoy stared.

"'We must stand or fall together, you know. Now I, for one, don't intend
to set my foot inside a felon's dock under any circumstances. D'ye see?
I'm ready to swear to that. Are you?'

"'What d'you mean?' asked McEvoy, shrinking back.

"'Why, man, we all have to die, and it's only the pressing of a trigger.
I swear that I shall never be taken alive. Will you? If you don't, I
leave you to your fate.'

"'All right. I'll do whatever you think best.'

"'You swear it?'

"Yes.'

"'Well, mind, you must be as good as your word. Now we have two clear
days to get off in. The yawl _Matilda_ is on sale, and she has all her
fixings and plenty of tinned stuff aboard. We'll buy the lot to-morrow
morning, and whatever we want, and get away in her. But, first, we'll
clear all that is left in the office. There are 5,000 sovereigns in the
safe. After dark we'll get them aboard the yawl, and take our chance of
reaching California. There's no use hesitating, my son, for we have no
ghost of a look-in in any other direction. It's that or nothing.'

"I'll do what you advise.'

"'All right; and mind you get a bright face on you to-morrow, for if
Moore gets the tip and comes before Monday, then--' He tapped the
side-pocket of his coat and looked across at his partner with eyes that
were full of a sinister meaning.

"All went well with their plans next day. The _Matilda_ was bought without
difficulty; and, though she was a tiny craft for so long a voyage, had
she been larger two men could not have hoped to manage her. She was
stocked with water during the day, and after dark the two clerks brought
down the money from the office and stowed it in the hold. Before
midnight they had collected all their own possessions without exciting
suspicion, and at two in the morning they left their moorings and stole
quietly out from among the shipping. They were seen, of course, and were
set down as keen yachtsmen who were on for a good long Sunday cruise;
but there was no one who dreamed that that cruise would only end either
on the American coast or at the bottom of the North Pacific Ocean.
Straining and hauling, they got their mainsail up and set their foresail
and jib. There was a slight breeze from the south-east, and the little
craft went dipping along upon her way. Seven miles from land, however,
the wind fell away and they lay becalmed, rising and falling on the long
swell of a glassy sea. All Sunday they did not make a mile, and in the
evening Yokohama still lay along the horizon.

"On Monday morning down came Randolph Moore from Jeddo, and made
straight for the offices. He had had the tip from someone that his
clerks had been spreading themselves a bit, and that had made him come
down out of his usual routine; but when he reached his place and found
the three juniors waiting in the street with their hands in their
pockets he knew that the matter was serious.

"'What's this?' he asked. He was a man of action, and a nasty chap to
deal with when he had his topmasts lowered.

"' We can't get in,' said the clerks.

"'Where is Mr. Jelland?'

"'He has not come to-day.'

"'And Mr. McEvoy?'

"'He has not come either.'

"Randolph Moore looked serious. 'We must have the door down,' said he.

"'They don't build houses very solid in that land of earthquakes, and in
a brace of shakes they were all in the office. Of course the thing told
its own story. The safe was open, the money gone, and the clerks fled.
Their employer lost no time in talk.

"'Where were they seen last?'

"'On Saturday they bought the _Matilda_ and started for a cruise.'

"Saturday! The matter seemed hopeless if they had got two days' start.
But there was still the shadow of a chance. He rushed to the beach and
swept the ocean with his glasses.

"'My God!' he cried. There's the _Matilda_ out yonder. I know her by the
rake of her mast. I have my hand upon the villains after all!

"But there was a hitch even then. No boat had steam up, and the eager
merchant had not patience to wait. Clouds were banking up along the
haunch of the hills, and there was every sign of an approaching change
of weather. A police boat was ready with ten armed, men in her, and
Randolph Moore himself took the tiller as she shot out in pursuit of the
becalmed yawl.

"Jelland and McEvoy, waiting wearily for the breeze which never came,
saw the dark speck which sprang out from the shadow of the land and grew
larger with every swish of the oars. As she drew nearer, they could see
also that she was packed with men, and the gleam of weapons told what
manner of men they were. Jelland stood leaning against the tiller, and
he looked at the threatening sky, the limp sails, and the approaching
boat.

"'It's a case with us, Willy,' said he. By the Lord, we are two most
unlucky devils, for there's wind in that sky, and another hour would
have brought it to us.'

"McEvoy groaned.

"'There's no good softening over it, my lad,' said Jelland. 'It's the
police boat right enough, and there's old Moore driving them to row like
hell. It'll be a ten-dollar job for every man of them.'

"Willy McEvoy crouched against the side with his knees on the deck. 'My
mother, my poor old mother!' he sobbed.

"'She'll never hear that you have been in the dock anyway,' said
Jelland. 'My people never did much for me, but I will do that much for
them. It's no good, Mac. We can chuck our hands. God bless you, old man!
Here's the pistol.'

"He cocked the revolver, and held the butt towards the youngster. But
the other shrank away from it with little gasps and cries. Jelland
glanced at the approaching boat. It was not more than a few hundred
yards away.

"'There's no time for nonsense,' said he. 'Damn it! man, what's the use
of flinching? You swore it!'

"'No, no, Jelland!'

"'Well, anyhow, I swore that neither of us should be taken. Will you do
it?'

"'I can't! I can't!'

"'Then I will for you.'

"The rowers in the boat saw him lean forwards, they heard two pistol
shots, they saw him double himself across the tiller, and then, before
the smoke had lifted, they found that they had something else to think
of.

"For at that instant the storm broke--one of those short sudden squalls
which are common in these seas. The _Matilda_ heeled over, her sails
bellied out, she plunged her lee-rail into a wave, and was off like a
frightened deer. Jelland's body had jammed the helm, and she kept a
course right before the wind, and fluttered away over the rising sea
like a blown piece of paper. The rowers worked frantically, but the yawl
still drew ahead, and in five minutes it had plunged into the
storm-wrack never to be seen again by mortal eye. The boat put back, and
reached Yokohama with the water washing half-way up to the thwarts.

"And that was how it came that the yawl _Matilda_, with a cargo of five
thousand pounds and a crew of two dead young men, set sail across the
Pacific Ocean. What the end of Jelland's voyage may have been no man
knows. He may have foundered in that gale, or he may have been picked up
by some canny merchant-man, who stuck to the bullion and kept his mouth
shut, or he may still be cruising in that vast waste of waters, blown
north to the Behring Sea, or south to the Malay Islands. It's better to
leave it unfinished than to spoil a true story by inventing a tag to
it."



J. HABAKUK JEPHSON'S STATEMENT


In the month of December in the year 1873, the British ship _Dei Gratia_
steered into Gibraltar, having in tow the derelict brigantine _Marie
Celeste_, which had been picked up in latitude 38 40', longitude 17 15'
W. There were several circumstances in connection with the condition and
appearance of this abandoned vessel which excited considerable comment
at the time, and aroused a curiosity which has never been satisfied.
What these circumstances were was summed up in an able article which
appeared in the _Gibraltar Gazette_. The curious can find it in the issue
for January 4, 1874, unless my memory deceives me. For the benefit of
those, however, who may be unable to refer to the paper in question, I
shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the leading features of
the case.

"We have ourselves," says the anonymous writer in the Gazette, "been
over the derelict _Marie Celeste_, and have closely questioned the
officers of the _Dei Gratia_ on every point which might throw light on the
affair. They are of opinion that she had been abandoned several days, or
perhaps weeks, before being picked up. The official log, which was found
in the cabin, states that the vessel sailed from Boston to Lisbon,
starting upon October 16. It is, however, most imperfectly kept, and
affords little information. There is no reference to rough weather, and,
indeed, the state of the vessel's paint and rigging excludes the idea
that she was abandoned for any such reason. She is perfectly watertight.
No signs of a struggle or of violence are to be detected, and there is
absolutely nothing to account for the disappearance of the crew. There
are several indications that a lady was present on board, a
sewing-machine being found in the cabin and some articles of female
attire. These probably belonged to the captain's wife, who is mentioned
in the log as having accompanied her husband. As an instance of the
mildness of the weather, it may be remarked that a bobbin of silk was
found standing upon the sewing-machine, though the least roll of the
vessel would have precipitated it to the floor. The boats were intact
and slung upon the davits and the cargo, consisting of tallow and
American clocks, was untouched. An old-fashioned sword of curious
workmanship was discovered among some lumber in the forecastle, and this
weapon is said to exhibit a longitudinal striation on the steel, as if
it had been recently wiped. It has been placed in the hands of the
police, and submitted to Dr. Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. The
result of his examination has not yet been published. We may remark, in
conclusion, that. Captain Dalton, of the _Dei Gratia_, an able and
intelligent seaman, is of opinion that the _Marie Celeste_ may have been
abandoned a considerable distance from the spot at which she was picked
up, since a powerful current runs up in that latitude from the African
coast. He confesses his inability, however, to advance any hypothesis
which can reconcile all the facts of the case. In the utter absence of a
clue or grain of evidence, it is to be feared that the fate of the crew
of the _Marie Celeste_ will be added to those numerous mysteries of the
deep which will never be solved until the great day when the sea shall
give up its dead. If crime has been committed, as is much to be
suspected, there is little hope of bringing the perpetrators to
justice."

I shall supplement this extract from the _Gibraltar Gazette_ by quoting, a
telegram from Boston, which went the round of the English papers, and
represented the total amount of information which had been collected
about the _Marie Celeste_. "She was," it said, "a brigantine of 170 tons
burden, and belonged to White, Russell & White, wine importers, of this
city. Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old servant of the firm, and was a man
of known ability and tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, aged
thirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. The crew consisted
of seven hands, including two coloured seamen, and a boy. There were
three passengers, one of whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist on
consumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished advocate for
Abolition in the early days of the movement, and whose pamphlet,
entitled 'Where is thy Brother?' exercised a strong influence on public
opinion before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. Harton, a
writer in the employ of the firm, and. Mr. Septimius Goring, a
half-caste gentleman, from New Orleans. All investigations have failed
to throw any light upon the fate of these fourteen human beings. The
loss of Dr. Jephson will be felt both in political and scientific
circles."

I have here epitomised, for the benefit of the public, all that has been
hitherto known concerning the _Marie Celeste_ and her crew, for the past
ten years have not in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I have
now taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I know of the
ill-fated voyage. I consider that it is a duty which I owe to society,
for symptoms which I am familiar with in others lead me to believe that
before many months my tongue and hand may be alike incapable of
conveying information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narrative, that
I am Joseph Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of Medicine of the University of
Harvard, and ex-Consulting Physician of the Samaritan Hospital of
Brooklyn.

Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed myself before, and
why I have suffered so many conjectures and surmises to pass
unchallenged. Could the ends of justice have been served in any way by
my revealing the facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly have
done so. It seemed to me, however, that there was no possibility of such
a result; and when I attempted after the occurrence, to state my case to
an English official, I was met with such offensive incredulity that I
determined never again to expose myself to the chance of such an
indignity. I can excuse the discourtesy of the Liverpool magistrate,
however, when I reflect upon the treatment which I received at the hands
of my own relatives, who, though they knew my unimpeachable character,
listened to my statement with an indulgent smile as if humouring the
delusion of a monomaniac. This slur upon my veracity led to a quarrel
between myself and John Vanburger, the brother of my wife, and confirmed
me in my resolution to let the matter sink into oblivion--a
determination which I have only altered through my son's solicitations.
In order to make my narrative intelligible, I must run lightly over one
or two incidents in my former life which throw light upon subsequent
events.

My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of the sect called
Plymouth Brethren, and was one of the most respected citizens of Lowell.
Like most of the other Puritans of New England, he was a determined
opponent of slavery, and it was from his lips that I received those
lessons which tinged every action of my life. While I was studying
medicine at Harvard University, I had already made a mark as an advanced
Abolitionist; and when, after taking my degree, I bought a third share
of the practice of Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, I managed, in spite of my
professional duties, to devote a considerable time to the cause which I
had at heart, my pamphlet, "Where is thy Brother?" (Swarburgh, Lister &
Co., 1859) attracting considerable attention.

When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accompanied the 113th New
York Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the second battle
of Bull's Run and at the battle of Gettysburg. Finally, I was severely
wounded at Antietam, and would probably have perished on the field had
it not been for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had me
carried to his house and provided me with every comfort. Thanks to his
charity, and to the nursing which I received from his black domestics, I
was soon able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. It
was during this period of convalescence that an incident occurred which
is closely connected with my story.

Among the most assiduous of the regresses who had watched my couch
during my illness there was one old crone who appeared to exert
considerable authority over the others. She was exceedingly attentive to
me, and I gathered from the few words that passed between us that she
had heard of me, and that she was grateful to me for championing her
oppressed race.

One day as I was sitting alone in the verandah, basking in the sun, and
debating whether I should rejoin Grant's army, I was surprised to see
this old creature hobbling towards me. After looking cautiously around
to see that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of her dress, and
produced a small chamois leather bag which was hung round her neck by a
white cord.

"Massa," she said, bending down and croaking the words into my ear, "me
die soon. Me very old woman. Not stay long on Massa Murray's
plantation."

"You may live a long time yet, Martha," I answered. "You know I am a
doctor. If you feel ill let me know about it, and I will try to cure
you."

"No wish to live--wish to die. I'm gwine to join the heavenly host."
Here she relapsed into one of those half-heathenish rhapsodies in which
negroes indulge. "But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind me
when I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. That one thing
very precious, more precious and more holy than all thing else in the
world. Me, a poor old black woman, have this because my people, very
great people, 'spose they was back in the old country. But you cannot
understand this same as black folk could. My fader give it me, and his
fader give it him, but now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab no
child, no relation, nobody. All round I see black man very bad man.
Black woman very stupid woman. Nobody worthy of the stone. And so I say,
here is Massa Jephson who write books and fight for coloured folk--he
must be a good man, and he shall have it though he is white man, and
nebber can know what it mean or where it came from." Here the old woman
fumbled in the chamois leather bag and pulled out a flattish black stone
with a hole through the middle of it. "Here, take it," she said,
pressing it into my hand; "take it. No harm nebber come from anything
good. Keep it safe--nebber lose it!" and with a warning gesture the old
crone hobbled away in the same cautious way as she had come, looking
from side to side to see if we had been observed.

I was more amused than impressed by the old woman's earnestness, and was
only prevented from laughing during her oration by the fear of hurting
her feelings. When she was gone I took a good look at the stone which
she had given me. It was intensely black, of extreme hardness, and oval
in shape--just such a flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore if
one wished to throw a long way. It was about three inches long, and an
inch and a half broad at the middle, but rounded off at the extremities.
The most curious part about it was several well-marked ridges which ran
in semicircles over its surface, and gave it exactly the appearance of a
human ear. Altogether I was rather interested in my new possession and
determined to submit it, as a geological specimen to my friend Professor
Shroeder of the New York Institute upon the earliest opportunity. In the
meantime I thrust it into my pocket, and rising from my chair started
off for a short stroll in the shrubbery, dismissing the incident from my
mind.

As my wound had nearly healed by this time, I took my leave of Mr.
Murray shortly afterwards. The Union armies were everywhere victorious
and converging on Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary,
and I returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, and married the
second daughter of Josiah Vanburger, the well-known wood engraver. In
the course of a few years I built up a good connection and acquired
considerable reputation in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. I
still kept the old black stone in my pocket, and frequently told the
story of the dramatic way in which I had become possessed of it. I also
kept my resolution of showing it to Professor Shroeder, who was much
interested both by the anecdote and the specimen. He pronounced it to be
a piece of meteoric stone, and drew my attention to the fact that its
resemblance to an ear was not accidental, but that it was most carefully
worked into that shape. A dozen little anatomical points showed that the
worker had been as accurate as he was skilful. "I should not wonder,"
said the Professor, "if it were broken off from some larger statue,
though how such hard material could be so perfectly worked is more than
I can understand. If there is a statue to correspond I should like to
see it!" So I thought at the time, but I have changed my opinion since.

The next seven or eight years of my life were quiet and uneventful.
Summer followed spring, and spring followed winter, without any
variation in my duties. As the practice increased I admitted J. S.
Jackson as partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The continued
strain had told upon my constitution, however, and I became at last so
unwell that my wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who
was my colleague at the Samaritan Hospital. That gentleman examined me,
and pronounced the apex of my left lung to be in a state of
consolidation, recommending me at the same time to go through a course
of medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.

My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me strongly
in favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched by
my meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell & White, who
offered me a passage in one Of his father's ships, the _Marie Celeste_,
which was just starting from Boston. "She is a snug little ship," he
said, "and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing
like a sailing ship for an invalid." I was very much of the same opinion
myself, so I closed with the offer on the spot.

My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels. She
has always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strong
family reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so
we determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or an
effusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, I
was easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and
hard-working man.

I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately to
the office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As I
was sitting in the countinghouse waiting until they should be at liberty
to see me, the words _Marie Celeste_ suddenly attracted my attention. I
looked round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who was leaning across the
polished mahogany counter asking some questions of the clerk at the
other side. His face was turned half towards me, and I could see that he
had a strong dash of negro blood in him, being probably a quadroon or
even nearer akin to the black. His curved aquiline nose and straight
lank hair showed the white strain; but the dark, restless eye, sensuous
mouth, and gleaming teeth all told of his African origin. His complexion
was of a sickly, unhealthy yellow, and as his face was deeply pitted
with small-pox, the general impression was so unfavourable as to be
almost revolting. When he spoke, however, it was in a soft, melodious
voice, and in well-chosen words, and he was evidently a man of some
education.

"I wished to ask a few questions about the _Marie Celeste_," he repeated,
leaning across to the clerk. "She sails the day after to-morrow, does
she not?"

"Yes, sir," said the young clerk, awed into unusual politeness by the
glimmer of a large diamond in the stranger's shirt front.

"Where is she bound for?"

"Lisbon."

"How many of a crew?"

"Seven, sir."

"Passengers?

"Yes, two. One of our young gentlemen, and a doctor from New York."

"No gentleman from the South?" asked the stranger eagerly.

"No, none, sir."

"Is there room for another passenger?"

"Accommodation, for three more," answered the clerk.

"I'll go," said the quadroon decisively; "I'll go, I'll engage my
passage at once. Put it down, will you--Mr. Septimius Goring, of New
Orleans."

The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the stranger, pointing
to a blank space at the bottom. As Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it I
was horrified to observe that the fingers of his right hand had been
lopped off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb and the
palm. I have seen thousands slain in battle, arid assisted at every
conceivable surgical operation, but I cannot recall any sight which gave
me such a thrill of disgust as that great brown sponge-like hand with
the single member protruding from it. He used it skilfully enough,
however, for, dashing off his signature, he nodded to the clerk and
strolled out of the office just as Mr. White sent out word that he was
ready to receive me.

I went down to the _Marie Celeste_ that evening, and looked over my berth,
which was extremely comfortable considering the, small size of the
vessel. Mr. Goring, whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the one
next mine. Opposite was the captain's cabin and a small berth for Mr.
John Harton, a gentleman who was going out in the interests of the firm.
These little rooms were arranged on each side of the passage which led
from the main-deck to the saloon. The latter was a comfortable room, the
panelling tastefully done in oak and mahogany, with a rich Brussels
carpet and luxurious settees. I was very much pleased with the
accommodation, and also with Tibbs the captain, a bluff, sailor-like
fellow, with a loud voice and hearty manner, who welcomed me to the ship
with effusion, and insisted upon our splitting a bottle of wine in his
cabin. He told me that he intended to take his wife and youngest child
with him on the voyage, and that he hoped with good luck to make Lisbon
in three weeks. We had a pleasant chat and parted the best of friends,
he warning me to make the last of my preparations next morning, as he
intended to make a start by the mid-day tide, having now shipped all his
cargo. I went back to my hotel, where I found a letter from my wife
awaiting me, and, after a refreshing night's sleep, returned to the boat
in the morning. From this point I am able to quote from the journal
which I kept in order to vary the monotony of the long sea-voyage. If it
is somewhat bald in places I can at least rely upon its accuracy in
details, as it _Polestar_ conscientiously from day to day.

October 16th.--Cast off our warps at half-past two and were towed out
into the bay, where the tug left us, and with all sail set we bowled
along at about nine knots an hour. I stood upon the poop watching the
low land of America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the evening
haze hid it from my sight. A single red light, however, continued to
blaze balefully behind us, throwing a long track like a trail of blood
upon the water, and it is still visible as I write, though reduced to a
mere speck. The captain is in a bad humour, for two of his hands
disappointed him at the last moment, and he was compelled to ship a
couple of negroes who happened to be on the quay. The missing men were
steady, reliable fellows, who had been with him several voyages, and
their non-appearance puzzled as well as irritated him. Where a crew of
seven men have to work a fair-sized ship the loss of two experienced
seamen is a serious one, for though the negroes may take a spell at the
wheel or swab the decks, they are of little or no use in rough weather.
Our cook is also a black man, and Mr. Septimius Goring has a little
darkie servant, so that we are rather a piebald community. The
accountant, John Harton, promises to be an acquisition, for he is a
cheery, amusing young fellow. Strange how little wealth has to do with
happiness He has all the world before him and is seeking his fortune in
a far land, yet he is as transparently happy as a man can be. Goring is
rich, if I am not mistaken, and so am I; but I know that I have a lung,
and Goring has some deeper trouble still, to judge by his features. How
poorly do we both contrast with the careless, penniless clerk!

October 17th.--Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon the deck for the first time this
morning--a cheerful, energetic woman, with a dear little child just able
to walk and prattle. Young Harton pounced on it at once, and carried it
away to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds of future
dyspepsia in the child's stomach. Thus medicine doth make cynics of us
all! The weather is still all that could be desired, with a fine fresh
breeze from the west-sou'-west. The vessel goes so steadily that you
would hardly know that she was moving were it not for the creaking of
the cordage, the bellying of the sails, and the long white furrow in our
wake. Walked the quarter-deck all morning with the captain, and I think
the keen fresh air has already done my breathing good, for the exercise
did not fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a remarkably intelligent man,
and we had an interesting argument about Maury's observations on ocean
currents, which we terminated by going down into his cabin to consult
the original work. 'There we found Goring, rather to the captain's
surprise, as it is not usual for passengers to enter that sanctum unless
specially invited. He apologised for his intrusion, however, pleading
his ignorance of the usages of ship life; and the good-natured sailor
simply laughed at the incident, begging him to remain and favour us with
his company. Goring pointed to the chronometers, the case of which he
had opened, and remarked that he had been admiring them. He has
evidently some practical knowledge of mathematical instruments, as he
told at a glance which was the most trustworthy of the three, and also
named their price within a few dollars. He had a discussion with the
captain too upon the variation of the compass, and when we came back to
the ocean currents he showed a thorough grasp of the subject. Altogether
he rather improves upon acquaintance, and is a man of decided culture
and refinement. His voice harmonises with his conversation, and both are
the very antithesis of his face and figure.

The noonday observation shows that we have run two hundred and twenty
miles. Towards evening the breeze freshened up, and the first mate
ordered reefs to be taken in the topsails and top-gallant sails in
expectation of a windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen to
twenty-nine. I trust our voyage will not be a rough one, as I am a poor
sailor, and my health would probably derive more harm than good from a
stormy trip, though I have the greatest confidence in the captain's
seamanship and in the soundness of the vessel. Played cribbage with Mrs.
Tibbs after supper, and Harton gave us a couple of tunes on the violin.

October 18th.--The gloomy prognostications of last night were not
fulfilled, as the wind died away again and we are lying now in a long
greasy swell, ruffled here, and there by a fleeting catspaw which is
insufficient to fill the sails. The air is colder than it was yesterday,
and I have put on one of the thick woollen jerseys which my wife knitted
for me. Harton came into my cabin in the morning, and we had a cigar
together. He says that he remembers having seen Goring in Cleveland,
Ohio, in '69. He was, it appears, a mystery then as now, wandering about
without any visible employment, and extremely reticent on his own
affairs. The man interests me as a psychological study. At breakfast
this morning I suddenly had that vague feeling of uneasiness which comes
over some people when closely stared at, and, looking quickly up, I met
his eyes bent upon me with an intensity which amounted to ferocity,
though their expression instantly softened as he made some conventional
remark upon the weather. Curiously enough, Harton says that he had a
very similar experience yesterday upon deck. I observe that Goring
frequently talks to the coloured seamen as he strolls about--a trait
which I rather admire, as it is common to find half-breeds ignore their
dark strain and treat their black kinsfolk with greater intolerance than
a white man would do. His little page is devoted to him, apparently,
which speaks well for his treatment of him. Altogether, the man is a
curious mixture of incongruous qualities, and unless I am deceived in
him will give me food for observation during the voyage.

The captain is grumbling about his chronometers, which do not register
exactly the same time. He says it is the first time that they have ever
disagreed. We were unable to get a noonday observation on account of the
haze. By dead reckoning, we have done about a hundred and seventy miles
in the twenty-four hours. The dark seamen have proved, as the skipper
prophesied, to be very inferior hands, but as they can both manage the
wheel well they are kept steering, and so leave the more experienced men
to work the ship. These details are trivial enough, but a small thing
serves as food for gossip aboard ship. The appearance of a whale in the
evening caused quite a flutter among us. From its sharp back and forked
tail, I should pronounce it to have been a rorqual, or "finner," as they
are called by the fishermen.

October 19th.--Wind was cold, so I prudently remained in my cabin all
day, only creeping out for dinner. Lying in my bunk I can, without
moving, reach my books, pipes, or anything else I may want, which is one
advantage of a small apartment. My old wound began to ache a little
to-day, probably from the cold. Read Montaigne's Essays and nursed
myself. Harton came in in the afternoon with Doddy, the captain's child,
and the skipper himself followed, so that I held quite a reception.

October 20th and 21st.--Still cold, with a continual drizzle of rain,
and I have not been able to leave the cabin. This confinement makes me
feel weak and depressed. Goring came in to see me, but his company did
not tend to cheer me up much, as he hardly uttered a word, but contented
himself with staring at me in a peculiar and rather irritating manner.
He then got up and stole out of the cabin without saying anything. I am
beginning to suspect that the man is a lunatic. I think I mentioned that
his cabin is next to mine. The two are simply divided by a thin wooden
partition which is cracked in many places, some of the cracks being so
large that I can hardly avoid, as I lie in my bunk, observing his
motions in the adjoining room. Without any wish to play the spy, I see
him continually stooping over what appears to be a chart and working
with a pencil and compasses. I have remarked the interest he displays in
matters connected with navigation, but I am surprised that he should
take the trouble to work out the course of the ship. However, it is a
harmless amusement enough, and no doubt he verifies his results by those
of the captain.

I wish the man did not run in my thoughts so much. I had a nightmare on
the night of the 20th, in which I thought my bunk was a coffin, that I
was laid out in it, and that Goring was endeavouring to nail up the lid,
which I was frantically pushing away. Even when I woke up, I could
hardly persuade myself that I was not in a coffin. As a medical man, I
know that a nightmare is simply a vascular derangement of the cerebral
hemispheres, and yet in my weak state I cannot shake off the morbid
impression which it produces.

October 22nd.--A fine day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and a fresh
breeze from the sou'-west which wafts us gaily on our way. There has
evidently been some heavy weather near us, as there is a tremendous
swell on, and the ship lurches until the end of the fore-yard nearly
touches the water. Had a refreshing walk up and down the quarter-deck,
though I have hardly found my sea-legs yet. Several small
birds--chaffinches, I think--perched in the rigging.

4.40 p.m.--While I was on deck this morning I heard a sudden explosion
from the direction of my cabin, and, hurrying down, found that I had
very nearly met with a serious accident. Goring was cleaning a revolver,
it seems, in his cabin, when one of the barrels which he thought was
unloaded went off. The ball passed through the side partition and
imbedded itself in the bulwarks in the exact place where my head usually
rests. I have been under fire too often to magnify trifles, but there is
no doubt that if I had been in the bunk it must have killed me. Goring,
poor fellow, did not know that I had gone on deck that day, and must
therefore have felt terribly frightened. I never saw such emotion in a
man's face as when, on rushing out of his cabin with the smoking pistol
in his hand, he met me face to face as I came down from deck. Of course,
he was profuse in his apologies, though I simply laughed at the
incident.

11 p.m.--A misfortune has occurred so unexpected and so horrible that
my little escape of the morning dwindles into insignificance. Mrs. Tibbs
and her child have disappeared--utterly and entirely disappeared. I can
hardly compose myself to write the sad details. About half-past eight
Tibbs rushed into my cabin with a very white face and asked me if I had
seen his wife. I answered that I had not. He then ran wildly into the
saloon and began groping about for any trace of her, while I followed
him, endeavouring vainly to persuade him that his fears were ridiculous.
We hunted over the ship for an hour and a half without coming on any
sign of the missing woman or child. Poor Tibbs lost his voice completely
from calling her name. Even the sailors, who are generally stolid
enough, were deeply affected by the sight of him as he roamed bareheaded
and dishevelled about the deck, searching with feverish anxiety the most
impossible places, and returning to them again and again with a piteous
pertinacity. The last time she was seen was about seven o'clock, when
she took Doddy on to the poop to give him a breath of fresh air before
putting him to bed. There was no one there at the time except the black
seaman at the wheel, who denies having seen her at all. The whole affair
is wrapped in mystery. My own theory is that while Mrs. Tibbs was
holding the child and standing near the bulwarks it gave a spring and
fell overboard, and that in her convulsive attempt to catch or save it,
she followed it. I cannot account for the double disappearance in any
other way. It is quite feasible that such a tragedy should be enacted
without the knowledge of the man at the wheel, since it was dark at the
time, and the peaked skylights of the saloon screen the greater part of
the quarter-deck. Whatever the truth may be it is a terrible
catastrophe, and has cast the darkest gloom upon our voyage. The mate
has put the ship about, but of course there is not the slightest hope of
picking them up. The captain is lying in a state of stupor in his cabin.
I gave him a powerful dose of opium in his coffee that for a few hours
at least his anguish may be deadened.

October 23rd.--Woke with a vague feeling of heaviness and misfortune,
but it was not until a few moments' reflection that I was able to recall
our loss of the night before. When I came on deck I saw the poor skipper
standing gazing back at the waste of waters behind us which contains
everything dear to him upon earth. I attempted to speak to him, but he
turned brusquely away, and began pacing the deck with his head sunk upon
his breast. Even now, when the truth is so clear, he cannot pass a boat
or an unbent sail without peering under it. He looks ten years older
than he did yesterday morning. Harton is terribly cut up, for he was
fond of little Doddy, and Goring seems sorry too. At least he has shut
himself up in his cabin all day, and when. I got a casual glance at him
his head was resting on his two hands as if in a melancholy reverie. I
fear we are about as dismal a crew as ever sailed. How shocked my wife
will be to hear of our disaster! The swell has gone down now, and we are
doing about eight knots with all sail set and a nice little breeze.
Hyson is practically in command of the ship, as Tibbs, though he does
his best to bear up and keep a brave front, is incapable of applying
himself to serious work.

October 24th.--Is the ship accursed? Was there ever a voyage which began
so fairly and which changed so disastrously? Tibbs shot himself through
the head during the night. I was awakened about three o'clock in the
morning by an explosion, and immediately sprang out of bed and rushed
into the captain's cabin to find out the cause, though with a terrible
presentiment in my heart. Quickly as I went, Goring went more quickly
still, for he was already in the cabin stooping over the dead body of
the captain. It was a hideous sight, for the whole front of his face was
blown in, and the little room was, swimming in blood. The pistol was
lying beside him on the floor, just as it had dropped from his hand. He
had evidently put it to his mouth before pulling the trigger. Goring and
I picked him reverently up and laid him on his bed. The crew had all
clustered into his cabin, and the six white men were deeply grieved, for
they were old hands who had sailed with him many years. There were dark
looks and murmurs among them too, and one of them openly declared that
the ship was haunted. Harton helped to lay the poor skipper out, and we
did him up in canvas between us. At twelve o'clock the fore-yard was
hauled aback, and we committed his body to the deep, Goring reading the
Church of England burial service. The breeze has freshened up, and we
have done ten knots all day and sometimes twelve. The sooner we reach
Lisbon and get away from this accursed ship the better pleased shall I
be. I feel as though we were in a floating coffin. Little wonder that
the poor sailors are superstitious when I, an educated man, feel it so
strongly.

October 25th.--Made a good run all day. Feel listless and depressed.

October 26th.--Goring, Harton, and I had a chat together on deck in the
morning. Harton tried to draw Goring out as to his profession, and his
object in going to Europe, but the quadroon parried all his questions
and gave us no information. Indeed, he seemed to be slightly offended by
Harton's pertinacity, and went down into his cabin. I wonder why we
should both take such an interest in this man! I suppose it is his
striking appearance, coupled with his apparent wealth, which piques our
curiosity. Harton has a theory that he is really a detective, that he is
after some 'criminal who has got away to Portugal, and that he chooses
this peculiar way of travelling that he may arrive unnoticed and pounce
upon his quarry unawares. I think the supposition is rather a
far-fetched one, but Harton bases it upon a book which Goring left on
deck, and which he picked up and glanced over. It was a sort of
scrap-book, it seems, and contained a large number of newspaper
cuttings. All these cuttings related to murders which had been committed
at various times in the States during the last twenty years or so. The
curious thing which Harton observed about them, however, was that they
were invariably murders the authors of which had never been brought to
justice. They varied in every detail, he says, as to the manner of
execution and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly wound
up with the same formula that the murderer was still at large, though,
of course, the police had every reason to expect his speedy capture.
Certainly the incident seems to support Harton's theory, though it may
be a mere whim of Goring's, or, as I suggested to Harton, he may be
collecting materials for a book which shall outvie De Quincy. In any
case it is no business of ours.

October 27th, 28th.--Wind still fair, and we are making good progress.
Strange how easily a human unit may drop out of its place and be
forgotten! Tibbs is hardly ever mentioned now; Hyson has taken
possession of his cabin, and all goes on as before. Were it not for Mrs.
Tibbs's sewing-machine upon a side-table we might forget that the
unfortunate family had ever existed. Another accident occurred on board
to-day, though fortunately not a very serious one. One of our white
hands had gone down the afterhold to fetch up a spare coil of rope, when
one of the hatches which he had removed came crashing down on the top of
him. He saved his life by springing out of the way, but one of his feet
was terribly crushed, and he will be of little use for the remainder of
the voyage. He attributes the accident to the carelessness of his negro
companion, who had helped him to shift the hatches. The latter, however,
puts it down to the roll of the ship. Whatever be the cause, it reduces
our short-handed crew still further. This run of ill-luck seems to be
depressing Harton, for he has lost his usual good spirits and joviality.
Goring is the only one who preserves his cheerfulness. I see him still
working at his chart in his own cabin. His nautical knowledge would be
useful should anything happen to Hyson--which God forbid!

October 29th, 30th.--Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. All quiet
and nothing of note to chronicle.

October 31st.--My weak lungs, combined with the exciting episodes of the
voyage, have shaken my nervous system so much that the most trivial
incident affects me. I can hardly believe that I am the same man who
tied the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicest
precision, under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as nervous as a
child. I was lying half dozing last night about four bells in the middle
watch trying in vain to drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no light
inside my cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in through the
port-hole, throwing a silvery flickering circle upon the door. As I lay
I kept my drowsy eyes upon this circle, and was conscious that it was
gradually becoming less well-defined as my senses left me, when I was
suddenly recalled to full wakefulness by the appearance of a small dark
object in the very centre of the luminous disc. I lay, quietly and
breathlessly watching it. Gradually it grew larger and plainer, and then
I perceived that it was a human hand which had been cautiously inserted
through the chink of the half-closed door--a hand which, as I observed
with a thrill of horror, was not provided with fingers. The door swung
cautiously backwards, and Goring's head followed his hand. It appeared
in the centre of the moonlight, and was framed as it were in a ghastly
uncertain halo, against which his features showed out plainly. It seemed
to me that I had never seen such an utterly fiendish and merciless
expression upon a human face. His eyes were dilated and glaring, his
lips drawn back so as to show his white fangs, and his straight black
hair appeared to bristle over his low forehead like the hood of a cobra.
The sudden and noiseless apparition had such an effect upon me that I
sprang up in bed trembling in every limb, and held out my hand towards
my revolver. I was heartily ashamed of my hastiness when he explained
the object of his intrusion, as he immediately did in the most courteous
language. He had been suffering from toothache, poor fellow I and had
come in to beg some laudanum, knowing that I possessed a medicine chest.
As to a sinister expression he is never a beauty, and what with my state
of nervous tension and the effect of the shifting moonlight it was easy
to conjure up something horrible. I gave him twenty drops, and he went
off again, with many expressions of gratitude. I can hardly say how much
this trivial incident affected me. I have felt unstrung all day.

A week's record of our voyage is here omitted, as nothing eventful
occurred during the time, and my log consists merely of a few pages of
unimportant gossip.

November 7th.--Harton and I sat on the poop all the morning, for the
weather is becoming very warm as we come into southern latitudes. We
reckon that we have done two-thirds of our voyage. How glad we shall be
to see the green banks of the Tagus, and leave this unlucky ship for
ever. I was endeavouring to amuse Harton to-day and to while away the
time by telling him some of the experiences of my past life. Among
others I related to him how I came into the possession of my black
stone, and as a finale I rummaged in the side pocket of my old shooting
coat and produced the identical object in question. He and I were
bending over it together, I pointing out to him the curious ridges upon
its surface, when we were conscious of a shadow falling between us and
the sun, and looking round saw Goring standing behind us glaring over
our shoulders at the stone. For some reason or other he appeared to be
powerfully excited, though he was evidently trying to control himself
and to conceal his emotion. He pointed once or twice at my relic with
his stubby thumb before he could recover himself sufficiently to ask
what it was and how I obtained it--a question put in such a brusque
manner that I should have been offended had I not known the man to be an
eccentric. I told him the story very much as I had told it to Harton. He
listened with the deepest interest and then asked me if I had any idea
what the stone was. I said I had not, beyond that it was meteoric. He
asked me if I had ever tried its effect upon a negro. I said I had not.
"Come," said he, "we'll see what our black friend at the wheel thinks of
it." He took the stone in his hand and went across to the sailor, and
the two examined it carefully. I could see the man gesticulating and
nodding his head excitedly as if making some assertion, while his face
betrayed the utmost astonishment, mixed, I think, with some reverence.
Goring came across the deck to us presently, still holding the stone in
his hand. "He says it is a worthless, useless thing," he said, "and fit
only to be chucked overboard," with which he raised his hand and would
most certainly have made an end of my relic, had the black sailor behind
him not rushed forward and seized him by the wrist. Finding himself
secured Goring dropped the stone and turned away with a very bad grace
to avoid my angry remonstrances at his breach of faith. The black picked
up the stone and handed it to me with a low bow and every sign of
profound respect. The whole affair is inexplicable. I am rapidly coming
to the conclusion that Goring is a maniac or something very near one.
When I compare the effect produced by the stone upon the sailor,
however, with the respect shown to Martha on the plantation, and the
surprise of Goring on its first production, I cannot but come to the
conclusion that I have really got hold of some powerful talisman which
appeals to the whole dark race. I must not trust it in Goring's hands
again.

November 8th, 9th.--What splendid weather we are having! Beyond one
little blow, we have had nothing but fresh breezes the whole voyage.
These two days we have made better runs than any hitherto. It is a
pretty thing to watch the spray fly up from our prow as it cuts through
the waves. The sun shines through it and breaks it up into a number of
miniature rainbows--"sun-dogs," the sailors call them. I stood on the
fo'c'sle-head for several hours to-day watching the effect, and
surrounded by a halo of prismatic colours. The steersman has evidently
told the other blacks about my wonderful stone, for I am treated by them
all with the greatest respect. Talking about optical phenomena, we had a
curious one yesterday evening which was pointed out to me by Hyson. This
was the appearance of a triangular well-defined object high up in the
heavens to the north of us. He explained that it was exactly like the
Peak of Teneriffe as seen from a great distance--the peak was, however,
at that moment at least five hundred miles to the south. It may have
been a cloud, or it may have been one of those strange reflections of
which one reads. The weather is very warm. The mate says that he never
knew it so warm in these latitudes. Played chess with Harton in the
evening.

November 10th.--It is getting warmer and warmer. Some land birds came
and perched in the rigging to-day, though we are still a considerable
way from our destination. The heat is so great that we are too lazy to
do anything but lounge about the decks and smoke. Goring came over to me
to-day and asked me some more questions about my stone; but I answered
him rather shortly, for I have not quite forgiven him yet for the cool
way in which he attempted to deprive me of it.

November 11th, 12th.--Still making good progress. I had no idea Portugal
was ever as hot as this, but no doubt it is cooler on land. Hyson
himself seemed surprised at it, and so do the men.

November 13th.--A most extraordinary event has happened, so
extraordinary as to be almost inexplicable. Either Hyson has blundered
wonderfully, or some magnetic influence has disturbed our instruments.
Just about daybreak the watch on the fo'c'sle-head shouted out that he
heard the sound of surf ahead, and Hyson thought he saw the loom of
land. The ship was put about, and, though no lights were seen, none of
us doubted that we had struck the Portuguese coast a little sooner than
we had expected. What was our surprise to see the scene which was
revealed to us at break of day! As far as we could look on either side
was one long line of surf, great, green billows rolling in and breaking
into a cloud of foam. But behind the surf what was there! Not the green
banks nor the high cliffs of the shores of Portugal, but a great sandy
waste which stretched away and away until it blended with the skyline.
To right and left, look where you would, there was nothing but yellow
sand, heaped in some places into fantastic mounds, some of them several
hundred feet high, while in other parts were long stretches as level
apparently as a billiard board. Harton and I, who had come on deck
together, looked at each other in astonishment, and Harton burst out
laughing. Hyson is exceedingly mortified at the occurrence, and protests
that the instruments have been tampered with. There is no doubt that
this is the mainland of Africa, and that it was really the Peak of
Teneriffe which we saw some days ago upon the northern horizon. At the
time when we saw the land birds we must have been passing some of the
Canary Islands. If we continued on the same course, we are now to the
north of Cape Blanco, near the unexplored country which skirts, the
great Sahara. All we can do is to rectify our instruments as far as
possible and start afresh for our destination.

8.30 p.m.--Have been lying in a calm all day. The coast is now about a
mile and a half from us. Hyson has examined the instruments, but cannot
find any reason for their extraordinary deviation.

This is the end of my private journal, and I must make the remainder of
my statement from memory. There is little chance of my being mistaken
about facts, which have seared themselves into my recollection. That
very night the storm which had been brewing so long burst over us, and I
came to learn whither all those little incidents were tending which I
had recorded so aimlessly. Blind fool that I was not to have seen it
sooner! I shall tell what occurred as precisely as I can.

I had gone into my cabin about half-past eleven, and was preparing to go
to bed, when a tap came at my door. On opening it I saw Goring's little
black page, who told me that his master would like to have a word with
me on deck. I was rather surprised that he should want me at such a late
hour, but I went up without hesitation. I had hardly put my foot on the
quarter-deck before I was seized from behind, dragged down upon my back,
and a handkerchief slipped round my mouth. I struggled as hard as I
could, but a coil of rope was rapidly and firmly wound round me, and I
found myself lashed to the davit of one of the boats, utterly powerless
to do or say anything, while the point of a knife pressed to my throat
warned me to cease my struggles. The night was so dark that I had been
unable hitherto to recognize my assailants, but as my eyes became
accustomed to the gloom, and the moon broke out through the clouds that
obscured it, I made out that I was surrounded by the two negro sailors,
the black cook, and my fellow-passenger, Goring. Another man was
crouching on the deck at my feet, but he was in the shadow and I could
not recognize him.

All this occurred so rapidly that a minute could hardly have elapsed
from the time I mounted the companion until I found myself gagged and
powerless. It was so sudden that I could scarce bring myself to realize
it, or to comprehend what it all meant. I heard the gang round me
speaking in short, fierce whispers to each other, and some instinct told
me that my life was the question at issue. Goring spoke authoritatively
and angrily--the others doggedly and all together, as if disputing his
commands. Then they moved away in a body to the opposite side of the
deck, where I could still hear them whispering, though they were
concealed from my view by the saloon skylights.

All this time the voices of the watch on deck chatting and laughing at
the other end of the ship were distinctly audible, and I could see them
gathered in a group, little dreaming of the dark doings which were going
on within thirty yards of them. Oh That I could have given them one word
of warning, even though I had lost my life in doing it! but it was
impossible. The moon was shining fitfully through the scattered clouds,
and I could see the silvery gleam of the surge, and beyond it the vast
weird desert with its fantastic sand-hills. Glancing down, I saw that
the man who had been crouching on the deck was still lying there, and as
I gazed at him a flickering ray of moonlight fell full upon his upturned
face. Great heaven even now, when more than twelve years have elapsed,
my hand trembles as I write that, in spite of distorted features and
projecting eyes, I recognized the face of Harton, the cheery young clerk
who had been my companion during the voyage. It needed no medical eye to
see that he was quite dead, while the twisted handkerchief round the
neck, and the gag in his mouth, showed the silent way in which the
hell-hounds had done their work. The clue which explained every event of
our voyage came upon me like a flash of light as I gazed on poor
Harton's corpse. Much was dark and unexplained, but I felt a great dim
perception' of the truth.

I heard the striking of a match at the other side of the skylights, and
then I saw the tall, gaunt figure of Goring standing up on the bulwarks
and holding in his hands what appeared to be a dark lantern. He lowered
this for a moment over the side of the ship, and, to my inexpressible
astonishment, I saw it answered instantaneously by a flash among the
sand-hills on shore, which came and went so rapidly, that unless I had
been following the direction of Goring's gaze, I should never have
detected it. Again he lowered the lantern, and again it was answered
from the shore. He then stepped down from the bulwarks, and in doing so
slipped, making such a noise, that for a moment my heart bounded with
the thought that the attention of the watch would be directed to his
proceedings. It was a vain hope. The night was calm and the ship
motionless, so that no idea of duty kept them vigilant. Hyson, who after
the death of Tibbs was in command of both watches, had gone below to
snatch a few hours' sleep, and the boatswain, who was left in charge,
was standing with the other two men at the foot of the foremast.
Powerless, speechless, with the cords cutting into my flesh and the
murdered man at my feet, I awaited the next act in the tragedy.

The four ruffians were standing up now at the other side of the deck.
The cook was armed with some sort of a cleaver, the others had knives,
and Goring had a revolver. They were all leaning against the rail and
looking out over the water as if watching for something. I saw one of
them grasp another's arm and point as if at some object, and following
the direction I made out the loom of a large moving mass making towards
the ship. As it emerged from the gloom I saw that it was a great canoe
crammed with men and propelled by at least a score of paddles. As it
shot under our stern the watch caught sight of it also, and raising a
cry hurried aft. They were too late, however. A swarm of gigantic
negroes clambered over the quarter, and led by Goring swept down the
deck in an irresistible torrent. All opposition was overpowered in a
moment, the unarmed watch were knocked over and bound, and the sleepers
dragged out of their bunks and secured in the same manner. Hyson made an
attempt to defend the narrow passage leading to his cabin, and I heard a
scuffle, and his voice shouting for assistance. There was none to
assist, however, and he was brought on to the poop with the blood
streaming from a deep cut in his forehead. He was gagged like the
others, and a council was held upon our fate by the negroes. I saw our
black seamen pointing towards me and making some statement, which was
received with murmurs of astonishment and incredulity by the savages.
One of them then came over to me, and plunging his hand into my pocket
took out my black stone and held it up. He then handed it to a man who
appeared to be a chief, who examined it as minutely as the light would
permit, and muttering a few words passed it on to the warrior beside
him, who also scrutinized it and passed it on until it had gone from
hand to hand round, the whole circle. The chief then said a few words to
Goring in the native tongue, on which the quadroon addressed me in
English. At this moment I seem to see the scene. The tall masts of the
ship with the moonlight streaming down, silvering the yards and bringing
the network of cordage into hard relief; the group of dusky warriors
leaning on their spears; the dead man at my feet; the line of
white-faced prisoners, and in front of me the loathsome half-breed,
looking in his white linen and elegant clothes a strange contrast to his
associates.

"You will bear me witness," he said in his softest accents, "that I am
no party to sparing your life. If it rested with me you would die as
these other men are about to do. I have no personal grudge against
either you or them, but I have devoted my life to the destruction of the
white race, and you are the first that has ever been in my power and has
escaped me. You may thank that stone of yours for your life. These poor
fellows reverence it, and indeed if it really be what they think it is
they have cause. Should it prove when we get ashore that they are
mistaken, and that its shape and material is a mere chance, nothing can
save your life. In the meantime we wish to treat you well, so if there
are any of your possessions which you would like to take with you, you
are at liberty to get them." As he finished he gave a sign, and a couple
of the negroes unbound me, though without removing the gag. I was led
down into the cabin, where I put a few valuables into my pockets,
together with a pocket-compass and my journal of the voyage. They then
pushed me over the side into a small canoe, which was lying beside the
large one, and my guards followed me, and shoving off began paddling for
the shore. We had got about a hundred yards or so from the ship when our
steersman held up his hand, and the paddlers paused for a moment and
listened. Then on the silence of the night I heard a sort of dull,
moaning sound, followed by a succession of splashes in the water. That
is all I know of the fate of my poor shipmates. Almost immediately
afterwards the large canoe followed us, and the deserted ship was left
drifting about--a dreary spectre-like hulk. Nothing was taken from her
by the savages. The whole fiendish transaction was carried through as
decorously and temperately as though it were a religious rite.

The first grey of daylight was visible in the east as we passed through
the surge and reached the shore. Leaving half a dozen men with the
canoes, the rest of the negroes set off through the sand-hills, leading
me with them, but treating me very gently and respectfully. It was
difficult walking, as we sank over our ankles into the loose, shifting
sand, at every step, and I was nearly dead beat by the time we reached
the native village, or town rather, for it was a place of considerable
dimensions. The houses were conical structures not unlike bee-hives, and
were made of compressed seaweed cemented over with a rude form of
mortar, there, being neither stick nor stone upon the coast nor anywhere
within many hundreds of miles. As we entered the town an enormous crowd
of both sexes came swarming out to meet us, beating tom-toms and howling
and screaming. On seeing me they redoubled their yells and assumed a
threatening attitude, which was instantly quelled by a few words shouted
by my escort. A buzz of wonder succeeded the war-cries and yells of the
moment before, and the whole dense mass proceeded down the broad central
street of the town, having my escort and myself in the centre.

My statement hitherto may seem so strange as to excite doubt in the
minds of those who do not know me, but it was the fact which I am now
about to relate which caused my own brother-in-law to insult me by
disbelief. I can but relate the occurrence in the simplest words, and
trust to chance and time to prove their truth. In the centre of this
main street there was a large building, formed in the same primitive way
as the others, but towering high above them; a stockade of beautifully
polished ebony rails was planted all round it, the framework of the door
was formed by two magnificent elephant's tusks sunk in the ground, on
each side and meeting at the top, and the aperture was closed by a
screen of native cloth richly embroidered with gold. We made our way to
this imposing-looking structure, but on reaching the opening in the
stockade, the multitude stopped and squatted down upon their hams, while
I was led through into the enclosure by a few of the chiefs and elders
of the tribe, Goring accompanying us, and in fact directing the
proceedings. On reaching the screen which closed the temple--for such it
evidently was--my hat and my shoes were removed, and I was then led in,
a venerable old negro leading the way carrying in his hand my stone,
which had been taken from my pocket. The building was only lit up by a
few long slits in the roof, through which the tropical sun poured,
throwing broad golden bars upon the clay floor, alternating with
intervals of darkness.

The interior was even larger than one would have imagined from the
outside appearance. The walls were hung with native mats, shells, and
other ornaments, but the remainder of the great space was quite empty,
with the exception of a single object in the centre. This was the figure
of a colossal negro, which I at first thought to be some real king or
high priest of titanic size, but as I approached it I saw by the way in
which the light was reflected from it that it was a statue admirably cut
in jet-black stone. I was led up to this idol, for such it seemed to be,
and looking at it closer I saw that though it was perfect in every other
respect, one of its ears had been broken short off. The grey-haired
negro who held my relic mounted upon a small stool, and stretching up
his arm fitted Martha's black stone on to the jagged surface on the side
of the statue's head. There could not be a doubt that the one had been
broken off from the other. The parts dovetailed together so accurately
that when the old man removed his hand the ear stuck in its place for a
few seconds before dropping into his open palm. The group round me
prostrated themselves upon the ground at the sight with a cry of
reverence, while the crowd outside, to whom the result was communicated,
set up a wild whooping and cheering.

In a moment I found myself converted from a prisoner into a demi-god. I
was escorted back through the town in triumph, the people pressing
forward to touch my clothing and to gather up the dust on which my foot
had trod. One of the largest huts was put at my disposal, and a banquet
of every native delicacy was served me. I still felt, however, that I
was not a free man, as several spearmen were placed as a guard at the
entrance of my hut. All day my mind was occupied with plans of escape,
but none seemed in any way feasible. On the one side was the great arid
desert stretching away to Timbuctoo, on the other was a sea untraversed
by vessels. The more I pondered over the problem the more hopeless did
it seem. I little dreamed how near I was to its solution.

Night had fallen, and the clamour of the negroes had died gradually
away. I was stretched on the couch of skins which had been provided for
me, and was still meditating over my future, when Goring walked
stealthily into the hut. My first idea was that he had come to complete
his murderous holocaust by making away with me, the last survivor, and I
sprang up upon my feet, determined to defend myself to the last. He
smiled when he saw the action, and motioned me down again while he
seated himself upon the other end of the couch.

"What do you think of me?" was the astonishing question with which he
commenced our conversation.

"Think of you!" I almost yelled. "I think you the vilest, most unnatural
renegade that ever polluted the earth. If we were away from these black
devils of yours I would strangle you with my hands!"

"Don't speak so loud," he said, without the slightest appearance of
irritation. "I don't want our chat to be cut short. So you would
strangle me, would you!" he went on, with an amused smile. "I suppose I
am returning good for evil, for I have come to help you to escape."

"You!" I gasped incredulously.

"Yes, I," he continued. "Oh, there is no credit to me in the matter. I
am quite consistent. There is no reason why I should not be perfectly
candid with you. I wish to be king over these fellows--not a very high
ambition, certainly, but you know what Caesar said about being first in
a village in Gaul. Well, this unlucky stone of yours has not only saved
your life, but has turned all their heads so that they think you are
come down from heaven, and my influence will be gone until you are out
of the way. That is why I am going to help you to escape, since I cannot
kill you "--this in the most natural and dulcet voice, as if the desire
to do so were a matter of course.

"You would give the world to ask me a few questions," he went on, after
a pause; "but you are too proud to do it. Never mind, I'll tell you one
or two things, because I want your fellow white men to know them when
you go back--if you are lucky enough to get back. About that cursed
stone of yours, for instance. These negroes, or at least so the legend
goes, were Mahometans originally. While Mahomet himself was still alive,
there was a schism among his followers, and the smaller party moved away
from Arabia, and eventually crossed Africa. They took away with them, in
their exile, a valuable relic of their old faith in the shape of a large
piece of the black stone of Mecca. The stone was a meteoric one, as you
may have heard, and in its fall upon the earth it broke into two pieces.
One of these pieces is still at Mecca. The larger piece was carried away
to Barbary, where a skilful worker modelled it into the fashion which
you saw to-day. These men are the descendants .of the original seceders
from Mahomet, and they have brought their relic safely through all their
wanderings until they settled in this strange place, where the desert
protects them from their enemies."

"And the ear?" I asked, almost involuntarily.

"Oh, that was the same story over again. Some of the tribe wandered away
to the south a few hundred years ago, and one of them, wishing to have
good luck for the enterprise, got into the temple at night and carried
off one of the ears. There has been a tradition among the negroes ever
since that the ear would come back some day. The fellow who carried it
was caught by some slaver, no doubt, and that was how it got into
America, and so into your hands--and you have had the honour of
fulfilling the prophecy."

He paused for a few minutes, resting his head upon his hands, waiting
apparently for me to speak. When he looked up again, the whole
expression of his face had changed. His features were firm and set, and
he changed the air of half-levity with which he had spoken before for
one of sternness and almost ferocity.

"I wish you to carry a message back," he said, "to the white race, the
great dominating race whom I hate and defy. Tell them that I have
battened on their blood for twenty years, that I have slain them until
even I became tired of what had once been a joy, that I did this
unnoticed and unsuspected in the face of every precaution which their
civilization could suggest. There is no satisfaction in revenge when
your enemy does not know who has struck him. I am not sorry, therefore,
to have you as a messenger. There is no need why I should tell you how
this great hate became born in me. See this," and he held up his
mutilated hand; "that was done by a white man's knife. My father was
white, my mother was a slave. When he died she was sold again, and I, a
child then, saw her lashed to death to break her of some of the little
airs and graces which her late master had encouraged in her. My young
wife, too, oh, my young wife!" a shudder ran through his whole frame.
"No matter! I swore my oath, and I kept it. From Maine to Florida, and
from Boston to San Francisco, you could track my steps by sudden deaths
which baffled the police. I warred against the whole white race as they
for centuries had warred against the black one. At last, as I tell you,
I sickened of blood. Still, the sight of a white face was abhorrent to
me, and I determined to find some bold free black people and to throw in
my lot with them, to cultivate their latent powers and to form a nucleus
for a great coloured nation. This idea possessed me, and I travelled
over the world for two years seeking for what I desired. At last I
almost despaired of finding it. There was no hope of regeneration in the
slave-dealing Soudanese, the debased Fantee, or the Americanized negroes
of Liberia. I was returning from my quest when chance brought me in
contact with this magnificent tribe of dwellers in the desert, and I
threw in my lot with them. Before doing so, however, my old instinct of
revenge prompted me to make one last visit to the United States, and I
returned from it in the _Marie Celeste_.

"As to the voyage itself, your intelligence will have told you by this
time that, thanks to my manipulation, both compasses and chronometers
were entirely untrustworthy. I alone worked out the course with correct
instruments of my own, while the steering was done by my black friends
under my guidance. I pushed Tibbs's wife overboard. What You look
surprised and shrink away. Surely you had guessed that by this time. I
would have shot you that day through the partition, but unfortunately
you were not there. I tried again afterwards, but you were awake. I shot
Tibbs. I think the idea of suicide was carried out rather neatly. Of
course when once we got on the coast the rest was simple. I had
bargained that all on board should die; but that stone of yours upset my
plans. I also bargained that there should be no plunder. No one can say
we are pirates. We have acted from principle, not from any sordid
motive."

I listened in amazement to the summary of his crimes which this strange
man gave me, all in the quietest and most composed of voices, as though
detailing incidents of every-day occurrence. I still seem to see him
sitting like a hideous nightmare at the end of my couch, with the single
rude lamp flickering over his cadaverous features.

"And now," he continued, "there is no difficulty about your escape.
These stupid adopted children of mine will say that you have gone back
to heaven from whence you came. The wind blows off the land. I have a
boat all ready for you, well stored with provisions and water. I am
anxious to be rid of you, so you may rely that nothing is neglected.
Rise up and follow me."

I did what he commanded, and he led me through the door of the hut. The
guards had either been withdrawn, or Goring had arranged matters with
them. We passed unchallenged through the town and across the sandy
plain. Once more I heard the roar of the sea, and saw the long white
line of the surge. Two figures were standing upon the shore arranging
the gear of a small boat. They were the two sailors who had been with us
on the voyage.

"See him safely through the surf," said Goring. The two men sprang in
and pushed off, pulling me in after them. With mainsail and jib we ran
out from the land and passed safely over the bar. Then my two companions
without a word of farewell sprang overboard, and I saw their heads like
black dots on the white foam as they made their way back to the shore,
while I scudded away into the blackness of the night. Looking back I
caught my last glimpse of Goring. He was standing upon the summit of a
sand-hill, and the rising moon behind him threw his gaunt angular figure
into hard relief. He was waving his arms frantically to and fro; it may
have been to encourage me on my way, but the gestures seemed to me at
the time to be threatening ones, and I have often thought that it was
more likely that his old savage instinct had returned when he realized
that I was out of his power. Be that as it may, it was the last that I
ever saw or ever shall see of Septimius Goring.

There is no need for me to dwell upon my solitary voyage. I steered as
well as I could for the Canaries, but was picked up upon the fifth day
by the British and African Steam Navigation Company's boat Monrovia. Let
me take this opportunity of tendering my sincerest thanks to Captain
Stornoway and his officers for the great kindness which they showed me
from that time till they landed me in Liverpool, where I was enabled to
take one of the Guion boats to New York.

From the day on which I found myself once more in the bosom of my family
I have said little of what I have undergone. The subject is still an
intensely painful one to me, and the little which I have dropped has
been discredited. I now put the facts before the public as they
occurred, careless how far they may be believed, and simply writing them
down because my lung is growing weaker, and I feel the responsibility of
holding my peace longer. I make no vague statement. Turn to your map of
Africa. There above Cape Blanco, where the land trends away north and
south from the westernmost point of the continent, there it is that
Septimius Goring still reigns over his dark subjects, unless retribution
has overtaken him; and there, where the long green ridges run swiftly in
to roar and hiss upon the hot yellow sand, it is there that Harton lies
with Hyson and the other poor fellows who were done to death in the
_Marie Celeste_.



THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX


"All aboard?" said the captain.

"All aboard, sir!" said the mate.

"Then stand by to let her go."

It was nine o'clock on a Wednesday morning. The good ship _Spartan_ was
lying off Boston Quay with her cargo under hatches, her passengers
shipped, and everything prepared for a start. The warning whistle had
been sounded twice; the final bell had been rung. Her bowsprit was
turned towards England, and the hiss of escaping steam showed that all
was ready for her run of three thousand miles. She strained at the warps
that held her like a greyhound at its leash.

I have the misfortune to be a very, nervous man. A sedentary literary
life has helped to increase the morbid love of solitude which, even in
my boyhood, was one of my distinguishing characteristics. As I stood
upon the quarter-deck of the Transatlantic steamer, I bitterly cursed
the necessity which drove me back to the land of my forefathers. The
shouts of the sailors, the rattle of the cordage, the farewells of my
fellow-passengers, and the cheers of the mob, each and all jarred upon
my sensitive nature. I felt sad too. An indescribable feeling, as of
some impending calamity, seemed to haunt me. The sea was calm, and the
breeze light. There was nothing to disturb the equanimity of the most
confirmed of landsmen, yet I felt as if I stood upon the verge of a
great though indefinable danger. I have noticed that such presentiments
occur often in men of my peculiar temperament, and that they are not
uncommonly fulfilled. There is a theory that it arises from a species of
second-sight, a subtle spiritual communication with the future. I well
remember that Herr Raumer, the eminent spiritualist, remarked on one
occasion that I was the most sensitive subject as regards supernatural
phenomena that he had ever encountered in the whole of his wide
experience. Be that as it may, I certainly felt far from happy as I
threaded my way among the weeping, cheering groups which dotted the
white decks of the good ship _Spartan_. Had I known the experience which
awaited me in the course of the next twelve hours I should even then at
the last moment have sprung upon the shore, and made my escape from the
accursed vessel.

"Time's up!" said the captain, closing his chronometer with a snap, and
replacing it in his pocket. "Time's up!" said the mate. There was a last
wail from the whistle, a rush of friends and relatives upon the land.
One warp was loosened, the gangway was being pushed away, when there was
a shout from the bridge, and two men appeared, running rapidly down the
quay. They were waving their hands and making frantic gestures,
apparently with the intention of stopping the ship. "Look sharp!"
shouted the crowd. "Hold hard," cried the captain. "Ease her! stop her! Up
with the gangway!" and the two men sprang aboard just as the second warp
parted, and a convulsive throb of the engine shot us clear of the shore.
There was a cheer from the deck, another from the quay, a mighty
fluttering of handkerchiefs, and the great vessel ploughed its way out
of the harbour, and steamed grandly away across the placid bay.

We were fairly started upon our fortnight's voyage. There was a general
dive among the passengers in quest of berths and luggage, while a
popping of corks in the saloon proved that more than one bereaved
traveller was adopting artificial, means for drowning the pangs of
separation. I glanced round the deck and took a running inventory of my
_compagnons de voyage_. They presented the usual types met with upon these
occasions. There was no striking face among them. I speak as a
connoisseur, for faces are a speciality of mine. I pounce upon a
characteristic feature as a botanist does on a flower, and bear it away
with me to analyse at my leisure, and classify and label it in my little
anthropological museum. There was nothing worthy of me here. Twenty
types of young America going to "Yurrup," a few respectable middle-aged
couples as an antidote, a sprinkling of clergymen and professional men,
young ladies, bagmen, British exclusives, and all the _olla podrida_ of an
ocean-going steamer. I turned away from them and gazed back at the
receding shores of America, and, as a cloud of remembrances rose before
me, my heart warmed towards the land of my adoption. A pile of
portmanteaux and luggage chanced to be lying on one side of the deck,
awaiting their turn to be taken below. With my usual love for solitude I
walked behind these, and sitting on a coil of rope between them and the
vessel's side, I indulged in a melancholy reverie.

I was aroused from this by a whisper behind me. "Here's a quiet place,"
said the voice. "Sit down, and we can talk it over in safety."

Glancing through a chink between two colossal chests, I saw that the
passengers who had joined us at the last moment were standing at the
other side of the pile. They had evidently failed to see me as I
crouched in the shadow of the boxes. The one who had spoken was a tall
and very thin man with a blue-black beard and a colourless face. His
manner was nervous and excited. His companion was a short plethoric
little fellow, with a brisk and resolute air. He had a cigar in his
mouth, and a large ulster slung over his left arm. They both glanced
round uneasily, as if to ascertain whether they were alone. "This is
just the place," I heard the other say. They sat down on a bale of goods
with their backs turned towards me, and I found myself, much against my
will, playing the unpleasant part of eavesdropper to their conversation.

"Well, Muller," said the taller of the two, "we've got it aboard right
enough."

"Yes," assented the man whom he had addressed as Muller, "it's safe
aboard."

"It was rather a near go."

"It was that, Flannigan."

"It wouldn't have done to have missed the ship."

"No, it would have put our plans out."

"Ruined them entirely," said the little man, and puffed furiously at his
cigar for some minutes. "I've got it here," he said at last.

"Let me see it."

"Is no one looking?"

"No, they are nearly all below."

"We can't be too careful where so much is at stake," said Muller, as he
uncoiled the ulster which hung over his arm, and disclosed a dark object
which he laid upon the deck. One glance at it was enough to cause me to
spring to my feet with an exclamation of horror. Luckily they were so
engrossed in the matter on hand that neither of them observed me. Had
they turned their heads they would infallibly have seen my pale face
glaring at them over the pile of boxes.

From the first moment of their conversation a horrible misgiving had
come over me. It seemed more than confirmed as I gazed at what lay
before me. It was a little square box made of some dark wood, and ribbed
with brass. I suppose it was about the size of a cubic foot. It reminded
me of a pistol-case, only it was decidedly higher. There was an
appendage to it, however, on which my eyes were riveted, and which
suggested the pistol itself rather than its receptacle. This was a
trigger-like arrangement upon the lid, to which a coil of string was
attached. Beside this trigger there was a small square aperture through
the wood. The tall man, Flannigan, as his companion called him, applied
his eye to this, and peered in for several minutes with an expression of
intense anxiety upon his face.

"It seems right enough," he said at last.

"I tried not to shake it," said his companion.

"Such delicate things need delicate treatment. Put in some of the
needful, Muller."

The shorter man fumbled in his pocket for some time, and then produced a
small paper packet. He opened this, and took out of it half a handful of
whitish granules, which he poured down through the hole. A curious
clicking noise followed from the inside of the box, and both men smiled
in a satisfied way.

"Nothing much wrong there," said Flannigan.

"Right as a trivet," answered his companion.

"Look out! There's someone coming. Take it down to our berth. It
wouldn't do to have anyone suspecting what our game is, or, worse still,
have them fumbling with it, and letting it off by mistake."

"Well, it would come to the same, whoever let it off," said Muller.

"They'd be rather astonished if they pulled the trigger," said the
taller, with a sinister laugh. "Ha, ha! fancy their faces! It's not a
bad bit of workmanship, I flatter myself."

"No," said Muller. "I hear it is your own design, every bit of it, isn't
it?

"Yes, the spring and the sliding shutter are my own."

"We should take out a patent."

And the two men laughed again with a cold harsh laugh, as they took up
the little brass-bound package, and concealed it in Muller's voluminous
overcoat.

"Come down, and we'll stow it in our berth," said, Flannigan. "We won't
need it until tonight and it will be safe there."

His companion assented, and the two went arm-inarm along the deck and
disappeared down the hatchway, bearing the mysterious little box away
with them. The last words I heard were a muttered injunction from
Flannigan to carry it carefully, and avoid knocking it against the
bulwarks.

How long I remained sitting on that coil of rope I shall never know. The
horror of the conversation I had just overheard was aggravated by the
first sinking qualms of sea-sickness. The long roll of the Atlantic was
beginning to assert itself over both ship and passengers. I felt
prostrated in mind and in body, and fell into a state of collapse, from
which I was finally aroused by the hearty voice of our worthy
quartermaster.

"Do you mind moving out of that, sir?" he said. "We want to get this
lumber cleared off the deck."

His bluff manner and ruddy healthy face seemed to be a positive insult
to me in my present condition. Had I been a courageous or a muscular man
I could have struck him. As it was I treated the honest sailor to a
melodramatic scowl which seemed to cause him no small astonishment, and
strode past him to the other side of the deck. Solitude was what I
wanted--solitude in which I could brood over the frightful crime which
was being hatched before my very eyes. One of the quarter-boats was
hanging rather low down upon the davits. An idea struck me, and climbing
on the bulwarks, I stepped into the empty boat and lay down in the
bottom of it. Stretched on my back, with nothing but the blue sky above
me, and an occasional view of the mizen as the vessel rolled, I was at
least alone with my sickness and my thoughts.

I tried to recall the words which had been spoken in the terrible
dialogue I had overheard. Would they admit of any construction but the
one which stared me in the face? My reason forced me to confess that
they would not. I endeavoured to array the various facts which formed
the chain of circumstantial evidence, and to find a flaw in it; but no,
not a link was missing. There was the strange way in which our
passengers had come aboard, enabling them to evade any examination of
their luggage. The very name of "Flannigan" smacked of Fenianism, while
"Muller" suggested nothing but socialism and murder. Then their
mysterious manner; their remark that their plans would have been ruined
had they missed the ship; their fear of being observed; last, but not
least, the clenching evidence in the production of the little square box
with the trigger, and their grim joke about the face of the man who
should let it off by mistake--could these facts lead to any conclusion
other than that they were the desperate emissaries of somebody,
political or otherwise, who intended to sacrifice themselves, their
fellow-passengers, and the ship, in one great holocaust? The whitish
granules which I had seen one of them pour into the box formed no doubt
a fuse or train for exploding it. I had myself heard a sound come from,
it which might have emanated from some delicate piece of machinery. But
what did they mean by their allusion to to-night? Could it be that they
contemplated putting their horrible design into execution on the very
first evening of our voyage? The mere thought of it sent a cold shudder
over me, and made me for a moment superior even to the agonies of
sea-sickness.

I have remarked that I am a physical coward. I am a moral one also. It
is seldom that the two defects are united to such a degree in the one
character. I have known many men who were most sensitive to bodily
danger, and yet were distinguished for the independence and strength of
their minds. In my own case, however, I regret to say that my quiet and
retiring habits had fostered a nervous dread of doing anything
remarkable or making myself conspicuous, which exceeded, if possible, my
fear of personal peril. An ordinary mortal placed under the
circumstances in which I now found myself would have gone at once to the
captain, confessed his fears, and put the matter into his hands. To me,
however, constituted as I am, the idea was most repugnant. The thought
of becoming the observed of all observers, cross-questioned by a
stranger, and confronted with two desperate conspirators in the
character of a denouncer, was hateful to me. Might it not by some remote
possibility prove that I was mistaken? What would be my feelings if
there should turn out to be no grounds for my accusation? No, I would
procrastinate; I would keep my eye on the two desperadoes and dog them
at every turn. Anything was better than the possibility of being wrong.

Then it struck me that even at that moment some new phase of the
conspiracy might be developing itself. The nervous excitement seemed to
have driven away my incipient attack of sickness, for I was able to
stand up and lower myself from the boat without experiencing any return
of it. I staggered along the deck with the intention of descending into
the cabin and finding how my acquaintances of the morning were occupying
themselves. Just as I had my hand on the companion-rail, I was
astonished by receiving a hearty slap on the back, which nearly shot me
down the steps with more haste than dignity.

"Is that you, Hammond?" said a voice which I seemed to recognize.

"God bless me," I said, as I turned round, "it can't be Dick Merton!
Why, how are you, old man?"

This was an unexpected piece of luck in the midst of my perplexities.
Dick was just the man I wanted; kindly and shrewd in his nature, and
prompt in his actions, I should have no difficulty in telling him my
suspicions, and could rely upon his sound sense to point out the best
course to pursue. Since I was a little lad in the second form at Harrow,
Dick had been my adviser and protector. He saw at a glance that
something had gone wrong with me.

"Hullo!" he said, in his kindly way, "what's put you about, Hammond? You
look as white as a sheet. _Mal de mer_, eh?"

"No, not that altogether," said I. "Walk up and down with me, Dick; I
want to speak to you. Give me your arm."

Supporting myself on Dick's stalwart frame, I tottered along by his
side; but it was some time before I could muster resolution to speak.

"Have a cigar?" said he, breaking the silence.

"No, thanks," said I. "Dick, we shall be all corpses to-night."

"That's no reason against your having a cigar now," said Dick, in his
cool way, but looking hard at me from under his shaggy eyebrows as he
spoke. He evidently thought that my intellect was a little gone.

"No," I continued, "it's no laughing matter; and I speak in sober
earnest, I assure you. I have discovered an infamous conspiracy, Dick,
to destroy this ship and every soul that is in her"; and I then
proceeded systematically, and in order, to lay before him the chain of
evidence which I had collected. "There, Dick," I said, as I concluded,
"what do you think of that and, above all, what am I to do?"

To my astonishment he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

"I'd be frightened," he said, "if any fellow but you had told me as
much. You always had a way, Hammond, of discovering mares' nests. I like
to see the old traits breaking out again. Do you remember at school how
you swore there was a ghost in the long room, and how it turned out to
be your own reflection in the mirror? Why, man," he continued, "what
object would anyone have in destroying this ship? We have no great
political guns aboard. On the contrary, the majority of the passengers
are Americans. Besides, in this sober nineteenth century, the most
wholesale murderers stop at including themselves among their victims.
Depend upon it, you have misunderstood them, and have mistaken a
photographic camera, or something equally, innocent, for an infernal
machine."

"Nothing of the sort, sir," said I, rather touchily. "You will learn to
your cost, I fear, that I have neither exaggerated nor misinterpreted a
word. As to the box, I have certainly never before seen one like it. It
contained delicate machinery; of that I am convinced, from the way in
which the men handled it and spoke of it."

"You'd make out every packet of perishable goods to be a torpedo," said
Dick, "if that is to be your only test."

"The man's name was Flannigan," I continued.

"I don't think that would go very far in a court of law," said Dick;
"but come, I have finished my cigar. Suppose we go down together and
split a bottle of claret. You can point out these two Orsinis to me if
they are still in the cabin."

"All right," I answered; "I am determined not to lose sight of them all
day. Don't look hard at them, though, for I don't want them to think
that they are being watched."

"Trust me," said Dick; "I'll look as unconscious and guileless as a
lamb;" and with that we passed down the companion and into the saloon.

A good many passengers were scattered about the great central table,
some wrestling with refractory carpetbags and rug-straps, some having
their luncheon, and a few reading and otherwise amusing themselves. The
objects of our quest were not there. We passed down the room and peered
into every berth, but there was no sign of them. "Heavens!" thought I,
"perhaps at this very moment they are beneath our feet, in the hold or
engine-room, preparing their diabolical contrivance!"

It was better to know the worst than to remain in such suspense.

"Steward," said Dick, "are there any other gentlemen about?"

"There's two in the smoking-room, sir," answered the steward.

The smoking-room was a little snuggery, luxuriously fitted up, and
adjoining the pantry. We pushed the door open and entered. A sigh of
relief escaped from my bosom. The very first object on which my eye
rested was the cadaverous face of Flannigan, with its hard-set mouth and
unwinking eye. His companion sat opposite to him. They were both
drinking, and a pile of cards lay upon the table. They were engaged in
playing as we entered. I nudged Dick to show him that we had found our
quarry, and we sat down beside them with as unconcerned an air as
possible. The two conspirators seemed to take little notice of our
presence. I watched them both narrowly. The game at which they were
playing was "Napoleon." Both were adepts at it, and I could not help
admiring the consummate nerve of men who, with such a secret at their
hearts, could devote their minds to the manipulation of a long suit or
the finessing of a queen. Money changed hands rapidly; but the run of
luck seemed to be all against the taller of the, two players. At last he
threw down his cards on the table with an oath, and refused to go on.

"No I'm hanged if I do," he said. "I haven't had more than two of a suit
for five hands."

"Never mind," said his comrade, as he gathered up his winnings; "a few
dollars one way or the other won't go very far after tonight's work."

I was astonished at the rascal's and city, but took care to keep my eyes
fixed abstractedly upon the ceiling, and drank my wine in as unconscious
a manner as possible. I felt that Flannigan was looking towards me with
his wolfish eyes to see if I had noticed the allusion. He whispered
something to his companion which I failed to catch. It was a caution, I
suppose, for the other answered rather angrily--

"Nonsense! Why shouldn't I say what I like? Over-caution is just what
would ruin us."

"I believe you want it not to come off," said Flannigan.

"You believe nothing of the sort," said the other, speaking rapidly and
loudly. "You know as well as I do that when I play for a stake I like to
win it. But I won't have my words criticized and cut short by you or any
other man. I have as much interest in our success as you have--more, I
hope."

He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at his cigar for some
minutes. The eyes of the other ruffian wandered alternately from Dick
Merton to myself. I knew that I was in the presence of a desperate man,
that a quiver of my lip might be the signal for him to plunge a weapon
into my heart, but I betrayed more self-command than I should have given
myself credit for under such trying circumstances. As to Dick, he was as
immovable and apparently as unconscious as the Egyptian Sphinx.

There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, broken only by the
crisp rattle of the cards, as the man Muller shuffled them up before
replacing them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed and
irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, he glanced
defiantly at his companion and turned towards me.

"Can you tell me, sir," he said, "when this ship will be heard of
again?"

They were both looking at me; but though my face may have turned a
trifle paler, my voice was as steady as ever as I answered--

"I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it enters
Queenstown Harbour."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the angry little man, "I knew you would say that.
Don't you kick me under the table, Flannigan, I won't stand it. I know
what I am doing.

"You are wrong, sir," he continued, turning to me, "utterly wrong."

"Some passing ship, perhaps," suggested Dick. "No, nor that either."

"The weather is fine," I said; "why should we not be heard of at our
destination?"

"I didn't say we shouldn't be heard of at our destination. Possibly we
may not, and in any case that is not where we shall be heard of first."

"Where, then?" asked Dick.

"That you shall never know. Suffice it that a rapid and mysterious
agency will signal our whereabouts, and that before the day is out. Ha,
ha!" and he chuckled once again.

"Come on deck!" growled his comrade; "you have drunk too much of that
confounded brandy and water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!"
and taking him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of the
smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the companion together, and
on to the deck.

"Well, what do you think now?" I gasped, as I turned towards Dick. He
was as imperturbable as ever.

"Think!" he said; "why, I think what his companion thinks, that we have
been listening to the ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of
brandy."

"Nonsense, Dick! you saw how the other tried to stop his tongue."

"Of course he did. He didn't want his friend to make a fool of himself
before strangers. Maybe the short one is a lunatic, and the other his
private keeper. It's quite possible."

"O, Dick, Dick," I cried, "how can you be so blind! Don't you see that
every word confirmed our previous suspicion?"

"Humbug, man," said Dick; "you're working yourself into a state of
nervous excitement. Why, what the devil do you make of all that nonsense
about a mysterious agent which would signal our whereabouts?"

"I'll tell you what he meant, Dick," I said, bending forward and
grasping my friend's arm. "He meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far
out at sea by some lonely fisherman off the American coast. That's what
he meant."

"I didn't think you were such a fool, Hammond," said Dick Merton
testily. "If you try to fix a literal meaning on the twaddle that every
drunken man talks, you will come to some queer conclusions. Let us
follow their example, and go on deck. You need fresh air, I think.
Depend upon it, your liver is out of order. A sea-voyage will do you a
world of good."

"If ever I see the end of this one," I groaned, "I'll promise never to
venture on another. They are laying the cloth, so it's hardly worth
while my going up. I'll stay below and unpack my things."

"I hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant state of mind," said
Dick; and he went out, leaving me to my thoughts until the clang of the
great gong summoned us to the saloon.

My appetite, I need hardly say, had not been improved by the incidents
which had occurred during the day. I sat down, however, mechanically at
the table, and listened to the talk which was going on around me. There
were nearly a hundred first-class passengers, and as the wine began to
circulate, their voices combined with the clash of the dishes to form a
perfect babel. I found myself seated between a very stout and nervous
old lady and a prim little clergyman; and as neither made any advances I
retired into my shell, and spent my time in observing the appearance of
my fellow-voyagers. I could see Dick in the dim distance dividing his
attentions between a jointless fowl in front of him and a self-possessed
young lady at his side. Captain Dowie was doing the honours at my end,
while the surgeon of the vessel was seated at the other. I was glad to
notice that Flannigan was placed almost opposite to me. As long as I had
him before my eyes I knew that, for the time at least, we were safe. He
was sitting with what was meant to be a sociable smile on his grim face.
It did not escape me that he drank largely of wine--so largely that even
before the dessert appeared his voice had become decidedly husky. His
friend Muller was seated a few places lower down. He ate little, and
appeared to be nervous and restless.

"Now, ladies," said our genial captain, "I trust that you will consider
yourselves at home aboard my vessel. I have no fears for the gentlemen.
A bottle of champagne, steward. Here's to a fresh breeze and a quick
passage! I trust our friends in America will hear of our safe arrival in
eight days, or in nine at the very latest."

I looked up. Quick as was the glance which passed between Flannigan and
his confederate, I was able to intercept it. There was an evil smile
upon the former's thin lips.

The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea, amusements, religion,
each was in turn discussed. I remained a silent though an interested
listener. It struck me that no harm could be done by introducing the
subject which was ever in my mind. It could be managed in an offhand
way, and would at least have the effect of turning the captain's
thoughts in that direction. I could watch, too, what effect it would
have upon the faces of the conspirators.

There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The ordinary subjects of
interest appeared to be exhausted. The opportunity was a favourable one.

"May I ask, Captain," I said, bending forward and speaking very
distinctly, "what you think of Fenian manifestos?"

The captain's ruddy face became a shade darker from honest indignation.

"They are poor cowardly things," he said, "as silly as they are wicked."

"The impotent threats of a set of anonymous scoundrels," said a
pompous-looking old gentleman beside him.

"O Captain!" said the fat lady at my side, "you don't really think they
would blow up a ship?"

"I have no doubt they would if they could. But I am very sure they shall
never blow up mine."

"May I ask what precautions are taken against them?" asked an elderly
man at the end of the table.

"All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly examined," said Captain
Dowie.

"But suppose a man brought explosives aboard with him?" I suggested.

"They are too cowardly to risk their own lives in that way."

During this conversation Flannigan had not betrayed the slightest
interest in what was going on. He raised his head now and looked at the
captain.

"Don't you think you are rather underrating them?" he said. "Every
secret society has produced desperate men--why shouldn't the Fenian have
them too? Many men think it a privilege to die in the service of a cause
which seems right in their eyes, though others may think it wrong.'

"Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in anybody's eyes," said the
little clergyman.

"The bombardment of Paris was nothing else," said Flannigan; "yet the
whole civilized world agreed to look on with folded arms, and change the
ugly word 'murder' into the more euphonious one of 'war,' It seemed
right enough to German eyes; why shouldn't dynamite seem so to the
Fenian?"

"At any rate their empty vapourings have led to nothing as yet," said
the captain.

"Excuse me," returned Flannigan, "but is there not some room for doubt
yet as to the fate of the Dotterel? I have met men in America who
asserted from their own personal knowledge that there was a coal torpedo
aboard that vessel."

"Then they lied," said the captain. "It was proved conclusively at the
court-martial to have arisen from an explosion of coal-gas--but we had
better change the subject, or we may cause the ladies to have a restless
night;" and the conversation once more drifted back into its original
channel.

During this little discussion Flannigan had argued his point with a
gentlemanly deference and a quiet power for which I had not given him
credit. I could not help admiring a man who, on the eve of a desperate
enterprise, could courteously argue upon a point which must touch him so
nearly. He had, as I have already mentioned, partaken of a considerable
quantity of wine; but though there was a slight flush upon his pale
cheek, his manner was as reserved as ever. He did not join in the
conversation again, but seemed to be lost in thought.

A whirl of conflicting ideas was battling in my own mind. What was I to
do? Should I stand up now and denounce them before both passengers and
captain? Should I demand a few minutes' conversation with the latter in
his own cabin, and reveal it all? For an instant I was half resolved to
do it, but then the old constitutional timidity came back with redoubled
force. After all there might be some mistake. Dick had heard the
evidence and had refused to believe in it. I determined to let things go
on their course. A strange reckless feeling came over me. Why should I
help men who were blind to their own danger? Surely it was the duty of
the officers to protect us, not ours to give warning to them. I drank
off a couple of glasses of wine, and staggered up on deck with the
determination of keeping my secret locked in my own bosom.

It was a glorious evening. Even in my excited state of mind I could not
help leaning against the bulwarks and enjoying the refreshing breeze.
Away to the westward a solitary sail stood out as a dark speck against
the great sheet of flame left by the setting sun. I shuddered as I
looked at it. It was grand but appalling. A single star was twinkling
faintly above our mainmast, but a thousand seemed to gleam in the water
below with every stroke of our propeller. The only blot in the fair
scene was the great trail of smoke which stretched away behind us like a
black slash upon a crimson curtain. It was hard to believe that the
great peace which hung over all Nature could be marred by a poor
miserable mortal.

"After all," I thought, as I gazed into the blue depths beneath me, "if
the worst comes to the worst, it is better to die here than to linger in
agony upon a sick-bed on land." A man's life seems a very paltry thing
amid the great forces of Nature. All my philosophy could not prevent my
shuddering, however, when I turned my head and saw two shadowy figures
at the other side of the deck, which I had no difficulty in recognizing.
They seemed to be conversing earnestly, but I had no opportunity of
overhearing what was said; so I contented myself with pacing up and
down, and keeping a vigilant watch upon their movements.

It was a relief to me when Dick came on deck. Even an incredulous
confidant is better than none at all.

"Well, old man," he said, giving me a facetious dig in the ribs, "we've
not been blown up yet."

"No, not yet," said I; "but that's no proof that we are not going to be."

"Nonsense, man!" said Dick; "I can't conceive what has put this
extraordinary idea into your head. I have been talking to one of your
supposed assassins, and he seems a pleasant fellow enough; quite a
sporting character, I should think, from the way he speaks."

"Dick," I said, "I am as certain that those men have an infernal
machine, and that we are on the verge of eternity, as if I saw them
putting the match to the fuse."

"Well, if you really think so," said Dick, half awed for the moment by
the earnestness of my manner, "it is your duty to let the captain know
of your suspicions."

"You are right," I said; "I will. My absurd timidity has prevented my
doing so sooner. I believe our lives can only be saved by laying the
whole matter before him."

"Well, go and do it now," said Dick; "but for goodness' sake don't mix
me up in the matter."

"I'll speak to him when he comes off the bridge," I answered; "and in
the meantime I don't mean to lose sight of them."

"Let me know of the result," said my companion; and with a nod he
strolled away in search, I fancy, of his partner at the dinner-table.

Left to myself, I bethought me of my retreat of the morning, and
climbing on the bulwark I mounted into the quarter-boat, and lay down
there. In it I could reconsider my course of action, and by raising my
head I was able at any time to get a view of my disagreeable neighbours.

An hour passed, and the captain was still on the bridge. He was talking
to one of the passengers, a retired naval officer, and the two were deep
in debate concerning some abstruse point in navigation. I could see the
red tips of their cigars from where I lay. It was dark now, so dark that
I could hardly make out the figures of Flannigan and his accomplice.
They were still standing in the position which they had taken up after
dinner. A few of the passengers were scattered about the deck, but many
had gone below. A strange stillness seemed to pervade the air. The
voices of the watch and the rattle of the wheel were the only sounds
which broke the silence.

Another half-hour passed. The captain was still upon the bridge. It
seemed as if he would never come down. My nerves were in a state of
unnatural tension, so much so that the sound of two steps upon the deck
made me start up in a quiver of excitement. I peered over the edge of
the boat, and saw that our suspicious passengers had crossed from the
other side, and were standing almost directly beneath me. The light of a
binnacle fell full upon the ghastly face of the ruffian Flannigan. Even
in that short glance I saw that Muller had the ulster, whose use I knew
so well, slung loosely over his arm. I sank back with a groan. It seemed
that my fatal procrastination had sacrificed two hundred innocent lives.

I had read of the fiendish vengeance which awaited a spy. I knew that
men with their lives in their hands would stick at nothing. All I could
do was to cower at the bottom of the boat and listen silently to their
whispered talk below.

"This place will do," said a voice.

"Yes, the leeward side is best."

"I wonder if the trigger will act?"

"I am sure it will."

"We were to let it off at ten, were we not?"

"Yet, at ten sharp. We have eight minutes yet."

There was a pause. Then the voice began again--

"They'll hear the drop of the trigger, won't they?"

"It doesn't matter. It will be too late for anyone to prevent its going
off."

"That's true. There will be some excitement among those we have left
behind, won't there?"

"Rather. How long do you reckon it will be before they hear of us?"

"The first news will get in at about midnight at earliest."

"That will be my doing."

"No, mine."

"Ha, ha! we'll settle that."

There was a pause here. Then I heard Muller's voice in a ghastly
whisper, "There's only five minutes more."

How slowly the moments seemed to pass! I could count them by the
throbbing of my heart.

"It'll make a sensation on land," said a voice. "Yes, it will make a
noise in the newspapers."

I raised my head and peered over the side of the boat. There seemed no
hope, no help. Death stared me in the face, whether I did or did not
give the alarm. The captain had at last left the bridge. The deck was
deserted, save for those two dark figures crouching in the shadow of the
boat.

Flannigan had a watch lying open in his hand.

"Three minutes more," he said. "Put it down upon the deck."

"No, put it here on the bulwarks."

It was the little square box. I knew by the sound that they had placed
it near the davit, and almost exactly under my head.

I looked over again. Flannigan was pouring something out of a paper into
his hand. It was white and granular--the same that I had seen him use in
the morning. It was meant as a fuse, no doubt, for he shovelled it into
the little box, and I heard the strange noise which had previously
arrested my attention.

"A minute and a half more," he said. "Shall you or I pull the string?"

"I will pull it," said Muller.

He was kneeling down and holding the end in his hand. Flannigan stood
behind with his arms folded, and an air of grim resolution upon his
face.

I could stand it no longer. My nervous system seemed to give way in a
moment.

"Stop!" I screamed, springing to my feet. "Stop, misguided and
unprincipled men!"

They both staggered backwards. I fancy they thought I was a spirit, with
the moonlight streaming down upon my pale face.

I was brave enough now. I had gone too far to retreat.

"Cain was damned," I cried, "and he slew but one; would you have the
blood of two hundred upon your souls?

"He's mad!" said Flannigan. "Time's up. Let it off, Muller."

I sprang down upon the deck.

"You shan't do it!" I said.

"By what right do you prevent us?"

"By every right, human and divine."

"It's no business of yours. Clear out of this."

"Never!" said I.

"Confound the fellow There's too much at stake to stand on ceremony.
I'll hold him, Muller, while you pull the trigger."

Next moment I was struggling in the herculean grasp of the Irishman.
Resistance was useless; I was a child in his hands.

He pinned me up against the side of the vessel, and held me there.

"Now," he said, "look sharp. He can't prevent us."

I felt that I was standing on the verge of eternity. Half-strangled in
the arms of the taller ruffian, I saw the other approach the fatal box.
He stooped over it and seized the string. I breathed one prayer when I
saw his grasp tighten upon it. Then came a sharp snap, a strange rasping
noise. The trigger had fallen, the side of the box flew out, and let
off--_two grey carrier pigeons_!

Little more need be said. It is not a subject on which I care to dwell.
The whole thing is too utterly disgusting and absurd. Perhaps the best
thing I can do is to retire gracefully from the scene, and let the
sporting correspondent of the _New York Herald_ fill my unworthy place.
Here is an extract clipped from its columns shortly after our departure
from America:

"_Pigeon flying Extraordinary_.--A novel match has been brought off last
week between the birds of John H. Flannigan, of Boston, and Jeremiah
Muller, a well-known citizen of Lowell. Both men have devoted much time
and attention to an improved breed of bird, and the challenge is an
old-standing one. The pigeons were backed to a large amount, and there
was considerable local interest in the result. The start was from the
deck of the Transatlantic steamship _Spartan_, at ten o'clock on the
evening of the day of starting, the vessel being then reckoned to be
about a hundred miles from the land. The bird which reached home first
was to be declared the winner. Considerable caution had, we believe, to
be observed, as some captains have a prejudice against the bringing off
of sporting events aboard their vessels. In spite of some little
difficulty at the last moment, the trap was sprung almost exactly at ten
o'clock. Muller's bird arrived in Lowell in an extreme state of
exhaustion on the following morning, while Flannigan's has not been
heard of. The backers of the latter have the satisfaction of knowing,
however, that the whole affair has been characterized by extreme
fairness. The pigeons were confined in a specially invented trap, which
could only be opened by the spring. It was thus possible to feed them
through an aperture in the top, but any tampering with their wings was
quite out of the question. A few such matches would go far towards
popularising pigeon-flying in America, and form an agreeable variety to
the morbid exhibitions of human endurance which have assumed such
proportions during the last few years."



THE END



This site is full of FREE ebooks - Project Gutenberg Australia