Читать книгу The Voyage Of The "Pulo Way" - Carlton Dawe - Страница 4

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THE eccentricity of Fate in weaving the web of human fortunes was never better exemplified than in my own life. There was I, a drudge in the office of Messrs. Latheson and Co., the well-known merchants of Hong Kong, receiving for my drudgery the not enormous stipend of twenty dollars a week. There was no future for me, or, at least, no future to which I looked forward with any degree of pleasure: nothing but ledgers, invoices, and the eternal scratching of pens! Sick or well, there was no escaping the dingy desk or the high stool. To-day was just the same as yesterday; to-morrow would be the same as to-day; and so on through the years, until disease or drink brought the fooling to an end and Happy Valley received me feet foremost.

Such, I say, was about all the prospect I had in life, when Fate, being in one of her whimsical moods, gave the wheel of fortune an erratic twist which shot me into the midst of a series of astounding adventures and completely changed the whole course of my life. How it happened, what those adventures were, and sundry other incidents connected with them, I will set down in the order in which they occurred, hoping that the singularity of my experiences may atone somewhat for my other deficiencies.

I had been in Messrs. Latheson’s Hong Kong house for something over three years, and I have every reason to believe that during that time I had given my employers entire satisfaction. Indeed, our chief took rather a liking to me, and often honoured me with his confidence; and once, when the firm had effected an enormous deal in rice, I was sent to Saigon to superintend matters. It meant nothing, of course, beyond a certain inward glow of satisfaction, for which my own ambitions were primarily responsible. Yet it took the keen edge off the surprise which was so soon to follow.

I remember rolling up to the office that morning feeling as though I would barter ten years of my life for six months’ freedom. My head ached, my eyeballs throbbed; a nervous tremor for which I could not account most disagreeably affected my members. I clambered on to my stool, chewed my pen reflectively, and stared vacantly at the book before me; and even as I sat a-dreaming one of my brother drudges came up behind and caught me a thump on the back which sent me sprawling across the desk.

“Here, wake up!” he cried. “The chief wants to see you.”

My nerves were in such a state that I could have shrieked aloud, but turning upon him with a sorrowful look, I made my way to the chief’s private sanctum. What followed between us need not be set down in detail, though that interview was to prove of much consequence to me.

It seemed that the manager of our branch house in Manila had been taken seriously ill; the doctors had ordered him rest and a complete change of air, and I was offered his post until such time as Heaven should restore him to health or take him from a wicked world. Should the last, presumably, regretful contingency occur, I was given to understand, providing sundry “ifs” were not insurmountable, that I might find the post a permanent one.

Needless to say I jumped at the offer, which, coming at such an opportune moment, seemed like a gift of the gods.

“And when shall I go, sir?”

“By the very first ship,” said he. “It is imperative that you should lose as little time as possible. I am sorry for the breaking up of old ties, Ravensford; but perhaps the new ones will be more agreeable.”

I knew well enough what he meant—one can’t do much in a small place like Hong Kong and expect to keep it secret; but as I was glad enough to sever the old ties, which I knew were beginning to grip me closer, I swallowed the admonition with an excellent semblance of grace.

My next duty was to discover which was the first ship to leave for Manila, and in less than an hour I learnt that the Pulo Way, a small steamer of about eight or nine hundred tons, was to sail on the morrow. I didn’t much fancy small coasters of such tonnage, but with the given conditions I had neither the right nor the wish to be fastidious.

Upon calling at the agent’s office I learnt that the Pulo Way was not in the habit of carrying passengers, or at least not passengers aft. Coolies she carried forward in the steerage, as do all the coasters; first-class passengers generally wait to choose their ship. But as I could not wait, the agent very kindly gave me a letter to the captain, saying he doubted not that worthy mariner would be able to fix me up.

Well, armed with this introduction, I made my way down to the jetty, hired a sampan, and very soon the Pulo Way hove in sight. Honestly, I cannot say that the first glimpse of her impressed me. She was an ideal ocean scavenger, even to her dirty funnel and her two black sticks of masts. Nor did a closer inspection prove more alluring. Here and there, at irregular intervals along her side, the paint had been rubbed off, and great blotches of rust made the wretched little tub look dingier and dirtier than she really was. What was worse, as I ascended the rickety gangway, which swung dangerously free, my olfactory sense was assailed by a vile odour of pig. I was informed afterwards that her last cargo had been one of swine, and though she was supposed to be cleansed and fumigated, the scent clung fondly to her, nor was it exactly like that of the rose. Even now, when I shut my eyes and inhale deeply, I can smell the Pulo Way.

As I stepped on to the deck I found that portion of the ship in a considerable state of litter, though I should not forget to make due allowance for a vessel that is loading. Away forward a winch was going as if for dear life, and if there is a brain-breaking brute of a thing it is a steam-winch. Opposite me was the main hatch, and as I walked over to it and looked down I was greeted with such an odour of swine that I beat a hasty retreat aft.

Here rose a deck-house about twenty-five feet long and some ten or twelve feet broad, on each side of which was a door that swung outwards. Peeping through the door nearest me, I saw that the house contained the companion-way which led into the saloon, and as there was no one about to guide me, I immediately began to descend the stairs. But I had not proceeded more than half a dozen steps when the sound of a man speaking arrested me.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” a rough voice was saying impressively, “it’s as safe as eggs; and who’ll be a penny the wiser?”

The reply was whispered cautiously—so cautiously that I could not catch it. Then, fearing I might be hearing that which concerned me not, I coughed loudly, and descended forthwith.

The saloon was only a small one, about the size of the deck-house above, and contained a long, narrow table with benches on each side. At the head of this table, his back to me, sat a man; on the bench to the right of him sat another. As I burst in upon them they sprang quickly to their feet; while the smaller man—he who sat at the head of the table—hastily crumpled up a newspaper cutting and slipped it into his pocket. Seeing the evident annoyance my sudden entry had caused, I began to apologise.

“I beg your pardon, but can you tell me if Captain Macshiel is on board?”

“I am Captain Macshiel,” replied the smaller man, in a dry, rasping voice, his eyes passing over me a quick, searching glance.

“I have a letter for you, sir.”

He held out his hand and took the agent’s note, which, after a moment or two of irresolution, and a furtive glance at his companion, he began to read. While he did so I stole a look round the saloon, and another at him and his companion. The saloon was plain enough, there being no room for superfluities aboard this boat. A rack with curved grooves for glasses swung above the table, and in those grooves half a dozen coloured wineglasses were ranged resplendent. On each side of the table were the cabins of the captain and his chief officers. There were no fittings or external decorations. All was economic and useful.

The two men were more interesting. Captain Macshiel was a narrow-chested individual, with a cadaverous, sun-dried face and a sharp, thin nose that bent curiously at the tip. He had a pale blue eye of surprising penetration, and a rather ragged fringe of black hair, which, sprouting out of his neck, hedged his chin in a somewhat singular fashion. His companion was altogether different, being vast of stature, but somewhat clumsy, like a big man who has grown fat through laziness. There was little modesty in this person’s demeanour, for he fairly stared me out of countenance. Nor was I at all complimented by this attention, for the man’s face was extremely unprepossessing. Indeed, his heavy brows, thick, flat nose, and coarse mouth made him almost repulsive. I could imagine the thick, square jaw beneath his thick black beard; and I thought that much wisdom was displayed by him in showing as little as possible of his forbidding physiognomy.

The captain carefully folded the letter and laid it on the table before him. Then he looked up and down and round about, like a timid girl who dare not even glance into the ardent eyes of the young man by her side. Next he coughed affectedly, then trifled with the tip of his nose.

“Our agent informs me that you require a passage, Mr.—Mr.”—referring to the letter— “Mr. Ravensford?”

“Yes, sir, that’s so.”

“The Pulo Way is hardly a passenger boat.”

“So they tell me; but there will be no other going for a week, and I must reach Manila with all despatch.”

“I see.”

At first I thought the man resented my unwarrantable intrusion, but a moment’s reflection convinced me of the absurdity of such an idea. Your ordinary tramp skipper is, as a rule, only too proud to carry passengers. They add to his dignity, and fill him with a delightful sense of his own importance.

“I should be very pleased to take you, Mr. Ravensford,” he began, in a dry voice—a voice that seemed to rake the words along his throat —“but I really have no proper accommodation aft. You see, we are only a tramp—a common little body that never soars so high as first-class passengers.”

“Oh,” I laughed, though I caught the sneer well enough, “I daresay we shall manage very well. It is absolutely necessary that I should go by the first ship.”

Favouring me with another of his quick, curious glances, he fidgeted one hand in his pocket, then the other, shuffled his feet about in an uncertain fashion, and then sank into his chair. As he did so his eyes sought those of the black-bearded gentleman on his right, and though it was but a momentary flash it set me thinking.

“True, I should be very proud to sail in your company,” he continued, in his dry, sing-song fashion, which was half a sneer, “for you may be sure I have little congenial companionship on a boat like this. But the fact is, we were not built for passengers, and to say that I could make you comfortable would be to inveigle you on board under false pretences.”

“You are much too scrupulous, Captain Macshiel. While I admire your honesty as a man, I do not approve of your discretion as a trader. I assure you it was not by cultivating such an extremely fine sense of justice that Messrs. Latheson built up their princely hong.”

“Well,” he muttered, a smile of much meaning playing round his mouth, “I have no wish to sail under false colours;” and he looked at big blackbeard as if for approval. But that worthy never opened his mouth. He only nodded his big head solemnly and smiled with his eyes.

I knew well enough the man didn’t want me, though why I could not imagine, as my presence on board could scarcely have increased his responsibility or affected him in any way. But I had made up my mind to go, and I let him know as much in no uncertain manner; though an exhaustive apology for my seeming perversity naturally accompanied the declaration. Any accommodation would do for me—I had been accustomed to roughing it. He would find me a most exemplary passenger. He hummed and ha’ed and beat sundry inconsequent tattoos upon the table; gave me to understand that his ship was one of the most pleasant on the coast, that she couldn’t steam above ten knots, and that he frequently feared the first serious gale she encountered would send her to the bottom.

Now, all this was so much at variance with the usual boasting of the master mariner, who, as a rule, is intensely loyal to his command, that I was at a loss to comprehend it; and had it not been necessary that I should get away, I would not have forced my objectionable presence upon this piece of nautical fastidiousness. But I was not in a position to accept a rebuff, and so I let him see.

Now and again, while I was speaking, he turned interrogatively towards blackbeard, who did nothing but smile and shake his head; though once, turning suddenly upon that silent creature, I saw his eyes signal a look of assent. When next the captain spoke his cadaverous little face was wreathed with amiability.

“Well, well,” said he, like one who gives way much against his will, “since you’re so determined to come with us, we must see what we can do for you. No doubt we shall be able to fix you up somewhere.”

“And when do you sail, captain?”

“Not later than ten to-morrow.”

“Thanks. Good-day.”

“Think you can catch us?”

“I’ll try.”

I shook hands cordially, nodded towards blackbeard, and made my way up on deck, not overpleased with myself or the captain of the Pulo Way. Near the main hatch, the odour of swine once more assailing me, I quickly beat a retreat over the side, and felt relieved when my sampan pushed off. Truly Captain Macshiel had flattered me but little, which, after all, was nothing; but that he so obstinately refused to earn a few dollars was another and a more important matter. As for blackbeard, he never entered into my calculations at all.