Читать книгу The Voyage Of The "Pulo Way" - Carlton Dawe - Страница 7

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ABOUT five o’clock that afternoon, as I sat aft by the wheel-house reading, I was startled by the report of a cannon, and on hurrying forward I saw that Captain Macshiel, the mate, and the big coolie were testing the newly erected piece of ordnance. Even as I watched I saw the Chinaman load, take aim, and then discharge the weapon. Looking away out over the bows, I beheld the shell strike the water some distance ahead.

This was shark-shooting with a vengeance, only where were the sharks? I puzzled much, being quite at a loss to comprehend the situation.

The captain saw me, and, waving his hand, advanced.

“She’s a bonnie bit of baggage,” he grinned.

“Who is?” I asked rather abruptly, resenting the man’s tone.

He nodded towards the gun. “She’s a winsome lassie, no doubt of it; and our gunner declares he can hit the dorsal fin of a shark at a distance of a thousand yards.”

“A wonderful fellow, indeed! Who is he?”

“That’s just what I cannot tell you.”

“Then where did he learn his gunnery?”

“It’s a secret, man—a secret that he absolutely refuses to disclose; but I’m just waiting to worm it out of him, and when I do I’ll tell you all about it.”

I had no particular fancy for Captain Macshiel in his jocular moods. I didn’t like the play of his eyes, nor did his malevolent grinning add any beauty to his cadaverous face. At times I fancied that he smiled only with the tip of his nose, that parrot beak which seemed always on the point of pecking. Indeed, it worked strangely, with a peculiar contracting and expanding motion, whenever he moved his jaws; and even when his face was in repose, it looked like the ugly beak of a brooding hawk. One was not surprised to find the eyes open, to know that the vulture was watching. For my part, I would rather have had the mate with his fat pig face and his hideous little eyes. He was unmistakably a brute, with brute stamped in big letters all over his face and figure; but a palpable brute, being instantly known, is guarded against accordingly. With men like Captain Macshiel one might be duped, especially as an honest man hates to think his brother a rogue.

Not having, as I have said, any particular regard for him or his humour, I smiled rather sullenly and made my way aft, where I managed to pass the time rather badly until tea was announced. As only the mate and I took it together the meal was not unduly prolonged. Mr. Murrell—for that was the gentleman’s name—did not make half a dozen remarks all the time we were at the table. He leant over his plate, simply stuffing himself with bread and cold meat until his grunting and clicking of jaws grew exceedingly monotonous. I therefore rose and left him, and, as it happened, at a very critical moment; for the unbounded prodigality with which he gorged eventually brought on a violent fit of coughing, which blinded him and almost laid him low.

Going up on deck, I lit my pipe, heroically resolved to wait patiently until such time as I could with safety make my way to Hayling’s cabin; for you may be sure I was crammed full of curiosity, the strange doings on board having bred in me an anxiety foreign to my nature.

Slowly the time passed. I saw the mate go forward, and then, after what seemed a considerable period, he came aft again with the captain. Then the two went below, and as I guessed it meant a smoke and a glass of grog I made my way to Hayling’s room.

He was evidently awaiting me, for the door opened immediately to my knock, and when he saw me he seemed rather relieved.

“Glad you’ve come, old man,” he said, gripping my hand in his hearty fashion. Then instantly, somewhat to my surprise, he locked the door and drew the curtain over it.

“Hullo!” said I, “what’s the meaning of this?”

“A mere precautionary measure,” he replied.

I looked at him without speaking, and he returned the look with interest. It was the steadiest gaze I have ever encountered—a clear, masterful look, that almost seemed to compel honesty. Apparently satisfied, he smiled, handed me a cheroot, and lit one himself.

“Well,” he queried, ejecting a huge cloud of smoke, through which I saw the steady radiance of his grave eyes, “what do you think of the Pulo Way?”

“I am beginning to think some very queer things. I admit Captain Macshiel is a puzzle.”

He seemed to think so too; but, judging from his reticence, I guessed he was rather afraid to speak. To rid him of suspicion was therefore my first endeavour.

“Look here, Hayling,” said I; “you don’t know me, and of course I don’t know you, but I believe we understand each other. Is that so?”

“Quite;” and he held out his hand. Of one thing I felt sure—no one but a warmhearted man could have given such a grip.

“Then, to be candid with you, I have been entertaining some exceedingly grave suspicions as to the good faith of Captain Macshiel and his crew.”

“And not without cause, I should say. I’m devilish sorry I ever came aboard.”

“And I, though I must admit that Captain Macshiel tried his hardest to prevent me.” Then I told him of my first interview with the skipper of the Pulo Way, and of the many reasons with which that worthy mariner sought to restrain me from joining.

“I too came on board almost at the last moment,” said the second mate. “As it is, we have no real third. Our Number One takes the first watch—a surly brute who would skin his own mother for ten dollars. Seems to be rather thick with the big coolie who mounted the cannon. If I were the captain of this ship I’d clap them both in irons.”

“By the way, what’s the meaning of this cannon? When I asked the captain he facetiously replied that it was to shoot sharks.” The Australian looked grave.

“If he had said to shoot gulls he might have been nearer the mark.”

“Gulls?” I echoed, reading something much more serious in his face.

“Look here, old man,” said he, “I know no more about that cannon than you do, nor of the coolie who works it; but I would trust neither. At all events, it’s the first time I ever heard of a tramp aping a man-o’-war, and I don’t like it.”

“What, then, is your opinion?”

“I have many, some of them madly absurd. Yet there is one thing of which I can speak with absolute certainty.” Here he stopped, and even in the privacy of his own room, with door locked and curtain drawn, looked round and lowered his voice: “We are not steering towards Manila!”

I could scarcely credit my hearing, but looked at him in a way that forced him to repeat the sentence.

“You are sure?”

“As sure as mortal man can be. If, as I understand, this ship was to go direct to Manila, I can assure you, on my honour, that she is not pointing that way at present.”

“Certainly she was to go direct to Manila. That’s why I came by her. Where else should she be going?”

“When I left the bridge her nose was pointing more to the south and west.”

“And where would that lead us?”

“To the Mindoro Strait, far to the south of Manila.

“And where and what the deuce is the Mindoro Strait?”

“It is the channel the Australian ships take on their way up from Port Darwin.”

“But perhaps Captain Macshiel has made a mistake? Remember, yesterday was dead reckoning.”

“True; that’s why I didn’t speak yesterday; but to-day we got the sun.”

“And did you take it?”

“I did.”

I could see no way out of it. There was no earthly reason why I should doubt the accuracy of Hayling’s statement, though inclination may have led me to modify it. He had worked out our position, and by what I could gather he was a man who thoroughly understood navigation. Truly, he had set the mind buzzing.

“Well,” said I, befogged completely, and just a trifle eager to find my way, “what the deuce does it mean?”

For a time he was silent, pulling thoughtfully at his cigar. Then he looked me earnestly in the face.

“Captain Macshiel tried to persuade you not to join this ship?”

“Indeed, yes. At first I thought he would not have me at any price, which so annoyed me that I had half a mind to take another vessel.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s plain that you were not wanted; it’s doubly plain now that you are in the way.”

“I? My dear fellow, how can I be in the way?”

He looked mighty serious. His mouth formed into a rigid line, and his heavy brows came together in a deep furrow.

“Good God!” he cried suddenly. And then, as if ashamed of himself, he added, in an apologetic tone, “But of course it can’t be?”

Startled at this abrupt outburst, I eyed him uneasily.

“What can’t be?” I asked.

“Look here,” said he, “I don’t want to frighten you, and it might have been an accident; but have you forgotten the marline-spike?”

“On the contrary, I have thought of it incessantly. Had it not been for you the thing would have brained me.”

“Understand, I lay no charge against Captain Macshiel; but I thought he handled the thing carelessly, and I saw your danger.”

It was now my turn to blanch. What if that which I had regarded as an accident had really been premeditated? It was enough to make one wish one’s self safe at home.

I sprang up with an oath, and foolishly declared that I would go at once to the captain and wring the truth from him, the wizened little wretch; but level-headed Hayling said that I would do nothing of the kind, and he accordingly pushed me back on the settee and handed me my grog. After all, we were only going on supposition, and the marline-spike might have fallen by accident.

“But he cannot deny that the ship is not pointing towards Manila?”

“You forget that he is the captain, and that he can sail his ship in his own way.”

“Then what do you really think?”

“To be candid with you, Ravensford, I have so many thoughts that they bewilder me. But my advice to you is—be careful. Don’t stand too near an open hatch, or wander about the decks at night. I don’t say that you are positively in danger; but you must admit that Captain Macshiel did not want you, and you know from experience that accidents will happen.”

The devil take it, thought I, this is a pretty business; and as an occasional shiver ran down my back I seemed to realise the awful iniquity of man. Convinced that there was some devil’s project brewing aboard, I questioned Hayling concerning the cannon forward and the big coolie. But he knew no more than I. Like me, he had watched the preparations, and, like me, he had marvelled at the sight; but he had not been taken into the confidence of either the captain or the mate, and what he imagined concerned only himself.

“But,” said I, “if you are not one of them, is not your danger as great as mine?”

“The mate has already sounded me,” he admitted; “but as I am not entirely without a certain amount of perception, and may, perhaps, possess a trifle of duplicity as well, he retired with little to his credit beyond a vague hope. Moreover, they find me useful.”

“Well,” I said, “I don’t know what’s in the air, but I feel there’s something dashed bad. Whatever happens, we stand together —eh?”

“Yes,” said he, and stretched out his hand to mine.

Just then the handle of the door was twisted violently, the door itself shaken until I thought it would come in. This demonstration was immediately followed by a fierce rat-tat. Hayling sprang across and unlocked the door, which upon being opened disclosed the distorted face of Murrell, the chief mate.

With an oath he inquired why the door was locked, and then, seeing me, he blurted out—

“Hullo, what are you doing here?”

Not liking his tone, I fired up and asked him what the deuce it had to do with him.

“Only that it’s the second mate’s watch below. You passengers seem to forget the men who keep watch while you are soundly snoring. I’ll tell you what it is, Hayling, the old man doesn’t like this sort of thing.”

“Well,” said Hayling, with a good-natured smile, “when I am found to be incapable of doing my duty, it will be time for the old man to talk.”

“Ah, but you don’t know the old man,” grinned the chief. “He does first and talks afterwards. No hanky-panky aboard the Pulo Way.”

“Won’t you come in?” said Hayling; for all this time the mate had lounged in the doorway, the curtain clutched in one hand, his ferrety little eyes darting suspicious glances all over the room.

“Thanks. I want a word or two with you.” He favoured me with a most significant look. But I was already on my feet, and as the curtain fell behind me I heard him say, with a laugh, “What sort of a mug is that?” Curious as was the expression, I knew to whom he referred.