Читать книгу The Voyage Of The "Pulo Way" - Carlton Dawe - Страница 8

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AS I groped my way along the dark deck I thought of Hayling’s warning, and realised how easily two or three men might spring upon a man and toss him overboard. The thought was not pleasant, nor was I the more relieved when I beheld a form flit hurriedly by the engine-room skylight. For a moment I entertained some singularly unpleasant thoughts; then rapidly made my way aft and went below.

A solitary oil lamp swung dismally in the saloon, and up through the half-open skylight I heard the swish, swish of the water as it fell back from the vessel’s sides. An uncanny, nervous shiver ran through me, and with nothing more than a glance round I slipped into my cabin, and for the first time bolted the door.

There could be no longer any doubt as to the serious aspect of things—an aspect which was none the less terrifying on account of the scarcity of real knowledge. So, being full of the warning of my friend the second mate, and beset with vague suspicion, I fished out a revolver from the bottom of my big trunk, carefully loaded it, and then placed the weapon beneath my pillow. I was not a warlike man, and I prayed devoutly that there would be no demand for firearms; but I had only one life to lose, and though not the best of lives, it was the best I had.

It was a long time before I got to sleep, but when I did I slept soundly enough, never waking until the steward knocked at my door to tell me it was time to get up. Then, jumping out and looking through the port, I saw that the sun was already high, and that the ship had been slowed down again. Exasperated beyond all measure, I dressed hurriedly and scrambled up on deck, eager to question the captain concerning this further delay. But, to my chagrin, no one was in sight, and of course I was not allowed to mount the bridge. A good ten minutes of angry pacing up and down followed, during which time I saw the captain and the mate perched up in the starboard corner of the bridge, intently sweeping the sea with their glasses. At the same moment I beheld Hayling coming aft, and being sure that he had seen me I slipped behind the deckhouse, a position which hid me from the men forward.

Presently he swung round the corner and came towards me, smiling somewhat recklessly, I thought.

“Well,” said he, “had a good night?”

“I suppose so.”

He laughed; but this time the white teeth shone out from behind his dark moustache.

“You’re a mysterious beggar, Hayling.”

“Not in the least.”

“Can you tell me why we have slowed down?”

“I cannot.”

“Nothing wrong with the engines?”

“I should say not, since they are kept going.”

“But the engineer may be afraid to send them along at full speed.”

“He may.”

“But you doubt it?”

“I do.”

He was coldly, horribly laconic.

“Tell me, are we still steering from Manila?”

“Yes. Just go to the side and take a peep over the starboard bow.”

Doing as I was bidden, I thought I saw an unusual swirling of waters some distance ahead. Returning to him, I put the question—

“What is that yonder?”

“The Scarborough Shoal,” said he.

“And we ought to be nowhere near it?”

“Nowhere.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite; even though the old man has locked me out of the chart-room.”

“But do ships never come this way to go to Manila?”

“Not so far to the westward. We are in the track of the Australian ships—of one coming from Port Darwin to Hong Kong. If her skipper knows his road he will come up the Molucca Passage, through the Celebes and Sulu Seas, and so on into the China Sea by the Mindoro Strait. We have no right where we are, and if Captain Macshiel is not a fool, he has come for a certain purpose.”

“What purpose?” I queried.

He looked very serious.

“That I don’t know, but I believe we are afloat in very strange company.”

Just then the captain appeared round the corner of the deck-house, and when he saw Hayling his ragged brows instantly contracted. A look of intense annoyance swept his face; but the next moment he greeted me with one of his pleasantest smiles. Hayling touched his cap and moved away.

The captain watched him without speaking; then turning to me, said—

“Yonder fellow might make himself a bit more agreeable, considering how he loves a gossip.”

“I merely asked him why we were going slow, and what shoal that was out yonder.”

“And he told you?”

“He couldn’t tell me why we were going slow; but he said the shoal was the Scarborough.”

“Nothing more, I suppose?”

“No, nothing much. By the way, captain, is there anything wrong with the engines?”

“That’s just it,” said he. “The bearings got so mortal hot that the engineer had to slow down. It’s annoying—extremely annoying.”

“But is that really the Scarborough yonder?”

“Maybe,” said he dryly. “And why not the Scarborough as well as anything else?”

“Because, if it is, we who are bound for Manila ought to be nowhere near it.”

“So, so,” he grinned, “that hulking brute has been talking, eh? Well, he’s very clever, no doubt; but supposing the Scarborough is a little bit off the straight line, it is the safe way, and the one I always take.”

I bowed. What more was there to be said? A man must sail his ship in his own way.

“And when do you think we ought to reach Manila?”

“That I can’t say for certain. It will depend chiefly on the engineer. Perhaps tomorrow—perhaps longer.”

Again his cadaverous face wrinkled itself into an insinuating grin, and with an awkward attempt at ease he shuffled below, leaving me full of perplexity and doubt, though doubt of his honesty I had none. His excuses were so palpably insincere that only his intense love of subterfuge could have prompted him to utter them.

Yet shortly after this the engines were set going at full speed once again, and were kept at a high pressure all through that night and well on into the next afternoon until we sighted land. Then, when I was once more beginning to entertain the vague hope of reaching my destination, they stopped suddenly. I hurried forward to the engine-room skylight and looked down, but beyond a greaser or two who were oiling and polishing up, I could see nothing.

As I walked disconsolately aft, the captain overtook me.

“Upon my soul,” he whined, looking at me in a way that was anything but complimentary, “the very devil himself seems to have boarded us this voyage! Never in my life have I encountered such a run of bad luck. I doubt much if we shall reach Manila Bay inside this week.”

“The engines have broken down, then?” said I, inwardly cursing the delay.

“Badly. May the devil toast the man who invented engines!”

“But of course you can mend them?”

“That remains to be seen. Our engineer is a clever enough chap, a Portugee from Macao; but he has neither the appliances nor the men.”

I walked away feeling at war with the world, cursing the mad obstinacy which had made me join this ship against my better sense. Yet calmer reason offered an excuse for the madness of my choice.

All the rest of that day we lay idly rolling on the sea, and as every one to whom I could have spoken had managed to stow himself away, I underwent an extremely wretched experience. In my present uncertain, irritable mood I could not tolerate the dullness of my own company. I knew I was neither wanted nor liked aboard the ship, and though at any other time that would have occasioned me no regret, it was not a pleasant thought as things stood.

In appearance the Pulo Way was an ordinary sort of tramp, with a raised forecastle and stern, and a deep well amidships. I have mentioned the forecastle, on which the gun was mounted; in the stern this raised structure, which formed a short poop, from which the flag trailed on Sundays when the ship was in port, was known as the wheel-house. Here were the big hand wheels, which were to be used in case anything went wrong with the steam-steering gear.

Into this wheel-house, then, the front of which had two large glass windows, which in turn were duly protected by two stout teak shutters, which slid into grooves on either side, I popped to light my pipe. Finding it more comfortable there than out in the keen night wind, I settled myself on an old piece of sailcloth, and sat thinking and smoking in the dark.

Presently I was aroused by hearing the hoarse laugh of the mate as that worthy approached. What had been said to make him laugh I could not tell; but the jocular outburst was followed by the captain saying, in a surly tone—

“You may laugh, Murrell, but I’d like to feel as certain of the job as you do.”

“Pooh, man!” replied the mate; and I thought his voice sounded exceedingly familiar. “You’re not getting squeamish, are you?”

The captain laughed constrainedly as he said—

“Perhaps a bit. Anyway, it’s a ticklish job, and I wish it was well over. There’s an element of uncertainty about the whole thing that doesn’t suit me. Then there’s the second mate and this numskull of a passenger.”

“He that is not for me is against me,” quoted the mate mockingly. “Leave them to me.”

Again the captain laughingly replied, and in imagination I pictured his ugly little face, the malicious twinkle of his narrow eyes.

Here the mate poked his head into the wheel-house to light his pipe, while I shrank further back into the shadow, uneasy to a degree. I drew my breath in and held it fast; but the light in the man’s eyes dazzled him so that he could not look beyond. After a few vigorous draws he turned again to his companion.

“I do not deny that what you call the element of uncertainty exists,” he said. “But Gupp and I have gone so carefully into this that there can be little doubt of our success. It is a thousand to one she will pass through the Mindoro Strait. From there to Hong Kong is a straight line, and as we are on that line she must pass us.”

“But what if she passes us at night?”

“We shall see her just the same.”

The captain made some reply, the tone of which implied considerable doubt, but what he said I could not catch, as the men moved off together.

For a time I remained plunged deeply in thought, a whole battalion of conjectures stampeding through my mind. That the mate referred to some ship was apparent, while, curious to relate, in describing her movements he had employed almost the identical words made use of by Hayling.

Needless to say this conversation caused me considerable apprehension, especially as I had long since begun to doubt the good faith of Captain Macshiel. That we had purposely come out of our way, and for no righteous cause, I feared, was now self-evident. Certain it was that the captain expected to meet a ship in this neighbourhood, but for a good or an evil purpose who should say? What that purpose really was I did not even dream of then, it being one of those awful things which would never enter into the calculations of an ordinary person.

But what I had easily grasped, and what, indeed, I had long since known, was the fact that my presence on board the Pulo Way did not meet with the approval of the captain or his mate; and if my imaginings were not wholly vain I expected some personal assurance of it before long.

Another thing that rather puzzled me was the mention of the name Gupp. Who and what was Gupp? and what had he to do with this enterprise? Here I was entirely nonplussed, for I knew that from officers to engineers no one on board had such a name. I was naturally forced to conclude that Mr. Gupp was a gentleman who had given good advice and stayed behind in Hong Kong. Wise Mr. Gupp; I envied him his wisdom.

But I was to learn more of him the next morning. About half-past ten, as I sat alternately reading and watching the water break on the island just abeam of us, to which we had drawn very near during the night, Hayling came aft, and when opposite me he stopped.

“Morning,” he said. “Have you seen our new third?”

“New third?” I echoed.

“Yes; a most tremendous surprise. A gentleman by the name of Gupp.”

This was too much for me. I sprang excitedly from my chair.

“You’re joking, Hayling?”

“Honour bright,” said he. “Go forward yourself, and you’ll see him marching up and down the bridge as large as life.”

“Who is this man?”

“Hanged if I know. The captain brought him forward this morning and introduced him as ‘Mr. Gupp, our new third officer.’ It was not my business to ask who Mr. Gupp was, or where the deuce he sprang from.”

“But you guess who he is?”

“Yes; if I am not mistaken he is the big coolie who mounted the gun forward;” and with that he slipped from my side and passed aft to the wheel-house, but so suddenly that I looked round to see the cause.

The captain had just come up from below.

I strolled forward to have a peep at Mr. Gupp, and saw a big, stout man, with a fat, clean-shaven face. I couldn’t get a very close look at him, but what I saw did not impress me. Truly, the Pulo Way was a strange ship, and I guessed instinctively that the curtain was about to rise on the first act of a stranger drama.