Читать книгу The Missing Merchantman - Harry Collingwood - Страница 12

The deplorable fatality mentioned in the last chapter necessitated a further rearrangement of the official duties on board the Flying Cloud; Ned being advanced still another step and made acting chief-mate, or “chief-officer” as it is the custom to dub this official in the merchant service, whilst another apprentice—a very quiet, steady young man named Robert Manners—was promoted to the post of second-mate thus rendered vacant. Although these two posts—the most important and responsible in the ship next to that of the master—were now filled by two young men whose united ages fell short of forty years, the arrangement appeared to work in the most thoroughly satisfactory manner. The lads performed their onerous duties efficiently; the crew were as orderly and obedient as heretofore, and not a single sinister omen or indication manifested itself to arouse anxiety in the mind of the skipper. To add to Captain Blyth’s satisfaction, the island of New Amsterdam was sighted and passed on the morning of the tenth day succeeding the loss of the unfortunate Mr. Willoughby, and that, too, in a direction and at an hour which precisely verified the prediction of the captain, who rather prided himself upon his skill and accuracy as a navigator.

For several nights previous to this occurrence the skipper had been losing a great deal of rest; he had been too anxious to sleep, knowing that during his absence from the deck the ship was in absolute charge of one or the other of two lads whom he remembered, as though it had been but yesterday, joining him without a particle of experience. But as day after day, and night after night passed, and he saw what excellent use those two lads had made of the training and instruction he had so conscientiously bestowed upon them, he had gradually grown less anxious. And now, with fine weather, a fair breeze, and New Amsterdam sighted and passed, the poor fagged skipper once more knew what it was to enjoy an easy mind; and as he bade Ned “good-night” on the poop, about five bells in the first watch, he announced, in tones loud enough to be distinctly heard by the man at the wheel, that he intended to treat himself to a whole night’s sleep, and that he was not to be called or disturbed unless for something out of the common.

When, therefore, about three o’clock next morning, he was aroused from sleep by a gentle tap at the outer door of his state-room, Captain Blyth’s first coherent thought was: “I wonder what is the matter now!” It was nothing to do with the weather—unless the sky had assumed a threatening aspect—for, by long force of habit, he had acquired the power of detecting, even during his soundest sleep, any such important change in the state of the elements as a material increase of wind or sea, and, though the sleep from which he had been aroused was as sound as it ever falls to the lot of a seaman to enjoy, he had been quite conscious all the time that neither the sough of the wind in the rigging nor the steady swinging motion of the ship had become intensified. It was, therefore, in a somewhat peevish tone that he inquired:

“Well, what is the news?”

“Will you please step for’ard, sir, and see what ails Bob—young Mr. Manners, I mean, sir?” said a voice which the skipper recognised as belonging to one of the seamen. “He’s on the fo’c’s’le-head, a cussing and carrying on as if he was mad, sir; and two of the hands is holding him down so’s he sha’n’t fling hisself overboard.”

“Whew!” whistled poor Captain Blyth in dismay. “All right, my man; I’ll be out there in a brace of shakes! What can be the matter with the poor lad?” he soliloquised, as he hastily drew on his most necessary garments. “A fit, perhaps, brought on by over-anxiety. Well, I won’t disturb anybody until I see what it is; then, if necessary, I must rouse out Dr. Henderson.”

And, as he came to this conclusion, the worthy man softly opened his state-room door and stepped out on deck.

The night was dark, there being no moon, whilst the star-lit sky was almost blotted out by the squadrons of fleecy cloud which swept with stately motion athwart it. Yet there was light enough to reveal to the skipper a dark blot on the forecastle, which he knew to be a cluster of men; and toward these he hurriedly made his way. Before he could reach them, however, two bare-footed men stepped softly out behind him from the galley; and whilst one seized and pinioned his arms behind him, the other flourished a large-headed, short-handled hammer over his head whilst he whispered fiercely in the ear of the paralysed skipper:

“Give but a single outcry, and I’ll spatter your brains about the deck.” Then he added, somewhat more gently: “No harm is intended you, Captain Blyth, but we mean to have the ship. We will have her; and were you to raise an alarm it would only cause bloodshed, which we are most anxious to avoid. Where’s Nicholls? Here, Nicholls, this man is your prisoner; get the bilboes and clap them on him. And—mind—I shall hold you responsible for his safekeeping!”

“But—but—Williams,” stammered poor Captain Blyth, who now identified the speaker, “what is the meaning of all this? I—I—don’t understand it!”

“No time to explain now,” was the answer. “Tell you all about it later on if you care to hear. Come, lads, away aft with us, and let us secure our other prisoner!”

In obedience to this command, the mob of mutineers who had clustered about the door of the forward deck-house—into which the unfortunate skipper had been thrust—melted away, and Captain Blyth found himself left alone with his jailer and young Manners, the latter being bound hand and foot, and lying gagged in one of the bunks which had been vacated when the steerage passengers were drafted into the forecastle.

In the midst of his bewilderment and dismay the skipper still retained enough presence of mind to note, by the light of the single lantern which illuminated the place, that his young subordinate was suffering severe discomfort from the presence of the gag—a large belaying-pin—in his mouth; and, turning to the man Nicholls, he pointed out that, unless the crew wished to add the crime of murder to that of mutiny, it would be advisable to remove the gag at once.

“Well, sir,” said the man, civilly enough—he was one of the former steerage passengers—“I don’t know what to do about that. I’d be willing enough to take the thing out of the young gentleman’s mouth, but my orders are strict; and if anything was to happen through my meddling you may depend upon it I should be made to suffer for it.”

“If that is what you are afraid of, my good fellow,” said the skipper, “you may remove the gag at once. Nothing shall happen, I promise you. The crew have possession of the ship, safe enough; and, bound hand and foot as we two are, we can do nothing to recover her. So out with it at once, my man, unless you wish to see the poor lad suffocate before your eyes.”

This was enough; the gag was at once removed, the skipper at the same time cautioning Manners against any ill-timed attempt to raise an alarm, and then Nicholls was questioned as to the reasons for the mutiny.

“Well, sir,” was the reply, “I don’t rightly understand the ins and outs of the thing, myself; but Williams has been talkin’ to the men, and, accordin’ to his showin’, labourers and mechanics and sailors have been robbed and cheated out of their rights time out o’ mind. So the long and the short of it is that we’ve all took a solemn oath to stand by one another in an attempt to get what rightfully belongs to us.”

“What rightfully belongs to you?” exclaimed the skipper in bewilderment. “I don’t understand you, my man. You surely do not pretend to say that I have defrauded you of anything to which you are entitled? A certain amount of wages is, of course, due to you in respect of work already performed; but it is the custom to pay seamen only when they arrive at the port of discharge—”

“Oh, yes, sir; we understands all that, of course,” interrupted Nicholls. “It ain’t that at all, sir; it’s—”

Captain Blyth, however, was not destined to learn just then what “it” was, for at this point the conversation was broken in upon by the reappearance of a party of the mutineers, headed by Williams, and having poor Ned among them as a prisoner.

“There, Ned, there’s the skipper. In you go, my lad, and stow yourself alongside of him; and that will complete the party,” exclaimed Williams cheerfully, as he thrust the lad unceremoniously through the doorway of the deck-house. “Now take the gag out of his mouth,” he commanded; “but I caution you,” he continued sternly, addressing himself particularly to Ned, “that if either of you utter a single outcry I’ll blow his brains out without hesitation.” And as he spoke he drew from his pocket a revolver which he began deliberately to load.

“You are carrying things with a high hand, my fine fellow!” observed Captain Blyth fiercely; “but I warn you at once that you are only preparing a halter with which to hang yourself. The fact that something is wrong on board here will infallibly be discovered by the first man-of-war which falls in with us, and your punishment will speedily follow. Hear me, men,” he continued, raising his voice and addressing the crew generally; “I don’t in the least understand your motive for behaving in this extraordinary fashion; but cast me and my two mates adrift, and I promise you on my word of honour that I will listen patiently to whatever complaint you may have to make, and will redress any wrong which you can show has been done you.”

“Spare your breath, skipper,” answered Williams quietly. “We haven’t done this thing in a hurry, and we’re not to be talked out of it in a moment; and perhaps the sooner you understand that the better. No, sir; we’ve no fault to find with you or anybody else aboard here. The fault lies with them who’ve robbed, and cheated, and ground down the likes of us for centuries; and the time has now come when the few of us as belongs to this ship’s fo’c’s’le intend to help our selves to what we’ve as good a right as anybody to have. As to punishment, why, we’ve agreed to take our chances about that; and as to men-o’-war, how many have we fell in with, so far, this voyage? We’ll take our chances about them too. Josh Williams may be no scholar, cap’n, but he knows a thing or two—he knows enough to be able to take care of his own neck, and of the necks of them that trust him too.”

“My good fellow, you don’t in the least know what you are talking about!” exclaimed Captain Blyth.

“Enough said, sir—enough!” interrupted Williams. “All the talking in the world won’t undo what’s done. We’ve put our heads into the noose, but we’re not fools enough to sway away upon the yard-rope; so you may spare yourself the trouble of further talk, and us the trouble of listening to you. Now the present time is as good as any to tell you what our plans are so far as you are concerned; so please pay attention. We’re all hands averse to bloodshed, and we intend to work our business without it, if possible—you understand, if possible!—so, instead of cutting your throats and heaving you overboard, we’re going to land you, Captain Blyth, on some island or another where you’ll be able to pick up a living, but from which you won’t be likely to get away until long after we’ve done with the ship. Young Manners there we shall clap ashore on some other island four or five hundred miles away from you, skipper; and the passengers we shall put ashore somewhere else, where they’ll not be likely to get us into trouble or to send trouble after us. As for Ned, here, we intend to keep him with us to navigate the ship.”

“Do you?” ejaculated Ned. “Then understand at once and for all that I decline to remain with you. What! do you suppose I will mix myself up in any way or associate with a pack of rascally mutineers? I’ll see you all hanged first!”

“Well crowed!” ejaculated Williams approvingly with a hearty laugh. “My eyes, lads, what a skipper he’d make for us if he could only be persuaded to join! But we won’t ask you to do that, Ned,” he continued in the same bantering tone. “You can follow your own inclinations in that matter—join us or not, just as you please; but remain with us and navigate us you shall and will, whether you like it or not.”

“Never!” declared Ned resolutely. “You may pitch me overboard if you choose, but I will never do a single hand’s turn to help you in any way.”

Williams did not appear to be in the least disconcerted at this declaration; he simply sat down by Ned’s side and whispered earnestly for some minutes in the lad’s ear.

As the communication progressed poor Ned first flushed deeply, then grew as ashy pale as the sunburn on his cheeks would permit; his eyes dilated with horror, and when Williams had finished the lad struggled to his feet and gasped out:

“You villain! you infernal scoundrel! Cast off my lashings, and, lad as I am, I will thrash you before all hands for daring to make such an infamous proposal to me!”

For the first time that night Williams showed signs of anger, but, quickly checking himself, he said:

“Well, if that card won’t take the trick, I have another that will!” And again he sat down and resumed his whispering.

It was evident by the expression of his countenance that this time Ned was not only horrified but also thoroughly frightened; and when Williams ceased the poor lad hung his head and murmured in a scarcely audible voice:

“Enough! you have conquered! though I can scarcely believe you could be so inhuman—to those poor children, too! But remember! if, after what you have promised, the slightest insult or injury is offered to any one of them, I’ll—I’ll—”

“There, that will do!” interrupted William. “I’ve pledged you my word, boy; and I hope to have you with us long enough to convince you that I never break it. But mind! I must have you faithfully do whatever you are told to do, in return. And now, as we thoroughly understand each other, you may go back to your berth and turn in until morning; and then I shall expect that when the passengers make their appearance you will tell them what has happened aboard here, and also mention our intentions about them. And be careful to make them clearly understand that, whilst we are all against bloodshed, the slightest suspicious action on their part will be looked upon as treachery, and treated as such. Cast our new sailing-master adrift there, some of you, and let him go back to his berth.”

Williams’ order was promptly obeyed; and Ned, half-dazed, rose to his feet, advanced to the door, and then stopped. “What about Captain Blyth and Mr. Manners?” he asked. “What are you going to do with them?”

“They will have to put up with such accommodation as they can find here until we have an opportunity to land them,” was the reply. “But make your mind easy on their account, Mr. Damerell; their comfort will be properly looked after, and no harm will come to them unless an attempt is made to retake the ship. In such a case as that I won’t answer for the consequences. The blame for whatever happens must fall upon the shoulders of them that bring it about.”

Ned was obliged to be content with this; and with a heavy heart he turned and left the deck-house, not daring to look his commander in the face, and feeling as guilty in his new dignity as though he had voluntarily thrown in his lot with the mutineers, notwithstanding the fact that pressure had been brought to bear upon him which he was equally powerless to avoid or to resist.

Ned’s first act, on returning aft, was to enter Captain Blyth’s state-room, with the object of securing the keys of the arm-chests; but the mutineers seemed to have been beforehand with him, for the keys were gone. He next sought the lock-up tin box in which the ship’s papers were kept; but here, too, the mutineers had been ahead of him, for the box, as also the captain’s desk, was missing. Being thus foiled in the only matters which occurred to him at the moment, he left the state-room, closing the door after him as silently and reverently as if the captain’s dead body had been lying there, and reluctantly returned to his own berth. Not to sleep, of course, that was utterly out of the question, the poor lad was so overwhelmed with consternation at the unexpected seizure of the ship, and with dismay at the way in which he had been compulsorily identified with the movement, that he just then felt as though he would never be able to sleep again. No; sleep and he were strangers, at least for the time being, so he flung himself down on the sofa-locker and tried to think. But for the first half-hour or so even the power of thought was denied him. The catastrophe had been so utterly unattended by any warning that it was like a levin stroke falling from a cloudless sky, and for the moment Ned found himself unable to recognise it as an actual fact. Over and over again he stood up and shook himself to ascertain whether or not he was really awake, or whether his disjointed cogitations and the cause of them were only parts of an ugly dream. At length, however, his mind grew clearer, the disastrous reality of the whole business finally asserted itself, and he then began to cast blindly about him for the means of rectification. But, alas, the longer he thought about it, the more hopeless did the situation appear. He began to see that Williams had only spoken the simple truth when he asserted that the mutiny was the result of long premeditation. They had laid their plans well, the scoundrels! and had carried them out with such consummate artifice and attention to detail, that as Ned turned over in his mind scheme after scheme for the recovery of the ship, it was only to realise that each had been anticipated and provided against. At length, baffled and in despair, he gave up, temporarily, all hope of effecting a recapture, and allowed his thoughts to turn in another direction. “What was to become of the passengers?” True, Williams had guaranteed for them perfect immunity from molestation, the price of this privilege being on Ned’s part true and faithful service as navigator of the ship for the mutineers, but a time was to come when the passengers would be landed on some out-of-the-way spot, doubtless, and exposed to countless perils from hunger, thirst, exposure, and worse than all, perhaps the nameless horrors of a captivity among savages! And yet Ned felt that they would be in even greater peril so long as they remained on board the Flying Cloud. The mutineers seemed peaceably disposed for the moment certainly, but how long would that state of things continue after they had gained access to the liquor on board? Ned shuddered as his excited imagination pictured the scene of bloodshed which might be enacted within the next twenty-four hours, and he finally began to realise that even falling into the hands of a tribe of savages might not prove to be the very worst evil possible for those poor weak women and children. His next thought was that they must be got out of the ship with all possible expedition. Ha! but that involved the necessity for saying “good-bye”—for a parting! Well; what of that? He had said “good-bye” before now to plenty of pleasant people, both on the Melbourne quays, and on the dock walls at London. But, somehow, this time it seemed different; he did not know how it was, but these people seemed more than friends, the ladies especially; for them he felt that he entertained a regard as tender, almost—or quite—as that which he felt for Eva, and this now made the idea of parting so distasteful to him that, as his mind began to dwell upon it, the feeling amounted almost to agony. And this, too, quite apart from the sensation of indignant disgust with which he regarded Williams’ unscrupulous resolution to involve him and his fortunes with the future career of the mutineers. But it should not be; he would outwit the rascals somehow, and join the little party of passengers when they were landed, even if he had to steal over the ship’s side, drop overboard, and swim ashore as the vessel sailed away.

Whilst cogitating thus, the returning daylight surprised him; and shortly afterwards he heard a movement in the saloon which told him that the gentlemen were about to make their appearance on deck to indulge in the usual matutinal “tub.”

He opened his state-room door and entered the saloon with a cheery “Good-morning, gentlemen!”

“Good-morning, Mr. Damerell,” was the equally cheery reply; and then Mr. Gaunt, happening to notice the lad’s worn and haggard appearance, exclaimed:

“Why, good heavens, Ned, what is the matter? Are you ill?”

“Hush!” said Ned. “No, I am not ill, Mr. Gaunt, but I am in great trouble and perplexity. I have passed through a rather startling experience during the night; and”—in a low tone of voice, so that the ladies, if awake, might not hear him—“I have bad news to communicate. Will you kindly step into my cabin for a moment?”

The two gentlemen passed into the state-room and seated themselves on the sofa-locker, Ned following and closing the door after him.

“Now, Ned, what is it?” asked the engineer. “If I may judge from the expression of your countenance the matter is serious; and, if so, out with it at once. You need not be afraid of startling us, I fancy.”

“You will be startled, nevertheless, I expect,” was the reply. “The matter is simply this. The crew have seized the ship, and poor Captain Blyth and Mr. Manners are at this moment close prisoners in the deck-house for’ard!”

The two gentlemen stared first at each other, and then at Ned, in the utmost perplexity. For a moment or two they were both so completely astounded that neither could find a word to say. At length, however, the engineer so far recovered his powers of speech as to ejaculate:

“But—but—good heavens! what will become of the women and children? And how is it, sir, that, if what you state be true, you are free—as you apparently are?”

“You are all perfectly safe—I hope and believe—at all events for the present. And the price of your safety is a promise on my part to faithfully navigate the ship to the best of my ability for the mutineers,” answered Ned with quivering lips; and then suddenly and completely overcome by a sense of his desolate and desperate situation, the poor lad turned away, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears.

Doctor Henderson appeared to be too thoroughly paralysed with surprise and consternation to say or do anything just then; but Mr. Gaunt at once rose to his feet, and, laying his hand kindly on the young fellow’s shoulder, said:

“There, don’t give way, Ned, I ought not to have spoken so harshly, but I was rather ‘taken aback’ as you sailors say. Sit down, my lad, and tell us all about it, and then we must see if we cannot devise a means to recover possession of the ship, and restore their freedom to poor Captain Blyth and Mr. Manners.”

Quickly recovering his self-control, Ned seated himself on the edge of his bunk, and briefly related to his astonished listeners all that had occurred during the preceding night, winding up by saying:

“As to retaking the ship, I am afraid there is scarcely a chance of our succeeding in that, for the entire crew seem to have been completely won over by that fellow Williams, and to be thoroughly united in their determination to try their fortunes as pirates—for that, as I understand it, is what it all amounts to; so you see there are only our three selves against all hands for’ard—for they seem determined to keep poor Captain Blyth and Manners close prisoners until they can be landed somewhere—and what can we three do against so many? Moreover, I have been ordered to particularly impress upon you that, whilst the mutineers are at present extremely averse to bloodshed, anything like a suspicious action on your part will be looked upon as premeditated treachery, and treated as such. Those were Williams’ very words. So, whilst I shall be only too glad to take my part in any feasible scheme which you may be able to devise, I feel it my duty to warn you that we must all act with the utmost circumspection.”

This announcement made the gentlemen look rather blank again.

“Um!” at length said Mr. Gaunt. “The further we advance with this business the more serious does its aspect become. I have no very great fancy just now for being landed anywhere but at Melbourne; nevertheless, as matters now are, I can easily conceive a state of things which would make us glad enough to be all safely quit of the ship, even if we had to leave her for a raft. We must be circumspect, as you say, Ned, ay, even to the extent of not being seen talking much together. But we will keep our thoughts busy, and if a scheme occurs to either of us that person must contrive an opportunity to communicate it as briefly as may be to the others. Meanwhile, you will be doing good service if you can manage to sound the better-disposed portion of the crew, with a view to ascertaining whether it would be possible to win them back to their allegiance. And now, Henderson, the best thing we can do, I think, will be to return to our respective cabins and break this news as gently as possible to our wives; they must know it—it would be quite impossible to long conceal the fact of the mutiny from them—and we are the most suitable bearers of the intelligence to them. Well, good-bye for the present, Ned, and do not forget that you may depend upon us at any hour of the day or night. Is not that so, Henderson?”

“Yes, certainly, of course,” was the reply. “I am too much astonished to say much just now, but I shall not be found wanting when the time for action arrives. Good-bye, Ned!”

And with a cordial shake of Ned’s hand, the two quiet, unpretending-looking men filed out and re-entered their respective cabins.