Читать книгу The Island Treasure - John C. Hutcheson - Страница 6

“I’m very sorry for you, Sam,” I said, when he came up again to the galley, making his way forward much more slowly than he had scrambled aft to interview the skipper. “Captain Snaggs is a regular tyrant to treat you so; but, never mind, Sam, we’ll soon have you back in your old place here, for I don’t think there’s any fellow in the ship that knows anything about cooking like you!”

“Dunno spec dere’s am,” he replied, disconsolately, speaking in a melancholy tone of voice, as if overcome at the idea of surrendering his regal post of king of the caboose—the cook’s berth on board a merchant vessel being one of authority, as well as having a good deal of licence attached to it; besides giving the holder thereof an importance in the eyes of the crew, only second to that of the skipper, or his deputy, the first-mate. The next moment, however, the darkey’s face brightened, from some happy thought or other that apparently crossed his mind; and, his month gradually opening with a broad grin, that displayed a double row of beautifully even white teeth, which would have aroused the envy of a fashionable dentist, he broke into a huge guffaw, that I was almost afraid the captain would hear away aft on the poop.

“Hoo-hoo! Yah-yah!” he laughed, with all that hearty abandon of his race, bending his body and slapping his hands to his shins, as if to hold himself up. “Golly! me nebber fought ob dat afore! Hoo-hoo! Yah-yah! I’se most ready to die wid laffin! Hoo-hoo!”

“Why, Sam,” I cried, “what’s the matter now?”

“Hoo-hoo! Cholly,” he at last managed to get out between his convulsive fits of laughter. “Yer jess wait till cap’n want um grub; an’ den—hoo-hoo!—yer see one fine joke! My gosh! Cholly, I’se one big fool not tink ob dat afore! Guess it’ll do prime. Yah-yah! Won’t de ‘ole man’ squirm! Hoo-hoo!”

“Oh, Sam!” I exclaimed, a horrid thought occurring to me all at once. “You wouldn’t poison him?”

The little negro drew himself up with a native sort of dignity, that made him appear quite tall.

“I’se hab black ’kin, an no white like yer’s, Cholly,” said he gravely, wiping away the tears that had run down his cheeks in the exuberance of his recent merriment. “But, b’y, yer may beleeb de troot, dat if I’se hab black ’kin, my hart ain’t ob dat colour; an’ I wouldn’t pizen no man, if he wer de debbel hisself. No, Cholly, I’se fight fair, an’ dunno wish to go behint no man’s back!”

“I’m sure I beg your pardon,” said I, seeing that I had insulted him by my suspicion; “but what are you going to do to pay the skipper out?”

This set him off again with a fresh paroxysm of laughter.

“My golly! Hoo-hoo! I’se goin’ hab one fine joke,” he spluttered out, his face seemingly all mouth, and his woolly hair crinkling, as if electrified by his inward feelings. “I’se goin’—hoo-hoo!—I’se goin’—yah-yah!—”

But, what he was about to tell me remained for the present a mystery; for, just then, the squalls ceasing and the wind shifting to the northward of west, the captain ordered the lee braces to be slacked off, and we hauled round more to starboard, still keeping on the same tack, though. Our course now was pretty nearly south-west by south, and thus, instead of barely just weathering the Smalls, as we should only have been able to do if it had kept on blowing from the same quarter right in our teeth, we managed to give the Pembrokeshire coast a good wide berth, keeping into the open seaway right across the entrance to the Bristol Channel, the ship heading towards Scilly well out from the land.

She made better weather, too, not rolling or pitching so much, going a bit free, as she did when close-hauled, the wind drawing more abeam as it veered north; and Captain Snaggs was not the last to notice this, you may be sure. He thought he might just as well take advantage of it, as not being one of your soft-hearted sailors, but a ‘beggar to carry on when he had the chance,’ at least, so said Hiram Bangs, who had sailed with him before.

No sooner, therefore, were the yards braced round than he roared out again to the watch, keeping them busy on their legs—

“Hands, make sail!”

“Let go y’r tops’l halliards!”

“Away aloft thaar, men!” he cried, when the yards came down on the caps; “lay out sharp and shake out them reefs!”

Then, it was all hoist away with the halliards and belay, the mainsail being set again shortly afterwards and the jib rehoisted, with the foretopmast staysail stowed and the reef let out of the foresail.

Later on, the top-gallants were set, as well as the spanker; and the Denver City, under a good spread of canvas, began to show us how she could go through the water on a bowline; for, the sea having gone down a bit, besides running the same way we were going, she did not take in so much wet nor heel over half so much as she did an hour before, when beating to windward, while every stitch she had on drew, sending her along a good eight knots or more, with a wake behind her like a mill race.

During the commotion that ensued when we were bracing the yards and letting out reefs and setting more sail, I had lost sight of Sam Jedfoot, the men bustling about so much forward that I retreated under the break of the poop, out of their way; but, from here, I noticed that Sam made himself very busy when the clew-garnet blocks were hauled aft, on the mainsail being dropped, his powerful arms being as good as any two men tailed on to a rope, for there was “plenty of beef” in him, if he were not up to much in the matter of size.

After the bustle, however, I was called in to the cabin by the steward, to help wait at table, as the captain had come down to dinner at last, now that everything was going well with the ship and we were fairly out at sea, the first-mate accompanying him, while Jan Steenbock was left in charge of the deck, with strict orders to keep the same course, west sou’-west, and call Captain Snaggs if any change should take place in the wind.

“I guess the stoopid cuss can’t make no durned mistake about thet,” I heard the captain say to Mr. Flinders, as he came down the companion hatchway, rubbing his hands, as if in anticipation of his dinner; “an’, by thunder, I dew feel all powerful hungry!”

“So do I, sir,” chimed in the first-mate. “I hope the stooard hez somethin’ good for us to eat. I feels raal peckish, I dew!”

“Hope ye ain’t too partick’ler,” rejoined Captain Snaggs; “fur this ’ll be the last dinner thet air conceited darkey, Sam, ’ll cook fur ye, Flinders. He goes in the fo’c’s’le to-morrow, an’ this hyar lout of a stooard shall take his place in the galley.”

“ ‘Changey for changey, black dog for white monkey,’ ” observed the first-mate with a snigger. “Eh, cap?”

“Ye’ve hit it, Flinders, I reckon,” said the other; and, as he gave a look round the cabin before taking his seat, which the Welsh steward stood behind obsequiously, although he could not draw it out, as it was lashed down to the deck and a fixture, the captain added: “Ye’d better see about gettin’ the deadlights up to them stern ports, Flinders, afore nightfall. They look kinder shaky, an’ if a followin’ sea shu’d catch us astern, we’d be all swamped in hyar, I guess.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” said the first-mate, seating himself, too; that is, as soon as he noticed that the steward, who had instantly rushed forward to the galley for the dinner, which was keeping hot there, had returned with a smoking dish, which he placed in front of the captain, dexterously removing the cover almost at the same instant—“I’ll see to it the first thing when I go on deck again.”

“An’, Flinders,” continued Captain Snaggs, ladling out a good portion of the contents of the dish into a plate, which the steward passed on to the first-mate, “I see a rope’s-end hangin’ down thaar, too, like a bight of the signal halliards or the boom-sheet, which some lubber hez let tow overboard. Hev it made fast an’ shipshape. I hate slovenliness like pizen!”

“So do I, sir, you bet,” answered the mate, with his mouth full. “I’ll watch it when I go on the poop agen; but, ain’t this fowl an’ rice jest galumptious, cap?”

“Pretty so so,” said Captain Snaggs, who seemed somewhat critical, in spite of his assertion of being ravenous and ‘a reg’ler whale on poultry,’ as he had observed when Jones took off the dish cover. “Strikes me, thaar’s a rum sort o’ taste about it thet ain’t quite fowlish!”

“M–yum, m–yum; I dew taste somethin’ bitterish,” agreed Mr. Flinders, smacking his lips and deliberating apparently over the flavour of the fowl; “p’raps the critter’s gall bladder got busted—hey?”

“P’raps so, Flinders,” rejoined the skipper; “but I hope thet durned nigger hasn’t be’n meddlin’ with it! Them darkeys air awful vengeful, an’ when I hed him up jist now, an’ told him he’d hev ter go forrud, I heard him mutter sunthin’ about ‘not forgettin’’—guess I did, so.”

Captain Snaggs looked so solemn as he said this, with his face bent down into his plate to examine what was on it the more closely, and his billy-goat beard almost touching the gravy, that I had to cough to prevent myself from laughing; for, I was standing just by him, handing round a dish of potatoes at the time.

“Hillo!” he exclaimed, looking up and staring at me so that I flushed up as red as a turkey cock, “what’s the matter with ye, b’y?”

“N–n–nothing, sir,” I stammered. “I—I couldn’t help it, sir; I have got a sort of tickling in my throat.”

“Guess a ticklin’ on yer back would kinder teach ye better manners when ye’re a-waitin’ at table,” he said, grimly. “Go an’ tell the stooard to fetch the rum bottle out of my bunk, with a couple of tumblers, an’ then ye can claar out right away. I don’t want no b’ys a-hangin’ round when I’m feedin’!”

Glad enough was I at thus getting my dismissal without any further questioning; and, after giving Jones the captain’s message, I went out from the pantry on to the maindeck, and so forward to the galley, where I expected to find Sam.

He wasn’t there, however; but, hearing his voice on the fo’c’s’le, I looked up, and saw him there, in the centre of a little knot of men, consisting of Tom Bullover, the carpenter, Hiram Bangs, and another sailor, to whom, as I quickly learnt from a stray word here and there, the darkey cook was laying down the law anent the skipper and his doings.

“De ole man’s a hard row to hoe, yer bet,” I heard him say, “but he don’t get over dis chile nohow! I’se heer tell ob him afore I ship’t as how he wer the hardest cap’n as sailed out ob Libberpool.”

“Then, why did you jine?” asked Hiram Bangs; “good cooks ain’t so common as you couldn’t git another vessel.”

“Why did yer jine, Mass’ Hiram, sin’ yer sailed wid him afore, an’ knowed he was de bery debble?”

“ ’Cause I wants ter go to ’Frisco,” replied the other; “an’, ’sides, I ain’t afeared of the old skunk. He’s more jaw nor actin’, an’ a good sailor, too, an’ no mistake, spite of his bad temper an’ hard words.”

“Golly, Hiram, nor ain’t I’se funky ob him, neider! My fader in Jamaiky he one big fetish man; an’ I not ’fraid ob Captain Snaggs, or de debbel, or any odder man; an’ I wants ter go ter ’Frisco, too, an’ dat’s de reason I’se hyar.”

Presently, when I had the chance of speaking to him, I told him of the captain’s suspicions; but he only laughed when I begged him to tell me if he had put anything into the cabin dinner, and what it was.

“Yah-yah, sonny! I’se tole yer so, I’se tole yer so—hoo-hoo!” he cried, doubling himself up and yelling with mirth. “I’se tole yer, ‘jess wait till bymeby, an’ yer see one big joke;’ but, chile, yer’d better not know nuffin ’bout it; fo’, den yer ken tell de troot if de cap’n ax, an’ say yer knows nuffin.”

This was no doubt sound advice; still, it did not satisfy my curiosity, and I was rather indignant at his not confiding in me. Of course, I was not going to tell the captain or anybody, for I wasn’t a sneak, at all events, if I was only a cabin boy!

Vexed at his not confiding in me, I turned to look over the side at the scene around.

The sun had not long set, and a bit of the afterglow yet lingered over the western horizon, warming up that portion of the sky; but, above, although the leaden clouds had all disappeared, being driven away to leeward long since, the shades of evening were gradually creeping up, and the sea and everything was covered with a purple haze, save where the racing waves rushed over each other in a mass of seething foam, that scintillated out coruscations of light—little oases of brightness in the desert of the deep.

As for the ship, she was a beauty, and sailed on, behaving like a clipper, rising and falling with a gentle rocking motion, when she met and passed the rollers that she overtook in her course, as they raced before her, trying to outvie her speed, and tossing up a shower of spray occasionally over her weather bow, which the fading gleams of crimson and gold of the sunset touched up and turned into so many little rainbows, that hovered over the water in front for a moment and then disappeared, as the vessel crushed them out of life with her cutwater.

The wind still whistled through the rigging, but, now, it was more like the musical sound of an Aeolian harp, whose chords vibrated rhythmically with the breeze; while the big sails bellying out from the yards above emitted a gentle hum, as that of bees in the distance, from the rushing air that expanded their folds, which, coupled with the wash and ‘Break, break, break!’ of the sea, sounded like a sad lullaby.

All was quietness on deck: some of the late hands having their tea below, where one or two had already turned in to gain a few winks of sleep before being called on duty to keep the first watch. Others again, as I’ve already said, where chatting and yarning on the fo’c’s’le, as sailors love to chat and yarn of an evening, when the ship is sailing free with a fair wind, and there’s nothing much doing, save to mind the helm and take an occasional pull at the braces to keep her “full and by.”

All was quiet; but, not for long!

It was just beginning to grow dark, although still light enough to see everything that was going on fore and aft, when Captain Snaggs staggered out from the cuddy, coming through the doorway underneath the break of the poop, and not going up the companion hatch, as was his usual habit when he came out on deck.

He looked as if he had been drinking pretty heavily from the bottle of rum the steward had brought in as I left the cabin, an impression which his thick speech confirmed, when, after fetching up against the mainmast bitts, in a vain attempt to work to windward and reach the poop ladder, he began to roar out my name.

“B’y! I wants thet b’y, Chawley Hills! Hillo, Chaw-ley! Chawley Hills!—Hills!—Hills! On deck thaar! Where are ye? By thunder! I’ll spif-spif-splicate ye, b’y, when I catch ye! Come hyar!”

I was rather terrified at this summons, the more especially from his being drunk, but, I went all the same towards him.

He clutched hold of me the moment I came near.

“Ye d–d–durned young reptile!” he roared, more soberly than he had spoken before; and, from a sort of agonised look in his face, I could see that something more than mere drink affected him, for I had noticed him before under the influence of intoxicating liquors. “Tell me wha-at thet infarnal nigger put into the grub? Ye know ye knows all about it, fur ye looked guilty when the mate an’ I wer talkin’ about it at table; an’ he’s been pizened, an’ so am I; an’ he sez ye knows all about it, an’ so does I; an’ what is more, b’y, I’ll squeeze the life out of ye if yer don’t tell!”

“Oh, please, sir,” I cried out; as well as the pressure of his hands on my throat would permit, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Cuss ye, b’y. Ye dew know; an’, if chokin’ won’t get it out of ye, we’ll try what larrupin’ will do!”

So saying, he ordered a couple of the hands standing by to seize me up to the weather rigging; and taking hold of a thick piece of rope, which he had brought with him out of the cabin, he proceeded to deliver blows about my back and shoulders that made me howl again, the strokes seeming to tear the flesh from my bones.

“Won’t ye tell, hey?” he exclaimed between each stroke of the improvised cat, which lashed as well, I can answer, as if it had nine tails; “won’t ye tell, hey?”

At the third stroke, however, he himself fell upon the deck, putting his hands to his stomach and rolling about doubled up almost in two in his agony; although, when the paroxysm of pain had ceased for the moment, he got up on his feet once more and began lashing away at me again.

But, my deliverer was at hand.

Just as he raised his arm to deliver a fourth stripe across my back, and I shrank back in expectation of it, I heard Sam Jedfoot’s voice—

“ ’Top dat, massa cap?” he called out. “What fur yer lick dat b’y fur?”

“Oh, it’s ye, is it?” roared the skipper, turning on him with a snarl. “I wer comin’ fur ye presently, ye durned cuss! But, ez ye air hyar, why, ye scoundrel, what did ye make thet b’y do to the dinner? Me an’ the mate is both pizened.”

“De b’y didn’t do nuffin, an’ yer ain’t pizened, nor Mass’ Flinders, neider,” said Sam calmly, interrupting the captain before he could scream out another word; “I’se dun it alone. I’se put jalap in the fowl a puppose!”

“Ye did, did ye!” yelled the captain fiercely; and there was a savage vindictiveness in his voice that I had not noticed previously, as he turned round to address the second-mate and a number of the men, who had gathered round at the noise made by the altercation, those that had turned in turning out, and even the look-out coming from off the fo’c’s’le away aft to see what was going on. “Men, ye’ve heard this tarnation villain confess thet he’s tried to pizen Mr. Flinders an’ myself. Now ye’ll see me punish him!”

With these words, which he spoke quite calmly, without a trace of passion, he drew out a revolver from the pocket of his jacket, cocking it with a click that struck a cold chill to my heart, and made me shudder more convulsively than even the brute’s lashes had done the moment before.

“Bress de Lor’! don’ shoot me, cap’n!” cried poor Sam, edging away from the fatal weapon, as Captain Snaggs raised it; “don’t shoot, fo’ de Lor’s sake!”

“I’m going to kill ye like a dog!” rejoined the other, taking aim; but Sam, quick as lightning darted into the weather rigging, making his way forward along the channels, the captain jumping after him and repeating—“It’s no use. Ye won’t escape me, I tell ye, darkey; ye won’t escape me! I’ll kill ye ez dead ez a dog! Like a dog, d’ye haar?”

As he uttered the last words a second time, as if the repetition of the phrase pleased his cruel ear, there was another ‘click,’ followed by a bright flash and a sharp report; and then, uttering a wild, despairing cry, which was echoed by the men standing around, poor Sam dropped into the sea alongside, his body splashing up the water right inboard into my face as it fell!