Читать книгу The Ghost Ship - John Conroy Hutcheson - Страница 6

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Chapter Four.

A Conflict of Authority.

Just then Captain Applegarth appeared on the scene.

He had gone down by the companion-way into the saloon below, after Mr. Fosset had left the poop, to look at the barometer in his cabin, and now came along the upper deck and on to the bridge amidships, startling us with his sudden presence.

The skipper had a sharp eye, which was so trained by observation in all sorts of weather that he could see in the dark, like a cat, almost as well as he could by daylight.

Looking round and scanning our faces as well as he could in the prevailing gloom, he soon perceived that something was wrong.

“Huh!” he exclaimed. “What’s the row about?”

“There’s no row, sir,” explained the first mate in an off-hand tone of bravado, which he tried to give a jocular ring to, but could not very successfully. “This youngster Haldane here swears he saw a full-rigged ship on our lee quarter awhile ago, flying a signal of distress; but neither Mr. Spokeshave, who was on the watch, nor myself, could make her out where Haldane said he saw her.”

“Indeed?”

“No, sir,” continued Mr. Fosset; “nor could the helmsman or old Greazer here, who came up with the binnacle lamp at the time. Not one of us could see this wonderful ship of Haldane’s, though it was pretty clear all round then, and we all looked in the direction to which he pointed.”

“That’s strange,” said Captain Applegarth, “very strange.”

“Quite so, sir, just what we all think, sir,” chimed in Master Spokeshave, putting in his oar. “Not a soul here on the bridge, sir, observed anything of any ship of any sort, leastways one flying a signal of distress, such as Dick Haldane said he saw.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the skipper, as if turning the matter over in his mind for the moment; and then addressing me point blank he asked me outright, “Do you really believe you saw this ship, Haldane?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered as directly as he had questioned me; “I’ll swear I did.”

“No, I don’t want you to do that; I’ll take your word for it without any swearing, Haldane,” said the skipper to this, speaking to me quietly and as kindly as if he had been my father. “But listen to me, my boy. I do not doubt your good faith for a moment, mind that. Still, are you sure that what you believe you saw might not have been some optical illusion proceeding from the effects of the afterglow at sunset? It was very bright and vivid, you know, and the reflection of a passing cloud above the horizon or its shadow just before the sun dipped might have caused that very appearance which you took to be a ship under sail. I have myself been often mistaken in the same way under similar atmospheric surroundings and that is why I put it to you like this, to learn whether you are quite certain you might not be mistaken?”

“Quite so,” shoved in Spokeshave again in his parrot fashion; “quite so, sir.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” growled the skipper, shutting him up in a twinkling; and then, turning to me again, he looked at me inquiringly. “Well, Haldane, have you thought it out?”

“Yes, captain, I have,” I replied firmly, though respectfully, the ill-timed interference of the objectionable Mr. Spokeshave having made me as obstinate as Mr. Fosset. “It was no optical illusion or imagination on my part, sir, or anything of that sort, I assure you, sir. I am telling you the truth, sir, and no lie. I saw that ship, sir, to leeward of us just now as clearly as I can see you at this moment; aye, clearer, sir!”

“Then that settles the matter. I’ve never had occasion to doubt your word before during the years you’ve sailed with me, my boy, and I am not going to doubt it now.”

So saying, Captain Applegarth, putting his arm on my shoulder, faced round towards the first mate and Spokeshave, as if challenging them both to question my veracity after this testimony on his part in my favour.

“This ship, you say, Haldane,” then continued the skipper, proceeding to interrogate me as to the facts of the case, now that my credulity had been established, in his sharp, sailor-like way, “was flying a signal of distress, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered with zest, all animation and excitement again at his encouragement. “She had her flag, the French tricolour, I think, sir, hoisted half-mast at her peak; and she appeared, sir, a good deal battered about, as if she had been in bad weather and had made the worst of it. Besides, cappen—”

I hesitated.

“Besides what, my boy?” he asked, on my pausing here, almost afraid to mention the sight I had noticed on the deck of the ill-fated ship in the presence of two such sceptical listeners as Mr. Fosset and my more immediate superior, the third officer, Spokeshave. “You need not be afraid of saying anything you like before me. I’m captain of this ship.”

“Well, sir,” said I, speaking out, “just before that mass of clouds or fog bank came down on the wind, shutting out the ship from view, she yawed a bit off her course, and I saw somebody on her deck aft.”

“What!” cried the skipper, interrupting me. “Was she so close as that?”

“Yes, sir,” said I. “She did not seem to be a hundred yards away at the moment, if that.”

“And you saw somebody on the deck?”

“Yes, cap’en,” I answered; “a woman.”

He again interrupted me, all agog at the news.

“A woman?”

“Yes, sir,” said I. “A woman, or rather, perhaps a girl, for she had a lot of long hair streaming over her shoulders, all flying about in the wind.”

“What was she doing?”

“She appeared to be waving a white handkerchief or something like that, as if to attract our attention—asking us to help her, like.”

The skipper drew himself up to his full height on my telling this and turned round on Mr. Fosset, his face blazing with passion.

“A ship in distress, a woman on board imploring our aid,” he exclaimed in keen, cold, cutting tones that pierced one like a knife, “and you passed her by without rendering any assistance—a foreigner too, of all. We Englishmen, who pride ourselves on our humanity above all other nations. What will they think of us?”

“I tell you, sir, we could not see any ship at all!” retorted the first mate hotly, in reply to this reproach, which he felt as keenly as it was uttered. “And if we couldn’t see the ship, how could we know there was a woman or anybody aboard?”

“Quite so,” echoed Spokeshave, emphasising Mr. Fosset’s logical argument in his own defence. “That’s exactly what I say, sir.”

“I would not have had it happen for worlds. We flying the old Union jack, too, that boasts of never passing either friend or foe when in danger and asking aid.”

He spoke still more bitterly, as if he had not heard their excuses.

“But hang it, cap’en,” cried Mr. Fosset, “I tell you—”

Captain Applegarth waved him aside.

“Where did you last sight the ship, Haldane?” he said, turning round abruptly to me. “How was she heading?”

“She bore about two points off our port quarter,” I replied as laconically. “I think, sir, she was running before the wind like ourselves, though steering a little more to the southwards.”

The skipper looked at the standard compass in front of the wheel-house on the bridge, and then addressed the helmsman.

“How are we steering now, quartermaster? The same course as I set at noon, eh?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Atkins, who still stood by the steam steering gear singlehanded. If it had been the ordinary wheel, unaided by steam-power, it would have required four men to move the rudder and keep the vessel steady in such a sea as was now running. “We’ve kept her pretty straight, sir, since eight bells on the same course, west by south, sir, half south.”

“Very good, quartermaster. Haldane, are you there?”

“Yes, sir,” said I, stepping up to him again, having moved away into the shadow under the lee of the wheel-house whilst he was speaking to Atkins. “Here I am, sir.”

“Was that vessel dropping us when we passed her, or were we going ahead of her?”

“She was running before the wind, sir, at a tangent to our course, and more to the southwards, moving through the water quicker than we were, until she luffed up just before that mist or fog bank shut her out from view. But—”

“Well?”

“I think, sir,” I continued, “that was done merely to speak us; and if she bore away again, as she was probably forced to do, being at the mercy of the gale, she must be scudding even more to the southwards, almost due south, I should fancy, as the wind has backed again more to the nor’ard since this.”

“I fancy the same, my boy. I see you have a sailor’s eye and have got your wits about you. Quartermaster?”

“Aye, aye, sir?”

“Let her off a point or two gradually until you bring her head about sou’-sou’-west, and keep her so.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” responded Atkins, easing her off as required. “Sou’-sou’-west it shall be, sir, in a minute.”

“That will bring us across her, I think,” said the skipper to me. “But we must go a little faster if we want to overtake her. What are we doing now, eh?”

“I don’t quite know, sir,” I answered to this question. “I was only just coming up on the bridge to relieve Mr. Spokeshave when I sighted the ship and have not had time to look at the indicator. I should think, though, we’re going eight or nine knots.”

This didn’t satisfy the skipper, so he turned to the first mate, who had remained moodily aloof with Spokeshave at the end of the bridge.

“Mr. Fosset,” he sang out abruptly, “what are the engines doing?”

“About thirty revolutions, sir; half speed, as nearly as possible.”

“How much are we going altogether?”

“Ten knots, with our sails,” replied the other. “The wind is freshening, too.”

“So I see,” said Captain Applegarth laconically.

“And it’ll freshen still more by-and-bye if I’m not mistaken!”

“Yes, it looks as if we’re going to have a bit of a blow. The scud is flying all over us now that we are running before the wind. I really think we ought to ease down, sir, for the screw races fearfully as she dips and I’m afraid of the shaft.”

“I’m responsible for that, Mr. Fosset,” answered the skipper as, moving the handle of the gong on the bridge communicating with the engine-room, he directed those in charge below to put on full speed ahead. “I never yet abandoned a ship in distress, and I’m not going to do so now. We’re on the right course to overhaul her, now, I think, eh, Haldane?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I hope, though, we won’t pass her in the fog, sir, or run into her, perhaps.”

“No fear of that, my boy: The fog is lifting now and the night will soon be as clear as a bell, for the wind is driving all the mists away. Besides, we’ll take precautions against any accident happening. Mr. Fosset?”

“Aye, aye, sir?”

“Put a couple of lookouts on the fo’c’s’le.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Perhaps, too, we’d better send up a rocket to let ’em know we’re about. Mr. Spokeshave? Mr. Spokeshave?”

No answer came this time, however, from my friend, Master “Conky,” though he had been ready enough just now with his aggravating “quite so.”

“I think, sir,” said I, “Mr. Spokeshave has gone below to his tea.”

“Very likely,” replied the skipper drily; “he’s precious fond of his breadbasket, that young gentleman. I don’t think he’ll ever starve where there’s any grub knocking about. Fancy a fellow, calling himself a man, thinking of his belly at such a moment! Go, Haldane, and call him up again and tell him I want him.”

I started to obey Captain Applegarth’s order, but I had hardly got three steps down the ladder when Spokeshave saved me further trouble by coming up on the bridge again of his own accord, without waiting to be summoned.

The skipper, therefore, gave him instructions to let off, every quarter of an hour, a couple of signal rockets and burn a blue light or two over our port and starboard quarter alternately as we proceeded towards the object of our quest.

“All right, sir; quite so!” said “Conky,” as well as he could articulate, his mouth being full of something he had hurriedly snatched from the steward’s pantry when he had gone below, and brought up with him to eat on deck, knowing that the skipper would be sure to sing out for him if he remained long away at so critical a juncture. “All right, sir; quite so!”

The skipper laughed as he went down again to get the rockets and blue lights which were kept in a spare cabin aft for safety.

“He’s a rum chap, that little beggar,” he observed to Mr. Fosset, who had been forward to set the look-out men on the forecastle and had returned to the bridge. “I think if you told him he was the laziest loafer that ever ate lobscouse, he couldn’t help saying ‘Quite so!’ ”

“You’re about right, sir. I think, though, he can’t help it; he’s got so used to the phrase,” replied the other, joining in the skipper’s laugh. “But, hullo, here comes old Stokes, panting and puffing along the gangway. I hope nothing’s wrong in the engine-room.”

“I hope not,” said the skipper. “We want to go all we can just now, to overhaul that ship Haldane saw.”

“If he saw it,” muttered the first officer, under his breath and glowering at me. “A pack of sheer nonsense, I call it, this going out of our course on a wild-goose chase and tearing away full speed on a wild night like this, in a howling sea, with a gale, too, astern; and all because an ass of a youngster fancies he saw the Flying Dutchman!”

I daresay the captain heard him, but the appearance just then of Mr. Stokes, our chief engineer, who had now reached the bridge, panting and puffing at every step, as Mr. Fosset had said, he being corpulent of habit and short-winded, stopped any further controversy on the point as to whether I had seen, or had not seen, the mysterious ship.

“Cap’en, Cap’en Applegarth!” cried out the chief engineer asthmatically as soon as he got within hail, speaking in a tearful voice and almost crying in his excitement. “Are you there, sir?”

“Aye, here I am, Mr. Stokes, as large as life, though not quite so big a man as you,” answered the skipper jocularly.

“I am here on the bridge, quite at your service.”

Mr. Stokes, however, was in no jocular mood.

“Cap’en Applegarth,” said he solemnly, “did you really mean to ring us on full speed ahead?”

“I did,” replied the skipper promptly. “What of that?”

“What of that?” repeated the old engineer, dumbfounded by this return shot. “Why, sir, the engines can’t stand it. That is all, if you must have it!”

“Can’t stand what?”

“They can’t stand all this driving and racing, with the propeller blades half out of water every second revolution of the shaft. No engines could stand it, with such a heavy sea on and the ship rolling and pitching all the time like a merry-go-round at Barnet Fair. The governor is no good; and, though Grummet or Links have their grip on the throttle valve all the while to check the steam, and I’ve every stoker and oiler on duty, the bearings are getting that heated that I’m afraid of the shaft breaking at any moment. Full speed, sir? Why, we can’t do it, sir, we can’t do it!”

“Nonsense, Stokes,” said the skipper good-humouredly. “You must do it, old fellow.”

“But, I tell you, Cap’en Applegarth, the engines can’t stand it without breaking down, and then where will you be, I’d like to know?”

“I’ll risk that.”

“No, cap’en,” snorted the old chief, doggedly. “I’m responsible to the owners for the engines, and if anything happened to the machinery they’d blame me. I can’t do it.”

The skipper flew up to white heat at this.

“But, Mr. Stokes, recollect I am responsible for the ship, engines and all, sir. The greater includes the less, and, as captain of this ship, I intend to have my orders carried out by every man-jack on board. Do you hear that?”

“Yes, sir, I hear,” replied Mr. Stokes grumblingly as he backed towards the bridge-ladder. “But, sir—”

The skipper would not give him time to get out another word.

“You heard what I said,” he roared out in a voice that made the old chief jump down half a dozen steps at once. “I ordered you to go full speed ahead and I mean to go full speed ahead whether the boilers burst, or the propeller races, or the screw shaft carries away; for I won’t abandon a ship in distress for all the engineers and half-hearted mollicoddles in the world!”

“A ship in distress?” gasped old Mr. Stokes from the bottom rung of the ladder. “I didn’t hear about that before.”

“Well, you hear it now,” snapped out the skipper viciously, storming up and down the bridge in a state of great wrath. “But whether it’s a ship in distress or not, I’ll have you to know, Mr. Stokes, once for all that if I order full speed or half speed or any speed, I intend my orders to be obeyed; and if you don’t like it you can lump it. I’m captain of this ship!”