Читать книгу The Kip Brothers - Jules Verne - Страница 10

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The Brig James Cook

The brig James Cook,¹ with a capacity of two hundred and fifty tons, was a solid ship with strong sails and a deep hull that assured its stability. Boasting a slender stern and a raised bow, it handled excellently at all sailing speeds, and its masts were slightly inclined. Its sails set close to the wind in a fresh breeze, and, when avoiding heavy seas, the ship slipped through the waves effortlessly at eleven knots.

Its personnel—as is already known from the conversation heard before—included a captain, a bosun, eight crewmen, a cook, and a cabin boy. It sailed under the British flag, having for its home port Hobart Town,² the capital of Tasmania, due east of the Australian continent and one of Great Britain’s most important colonies.

For some ten years now, the James Cook had been carrying out its trade in the western Pacific, between Australia, New Zealand, and the Philippines. Its voyages were both successful and profitable, thanks to the seamanship and commercial acumen of its captain, a good sailor who also doubled as a good trader.

Captain Harry Gibson, at that time some fifty years of age, had stayed with the ship since it came out of the shipyards of Brisbane.³ He held a quarter interest in the brig, the other three-quarters belonging to Mr. Hawkins, shipowner from Hobart Town. Their business prospered, and the beginnings of this voyage also held out the promise of large profits. The families of the captain and the owner had been close for many years, Harry Gibson having always sailed for the Hawkins firm. Both lived in the same neighborhood of Hobart Town. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins had no children. Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had a single son, age twenty-one, who was also going into commerce. The two women saw each other every day, which made their separation from their husbands less difficult, for the shipowner was located in Wellington,⁴ where he had just founded a bank with Nat Gibson, the captain’s son. It was from there that the James Cook was to bring them to Hobart Town, after having taken on its cargo in the neighboring archipelago of New Guinea, to the north of Australia, in the vicinity of the equator.

Scenes in New Zealand

The bosun was Flig Balt—no point in saying here who he was or what he was worth, nor what villainous plans he was contemplating. Suffice it to say that in addition to those instincts pushing him toward crime and the jealousy he bore the captain, he possessed a cunning hypocrisy that had allowed him to dupe the latter since the beginning of this voyage. Thanks to his references, which appeared to be authentic, he had been hired as bosun on the brig, at the same time that Vin Mod had embarked as seaman. These two men had known each other for a long time—they had traversed the seas together, passing from one ship to another, deserting when finding it impossible to perpetrate their evil deeds—and they hoped to carry out yet another during the last crossing of the James Cook before its return to Hobart Town.

Indeed, Flig Balt inspired great confidence in Captain Gibson, who was taken in by the bosun’s pretense of zeal and his expressions of devotion. Constantly close to the crew, he managed to gain an influence over them. As for the navigation and the commercial matters, Harry Gibson relied only on himself. Not having had the chance to prove himself, perhaps Flig Balt was not the sailor he claimed to be, though he assured the others that he had already shipped out as the second in command. It is even possible that Captain Gibson held some doubts about his background. But Balt’s service left nothing to be desired, and he had never had a reproach to make to his bosun. So the voyage of the brig would probably have been made under the best conditions if the desertion of four sailors had not held him over in Dunedin for two weeks.

A few of the crew members in no way followed the example of their comrades. Hobbes,⁵ Wickley, and Burnes,⁶ belonged to that category of worthy men, disciplined and courageous, on whom a captain could rely fully. As for the deserters, there would have been no reason to miss them, had they not been replaced by the scoundrels that Vin Mod had just recruited in the tavern of the Three Magpies. We know what they are, and we’ll soon see them at work.

The crew also included a cabin boy and a cook.

Jim, the cabin boy, was a young man of fourteen years, from a family of honest workers living in Hobart Town. The family had entrusted him to Captain Gibson. He was a fine lad, who would make a good seaman one day. Captain Gibson treated him as a father would, though with no special favors, and Jim showed him a deep affection. In contrast, Jim felt an instinctive repugnance for the bosun Flig Balt. The latter, who had noticed it, was always trying to find fault with him—which led more than once to the intervention of Mr. Gibson.

As for the cook, Koa,⁷ he was of the type of natives belonging to the second race⁸ of New Zealanders, men of average size, mulatto in skin coloring, muscular and agile, with frizzy hair, the general makeup of that class of people among the Maori. After this first voyage with Koa serving on board the brig as head chef, Harry Gibson had it in mind to dismiss the shifty man, who was vindictive, nasty—and sloppy as well—and on whom reprimands and punishment had no effect. So Flig Balt was correct to place him among those who wouldn’t hesitate to revolt against the captain. Vin Mod and he got along well, too. The bosun spared him, excused him, punished him only if he had no recourse. Koa knew that he would be discharged when he reached Hobart Town, and more than once he had threatened to get revenge. Flig Balt, Vin Mod, and he, assisted by the four newly hired seamen, made seven men against the captain, the three other sailors, and the cabin boy. It is true that Mr. Hawkins, the owner, and Nat Gibson were to come aboard the brig in Wellington, and the ratio would then be more equal. But it was possible that Flig Balt could succeed in taking over the ship between Dunedin and Wellington during the crossing, which was of very short duration. If the occasion presented itself, Vin Mod would seize it.

The James Cook, plying the coastal waterways for four months, had loaded up at different ports where it had replaced its cargo with more profitable freight. After having successively made port in Malikolo, Merena, and Eromanga of the New Hebrides,⁹ then at Vanoua Linon in the Fiji Islands,¹⁰ it would return to Wellington where Mr. Hawkins and Nat Gibson were awaiting it. Then it would set sail for the archipelagoes of New Guinea,¹¹ well stocked with showy but inexpensive goods for the natives, and he’d bring back some mother of pearl and coconut worth some ten or twelve thousand piastres, a handsome sum. From there they would make their return to Hobart Town with stopovers at Brisbane or at Sydney,¹² if circumstances required it. Two more months at sea and the brig would then return to its home port.

One can imagine how much the delays suffered in Dunedin had vexed Mr. Gibson. Mr. Hawkins knew what had transpired, thanks to the letters and telegrams exchanged between Dunedin and Wellington, and by which he urged the captain to reconstitute his crew. He even talked about coming to Dunedin, if necessary, even though affairs of business required his presence in Wellington. Mr. Gibson, as we have seen, had neglected nothing and had worked hard to get the job done, and we cannot forget what difficulties he had confronted, numerous other captains having been caught in the same dilemma. Finally Flig Balt had had some success recruiting, and when the four sailors in the tavern of the Three Magpies were aboard, he had the ship’s boats hoisted up so they could not leave during the night.

That very evening Flig Balt told the captain how things had gone, how he had taken advantage of a squabble to drag Len Cannon and three others from the reach of the police. How valuable they were would soon be seen. Generally such rowdy men calm down once the ship is at sea. Roughnecks on a spree most often make good sailors. All in all, the bosun thought he had acted for the best.

Mr. Gibson said, “I’ll see them tomorrow.”

“Yes … tomorrow,” replied Bosun Balt, “and better yet, let them sleep off their gin until morning.”

“Of course. Besides, the tenders are up on the hoists, and unless they throw themselves overboard …”

“Impossible, Captain. I had them go down into the hold, and they’ll stay there until departure.”

“But, when daylight comes, Balt?”

“Oh! with daylight, fear of falling into the hands of the police will keep them aboard.”

“See you tomorrow then,” Mr. Gibson answered.

Night passed, and no doubt it would have been useless to lock up Len Cannon and his comrades. They scarcely dreamed of saving themselves and fell asleep noisily, the sleep of drunkards. At dawn the next day, Captain Gibson made the last arrangements for leaving port. His papers were in order, and he had no need to return to land. That was the moment he chose to meet the new recruits on the bridge.

Vin Mod opened the main hatch, and the four sailors climbed up to join the ship’s crew. Perfectly sober, they showed no intention of flight.

However, when they appeared before the captain, Gibson was master enough of himself to hide the impression that the sight of these men produced—an impression that could not fail to be most disagreeable—he watched them attentively, then asked their names, in order to enter them in the log.

In giving their names, they also indicated their nationality: two Englishmen, an Irishman, and an American. For their residence, they had none but the taverns around the port, whose owners kept rooms for the patrons. As for their belongings and everything that is usually found in a sailor’s bag, they hadn’t been able to bring them. Besides, Flig Balt would make available to them clothes, linens, and utensils that the deserters would never come back to reclaim. So there would be no reason to send them after their bags. And they didn’t insist.

When Len Cannon, Sexton, Kyle, and Bryce had gone up forward, Mr. Gibson, cocking his head, said:

“Tough customers, Balt. I don’t believe you got a lucky hand with these.”

“Remains to be seen, Captain; we can tell by their work.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on them, and a close eye at that.”

“Of course, Mr. Gibson. Yet they’re fairly skilled according to what an officer from the West Pound¹³ told me, who is here on leave.”

“You had already seen them?”

“Yes, a few days ago.”

“And this officer knew them?”

“They sailed with him on an ocean voyage, and, according to him, they were good sailors.”

The bosun was lying outrageously. No officer had talked to him about these four men, but his assertion could not be checked, and Mr. Gibson had no real reason to suspect its veracity.

“We’ll be careful not to place them together in the same quarters,” said the captain. “The two Englishmen with Hobbes and Wickley, the Irishman and the American with Burnes and Vin Mod. That’ll be safer.”

“Understood, Captain, but do let me say, once at sea they won’t balk at working. It’s just when they’re in port, especially in Wellington, that they’ll need to be watched. No shore leave, take my word for it, or they might never come back.”

“No matter, Balt, they don’t inspire me with confidence, and in Wellington, if I can replace them …”

“We’ll replace them,” replied the bosun. Flig Balt did not wish to insist more than was proper, nor appear to favor those temporary sailors.

“After all,” he added, “I did my best, Captain, and I didn’t have a lot of choice!”

Mr. Gibson went aft, near the helmsman, while Flig Balt went forward to hoist and stow the anchor as soon as the sails were set.

The captain looked at the compass located in front of the helm, then at the weathercock at the peak of the main mast and the British flag that the wind deployed over the top of the brigantine. The James Cook was rocking on its anchor line in mid-port. The breeze, blowing from the southwest, should favor its departure. After descending the channel to Port Chalmers,¹⁴ it would find a good wind blowing up the eastern shore of New Zealand as far as the channel that separates the two islands. However, after having raised anchor, it would have to avoid several ships moored at the entrance to the canal and run close to the dock bordering the port on the starboard side.

Mr. Gibson gave his orders. The two topsails, the foresail, the jibs and the spanker were set, one after the other. During this maneuver, it became clear that Len Cannon and his comrades knew the trade, and when they had to climb to the topgallant, they performed like men who have nothing more to learn about the setting of sails.¹⁵

New Zealand

The half-raised anchor was hoisted aboard the moment the sheets had stiffened to set the brig in the right direction.

Flig Balt and Vin Mod were able to exchange a few words during the maneuver.

“Aha!” declared the latter, “our recruits are working out well.”

“Well enough, Mod.”

“Three more louts of that sort and we’d have the crew we need.”

“And our ship!” added Flig Balt in a low tone.

“And our captain as well!” Vin Mod declared, raising his hand to his beret, as though saluting his captain.

Flig Balt stopped him with a gesture, fearing that those imprudent words could be heard by the ship’s cabin boy, busily engaged with the sail on the jib. Then he was returning to the deckhouse when Vin Mod asked him what Mr. Gibson thought of the four regular customers of the Three Magpies.

“He was somewhat satisfied,” replied Flig Balt.

“The fact is that the outward appearance of our recruits works against them,” replied Vin Mod.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to disembark them in Wellington,” said Flig Balt.

“To disembark them in Wellington,” added Vin Mod, shrugging his shoulders, “you have to first get to Wellington. But I hope that we won’t go to Wellington, and won’t disembark anyone.”

“Don’t be imprudent, Mod!”

“Well … Flig Balt, the captain isn’t happy?”

“No.”

“What’s the difference, as long as we are!”

The bosun came back to the stern.

“Everything ready?” Mr. Gibson asked.

“All set, Captain.”

The James Cook slowly turned, approaching the dock where it would be within a half cable’s length.

A group had formed there, sailors and onlookers, who were always interested at the sight of a ship under sail. And besides, for several weeks they had been deprived of this spectacle since most ships had not been able to leave their moorings.

Now in this group could be seen several policemen whose attention seemed particularly drawn to the James Cook. That could be guessed by their gestures and attitude. There were even two or three of these officers who had run to the far end of the dock, which the ship would soon be skirting.

Of course—neither Flig Balt nor Vin Mod had any doubt—these policemen were among those whom they had seen the day before in Adam Fry’s tavern. Len Cannon and his comrades risked being recognized, and who knows if the James Cook, hailed in passage and ordered to stop, would not be given notice to surrender the sailors from the Three Magpies?

After all, Captain Gibson, at the risk of being held under strict surveillance, found it to his advantage to hold onto them, and he would have been extremely inconvenienced if he had been obliged to turn them over to the police. So, after a few words from Flig Balt, he approved Vin Mod’s taking Len Cannon, Sexton, Kyle and Bryce below decks before they could be identified by the police.

“Get below … get below!” Vin Mod whispered to them.

They cast a rapid look toward the dock, understood, and disappeared down the hatch. Besides, their presence on deck was no longer necessary; the helmsman managed to direct the James Cook toward the entrance of the canal without any need to brace the sails.

The brig continued on its course approaching the end of the dock, even closer than usual for most ships, for it had to avoid an American steamship¹⁶ whose loud whistles were rending the air.

The policemen thus were able to observe the sailors on board, and surely if Len Cannon and the others had not been sent below, they would have been recognized and forced to disembark immediately. But the police did not see them, and the brig was able to enter the channel as soon as the steamer had pulled out of its way.

There was nothing more to fear; the four sailors returned to the deck.

Besides, their help was needed. The channel, which goes from southwest to northeast, is rather winding, and one must let out or tighten the sails at every turn.

The James Cook, aided by the breeze, navigated without difficulty between the green shores strewn with villas and cottages, where along one bank runs the railway that connects Dunedin to Port Chalmers

It was nearly eight o’clock when the brig passed before this port and reached the open sea. There, on the port tack, it sailed along the coast, leaving to the south the Otago lighthouse¹⁷ and Cape Saunders.¹⁸