Читать книгу Captain Cain - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 6

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It was not yet high tide, but already the fresh water descending the river was stronger than the sea water carried up on the flood. In consequence, the boat made steady progress, the rowers sticking gamely to their task in spite of the heat. They realised that the sooner they gained the shore of the lagoon the better, since they would be free to rest without stifling in a miasmic hothouse.

Although bitterly disappointed at the knowledge that all their discomforts were in vain, they were buoyed up by their captain’s optimism. One word of dismay from his lips would have figuratively “knocked the bottom out of everything.” Only the coolness and seeming indifference to the stroke of ill-luck had kept his men from the depths of despair. More than that, he had encouraged them to expect success in the next enterprise, whatever that might be.

At length the whaler was grounded at the resting-place of the previous night. Removing the gear, the men hauled her up above high-water mark and turned her keel uppermost.

“There’s one blessing, sir,” remarked Barnard. “Built of steel, she won’t split open in the heat same as if she’d been built of wood; but I reckon it’ll be pretty baking underneath her.”

“I don’t advise you to try it,” replied Cain. “At least, not until the sun goes down. We’ll have to stick it till then, but there is no reason why we shouldn’t knock together some sort of shelter and roof it with palm leaves.”

It was not until late in the afternoon that the men bestirred themselves to gather more maize and procure water that might by courtesy be termed fresh, although it was warm and brackish.

“Happen we might get another turtle to-night,” suggested the bo’sun. “If we’re lucky, I’ll salt some of it down. There is a dip in the rocks over there where there’s a tidy lot of salt. You were saying something about a voyage in the boat, sir. I’ve been thinking: how about fresh water? The balerful won’t last long, especially if the sun starts drying it up.”

“Do you know what a gourd is, Mr. Barnard?” asked Cain. “A husk enclosing a vegetable somewhat resembling a cucumber. There are hundreds on the edge of the maize-patch. They’ll make excellent water-carriers. Now, listen: we’ll have the next twenty-four hours to rest, sleep and obtain food and water sufficient to provision the boat for a week. At this time to-morrow, if the weather holds fair, we’ll start. I’m not keen on putting into Gambia, especially if people there are still discussing the Alerte. They might ask awkward questions. We’ll stand off the land a bit and trust to luck to sight a vessel bound south—a sailing-craft for preference, or, next to that, a small tramp, provided she’s not British. There are craft constantly running up and down between European ports and The Coast. We’ll be distressed mariners. The yarn will serve if we all pitch it right. If they treat us decently, well and good; if not—well, there’ll be considerable trouble to those who ask for it.”

As soon as the sun had set, Cain turned in, after giving instructions that he was to be roused at midnight to take Middle Watch, Davidge and Cross being “on” till eight bells (12 o’clock) and Barnard to relieve the captain at 4 a.m.

The night passed practically without incident, except that the bo’sun succeeded in intercepting and capturing a turtle.

The greater part of the next day was spent under cover, the rough-and-ready screens of palm leaves affording a much-needed protection against the rays of the sun.

At five o’clock in the afternoon the whaler was launched, twenty gallons of fresh water in gourds being placed on board, together with turtle flesh, maize and a quantity of the supposed bread-fruit, which the men could eat without fear of poisoning, since Cain’s experiment had not resulted in any ill-effects.

As soon as this task was completed the adventurers pushed off under oars. A light off-shore wind was blowing, and in consequence the absence of a mast and sail was greatly deplored.

Half-way across the lagoon, the diving-dresses were thrown over the side. Weighted by copper helmets and leaden-soled boots they sank at once.

“Chucking money away, sir,” remarked the bo’sun. “They’d fetch no end of dollars at any port in South America.”

“Quite,” agreed Cain. “But it’s evidence that’s best got rid of. It would require a very smart man to explain to the biggest blockhead that ever held command of a ship how wrecked boat’s crew come to be shipmates with four diving-dresses.”

“Ay, ay, sir; of course,” rejoined Barnard. “But if it comes to that, how do we explain away the whaler? Steel boats with flooding valves aren’t the general run in ships.”

“They’re pretty common on The Coast,” said Cain.

“Yes, sir; but supposin’ we’re picked up by a vessel bound for Accra or Cape Coast Castle? Like as not we’ll be delayed there long enough for inquiries to be made.”

“There I agree again,” replied the captain. “I had hoped that the boat would pay for our passage. As it is, we’ll have to sink her just before we’re picked up.”

The whaler had hardly crossed the bar and begun to lift to the long Atlantic rollers when darkness set in. It was a bright starlit night, and since a strictly accurate course was not essential the compass was dispensed with as an aid to direction. Instead of peering into the unlighted bowl the captain steered by the stars, keeping a course approximately due west.

He knew that there was little chance of being sighted by a large vessel. These invariably kept far off the ill-lighted coast. Even small craft, sailing-vessels especially, rarely approached within twenty miles until they were abreast of the ports to which they were bound.

Cain counted on falling in with a sailing-craft once he was clear of the belt of water where baffling wind alternating with prolonged calms were the order of things. He had no intention of finding himself on board a vessel equipped with wireless with the ultimate prospect of finding the police awaiting him on the quayside. By this time the news of the destruction of the Alerte and the conjectured death of the pirate captain and three of the crew would be wirelessed all over the world; and it would be a difficult business to have to explain to the master of a vessel possessing that information how four men picked up in the vicinity of Bahia Arenas had no connection with the destroyed pirate submarine.

At dawn, Cain calculated that they were between thirty-five and forty miles from the coast. The weather continued fine, but there were heavy rollers that presaged a severe blow before very long. The red sky just before the sun rose above the horizon told the experienced men that ere long dirty weather would set in as clearly as if they had been provided with the most delicate barometric appliances.

Not a vessel was in sight. Sea and sky met in an unbroken circular horizon.

The three men looked decidedly uneasy. They knew that there was bad weather not far ahead. They were aware that even if they attempted to retrace their course the heavy swell would make it impossible for the whaler to effect a landing. She would be capsized before she got within half a mile of the beach, and the sharks would quickly put an end to any attempt at swimming on the part of the crew.

“It’s all right, men,” said Cain, noting the expressions on their faces. “We’re in for a blow, I admit; but we’ll be picked up before then.”

A couple of hours later the captain’s prophecy looked like fulfilment. Away to the nor’ard a sail showed on the horizon. Half an hour more and the sail resolved itself into a topsail schooner close hauled on the starboard tack, for shortly after sunrise the wind had veered round and now blew sou’west. Provided the schooner held on her course, which was extremely likely, she would pass within a mile to wind’ard of the boat.

“She’ll sight us in half a shake,” declared the bo’sun.

“Then ditch all the grub,” ordered Cain. “We don’t need to explain how we’ve got a collection of West African vegetables on board. Fill the baler with water and throw the gourds overboard. . . . No, not yet . . . wait till we’re in the trough of the sea. They might have a glass bearing on us.”

Taking advantage of the schooner being regularly hidden by the crest of a huge roller, the men in the whaler threw overboard everything that would be likely to contradict their statement that they were the survivors of the S.S. Teglease, of Cardiff, for Cape Coast Castle, which had foundered after collision with an unknown vessel fifty miles off Cape Verde. Then, hoisting a shirt at the end of the boat-hook, they awaited developments.

“She’s sighted us, lads!” exclaimed Cain.

The schooner was taking in her topsails, at the same time altering helm to pass slightly to lee’ard of the whaler.

When less than a cable’s length away she hove-to, and a picturesquely-garbed, bearded fellow waved to the boat to close.

“We’re in luck!” exclaimed Cain. “She’s a Greek, or I’m a Dutchman. Smartly there with that valve when I give the sign.”

Cain was at the helm, Barnard pulling stroke and Davidge bow. Cross was standing by to receive a line from the schooner.

Then came a neat little piece of deception. Awaiting his opportunity as the schooner rolled towards the boat, Cain put the helm over. The whaler ran alongside under the schooner’s main chain-plates, which as she rolled gave the boat’s gunwale a sharp blow. Immediately the bo’sun bent forward and opened the flooding valve.

“Jump for it, lads!” shouted Cain in well-feigned alarm. “She’s stove in!”

The men made a frantic leap for the rail, Cain, being the last to leave, grasping the channel irons of the schooner as she began to recover from her roll. Even as he hoisted himself on to the chain-plates the whaler disappeared beneath the surface.

“Pigs!” howled the Greek skipper, furious at the loss of what appeared to be a serviceable boat which he could have had hoisted in and subsequently sold for a good sum at the first port he touched. “You losa good boata! Ver’ much money alla gone. ’Oo you? Vere you froma come?”

“Run down the night before last,” replied Cain, swallowing the insult of the epithet.

“Run down, ah! You wanta me give you passage. ’Ow mucha you pay?”

“We haven’t a red cent between the lot of us,” declared the late captain of the Alerte.

The Greek shrugged his shoulders. He could not refuse to take the supposed shipwrecked mariners on board. Presumably the owners of the lost vessel would pay for the men’s food and other items, but his owners, Papedouloukos Frères of the Piræus, would stick to any money paid on that account. He, Captain Georgeos Sepotos of the schooner Nike, did not feel at all anxious to increase the coffers of his employer over that business, however much he wanted to fill his own. The loss of a good boat, too, had shattered his dream of making a bit on his own account; while, to put the lid on everything, the men he was about to succour were, according to their own declaration, penniless.

“Verra good!” exclaimed Captain Georgeos Sepotos. “You maka work ze ship, you know anyting abouta machinery? We hef no engineer of much use. Motor it no maka move.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Cap’n,” said Cain very mildly. “Of course you don’t want to use it in a steady breeze like this.”

“No, but I wanta fit to go ready when no breeze is,” rejoined Sepotos. “Go for’ard an’ getta food. Den you will work.”

Cain and his companions went for’ard, where they were given a meal consisting chiefly of goats’ flesh, biscuit and olives. Of the seven hands berthed before the mast only one had a slight smattering of English, and, judging by the appearance of the crew, they were a pretty villainous lot. On the other hand, Cain and his companions in misfortune might well be taken for what they actually were—pirates. A stubby beard of four days’ growth, features tanned by salt spray and sun to the colour of rich mahogany, clothes dirty and ragged, their red worsted caps, all combined to make them look almost as villainous as the motley-garbed Levantines.

It puzzled Captain Cain considerably to know why a small topsail schooner hailing from the Piræus should be so far down the West African coast. Usually Grecian sailing-craft confine their activities, legitimate or otherwise, to the Mediterranean. He made up his mind to find out. Incidentally he had already decided to make the Greek skipper “sit up” before very long.

After the sorry meal, which was served in an appallingly squalid fo’c’sle, Cain was told to go below to the motor-room, while Barnard was ordered to take a trick at the helm, and the other two told off to assist in working the ship.

It did not take Cain long to discover what was wrong with the engine—a decrepit four-cylinder motor of an obsolete French pattern. The so-called engineer previously responsible for the running or non-running of the outfit had cherished the totally mistaken theory that timing-gear should be liberally lubricated. In a few minutes Cain, with the aid of petrol and rag, had cleaned out the ignition system and had succeeded in getting the motor to fire. This done, he deliberately altered the timing, as he felt certain that this slight derangement would be quite beyond the skill of the Greek engineer to rectify.

He then reported to Captain Sepotos that the motor was fit to run, inquired where the Nike was bound, and was told to ask no questions, but to go for’ard.

Cain did so. For the present it was quite in the scheme of things for him to knuckle under. Rather grimly he wondered what the Greek would think if he knew that four of the crew of the pirate submarine was aboard, and that each possessed a deadly automatic pistol.

For the next three days nothing of consequence occurred. The wind increased to gale force, but the Nike carried on under close-reefed fore-and-aft canvas and made fairly good weather of it. Amongst other things that Cain discovered by casual conversation with the English-speaking Greek in the fo’c’sle was that the Nike was laden with cheap and inferior whisky to be surreptitiously sold to the natives of Belgian Congo; and with obsolete rifles of Russian manufacture for the same sort of customers—the sale of both articles to blacks being strictly prohibited. Nevertheless, the trade could be carried on with slight risk and at an enormous profit.

It soon became evident that Captain Georgeos Sepotos was continually going out of his way to insult the Englishmen. Not only did he curse them without stint; he made a point of compelling them to undertake the most unnecessary and degrading tasks he could think of; testing Cain’s forbearance almost to breaking-point by making remarks in Greek to various members of the crew, and holding up the British nation and Cain and his companions in particular to derision. Although none of the four understood Greek, it was not a matter of impossibility to realise the nature of Captain Sepotos’ remarks.

Cain still held himself under control.

The climax came on the fourth day after the rescue. The Nike was then within eighty miles of Sierra Leone. The gale had blown itself out, and the schooner was crawling along at a couple of knots under every stitch of canvas she could possibly set.

Davidge had been sent with others to the topsail yard. Although a seaman, he had never served in a sailing-craft, and a knowledge of “masts and yards” was a mystery to him. Nevertheless, he went aloft, bungled badly, and received a torrent of abuse from the Greek skipper.

On the principle that “hard words break no bones,” Davidge ignored the outburst, merely replying with what in naval and military description is known as “dumb insolence.”

As the Englishman turned to go for’ard, Sepotos dealt him a heavy kick that almost sent him on his face. Cain, standing by, gave one glance at Barnard—a glance that meant volumes; then striding up to the Greek skipper he struck him fairly and squarely upon the point of the jaw.

Too late did Sepotos’ hand jumble for the hilt of his ready knife. Lifted clean off his feet by the force of the blow, he traversed a good three yards in a beautiful parabola before his oily head came in violent contact with the trunk of a pump. There he lay down and out with the blood oozing from his mouth and nose.

Those of the crew on deck were too dumbfounded to speak or move. Long before they recovered their senses the four Englishmen, shoulder to shoulder, had the foreigners covered by the sinister muzzles of their automatics.

“Hands up!” roared Cain.

The meaning was plain enough, even though the Greeks, with one exception, were ignorant of English.

At a word from the pirate captain, Davidge made a tour round the deck, relieving each Greek of his sheath-knife and tossing it overboard. This done, Davidge was posted at the helm, the man whose place he had taken being ordered for’ard with the others.

“We’ve done it!” declared Cain. “They’ve been jolly well asking for it ever since we came aboard—and now they’ve got it! Cross!”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“Throw a bucket of water over that carrion,” ordered Cain, pointing to the still prostrate Captain Sepotos. “He can very well do with a wash. Inform me when he recovers.”

“That was some hit, that, sir,” exclaimed Cross admiringly. “Fair on the point it was, pretty as you’d see anywhere. Guess you’ve done him in, sir.”

“Nonsense,” replied Cain. “If I had hit him hard, then——Bring him round, Cross. I want to get the job squared up.”

In about a quarter of an hour, during which time the Greek crew were huddled for’ard like sheep, Sepotos sat up and took notice. He did not seem at all satisfied with the result of his investigations. He was cowed utterly.

“Now, you bundle of vermin!” exclaimed Cain. “In ten minutes you will be over the side—understand?”

“Mercy, sah!” almost shrieked the terror-stricken Greek. “Do not murder——”

“Who said anything about murder,” interrupted the pirate captain. “Hold your jaw and listen. You and your scum will be put into a boat. You can provision her and take in sufficient fresh water for four days. Freetown’s a matter of ninety miles to the nor’east; you’ll make it in three days, if you get busy. We’re taking possession of the schooner. As far as you’re concerned she’s lost. You can pitch your own yarn about that, but I don’t advise you to tell the truth. You’re a spirit smuggler and gun-runner. If the British authorities find that out it’s a stiff term of imprisonment you’ll get. Savvy?”

Sepotos nodded feebly. He quite understood. He was like a toad under a harrow. If he denounced Cain and a British cruiser were sent to put the Nike under arrest, he would have to appear as a witness. In that case the whole story of his illicit practices would come out. The schooner would be seized and the cargo confiscated, and he would get a long term of penal servitude. In any case the Nike was lost to him. Better, he decided, to announce that she had been sunk, than to risk imprisonment in addition to the loss of the ship.

“I onnerstanda,” muttered the Greek.

“I knew you would,” rejoined Cain grimly. “Take my advice and make your men stick to the same yarn, or you’ll find yourself in prison within a week. Now, then, order your men to lower the longboat, and send a couple of hands below to serve out four days’ provisions. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

With greater alacrity than they had previously displayed, the Greeks swung out and lowered the boat. Into her was handed a compass, mast and sail, in addition to the provisions. Each man was told that he might take with him what money he happened to possess, but about forty pounds in various currencies belonging to the owners Cain detained. He also refused permission for the ship’s papers to be taken away by the captain.

“D’ye think we’ve hands enough to work the ship, sir?” asked Barnard. “Supposing we keep back that fellow; he speaks English of sorts.”

Cain considered the suggestion. He was not at all prejudiced in favour of it. He never had a high opinion of the modern Greek, however much he admired the Greece of old, when it was a mighty empire that produced men. There arose in his mind the problem of what to do with the fellow on the termination of the voyage, wherever it might be. He might inform the authorities at the first port they made, since he was not implicated in the drink and arms-running business to the same extent as the cowardly Captain Georgeos Sepotos. On the other hand, he might—and probably would—be coerced into discreet silence. Four hands were, after all, few enough for the task of working the schooner.

“Very good,” he replied. “Tell him to fall out, Mr. Barnard.”

The Greek did so without the slightest hesitation. To him the bo’sun explained that he would be required to assist in working the ship, and provided he gave no trouble, he would receive none, adding that if he carried out his duties well he would be paid considerably more than if he had remained on board under the orders of Captain Sepotos.

“And what’s your tally—your name?” concluded Barnard.

“Basil Zaros, sah,” replied the man. “Me all righta. Spik Englis’. Me been in Englis’ ship vourteen mont’s.”

As soon as Captain Sepotos went over the side the boat pushed off. The Greek skipper was feeling too dazed from the effects of the blow to openly display the state of his feelings; nor was Cain a man to crow over a beaten foe, however mean and despicable.

In less than an hour the boat, under sail, was out of sight, while the Nike, under her new masters, was bowling along towards the distant South American coast.