Читать книгу The Black Barque - T. Jenkins Hains - Страница 7

Table of Contents

When I came again into this world, I found myself lying in a dark, dirty hole of a forecastle. There was not a man there, but, as I looked over the empty berths, I saw plenty of clothes and bedding, which gave evidence of a full crew.

Getting to my feet, I found my head sorely cut and bruised, and wondered what had happened. A throbbing pain across the eyes did little to aid my thoughts, and, while I stood holding to the ladder down which I had been flung, the scuttle above me was thrust back and the fellow Martin started down.

“Aha!” he said when he saw me, “’twas a guid wan ye got ain yer haid. A clout will do ye na harm, ye thievin’ trixter, ye deceivin’ rascal. Now I’ll give you one for ald lang syne, an’ teach ye better to deceive a honest mon ag’in.”

While talking, he turned back the sleeves of his jumper and made ready to carry out his threat. He saw I made no movement, however, and hesitated.

“Defend yairself, mon, defend yairself. Do not let me whollop yer like a babe,” and he advanced toward me with his hands before him in some very fair style.

“See here,” I said, “what the mischief has happened? What are you driving at? I’ve played no trick, but it looks like some one has played a trick on me.”

“Ah, na backslidin’, ye corward, na backslidin’! Yer can’t fool a canny sailormaun that way. Put yer hands before yer ugly face, or I’ll whollop ye like er babe.”

“I’m not afraid of your wholloping, Scotty. Let me get a turn about my head a bit, and pull this ragged shirt off. Wonderful clean fo’castle this. No drunks, no filthy dunnage overhauled, no--what infernal ship is this, anyway?”

He saw I was not joking. Indeed, my appearance, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, put joking aside, and my last remark about the vessel was true.

He dropped his hands and stared at me.

“Ware ye sure rung in like the rest? Waren’t ye in the game?” Then he burst into a hoarse laugh and held out his hand. At that minute the tramp of feet sounded overhead, and a half-score of men came clattering down the companion-ladder.

It was a mixed crew,--Norwegians, Swedes, dagoes, and Dutchmen,--but all with the unmistakable swing of the deep-water sailor. They stared at me, and then started a gabble of language that in my disturbed condition I failed to understand. They crowded around me and asked questions, and I noticed Anderson eyeing me suspiciously. Then Martin, with a sweep of his hand, cut them off, and began telling how I came aboard. When he was through with his flowery description of Henry, I noticed several men shake their clenched hands aft.

“Well,” said I, “I’m the mate, and I guess I’ll go aft and find out who rapped me over the head. Some fellows in the other watch, I suppose.”

They burst into derisive laughter.

“We’re all mates and captains here,” sung out a big Norwegian addressed as Bill. “You better turn in while you may, friend Heywood. You’re in Henry’s watch, an’ the captain ain’t turned out yet.”

“Who’s the old man?” I asked, bewildered, and thinking I must still be daffy from the crack on the head.

“Ain’t seen him yet,” said several at once.

“Well, what infernal hooker am I in, anyway?” I asked Martin.

“They call her The Gentle Hand, but there ain’t na name painted on her. Some says she’s the Fly-by-Night, Howard’s old pirate barque, but that canna weel be. She’s light. Not a hundred ton below decks, an’ that’s mostly stores.”

“The Fly-by-Night was a cruising brig before the first war with England,” I said. “It can’t possibly be that old hooker. Besides, she was used against the French by your General Braddock.”

“Well, when you find out just what we’ve gotten into, coom an’ tell us,” said Martin.

It had been slowly dawning upon me that I had been the victim of a trick, and I felt in my pocket for the advance I had received the day before. The barque was under way, that was certain, but no one seemed to know where she was bound, and, as I fumbled through my clothes, Martin laughed.

“’Twas guid money, Heywood, but ’tis gone. I missed mine this morning. Maybe Anderson can tell where it is,” and he grinned.

The money was gone. That was certain. Yet it was no dream. I had received it fair enough. Feeling anger and hatred for the trick upon me, I bound up my head and went up the ladder to the deck to have a look around. Several men called out to me to have a care of the mate, but most of them were busy arranging their belongings, quarrelling and fighting among themselves over the possession of what clothes happened to be common to the crowd. I saw Martin steal a pair of tarpaulin trousers from a fellow who was wrestling with the sailor Bill for the possession of a bag of straw bedding. Then I stepped on deck.

The cool air did me good. I went to the rail and looked over. The barque was going steadily to the southward with every rag set. She was heeling but gently, and there was little wind or sea. She was braced a bit to starboard, her port tack aboard, and by her trimming I saw she was under English officers. Every yard just in line with its fellow, from the big main to the little royal that crossed a good hundred and seventy feet above the sea. Far away to the eastward showed the even outline of the French coast, and between us many sails strung along the band of blue, their hulls either just below or rising above the horizon’s line. The day was fine and the easterly breeze gentle, and the barque was swinging easily along.

I looked aft and saw men of the mate’s watch at work setting up the backstays in the main-rigging, and some on the mizzen topsail-yard, apparently under the direction of Richards, serving a worn foot-rope. The canvas covers were off the guns, and a dozen bright twelve-pounders of polished brass shone in the sunlight. The white deck beneath and the varnished spars above made a pretty picture, and I grew warm to think that I was not indeed the mate of such a craft. They had played a fine trick on me to get me aboard sober and without compulsion, signing a receipt for an advance equal to a couple of months’ ordinary wages. There were plenty of sailors about the pier-heads, for the war had turned many adrift without means of getting a ship, and there seemed to be no reason why these fellows should try their land-shark game in getting a crew.

As I looked aft it dawned upon me that these men were much better than the ordinary run of common sailors. There was something in the fellow’s walk I now saw crossing the deck that spoke of the war-ship. Even the watch I had just seen below were remarkably rough and tough specimens of a rugged humanity.

While I stood there taking in the scene, I saw a man come from aft and walk to the break of the poop. He looked over the barque carefully, and as his gaze came down the fore-rigging it stopped upon me.

He was dressed something after the manner of a preacher, with black cloth coat and stock, and his hair was cut short. As I took his figure in, there was little difficulty in recognizing Richard Raymond, the man of peace. He beckoned me to come aft, and, as I did so, he removed the huge drooping moustache he had been wearing and tossed it over the side.

“I reckon you know me now, Heywood,” said he, “though it’s been over six years since we parted. I wanted you on this voyage, and took some pains to get ye. That was the old man who welted ye over the head. I’m sorry for it.”

It was Hawkson, sure enough. I recognized him easily now in spite of his gray hair and older look. How I failed to recognize him at first even in his disguise puzzled me. We had made the cruise in the Petrel together, and had served on the man-of-war.

“Well, you’ve got me fast enough, though you played a mean trick getting me. Now what’s the game?” said I.

The old privateersman smiled, and his jaws worked as though muttering to himself. His face creased into ugly lines about his large mouth, and he showed his teeth.

“I’m first officer here. That fellow Gull you fouled this morning is second. Remember this first and the rest’ll come easy. Henry is third mate, and I hear them say that you’re to be made gunner. How’s that?”

“Who’s them?” I asked, somewhat nettled.

“Them’s us, sonny. The old man, the two gentlemen aft, myself, and the rest.”

“Where are we bound for, and what’s the hooker’s name? It’s all well enough to be cribbed aboard a ship, but I’m going to find out what’s the game.”

“We’re bound for the South Pacific; that’s all clear as mud, an’ we’ve got a picked crew because the business in hand needs honest men.”

“I bow to myself,” I answered. “It’s well to know.”

“What more do you want, hey? Go forrads an’ turn in, an’ I’ll square ye with the fellow Gull. Don’t let them see me talkin’ too much with ye, sonny, or I’ll have to forget the past for the needs o’ the present. You’re aboard a fine ship.”

“Well,” I answered, “that’s all good enough, but I would like to know her name and who’s her skipper,--and what’s more, I’m going to find out right away.”

Hawkson’s eyes glinted with that light I knew so well meant danger, and his ugly mouth worked nervously.

“Perhaps you’d care to go aft and interview the captain about it,” said he, with his drawl. “He’s a gentleman every inch, and will be a revelation to ye after them packets you’ve sailed in. Suppose you lay aft and make out your own case. You were always an obstinate youngster, but I reckon since you’ve been mate your head’s swelled worse’n ever.”

I knew Hawkson to be one of the most dangerous men afloat when aroused, but about this time I was not exactly a lambkin myself. A man does not become mate of a western ocean packet with anything lamblike in his make-up, unless it is by accident for one voyage. I was not quarrelsome, but resented with righteous indignation the manner in which I had been kidnapped in broad daylight without even being under the influence of liquor. The simplicity of the whole affair maddened me, and not even the fellowship of Martin and Anderson or others in the list of victims detracted one jot from the implied lack of ordinary precautions and common sense. I started up the weather side of the poop to go aft, and I noticed several fellows to leeward looking at me.

“Go to lor’ard,” growled Hawkson, fiercely.

But I paid no attention, and was half-way up the steps when a man came up the after companion and walked toward me. As he reached the deck and turned before I had gotten up, I stopped short, looking at him. It was Captain Howard, the pirate.