CHAPTER V
"IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT"
The starboard watch got slowly to their feet and tramped aft.
"Relieve the wheel and look-out!" called the mate.
It was Jack's wheel, and he was pleased, for he delighted in his night wheels, when, steering mechanically, like the born helmsman that he was, he allowed himself to get wrapped up in his thoughts.
The tropical nights always had the effect of stirring up half-forgotten memories in the breast of the rolling-stone, and after noting all his favourites gleaming above, he gradually lost himself in deep reverie.
The myriads of stars, studded like diamonds on the indigo robe of the heavens; the clear-cut moon, with its sparkling path of silver threads; the creamy wake, swirling astern in one blaze of phosphorus; the sharp outlines of spars, sails, and cordage, looking as if fashioned in ebony; the dreamy hum and soft caress of the gentle trade wind,—all these appealed intimately to the soul of the rover.
Forgotten were the stirring events of the day; he dreamed and dreamed in a paradise of his own, the beauty of the night recalling other such nights to him.
Once more he is mate of the rakish island schooner, lying lazily at anchor in some atoll lagoon, a bevy of flower-decked South Sea maidens dancing wildly on the maindeck to the soft tones of a guitar, the bright moon glistening on the swarthy faces of the Kanaka crew, seated round in squatting posture. The wild cries of the dancers are half-drowned in the deep boom of the distant surf and the rustling of the cocoa-palms rocked by the caressing breath of the steady-blowing zephyr.
Slowly the scene changes, the noise of wind and surf are hushed, the fairy dancers fade away, his luxurious hammock sinks to earth. He is alone, stretched at full length on the bare ground, a single blanket covering him; by his side is a trusty large-bore rifle, and at his feet a glowing camp-fire; whilst around him, blocking out all but the sky, there stretches a thick entanglement of mimosa thorn.
Suddenly the silence is broken.
A deep, echoing roar rises on the night, swells and ceases, then breaks forth again, evidently nearer. He clutches his weapon.
His quick ear notes the uneasy whinny of his horse and the restless movement of the cattle. The king of beasts is looking for his dinner.
As he listens, the guttural notes of his Kaffir boy under the waggon whisper anxiously:
"Hark, Baas! Lapa! lapa! (There! there!)"
Again the scene fades, and he finds himself crouching in the smoky entrance of a teepee. Before him stretches the prairie, like a great, still ocean. In the foreground twisting lines of bent, naked forms hop and spring in fantastic figures, the moonlight glancing on their painted bodies. A discordant tomtom-beating mingles with wild whoops.
Gradually the ghost-dance grows quicker and quicker, the whooping redoubles, the dreary chant of a group of squaws swells in volume; then——
Tink-tink! Tink-tink! Clear and sweet came the notes of the bell.
"'Ere, wake up, governor. You looks loike a bloke h'I once see'd a-walkin' in 'is sleep. Wot's the course?"
Jack started violently. It was the cockney come to relieve the wheel.
"South-a-half-west!" stammered the rover.
"South-a-'alf-west!" repeated Hollins, and Jack retreated forward.
And what were the thoughts of the murderer during that long night, as, hunched up with his back against the bulkhead and one nerveless hand held to the corpse, he crouched awaiting the dawn.
Was he thinking of life or of death, of the future or of the past?
Not he! His brain was vacant and his mind a blank; only his mouth was full, as he chewed steadily all through the long, long night.
Jack curled himself down under the lee of the main fife-rail, and, when the watch changed, returned there, preferring the open sky above him on such a perfect night to the frousy bad air of the foc's'le. Just as he was falling asleep, he noticed the small figure of the kid squeezing itself in behind the pump wheels.
The first hour of the middle watch passed without incident. Black Davis paced moodily to windward on the poop, the helmsman nodded sleepily over the wheel, and the look-out, trusting to luck in not being found out, was taking a nap on the foc's'le head.
Of the whole ship's company, perhaps the ragged urchin time-keeping was the only one thoroughly awake besides the mate.
But two bells had not been struck five minutes before every sleeper was aroused into wakefulness.
Suddenly a long, deep, wailing groan reverberated through the ship.
Dusky forms crouching under the lee of the bulwarks roused themselves, sat up, and looked round inquiringly.
The mate stopped in his walk and listened, the look-out sprang startled to his feet, and a hoarse murmur of gruff whispers broke out.
Again came the deep, mournful groan. It seemed to come from somewhere about the midshiphouse.
"What's thet noise forrard?" called the mate.
"Some one a-groanin' in the midshiphouse, sir!" hailed back the look-out.
The men nudged each other significantly.
"Poor Pedro!" came a loud voice from somewhere forward.
The mate frowned but said nothing, and the explanation evidently satisfied him, for he resumed his tramp.
Again the groan broke the stillness of the night.
There was something uncanny about the dismal sound. Full of superstition, like all deep-water Jacks, the men did not like it; several of the watch sprang to their feet, and there was a deep hissing of awe-filled voices amongst the dark groups of clustering men.
Suddenly a voice called from forward:
"It ain't the dago, sir; he says it weren't him."
"Who's that speaking?" roared the mate.
"Green, sir!"
"Come aft, yew; what yew doin' forrard in yer watch on deck?"
The man came running aft at a heavy, ungainly trot.
"Wall?" snapped the bucko venomously.
"Hearin' them groans, sir, I went an' listened at the door of the bosun's locker."
"Yes; wall? Go on, go on!" broke in the mate impatiently.
"I listens a while, sir, an' hears nothin'; then there comes a groan again, wery image o' Mister Barker's voice."
There was a renewed nudging and whispering amongst the group of men listening.
"Told ye so!" growled one. "Just wot I said!"
"By golly! dem is ghost groans, dis chile tell dat easy. No libing coon eber make dem noises, not on your life," grunted the coloured man, his voice shaking with fright.
"Silence there!" thundered the mate. "Go on, Green, spit it out 'fore y'r throat gits sore," he continued.
"Then I asks Pedro, sir, if it was 'im, an' he sez he ain't opened his mouth all night."
"All right, yew kin go," muttered Black Davis. "It's thet softy of a carpenter been eatin' too much!" he went on half to himself, half aloud.
Suddenly, right over his head called a voice:
"I'm comin' fer yew, Davis, I'm comin' fer yew!" Then, after a short interval, "I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning!"
The effect on the superstitious men was stupendous. The voice was the late second mate's to the life, and seemed to come from the mizzen-top.
Sam, the oracle on ghosts, threw himself to the deck, groaning in absurd terror.
"De ship am doomed! De ship am doomed!" he shrieked.
Angelino crossed himself nervously, and a shiver ran through the quaking crowd.
But there is not much superstition in a Yankee bucko, and Black Davis, tilting back his head, hailed the mizzen-top with a roar loud enough to wake the dead.
"Who's thet skylarkin' up thar? Come down, yew ratty hoodlum, or I'll break yew all ter pieces."
Dead silence!
"Up the mizzen riggin', some er yew swine, an' fetch him outer that!" roared the angry mate.
Not a man stirred.
Suddenly the tall form of the bosun appeared on the edge of the group of frightened men, awakened out of his light sleep by the commotion.
"What's up now?" he asked, as he shouldered his way through the men.
"Hell is up an' fizzlin'," burst out the exasperated mate. "Some d——d scowbanker monkeyin' aloft has got this crowd o' softies scared; but he ain't scared Black Davis—oh no! not by the Holy Pope—an' I pities him when he comes down."
"Jump aloft, bosun," he continued, "and see if yew kin rake him out by his eye-teeth; he's somewhere up the mizzen."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied the bosun in his deep voice, and turning, he swung himself over the rail into the rigging and went up the ratlines.
All heads turned upwards, anxiously watching him.
"He's a dead man," quavered one.
"Shut up, yew brayin' booby!" grunted the mate.
Up went the intrepid bosun. They watched him clamber out on the futtock shrouds and haul himself into the top; for a moment he disappeared behind the mast, and then reappeared, and with one hand on the topmast rigging, leant over the edge of the top and shouted down:
"There ain't nobody up here, sir. Are you sure you heard a voice?"
"Didn't I done tole you?" jerked Sam, his teeth rattling.
"Heard er voice!" howled the mate. "W'y, the swab called me by me name."
"It were Mister Barker's voice!" put in some one in an undertone.
"It were de voice ob de debble!" declared the darkey. "By gorry, dis bleedin' hooker am doomed!"
"Hell!" roared the mate. "If thet coffee-coloured Jamaica slush-bucket shoots off his bazoo again, I'll jump down an' whang his hide off."
This snuffed out any further assertions by Sam.
In vain the bosun searched aloft; he even shinned on to the skysail yard, and the fore and main were likewise searched, but without success.
There were no further utterances of the ghostly voice, and the matter remained an unexplained mystery.
Black Davis and the bosun did their best to thrash the matter out, but at last gave it up as hopeless.
"Must a' been some one foolin' on deck," suggested the bosun.
"But the voice came from aloft, man; the whole watch was hyeh with me. It weren't none er my crowd; I'll lay a hundred dollars thar's none o' them got the nerve to go monkeyin' with me like that," replied the mate impatiently.
"An' there ain't no parrot aboard. Well, it beats all my goin' to sea," muttered the other. "My crowd was all in the foc's'le 'cept Derringer, who was doin' a doss on deck, an' I see'd him standin' in your mob as I come along aft."
"Wall, then, if he was with my crowd o' hoodlums, it couldn't ha' been him, though if thar's any deadbeat aboard who's got the cheek ter do it, it's thet durned Britisher."
A curious grim smile appeared on Jack's face as his sharp ears caught the mate's remark.
Like the others, he had been awakened by the first groan.
As it ceased he heard a long-drawn breath, and looking round, spied the small white face of the ship's boy, outlined by the moonlight, as he crouched up against the mast behind the pump wheel.
Even as he watched he saw the small mouth open, at the same moment the groan broke out again, apparently by the midshiphouse.
Silently Jack gazed, marvelling. No sound seemed to come from the boy, but as the groan ceased his mouth closed, and he drew a long breath.
"Well, I'm jiggered," muttered Jack to himself. "The boy's a ventriloquist, and a wonderful one at that."
Then the kid threw his voice into the mizzen-top, and the words which had caused such consternation burst forth.
This time his mouth was nearly closed, and only a very keen observer could have detected any movement in his lips.
"Great Harry! If Black Davis were to catch the nipper at that game he'd kill him," mused Jack; and thinking that the performance had gone quite far enough, he drew himself under the fife-rail with the silence of a stalking Apache, and then suddenly pounced on the boy, clapping one hand over his mouth to prevent any cry of alarm.
"Hush, not a sound!" he hissed, as he took his hand from the kid's mouth.
"Don't split on me, Derringer, don't split on me. I'll never do it again, so help me bob," half blubbered the terrified urchin.
"Honest Injun?" inquired Jack.
"Honest Injun!" repeated the boy.
"Well, I'll pull you through this time; but don't breathe a word of this to another soul aboard," said Jack softly.
"Be sure I won't," whimpered the kid.
"Right! Now we've got to slip into that crowd there without them spotting that we've not been there the whole time; savvy, youngster? Keep your pecker up and mum's the word," whispered the rover.
"Hang me, but the lad's got nerve, and I like the look of him, too," he thought, as the pair of them stealthily joined the group of scared men.
"What's your name, kid?" asked Jack in an undertone, whilst the bosun was searching aloft.
"Jim," replied the boy; "I don't remember ever havin' no other."
"Where do you come from?"
"London. Fust thing I can remember was sleepin' in the parks; my, but it were cold sometimes."
"Got no father or mother?"
"No, I didn't have nobody; I wos just a street arab afore I went to sea."
"And how long have you been at sea, sonny?"
"Four year!"
"Pretty rough, eh?"
"Yes, mos' times, but I'm hard," replied the plucky boy.
"Well, see here, Jim," said the rover, gripping the boy's hand in his strong grasp. "I'm your friend from now on, and just you come to me when there's any trouble; savvy? Now you'd better skip along and strike 'one bell.'"
With tears in his eyes the boy stuttered his thanks before hurrying off to his time-keeping, and as he went he skipped along the deck for joy. His sad little heart had seldom known a kindness, and he had grown accustomed to bearing the hardships of his lot with a sullen apathy; but this offer of friendship and the protection of a strong right arm, coming as it did from the cock of the foc's'le, seemed almost too great a bit of luck to be true.
The boy felt a buoyancy within him which refused to be kept down, and his rising spirits, manifesting themselves in an attempted rendering of the hornpipe, all but brought him foul of the mate's heavy toe.
The excitement caused by the strange incidents of the middle watch sank all grievances for the time being. Like all deep-water men, the events which had put murder into their hearts one day were forgotten the next.
No longer did that sea-lawyer, Studpoker Bob, find an eager audience! Instead, authorities on ghosts and mysterious voices, such as Sam, gained the whole attention of the wildly superstitious crowd.
On coming on deck for the forenoon watch the mate made a visit to the bosun's locker.
He discovered the Chilian sullenly indifferent and serenely calm. The weird voices of the night did not seem to have troubled the man, or even aroused his curiosity, and he swallowed down hungrily the rough breakfast which the Chinese cook placed before him; after which he was released from the corpse, which was hastily sewn up in canvas, and, with half a dozen worn-out sheaves made fast to the feet, launched overboard.
No service was read over the body, for, as Captain Riley remarked to his second-in-command,
"In the fust place, I ain't got no doggoned prayer-book; an' in the second, I callate that Barker'll reach whatever port he's bound for quick enough, prayers or no prayers."
As the body took its dive, all hands rushed to the rail.
"So long, ye devil's spawn, a fair wind down under to ye. I guess they've their heatin' plant all fixed for ye," muttered Red Bill, of the broken arm.
"Solitary confinement on bread and water," was the old man's order re Pedro.
He was handcuffed, his donkey's breakfast and a blanket were tossed in to him, then the door was locked, and he was left to brood in semi-darkness, the only light being that which glinted through the ventilator in the door.