Chapter Twelve.
A Strange Vessel.
Five days after the stormy scene on the bridge, Frank Hume and Webster were lying forward, upon rugs, on the turtle-shell deck, in the full blaze of a hot sun. The sea was calm, even beyond the power of the Swift to toss up spray, and stretched away, unbroken by so much as a single gleam of white, to the horizon, though astern there lay a long trail, slightly sinuous, over which, with many a sweep and soar, there hawked a pair of gulls. Now and again, from the heave of the water before the fast slipping foot of the Swift, there ripped out a flight of flying fish, who, after an unmistakable beat of their glittering wings, shot away to the right and left, to fall with an awkward splash into the sea.
Here and there, propped up against some wide-mouthed ventilator, or stretched in the grateful shadows of the boats, were a few barefooted sailors engaged with needle and thread, while under an awning aft Mr Commins and Miss Anstrade reclined in deck-chairs. The harsh grating noise of the steering gear, and the ceaseless thud of the propellers, alone broke the silence, which, like the silence of vast stretches ashore, or of deep-wooded solitudes, hushes the voice of animals and kills speech in men. Out on the bosom of the sea, or on the summit of a mountain, the trifles which interest us among our fellows have little power against the subduing influence of vast unpeopled spaces.
All the morning the steamer reached on, always remaining in the centre of the same wide circle, and it was only when the Quartermaster struck eight bells that there was any movement among the brooding men. Webster sat up, and with his hands on his knees, and his cap at the back of his head, looked over the shining waste, then yawned.
“What an eloquent fellow you are, Hume!” he said; “you’ve got no more conversation and greater powers of observation than a bale of wool. There’s that fellow Commins still talking to the Commodore and oiling his jaw-tackle with iced champagne, the lubber; and to think you might be enjoying the same privileges if you only had the wit to make yourself agreeable.”
“I don’t care for champagne iced.”
“You don’t, eh? but maybe you’d care to be seated where he is, within the range of those lustrous eyes, or was it luminous you called them, for all the world as though you were speaking of a black cat in a coal-cellar? And such cigars as she smokes, too?”
“She doesn’t smoke cigars!”
“Man, I saw the glow of one last night, burning red, and lighting, by its reflection, the dark splendour of her eyes, as you magnificently put it.”
“It was a cigarette, and you might know, if you were not always between waking and sleeping, that most high-bred Spanish women smoke them, and think no more of it than a dab of powder.”
“Then you were smoking the cigar, and I was awake enough to see that the fierce light of the cigar was closer than the breadth of my hand to the tiny glow of the dainty cigarette. I’ve been thinking whether I ought to congratulate you or her first.”
“Don’t be an ass, Webster; I was merely explaining to her the map of the stars.”
“Then there’s nothing between you?”
“Nothing but the length of the ship.”
“Then that relieves my heart of a great pressure, which has sat there ever since I had salt junk for breakfast. I shall propose to the Commodore myself.”
“The devil you will!” said Frank, rising to his elbow, and regarding Webster with anxiety.
The Lieutenant sighed, and then winked solemnly.
“Yes, my boy, for I’m sick to death of seeing that red-banded dandy flashing his teeth in the face of her as though he were the only man on board with courage enough to make love to a pretty girl.”
“You are fooling.”
“Not me. I’ve been thinking, and it occurred to me that I’ve lived long enough in a circle. I want to pass the remainder of my life in a square house with someone like the Commodore, who won’t obey orders. She would want to paint the walls yellow to match her complexion, and I would tell the Quartermaster to paint them blue to remind me of the sea. The house would have a flat roof with a flag-post on the weather quarter. I would hoist my colours in the morning, and she would bend on hers in the afternoon, for I’ve noticed that a woman grows more active as the day dwindles. It is a trait she enjoys in common with cats.”
“My dear fellow,” said Frank earnestly, “all you have to do is to give her a sketch of that programme, and that will be enough in the way of wooing.”
“Can you suggest any improvement?”
“Well, you would do well to hint at the luxury of green blinds for the windows, and pictures on the walls.”
“If there is one thing I detest more than soda with whisky, it’s satire; you should leave such weapons to that glass-eyed lubber aft, who always looks at me as if I were a monstrosity, and sets my muscles moving to catch him by the neck. Now, Frank, for the honour of all good men, sail in and win the prize. I mean it. You can see for yourself that the fellow is every kind of a rogue, and though the Commodore doesn’t answer well to the helm, it would be a wicked shame to see her taken in tow by that shark. Hang me if the fellow was not rattling dice last night with that black-hearted piccaroon, Juarez.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Ay, that it is; and it came across me that the two of them were too friendly for our safety. It was about four bells, and I had gone below to turn in, when I heard the unmistakable rattle, and peeping in through the ventilator above the door, saw the two of them hard at it, with the everlasting bottle at their elbows.”
“Have you told the Captain?”
“I did; and he scowled horribly. You know how pleasant he looks when he is put out; and he went down straightway and tumbled the gentle pirate into his cell, at the same time threatening to clap Commins in irons if he sought such congenial society again.”
“And—?”
“Commins swore most foully. I never thought the creature had such a command of language; but the skipper asked him if he would complain to the Commodore, when he calmed down rapidly into soft words and treacherous smiles. I tell you he is a plotter, and if anything goes wrong with the rebels—the National party, by compliment—he would sell us for a brass candlestick. Now, if you will dash in, cut him out as he lies at his moorings in the light of her friendship, I will not bring my fascination to bear upon her.”
“I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” said Frank, with a sigh; “and don’t you think we are talking without book?—for we have no reason to suppose that she wishes to be freed from the attentions of Mr Commins, still less that she is in any danger from him.”
“You’ve got too much of the calculating machine in you, Frank—a defect we sailors don’t possess. This is a matter not to be reasoned about I can feel in my marrow that the man is a scheming rascal.”
The Quartermaster struck eight bells, and Webster went off to take a sight, the Captain having already entered upon that daily task.
They were three days off Cape Verde, having made the islands to take in more coal, and were making across the Atlantic, in a south-westerly course, right out of the track of vessels. When Hume, who was looking forward listlessly, cried out, “Ship ahead!” there was unusual interest aroused, and glasses were brought to bear upon the distant speck.
“A steamer!” cried Captain Pardoe, “and lying to, for there’s not so much as a stain of smoke against the blue of the sky beyond.”
The men and officers, now thoroughly aroused from their drowsy torpor, stared at the distant ship which had so suddenly slipped from the horizon into this silent sea.
“Do you make out any signals, Mr Webster?”
“No, sir; but I can’t see a single boat, and it seems to me the tackle is hanging from the davits.”
“Strange,” muttered the Captain; “for there have been no indications of storm. Maybe the boats are out for some business of life-saving.” And he swept his glass to right and left of the steamer, which was rapidly taking shape to the naked eye.
“Bring her round a couple of spokes—so. Hold her at that.” The Swift bore down straight for the stranger, and for some minutes not a word was spoken on her, as every man eagerly searched the ship, and then the smooth water about her, for the first trace of any sign that would explain the mystery of her fixed and lonely state. The belt of sea beyond widened out, her straight bows rose higher; a sailor picked out the red band round her funnel, and now one, and then another, with a quick cry, averred they saw men on board; but yet there was no sign of her boats, or trace of smoke.
“She has a slight list to starboard, Mr Webster.”
“I marked that, sir; but she has not settled down, and can’t be making water.”
“She looks over seaworthy for a castaway. Who is it can see a man on board?”
The sailor Dick touched his cap. “There’s a chap swinging on the starboard side, sir, just below the forward davits, and there’s another lying on the booby-trap.”
The other men looked at Dick, then, with knitted brows under the shade of their flat palms, gazed intently at the spots indicated; but, failing to make out any object so small at such a distance, they all turned to watch the Captain, and judged from the sharp inquiring glance he threw at the Lieutenant before taking a longer view that there was now some key to the mystery.
“There certainly is a man up aloft, and another hanging at the side; but he is strangely still.”
“It seems to me his legs move,” muttered Webster. “My God! what is that below him?”
To the straining looks of the excited crew there flashed for a moment a speck of white at the side of the ship, followed by a faint toss of spray against the black hull.
“’Tis a shark!” shouted Dick.
Another pause succeeded, and from the doors there peered out the grim faces of half a dozen stokers, who had, down below, felt the contagion of excitement.
“There has been foul play,” said the Captain; “no live man would remain within a yard of those gaping jaws and not struggle to escape.”
“Fire a blank charge, Mr Webster.”
The twelve-pounder roared its summons, loud enough to wake the dead, but no white face was lifted over the bulwarks of the vessel, and no movement came from the two still forms.
“Make ready to launch the boat.”
There was a rush of naked feet, four men tumbled into the boat with Webster; the ropes were loosened, and the davits swung out.
“Captain, what is that dark cloud beyond the ship?” asked Miss Anstrade, who had been standing on the bridge with a look of wonder in her face.
“A capful of wind, Miss Laura.”
The steamer soon heeled over slowly to the breeze; then her stern, making a ripple on the water, came round, and she lay broadside on, showing the high poops, lofty bridge, and deep, well-like quarter-deck of the ocean tramp. The strange figure hanging over the swell of her bows swung to the lazy motion of the ship, his feet nearly touching the heave of the sea made by the list.
Out of that swell there rose the gleaming belly of the great fish, the next moment the ropes hung limp against the ship!
A murmur of horror rose from the Swift, and Miss Anstrade caught Frank convulsively by the arm. “O Sancta Sanctissima!” she cried, “what a fearful thing is the sea!”
Yet it could not have been more peaceful, as it came with a soft caressing ripple against the grey sides of the catcher, its glossy surface belying the evidence of that ghastly tragedy, whose eddying ripples it had hastily smoothed away.
And the derelict, lazily dipping, pointed her tall narrow bows once more at the Swift, and seemed to the sailor-men to appeal to them in her helplessness; so they pitied her as if she had been a living thing.
“What is the matter with her?” asked Miss Anstrade, her face still white.
“She has been abandoned, evidently; but I must find out why, for she appears to be seaworthy. Her rigging is uninjured; she cannot be making water, and if her steam-gear were damaged she could trust to her sails.”
The Swift was now within a few lengths of the derelict, and passing under her stern, turned to examine her port side.
There, at last, was some evidence of violence, for one of her iron plates had been ripped open, the port side of the bridge had been completely swept away, and there were two jagged holes in her forward bulwark, the jagged ends projecting out, while fragments of a boat hung from her davits.
“She’s been under fire!” said the Captain in astonishment.
“Ay, ay, raked fore and aft by bow chasers,” was the comment of the men.
“Stand by to lower the boat. Let go!” The boat sank to the sea, shipshape and even, and Hume, with a word to the Captain, slipped down into her.
“Give way!” cried Webster, standing up in the stern-sheets. The men put their backs into it, and very soon an active tar, making use of his toes and hands, was on the quarter-deck. He took one quick look around, then let down a rope, up which the rest scrambled one after the other. An extraordinary spectacle met their gaze: the well was littered with splinters; the ladder reaching to the main-deck was smashed; the entrance to the alley-way blocked with the iron wall of the cabin, which had been torn away from its fastenings. On the starboard side, however, the deck was clear, and passing round, they went up the step to the main-deck. The starboard side here was free, but on the port side the deck was ploughed up, and hampered with a part of the bridge and portion of the boat, while the row of skylights were shattered into pieces.
Sending a couple of men aloft to bring down the man on the booby, Webster and Hume went below to examine the state-room. The table was set for dinner, but the plates were clean, and the meal had not been served. Fallen over on the table was a—bottle of whisky, from which the spirit had run out over the cloth, still filling the room with a strong odour, and on the floor was a broken glass. The cabin door opening into the saloon was open, and an inspection showed that the contents had been overhauled, the boxes standing open, and the floors covered with clothing which had been hastily tossed out.
On a small table, in the Captain’s room, was the log-book, the last entry broken off—
“1 degree North latitude, 30 West longitude. Towards evening sighted a cruiser, which showed the Brazilian (National) colours, and held on. She signalled for our colours. Run up the National flag, when she hauled down her colour and ran up the Government flag, at the same time signalling us to lay-to. Expecting little mercy if she found out the nature of our cargo, made a run for it. She gave chase, and opened fire with her bow guns. Cruiser gave up the chase at dusk, just as a discharge from her bow guns severely mauled us. Irene making water fast, and resolved to take the boats and—”
“That explains her state,” mused Webster, as he turned over the pages of the log, which showed that the Irene, 1,500 tons, had left Bristol for Rio in June, 1893, and had up to the last entry made an uneventful voyage.
“It’s a monstrous thing,” said Frank, “that a peaceful merchant steamer should have been served in this way.”
“She probably carries contraband of war, and navy men don’t go to much ceremony before playing bowls with a blockade-runner. Ask the skipper; he’s been at the game often, and by the same token I believe he took command of the Swift to wipe off old scores. Let’s get below.”
Calling two of the men, Webster lifted a hatchway, and, with a lantern from the storeroom, descended to investigate, and was not long in finding that the main hold contained a large shipment of rifles packed in cases. Returning to deck, they found the two men who had been sent aloft standing by the side of a young sailor who had been struck in the head, evidently by a fragment of iron. He was stiff in death, and Webster, with a gentle touch, drew the eyelids over the blue eyes.
He then turned to the side to haul in the ropes, from which that other figure had swung. There was a loop in the end, in which the unfortunate man in launching the forward boat had probably been entangled, and overlooked by his comrades in the dark. Subdued and saddened by what they had seen, they returned to the Swift, and Webster made his report.
“A blockade-runner,” said the Captain, his gloomy eyes lighting up; “and full of arms. What a prize she would be for the rebels!”
“And for us, too,” said Mr Commins quickly. There was a long pause, and the Captain paced restlessly to and fro, casting quick glances at the derelict. “She would mean a fortune,” he continued slowly, “for I happen to know that the land forces of the National party are badly armed. Now, Captain, here is an opportunity that falls right into your mouth, and I would strongly urge you to accept the gift. I admit I was wrong about the Esperanza, but concerning the advisability of taking possession of this rich derelict there can surely be no two opinions.”
“But I should have to place a crew on board, and that would weaken us,” said the Captain, with an air as though he liked the proposal.
“I, myself, don’t see any bar to that arrangement,” said Commins, stroking his chin, and eyeing the Captain thoughtfully. “I dare say now, with half our crew, you yourself could undertake to run the blockade with that ship.”
“I am not going to leave the Swift,” said the Captain roughly.
“I should hope not,” laughed Commins. “I had in mind the history of some of your daring trips as blockade-runner, and, of course, as I presume, Mr Webster, and our young friend, Mr Hume, with as few men as you could spare, could be put on board. They could make for some port north of Rio, and after reporting her whereabouts and arranging for the reward, you could re-ship the crew previous to carrying out the object of this voyage.”
“That would mean delay, and Miss Anstrade may object,” urged the Captain, who, nevertheless, was evidently pleased with the scheme.
“You have heard the Captain’s suggestion, madam,” said Commins, turning to Miss Anstrade, “which seems to me very important, and which, if carried out, would have a most valuable bearing on our chance of success. With that ship and its cargo in our hands we could, with confidence, ask for every assistance from the national commanders ashore and afloat.”
Miss Anstrade knitted her brows as she looked at the speaker.
“You know my wish,” she said wearily, “is to reach Rio as soon as possible. I understand you to say that the cargo of yonder ship would realise a fortune, and it seems to me if I demanded from my struggling countrymen money in return for services, they would be under no indebtedness to me. If we are to weaken our strength to save that ship I would prefer to give it up without any question of reward.”
“But you have no objection to the crew sharing in any prize money that may be offered,” said Commins quickly, with a side glance at the Captain.
“None whatever,” she said coolly.
“And you consent to our saving the ship?”
“I suppose so, though I clearly see my opinion would not be considered if it were opposed to the step.”
“Not so, madam,” said Captain Pardoe. “That ship and its cargo should realise 90,000 pounds, but if you say leave it, I will send her to the bottom, so that she shall not fall into the enemy’s hands.”
“Do as you wish,” she said, with a sad smile, and turned away with a sigh.
The Captain and Mr Commins continued eagerly to discuss the matter, while Hume, who had been standing near with Webster, plucked the latter by the sleeve to draw him aside.
“Well, what do you think of this new scheme?”
“I don’t know that I like it over well, but I judge the temptation would prove a strong one for the Captain. It is a big stroke of luck, after all.”
“The Captain appears to be rather keen upon money making.”
“I suppose he is,” said Webster slowly; “and so are most men when they have the chance. Would you say there was any sentiment about the skipper?”
“As little as there is about that twelve-pounder.”
“That’s where you lose your compass,” said Webster gravely. “For fifteen years the Captain’s dream has been to save money enough to make a home for his future wife, my sister, Hume. When I was a boy at school he was courting her—a fine, high-spirited fellow, with a way about him that won everybody’s goodwill. I have marked him grow more silent and stern as the years went by, and I have seen my sister’s gaiety grow into a sweet and tender patience; but never a word of marriage from him. He was waiting for his fortune, and twice he made it and lost it, once after ten years in the merchant service, when he was wrecked, and once after running a blockade, when he was captured and imprisoned by the Peruvians. ‘’Tis coming, love,’ he would say; ‘a house for you and a little farmyard for me, down in the old county.’ Poor little Loo! I think I see her now sitting, as sometimes she would when the housework was done, with her hands in her lap, looking wistfully into the future. God grant her wishes may be fulfilled!”
“I say no more about the Captain,” said Frank warmly, “except to echo your prayer. For his sake I hope this plan will carry through well, but after what you said of Commins I am suspicious. He may have some design in dividing our strength.”
“No doubt he has, but he might as safely light a cigar at a volcano as attempt to win over any of our men.”
The Captain’s voice here rang out:
“Mr Webster, we will lay by till morning. Take all the men on board and get it as shipshape as possible. Find, if you can, the supercargo’s manifesto, and if you can’t, then make a rough inventory of the cargo.”
The Swift was laid alongside the Irene, on her weather side, and moored fore and aft, the smoothness of the sea permitting this. In this position the low funnels did not rise above the lofty side of the steamer, and she was completely hidden from the view of any vessel coming up on the starboard side. Her fires were damped down, steam shut off, and the engineer and his staff were soon busy in the engine-room of the Irene, while the Quartermaster, with his men, smartly cleared away the litter in readiness for the carpenters.
So the work went briskly on, and in the quiet of the evening, in the presence of all the crew, the body of the dead sailor lad, sewn up in a sail-cloth, was committed to the deep sea, the bass voice of the Captain ringing out solemnly in the impressive silence. And when the last eddy had died away the Captain shivered and drew his hand across his brow.
Maybe the summons for him also had already sounded, and he paced the deck long into the night.