Chapter Sixteen.
A Story of Mutiny.
Not until Leslie was once more back in his own tent, and absolutely safe from all possibility of interruption or espionage, did he venture to open and peruse the scrap of paper that the steward had that morning so surreptitiously slipped into his hand. It was apparently part of the leaf of a pocket memorandum book; and, hastily scribbled in pencil, in an ill-formed and uneducated hand, it bore the following words:—
“Sir, for God’s sake take care what your about, or your life won’t be worth a brass farden. Turnbull aint no more the proper capten of this ship than I am. There won’t be no anchor watch aboard here to-night so if youl come off about half after midnight I’ll be on the lookout for yer and tell yer the hole bloomin yarn. For God’s sake come.—Steward.”
“Um!” meditated Leslie, as he held the document to the light of the lamp. “Now, what does this mean? Is it a trap to get me aboard the barque, or is it genuine? The latter, I am inclined to think, for several reasons; the first of which is that the poor man was obviously in a state of abject terror this morning. Secondly, he was so keenly anxious to open up communication with me that he made an unsuccessful attempt to do so while helping me to my whisky and soda. Thirdly, his statement that Turnbull is not the legitimate skipper of the barque is so evidently true that it needs no discussion. And fourthly, if Turnbull had seriously desired to make me a prisoner this afternoon, he could easily have done so by sending a boat’s crew in pursuit of me—that is to say,” he corrected himself, “for all he knows to the contrary, he could easily have done so. For how was he to know that I had two fully loaded revolvers in my pocket, equivalent to the lives of twelve men? Yes, I am strongly inclined to believe that this remarkable little document is genuine, and that there is something very radically wrong aboard that barque. What is it, I wonder? That Turnbull has somehow got scent of the treasure, and is after it, I am almost prepared to swear; his obvious vexation and disappointment at finding me here as ‘the man in possession,’ and his equally obvious efforts to shake me off to-day that he might have an opportunity to go away by himself in search of the cave, prove that; but there is something more than that, I am certain. I wonder, now, whether his story of the sick man in the cabin has anything to do with it? I should not be surprised if it had. And where were the crew this morning? Turnbull spoke of being short-handed; but surely there are more people aboard than himself, the steward, the cook, and the two or three men I saw? Oh yes, there is something very queer about the whole business; and this document is genuine. At all events I will go off to-night, and hear what the steward has to say about it.”
In accordance with this resolution Leslie forthwith partook of a good hearty meal, and then, extinguishing his lamp, left the tent—to guard against the possibility of his being surprised there in his sleep—and, walking over to the pile of goods that he had accumulated from the brig’s cargo, raised the tarpaulin that covered it, and, creeping underneath, stretched himself out as comfortably as he could to snatch a few hours’ sleep, confident that the faculty which he possessed of being able to wake at any desired moment would not play him false. And a few minutes later he was fast asleep; for Dick Leslie was one of those men who, when once they have resolved upon a certain course of action, dismiss further consideration of it from their minds and allow it to trouble them no longer.
He had fixed upon half-past eleven as the hour at which he would rise, this allowing him a full hour in which to paddle off to the barque; and when by-and-by he awoke, and under the shelter of the tarpaulin cautiously struck a match and consulted his watch, he found that it was within five minutes of the half-hour. He next peered out from under the tarpaulin and carefully scanned the beach by the light of the stars, to see whether Turnbull had sent a boat ashore in the hope of “catching a weasel asleep;” but his own canoe was the only craft visible, and he accordingly made his way down to the water’s edge, and, pushing her off, sprang noiselessly into her as she went afloat. Then, heading her round with a couple of powerful sweeps of the paddle, he pointed her nose toward the spot where the Minerva’s spars made a delicate tracery of black against the star-spangled heavens, and with long, easy, silent strokes drove her quietly ahead.
That the crew had not yet retired to their bunks was soon evident to him from the fact that snatches of maudlin song came floating down to him occasionally upon the pinions of the dew-laden night breeze; but these dwindled steadily as he drew nearer to the vessel, and about a quarter of an hour before he arrived alongside they ceased altogether, and the craft subsided into complete silence.
Leslie deemed it advisable to approach the barque with a considerable amount of caution, not that he doubted the steward, but because, despite the silence that had fallen on board, it was just possible that some of the crew might still be awake and on deck; he therefore kept the three masts of the vessel in one, and crept up to her very gently from right astern. As he drew in under the shadow of her hull the complete darkness and silence in which the craft was wrapped seemed almost ominous and uncanny; but presently he detected a solitary figure on the poop, evidently on the watch, and a moment later saw that this figure was silently signalling to him to draw up under the counter. Obeying these silent signals, he found a rope dangling over the stern, which he seized, and the next instant the figure that he had observed came silently wriggling down the rope into the canoe. Leslie at once recognised him as the steward.
“It’s all right, sir,” whispered the man, breathless, in part from his exertions, and partly also, Leslie believed, from apprehension; “it’s all right. But let go, sir, please, and let’s get a few fathoms away from the ship, for there’s no knowin’ when that skunk Turnbull may take it into his head to come on deck and ’ave a look round; ’e’s as nervous as a cat, and that suspicious that you can’t be up to ’im. There, thank ’e, sir; I dare say that’ll do; they won’t be able to see or ’ear us from where we are now, for I couldn’t see you until you was close under the counter. Well, you’ve come, sir, God be thanked; and I ’ope you’ll be able to ’elp us; because if you can’t it’ll be a precious bad job for some of us.” And the fellow sighed heavily with mingled apprehension and relief.
“You had better tell me the whole of your story,” said Leslie, quietly. “I shall then be in a position to say whether I can help you or not. If I can, you may rest assured that I will.”
“Thank ’e, sir,” murmured the man. “Well, ye see, sir, it’s like this. We sailed from London for Capetown a little more than four months ago; and everything went smooth and comfortable enough with us until we got across the line and into the south-east trades—for the skipper, poor Cap’n Hopkins, was as nice and pleasant a man as anybody need wish to sail under; and so was Mr Marshall, too—that’s the mate, you’ll understand, sir—although ’e kep’ the men up to their dooty, and wouldn’t ’ave no skulkin’ aboard. The only chap as was anyways disagreeable was this feller Turnbull, who was rated as bo’sun, and give charge of the starboard watch, actin’ as a sort of second mate, ye see. Well, as I was sayin’, everything went all right until we got to the s’uth’ard of the line. Then, one night I was woke up some time after midnight by a terrific row in the cabin; and up I jumps and out I goes to see what was up. When I got into the cabin it seemed full of men; but I’d no sooner shown my nose than one of the chaps—it was Pete Burton, I remember—catches sight of me, and, takin’ me by the collar, ’e runs me back into my cabin and says, ‘You stay in there, Jim,’—my name’s Reynolds—Jim Reynolds—you’ll understand, sir. ‘You stay in there, Jim,’ ’e says, ‘and no ’arm’ll come to you; but if you tries to come out afore you’re called, you’ll get ’urt,’ ’e says. Then ’e turns the key upon me, and I gets back into my bunk, and listens. The next thing I ’eard was a pistol-shot; then there was another tremenjous ’ullabaloo, men shoutin’ and strugglin’ together, followed by a suddent silence, and the sound of all ’ands clearin’ out of the cabin. Then there was a lot of tramplin’ of feet on the poop over my ’ead, with a good deal of talkin’; then I ’eard somebody cry out, there was a ’eavy splash in the water alongside, and then everything went quite quiet all of a sudden, and I ’eard no more until mornin’. But I guessed pretty well what ’ad ’appened; and when Turnbull come along about five bells and unlocked my door and ordered me to turn out and get about my work, I found I was right, for when I went for’ard to the galley, Slushy—that’s the cook, otherwise known as Neil Dolan—told me that that skowbank Turnbull, backed up by the four A.B.s in the fo’c’s’le and Slushy ’isself, ’ad rose and took the ship from the skipper, killin’ ’im and Chips—that’s the carpenter—puttin’ the mate in irons and lockin’ ’im up in ’is cabin, and compellin’ the four ordinarys to help—whether they would or no—in workin’ the ship. Then, by-and-by, when eight bells struck and I rang the bell for breakfast, along comes Turnbull, and says to me—
“‘Well, Jim, I s’pose you’ve ’eard the news?’
“‘Yes, bo’sun,’ I says, ‘I ’ave.’
“‘Very well,’ he says; ‘that’s all right. Now,’ ’e says, ‘all as you ’ave to do, my son, is to behave yourself and do your dooty, takin’ care not to interfere with my arrangements. You’ll give the mate ’is meals in ’is own cabin, regular; but you’re not to talk to ’im, you understand, nor tell ’im anything that you may see or ’ear about what’s goin’ on. And don’t you call me bo’sun no more, young man, or I’ll knock your bloomin’ young ’ead off, for I’m cap’n of this ship now, and don’t you forget it! So now you knows what to expect. And, mind you,’ ’e says, ‘if you gets up to any ’ankypanky tricks I’ll chuck you over the side, so sure as your name’s Jim Reynolds, so keep your weather eye liftin’, my son!’
“Later on, that same day, Turnbull ’as the mate out into the main cabin and spreads a chart of the Pacific Hocean out on the table; and, readin’ from a paper what ’e ’ad in ’is ’and, says, ‘Now, Mr Marshall, I’ll trouble you to lay down on this ’ere chart a p’int bearin’ latitood so-and-so and longitood so-and-so,’—I forgets what the figures was. ‘And when you’ve done that,’ he says, ‘you’ll navigate this ’ere barque to that identical spot. I’ll give yer two months from to-day to get us there,’ ’e says; ‘and if we’re not there by that time,’ ’e says, ‘I’ll lash your ’ands and feet together be’ind yer back and ’eave yer overboard. So now you knows what you’ve to do if you want to save yer bloomin’ life,’ ’e says.
“That same a’ternoon, while I was for’ard in the galley, Slushy—who was in ’igh spirits—tells me as ’ow Turnbull ’ave got ’old of a yarn about a lot of buried treasure on a hisland somewhere, in the Pacific, and that we was bound there to get it; and that when we’d got it, Turnbull and them as ’ad stood in with ’im ’d be as rich as princes and wouldn’t need to do another stroke of work for the rest of their naturals, but just ’ave a good time, with as much booze as they cared to swaller. And I reckon that this ’ere’s the hisland where Turnbull thinks ’e’ll find ’is treasure.”
“No doubt,” agreed Leslie. “Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Well, sir, it ain’t for the likes of me to say just exactly what you ought to do,” answered Reynolds. “I thought that maybe if I spinned you the whole yarn you’d be able to think out some way of ’elpin’ of us. There ain’t no doubt in my mind but what you bein’ on the hisland ’ave upset Turnbull’s calculations altogether. As I makes it out, ’e reckoned upon comin’ ’ere and goin’ ashore with ’is paper in ’is ’and, and walkin’ pretty straight to the place where this ’ere treasure is buried, and diggin’ of it up all quite comfortable, with nobody to hinterfere with ’im. But you bein’ ’ere makes it okkard for ’im, you see; because ’e’s afraid that where ’e goes you’ll go with ’im, and if ’e goes pokin’ about lookin’ after buried treasure you’ll drop on to ’is secret and p’rhaps get ’old of the stuff. And that’s just where the danger to you comes in; because, d’ye see, sir, if ’e’d kill one man for the sake of gettin’ ’old of the barque to come ’ere on the off-chance of findin’ the treasure, ’e ain’t the kind of man to ’esitate about killin’ another who’d be likely to hinterfere with ’im.”
“Just so,” assented Leslie; “that is quite possible. But I will see that he does nothing of the kind. Now, tell me, how many of the ship’s company are with Turnbull, and how many are there against him?”
“Well, first of all, there’s Turnbull ’isself; that’s one,” answered the steward. “Then there’s Burton, Royston, Hampton, and Cunliffe, the four A.B.s; that’s five. And, lastly, there’s the cook; ’e makes six. Then, on our side, there’s Mr Marshall, the mate; that’s one. I’m another; that’s two. And there’s Rogers, Andrews, Parker, and Martin, the four ordinary seamen; that’s six again. So there’s six against six, as you may say; only there’s this difference between us: Turnbull ’ave got two revolvers, one what ’e found in the skipper’s cabin, and one what ’e took from the mate, while the four A.B.s ’as their knives; whereas we ’aven’t nothin’, they ’avin’ took our knives and everything away from us.”
“Still,” argued Leslie, “the belaying-pins are always available, I suppose, and they are fairly effective weapons in a hand-to-hand fight, to say nothing of handspikes and other matters that you can always lay your hands on. But of course Turnbull’s brace of revolvers gives him an immense advantage, should it come to fighting. But I can plainly see that if the slip is to be recaptured at all—and I believe it can be managed—it must be done without fighting; for you are not strong-handed enough to risk the loss, or even the disablement, of so much as a single man. Now, tell me this. Turnbull informs me that your water is bad, and that he intends to re-water the ship, here. Is that true, or is it only a fabrication to account to me for the presence here of the Minerva?”
“Why, just that, and nothin’ else, sir,” answered the steward. “Our water’s good enough. But certingly we’re runnin’ rather short of it; and I don’t doubt but what ’e’ll fill up, if there’s water to be ’ad ’ere. But it’s the treasure as ’e’s after, first and foremost, and don’t you forget it.”
“Quite so,” agreed Leslie. “Now, no doubt he will go ashore again soon after daylight; and as I shall not come off to the ship he will be compelled to come ashore in his own boat. How many men will he be likely to bring with him, think you?”
“Not more’n two, sir, certingly,” answered the steward; “and p’rhaps not any at all. Likely enough when ’e finds as you don’t come off ’e’ll scull ’isself ashore in the dinghy. Because, you see, sir, ’e don’t trust none of us ’ceptin’ the four as is standin’ in with ’im, and them four ’as their orders to keep a strict heye upon us to see that we don’t rise and take back the ship from ’em. So I don’t think as ’e’ll take any o’ them ashore with ’im if ’e can ’elp it. And ’e won’t take none of the others either, ’cause ’e’d be afraid to trust ’isself alone with ’em.”
“Very well,” said Leslie. “I think I can see my way pretty clearly now. If Turnbull should go ashore by himself to-morrow, I will look after him and see that he does not return to the barque. But if he should take any of his own gang with him—say two of them—that will leave only two and the cook aboard against six of you, which will make you two to one. In that case you must watch your chance, and, if you can find an opportunity, rise upon those three and retake the ship. And if you should succeed, hoist the ensign to the gaff-end as a signal to me that the ship is recaptured. But do not run any risks, mind; because, as I have already said, you cannot afford to lose even one man. If you cannot see a good chance to retake the ship, we must watch our opportunity, and think of some other plan. That is all, I think. Now I will put you aboard again. But look out for me to come off again about the same time to-morrow night.”
With the same caution as before Leslie now again approached the barque, but this time he took the canoe up under the craft’s mizzen channels, from which it was a much easier matter for the steward to scramble aboard again than if he had been compelled to shin up the rope dangling over the stern, by which he had descended; and having seen the man safely in on deck, he softly pushed the canoe off the ship’s side with his bare hand, and allowed her to be driven clear by the wind; and it was not until he was a good hundred yards astern of the Minerva that he took to his paddle and returned to the camp. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when at length he once more entered his tent and stretched himself upon his bed to finish his night’s rest.
Leslie was habitually an early riser, and, notwithstanding the fact that the previous night’s rest had been a broken one, he was once more astir by sunrise, taking his towels and soap with him to a little rocky pool in the stream where he was wont to indulge in his morning’s “tub;” and by eight o’clock he was seated at table in his tent, enjoying his breakfast, and at the same time keeping an eye upon the barque.
It was not, however, until close upon half-past ten that Dick detected any signs of a movement on board the Minerva; and then with the aid of his telescope, he observed that they were getting the vessel’s dinghy into the water. Ten minutes later he saw Turnbull climb down the ship’s side, and, throwing over a short pair of sculls, shove off and head the little craft for the beach. Dick waited only just long enough to make quite sure that the man was really coming ashore, and, this presently becoming evident, he at once started for the treasure-cave. Knowing the way by this time perfectly well, an hour’s easy walking took him to the spot, where he found Nicholls and Simpson on the watch. A few terse sentences sufficed to put the men in possession of the material facts of the situation, and he then hurried down aboard the cutter to see Flora and assure her of his safety, and that everything was going well. Then, returning to the cave, he made his final arrangements with the two men, and set out on his way back toward the camp. He did not go very far, however, for he knew that, finding him absent, Turnbull would at once seize the opportunity to institute a search for the cave; and he knew, further, that—since the man was undoubtedly possessed of tolerably complete information, including, probably, a map of the island—he must sooner or later make his appearance in the neighbourhood; he therefore selected a spot where, himself unseen, he could command a view of the ground over which the fellow must almost inevitably pass, and sat down to patiently await developments.
At length, after Leslie had been in ambush for nearly three hours, he saw Turnbull approaching among the trees, carrying what appeared to be a map or plan in his hand, which he consulted from time to time, with
frequent pauses to stare about him as though in search of certain landmarks. As the burly ruffian drew nearer, Dick took a revolver from his pocket and finally scrutinised it to make absolutely certain that it was in perfect working order. Slowly the fellow approached, muttering curses below his breath at the unevenness of the way and the unsimilarity of the landscape with that described in the document which he carried. Presently he went, stumbling and execrating, close past the spot where Leslie remained concealed, and the latter at once rose to his feet and followed him noiselessly, at a distance of some fifteen paces. In this fashion the two men covered a distance of about a quarter of a mile, when Turnbull once more paused to consult his map.
At the same moment Leslie halted, and, levelling his revolver at the boatswain’s head, said—
“It is no good, Turnbull; you will never find the place without my help. No, you don’t! Throw up your hands. Over your head with them, quick, or I’ll fire! Do you hear what I say, sir? Well, take that, then, you obstinate mule, as a hint to do as you are told in future!”
And as Leslie spoke he pulled the trigger of his revolver, and sent a bullet through the man’s left arm, shattering the bone above the elbow.
For, with the sound of Dick’s voice, Turnbull had faced about, and, with a bitter curse, made as though he would plunge his hands into the side-pockets of the pilot jacket that he was wearing. As the shot struck him he gave vent to another curse that ended in a sharp howl of anguish as he flung his uninjured arm above his head.
“What the blazes are ye doin’ of?” he yelled in impotent fury. “D’ye know that you’ve broke my arm?”
“Sorry,” remarked Dick, nonchalantly, “but you would have it, you know. I distinctly ordered you to throw up your hands, and you immediately attempted to plunge them into your pockets to get at your revolvers. If you compel me to shoot again I shall shoot to kill, so I hope that, for your own sake, you will make no further attempt to do anything foolish. Now, right about face, and march. I will tell you how to steer. And be very careful to keep that right hand of yours well above your head.”
“Ain’t you goin’ to bind up this wound of mine for me, then?” demanded Turnbull. “And what right have you got to shoot at me, I’d like to know?”
“All in good time,” answered Leslie, airily. “Now march, as I told you, and be quick about it, or I shall be compelled to freshen your way for you with another shot. I know all about you, my good man, and I am therefore not at all disposed to put up with any nonsense. Forward!”
With a further volley of curses of extraordinary virulence, Turnbull turned on his heel and resumed his way in the direction of the treasure-cave, with Dick at his heels directing him from time to time to “port a little,” “starboard a bit,” or “steady as you go,” as the case might be.
A few minutes of this kind of thing sufficed to bring the pair close to the treasure-cave, the entrance of which had been considerably enlarged by Nicholls and Simpson for their own convenience. They were, however, absent for the moment when Dick arrived with his prisoner; and the latter stared in wonderment at the cave and the chests in front of it, which the two men had removed from the interior prior to transference to the cutter.
“So,” exclaimed Turnbull, savagely, “that’s what you’re at, is it? Stealin’ my treasure! Very well; if I don’t make you smart for this my name ain’t Robert Turnbull, that’s all. What d’ye mean, I’d like to know, by comin’ here and stealin’ treasure that don’t belong to ye, eh?”
“To whom does it belong, pray, if not to me?” demanded Dick, blandly, curious to learn what kind of claim this ruffian would set up.
“Why, to me, of course,” howled Turnbull, clenching his right fist and shaking it savagely at Leslie.
“Keep that right hand of yours over your head,” ordered Dick, sharply, again covering him with lightning-like rapidity. “That’s right,” he continued. “Now perhaps you will kindly tell me how it came to be yours.”
“Why, I got it off a former shipmate of mine,” answered Turnbull. “He give it to me when—when he—died.”
“What was his name?” asked Dick.
“His name?” reiterated Turnbull, “what do his name matter? And anyhow I’ve forgot it.”
At this moment Nicholls and Simpson made their appearance upon the scene, much to Turnbull’s amazement, and turning to them Leslie said—
“Here is your prisoner, lads. Have you your lashings ready? And is the cave empty of everything that we intend to take away with us? Very well, then; march this fellow in there and bind his two feet and his right hand together securely—his left arm is broken and useless, you need not therefore trouble about that. And when you have done that I will set his broken arm and dress his wound for him. Keep him in the cave until I give you further instructions concerning him, and meanwhile give him a sufficiency of food and water to keep him from starving.”
For a moment Turnbull, wounded as he was, seemed very much disposed to make a final struggle for his liberty; but although he was a strong man, Simpson would have been more than a match for him even if he had been unwounded, and presently, recognising the futility and folly of resistance he sulkily entered the cave and submitted to be bound, growling and cursing horribly all the while, however. Then Leslie, assisted by Nicholls, dressed his wound and set the broken bone of the arm; lashing it firmly with splints hastily cut out of small branches from the nearest trees. Satisfied now that the fellow was absolutely secured, and quite incapable either of escaping or of inflicting any very serious injury upon himself, the three men at length left him to his; own devices, and proceeded to get the remainder of the treasure aboard the cutter and snugly stowed away—a task that they accomplished early enough to enable Dick to get back to the camp ere nightfall. Arrived there, Leslie at once set to work to prepare himself a good substantial meal, which he subsequently devoured with much gusto—having eaten nothing since breakfast; and, this important matter being disposed of, he immediately turned in, desiring to secure a few hours’ sleep ere setting out upon his nocturnal trip off to the barque.
When, at about half an hour after midnight, he again approached the Minerva, observing the same precautions as before, he found the steward awaiting his arrival with considerable trepidation. The man again descended into the canoe by way of the rope over the stern; and again Leslie allowed the little craft to drive with the wind to a perfectly safe distance before opening the conversation. At length, however, he said—
“Now I think we are far enough away to permit of our talking freely without being either heard or seen; so go ahead, Reynolds, and give me the news. Has Turnbull’s failure to return to the ship caused any uneasiness to the others of his gang?”
“Well, it ’ave, and it ’aven’t, if you can understand me, sir,” answered the man. “What I mean to say is this,” he continued, by way of explanation, “the chaps—Burton and the rest of ’em—seems a bit puzzled that ’e ’aven’t come off aboard to sleep to-night; but so far as I can make out, they thinks ’e’s stayin’ ashore with you, chummin’ up with you, in a manner of speakin’, and tryin’ to get to wind’ard of you. They seems to think that Turnbull—who thinks ’isself a mighty clever chap, but ain’t nothin’ of the sort—’aven’t been able to hinvent an excuse to get away from you, and that you’ve been goin’ about with ’im all day, showin’ ’im round the hisland and such-like; and that ’e’s stayin’ ashore to-night ’opin’ to be able to give you the slip early in the mornin’ and get off by ’isself to ’ave a look for ’is treasure-cave. That’s what they thinks; but of course it ain’t nothin’ of the sort. You knows what ’ave ’appened to ’im, sir; no doubt?”
“Oh yes,” answered Leslie, with a laugh; “I know quite well what has happened to him. He is alive; but he will not come off to the barque again.”
“Thank God for that!” ejaculated the steward, piously. “Well, sir,” he resumed, “what is to be the next move?”
“That,” answered Leslie, “will depend upon circumstances—or, in other words, upon the action of Turnbull’s accomplices. It would no doubt be easy enough to recapture the barque without further delay, if I were willing to risk a fight. But I am not, for two very good reasons; one of which is that my own party is so small that I cannot afford to have either of them hurt; and the other is that your party is also so small that if even a single man should happen to be disabled in a fight it would be exceedingly difficult for the remainder of you to handle the barque. Therefore I would very much rather spend a few more days over this business, and recapture the vessel without any fighting, than rush the matter and perhaps get somebody badly hurt. By the way, what sort of men are these accomplices of Turnbull’s? Are they of the resolute and determined sort?”
“Ay,” answered the steward, “you bet your life they are, sir. Turnbull took ’em in with ’im just because ’e couldn’t ’elp ’isself. ’E ’ad to ’ave ’elp to take the barque, and naterally ’e chose the chaps as ’e thought would be most useful to ’im, ’specially as ’e didn’t want to ’ave more ’n ’e could ’elp to go shares with ’im. Now these ’ere four—Burton and the rest of ’em—are big, strong fellers, all of ’em. Either of ’em could tackle any two of the rest of us in a stand-up fight and make mincemeat of us; so I reckon that’s the reason why Turnbull chose ’em. With they four and the cook on ’is side, and the mate safe in irons and locked up in ’is cabin, ’e could laugh at the rest of us, and do just ezactly as ’e liked.”
“I see,” assented Leslie. “But what sort of a man is your mate, then? Could he not devise some scheme whereby, with the assistance of the rest of you, he could get the better of these fellows?”
“Mr Marshall?” responded the steward. “Oh, ’e’s all right; ’e’s smart enough, ’e is; not much of a chap to look at—bein’ a small man and not over strong—but ’is ’ead’s screwed on the right way. But ’e can’t do nothin’, because, ye see, sir, they keeps ’im in irons and locked up in ’is own cabin, ’cept when ’e was let out twice a day to take the sights and work up the ship’s reckonin’, and then either Turnbull or one of ’is gang was always alongside of ’im, and nobody else was hever allowed to go anigh ’im; whilst at other times—when I was givin’ ’im ’is meals, I mean—either Pete Burton or one of the other chaps what was in with Turnbull was always about to see as ’e and I didn’t ’ave no talk together. So, ye see, the poor man ’adn’t no chance to do anything ’owever much ’e might ’ave been minded.”
“Poor beggar!” ejaculated Leslie; “he must have had an awfully rough time of it. And, evidently, Turnbull and his pals do not mean to take any chances—which makes the recapture of the barque without a fight somewhat difficult. However, I believe it can be done; and, anyhow, I intend to try. Now, as I suppose you know these fellows pretty well, I want you to tell me what you think will happen when they find that Turnbull does not return to the ship.”
The steward carefully considered the matter for some moments. At length he said—
“Well, sir, if Turnbull don’t come off by to-morrow night, it’s very likely as they’ll begin to suspect that you knows somethin’ about it. Then, what’ll they do? They daren’t all four of ’em leave the barque, with only Slushy to take care of ’er, because they knows very well that the rest of us ’d pretty soon tie up Mr Slushy and have the barque back again. And they knows, too, that if all four of ’em was to come ashore, we could slip the cable, make sail, and take the ’ooker out to sea afore they could pull off to ’er. No; they won’t do that. What they will do, I expect, is this. If Turnbull don’t come off by sunset to-morrow—which I s’pose he won’t, eh? No. Well, if he don’t, I expect as they’ll wait till some time a’ter midnight, and then two of ’em ’ll quietly drift ashore in one of the quarter-boats, leavin’ the other two to take care o’ the ship. And the two as goes ashore ’ll reckon upon catchin’ of you calmly asleep in your tent, there, and makin’ you tell ’em where Turnbull is.”
“Y-e-s,” assented Leslie, thoughtfully, “it is quite likely that they may do some such thing as that. Yes; no doubt they will do that, sooner or later; if not to-morrow night, then the night after, or the night after that again. Very well; if they do, I shall be ready for them. And on the succeeding night, steward, you may look out for me again, about this time, unless, meanwhile, I see any reason to alter my plans. Now, that is all for the present, I think, so I will put you aboard again. I suppose, by the way, these men have no suspicion that you and I are in communication with each other?”
“Lor’ bless ye, no, sir,” answered Reynolds, cheerfully. “Why should they? They don’t dream as you’ve any idee of the real state of affairs—at least not up to now. They may p’rhaps ’ave their suspicions if Turnbull don’t come aboard some time to-morrow; but at present they believes as ’e ’ve bamboozled you completely. Then, they drinks pretty freely every night, and sleeps sound a’ter it, which they wouldn’t do if they ’ad a thought as I was up to any game.”
“So much the better,” remarked Leslie. “What you have to do is to leave them in the same comfortable frame of mind as long as possible. Now, here we are. Good night!”
As Leslie paddled thoughtfully ashore again he pondered over the foregoing conversation with the steward, and after carefully weighing the several pros and cons of the situation, finally arrived at the conclusion that the steward’s surmise as to the mutineers’ line of action would probably prove to be a very near approach to the truth. In any case he thought it in the highest degree improbable that they would attempt so exceedingly risky an operation as that of leaving the barque in broad daylight, when all hands would be awake and about; he therefore partook of a leisurely breakfast next morning, and then fearlessly left the camp to take care of itself while he sauntered over to the cove to see how Nicholls and Simpson were getting on. And as he passed the treasure-cave he looked in, just to satisfy himself that Turnbull was still in safe keeping, and also to examine his wound. He found the fellow still bound hard and fast, and in a state of sullen fury at his helpless condition, but otherwise he was doing fairly well, except for the fact that his wound presented a somewhat inflamed and angry appearance, due, no doubt, to the man’s unhealthy state of body through excessive drinking. Leslie dressed the wound afresh, and then passed on to the cove, where he found Nicholls and Simpson busily engaged in getting the cutter ataunto. They had already got her mainsail bent, set, and flapping gently about in the small currents of wind that eddied round the cove, the idea being to allow it to stretch uniformly before exposing it to the regular strain of work. And when Leslie came upon them they were busy upon the task of bending the foresail; and Nicholls reported that they would be easily able to complete everything, even to getting the topmast on end and the rigging set up, before nightfall. As for Flora, she had gone off upon a ramble, leaving a note for Dick which contained instructions as to how he might find her. This he did, without difficulty; and as the whole of the treasure was now loaded on board the cutter and the little craft herself was in condition to leave the cove at an hour’s notice, there remained little or nothing to be done prior to the recapture of the Minerva. Dick therefore felt himself perfectly free to devote the remainder of the day to his sweetheart.
About an hour before sunset, however, the pair turned up at the cove, and while Flora went on board the cutter, Leslie instructed Nicholls to accompany him back to the camp, which they reached just as darkness fell. Arrived there, the two men at once made their way to the great pile of bales and cases that Dick had, with such a tremendous expenditure of labour, brought ashore from the wrecked Mermaid, and, rummaging among these, found the big case of firearms from which Leslie had provided himself. The case was opened and a brace of good, serviceable revolvers withdrawn therefrom for Nicholls’ use, after which the two men leisurely partook of their evening meal. By the time that this was finished and cleared away it was close upon eight o’clock, and as Leslie rather anticipated the possibility of a visit from some of the mutineers that night, and had no fancy for being taken unawares by them, he directed Nicholls to lie down and sleep until midnight, when he would relieve him, it being Dick’s purpose that the two men should take watch and watch through the night.