Chapter Fourteen.
Plot and Counterplot.
This secret conversation between Joe and myself—secret by reason of the intense darkness of the night, and by the precautions I had deemed it expedient to take, at an early stage of the conversation, to conceal my precise whereabouts from any prying eyes among the starboard watch—at first produced within me a feeling of the keenest uneasiness and anxiety. For Joe’s revelation as to the discovery by the late steward of my secret relating to the concealed treasure furnished me with what had previously been lacking, namely, a motive for that secret plotting of the existence of which Joe was so firmly convinced. The story to which I had that night listened left no room for doubt in my mind that my own want of caution and the late steward’s inquisitive propensities had placed within the knowledge of the latter the two important facts that I possessed the secret of a concealed treasure, and that it was my intention, on leaving Sydney, to proceed in search of it. Moreover, it was clear enough that the fellow had no sooner acquired this knowledge than he concocted a plan for the eventual acquisition of the treasure, and made some effort to secure the assistance of the crew in the carrying out of this plan, whatever it might happen to have been. Failing in this, might he not, out of sheer malice, have communicated the secret to some one else—our present cook, for instance—and instigated the man to take some such steps as himself had contemplated? Such a proceeding would at once account satisfactorily for the curious fact that I had succeeded in obtaining a crew when no other shipmaster within the port could do so. The only weak element of such a supposition consisted in my inability to reconcile myself to the belief that such a man as our late steward would ever, under any provocation, be weak enough to part with a secret that might, even under the most unlikely combination of circumstances and in the most distant future, possibly be of some advantage to himself. Yet this man, Martin, whose life I had saved, and who had impressed me as being a thoroughly honest, straightforward, trustworthy fellow, roundly asserted that something of a secret and mysterious character was going on among the newly shipped men—something from which he, on account of his assumed integrity, had been quietly yet consistently excluded; and he had heard the word “treasure” mentioned by these presumable conspirators. Then I argued with myself that, after all, when one came to reflect upon it, the exclusive ways of these ex-gold-miners and the mere mention of the word “treasure” seemed rather slender threads from which to weave so portentous a suspicion as that which Joe’s communication had suggested. For aught that I knew, the late steward’s discourses upon the subject of the treasure might have been of such a character as to suggest to the minds of his hearers an absurdly exaggerated idea of its value, leaving upon honest Joe’s mind the impression that it must be fabulously rich, and altogether the kind of thing to obtain possession of which men would hesitate at no crime, however monstrous. And, having had experience of one attempt to gain possession of it by means of treachery, was it not natural that the simple fellow, discovering, or believing that he had discovered, something in the nature of a secret understanding among his shipmates, should at once leap to the conclusion that it was nothing less than a second attempt upon the treasure that was being planned? As to the cook’s inquiry whether Joe would not rather be a rich man than be obliged to follow the sea for the remainder of his life, I thought nothing of that; sailors—like everybody else—are possessed of a rooted conviction that wealth is the panacea of all evils. By the time that I had reached this point in my mental argument it was eight bells, and, Forbes coming on deck to relieve me, I went to my cabin more than half convinced that Joe had, after all, discovered a mare’s nest; and having thus argued myself into a more comfortable frame of mind, I lay down and slept soundly until I was called by the steward at my usual hour of rising.
I will do Joe the justice to say that, having settled in his mind the part that he would play in the drama that he believed was evolving itself on board the barque, he thenceforth played it to the life, and with a skill so consummate as to deceive the most suspicious. He assumed the rôle of a man who, if let alone, would be willing enough to do his duty honestly, and to the best of his ability, but who could not and would not tolerate the smallest measure of injustice. And he gave himself all the airs of an aggrieved person—of one who has been harshly treated for a trivial fault; his whole manner was the very impersonation of sullen resentment, and the careless, slovenly way in which he performed his duties was a constant source of provocation to me, even though I knew—or thought I knew—that it was all assumed. So exasperating was he that sometimes I even doubted whether his behaviour really was assumption—whether, after all, I had not been deceived in the man; whether it was not rather his former good behaviour that was assumed, while his present delinquencies were the result of an outbreak of irrepressible evil in him. There were even times when I asked myself whether he might not be a ringleader in the very plot he professed to be so anxious to discover, and whether his anxiety to enlighten me might not be assumed for the purpose of blinding and misleading me the more effectually. Never in all my life had I witnessed so thorough and radical a change in any one as seemed to have come over Joe Martin. But a quiet word or two with him, or a glance into his honest eyes when no one was near enough at hand to read their expression, always sufficed to reassure me as to his absolute fidelity. Since it was possible for him to make me doubt him, despite the many evidences he had afforded me of his honesty, it is not to be wondered at that Sir Edgar and Lady Emily were completely deceived by him; and often did they, in the comparative privacy of the saloon, deplore Joe’s lamentable fall from his original virtuous condition. On such occasions I always assumed a tone of righteous indignation and severity, giving as free vent as possible to the very real annoyance that the fellow’s pranks frequently occasioned me; inwardly resolving at the same time that, if he emerged with unblemished reputation from the perplexingly contradictory rôle he was then enacting, I would do him the most lavish justice when the proper time arrived.
The number of men we now had on board the barque, and the constitution of the watches, were such that one of Joe’s “tricks” at the wheel always occurred from two to four o’clock on every alternate morning; and these were the only opportunities when it was possible for us to exchange confidences with any degree of safety from the possibility of discovery. Consequently, after having had a chat with Joe, I always had to wait forty-eight hours before I could learn what discoveries—if any—he had made in the interim. After the last-recorded long chat that we had had together, two such opportunities had passed without the occurrence of anything in the forecastle of a sufficiently definite character to furnish Joe with matter for a report; though he insisted that the frequent brief, hurried consultations, and the increased caution of the conspirators, convinced him that something very momentous must be impending. Such a statement naturally reawakened all my anxiety; which was not lessened by the fact that we now had a moon, in her second quarter, affording a sufficient amount of light to render our confidential communications at night almost impossible without detection; while, to add to my embarrassment, I expected to sight the island within the next forty hours.
I thought the time had now arrived when I ought to take the mate into my confidence, and I did so during the progress of the following afternoon watch; taking care that our conversation should be as brief as possible, and that it should be conducted out of earshot of all eavesdroppers. As I had anticipated, Forbes seemed very much disposed to make light of the matter, and to regard it as a hallucination of Joe’s; protesting that, so far from having observed any symptoms of revolt or insubordination, he had been simply astonished at such orderly behaviour on the part of men who had lived the comparatively lawless life of diggers on a new gold-field. In short, we were both thoroughly puzzled. But we eventually agreed that, under the circumstances, it would be prudent to keep our eyes open, and to adopt precisely such precautionary measures as we should resort to if we were expecting the men to break into open mutiny. I also undertook to find or make an opportunity to instruct Joe that, in the event of his making any fresh discoveries, he was at once to acquaint the mate with them, if he experienced any difficulty in communicating with me.
On that same evening, during the first watch, when—the ladies having retired as usual about four bells—Sir Edgar joined me, according to custom, to smoke a final cigar and indulge in a desultory chat before retiring to his own cabin for the night, I availed myself of the opportunity to explain the situation to him also; first cautioning him not to exhibit any astonishment or other emotion that might excite the suspicions of the helmsman, who would doubtless have his eyes upon us. He was, of course, and naturally enough, very much discomposed at such startling intelligence; the more so that I was unable to give him any definite information as to the character of the danger with which we were threatened; but he maintained the same enviable coolness and composure of manner that I had so greatly admired on the memorable night of our adventure in the Straits of Sunda, and assured me that I might rely upon him to be ready for action in any emergency, however sudden.
It was my middle watch below that night, and I had been in my berth about an hour, tossing restlessly from side to side, and striving to devise plans to meet every contingency I could possibly think of, when I heard a sound of muffled footsteps outside my state-room door, followed by a very gentle cautious tap upon the panelling.
“Yes,” I answered, in a low cautious tone; “who is there?”
“It’s Joe, sir,” was the reply, in an equally subdued tone of voice. “I’ve got some news for you at last, with a vengeance!”
I opened the door; and, sure enough, there stood Joe, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, as though he every moment expected to be followed and dragged on deck before he could make his communication.
Signing to him to enter the cabin, I noiselessly closed the door behind him, and, pointing toward the locker, said—
“Now, Joe, heave ahead, my man, and tell me your story in your own way. But, first of all, how did you manage to get here without being seen by any of the men?”
“Well, sir,” said Joe, “it wasn’t very easy, and that’s a fact. I wanted to have a word with you durin’ the first watch, but you was talking with Sir Edgar; and, if you hadn’t been, it’d ha’ been all the same, because I couldn’t ha’ left the forecastle without bein’ missed. So I had to wait until our watch was relieved and had gone below; and then I had to wait again until they was all asleep, when I slips out of my bunk, careless-like, leavin’ the blankets all heaped-up so that they’d look, in the dim light, as if I was still there. Then I creeps up on deck, very quiet, but ready primed with a hexcuse in case any o’ the watch wanted to know what I was doin’ on deck in my watch below. But the lookout was comfortably perched between the knight-heads, smokin’, with his back to the deck, so he didn’t see me; and, as for the other two, I expects they was in the galley, takin’ a snooze, for I didn’t see anything of ’em. So I slips aft, in the shadder of the long-boat, and dodges round abaft the mainmast until I got the companion between me and the man at the wheel, when I climbs up on the poop, and crawls along the deck on all-fours to the companion-way; then down I comes, without even Mr Forbes seein’ me.”
“All right, Joe,” said I. “But I shall have to go on deck and let the mate know, when you are ready to go for’ard again, or he might catch sight of you and pounce upon you without knowing who you are; which would simply ruin everything. However, we can arrange that presently. Now, let me know what it is that you have to tell me.”
“Well, sir, it’s just this,” returned Joe. “These here carryin’s on of mine, and the way that you’ve been down upon me of late, has done the trick; and, to-night, durin’ the second dog-watch, the bosun tackled me, and, after a good deal of box-haulin’ about, told me what their little game is, and asked me if I’d jine ’em.”
“Go on, Joe,” said I; “tell me everything that passed, as nearly as you can.”
“Well,” continued Joe—who, it may be well to explain, had, as usual, been behaving most outrageously all day—“I’m boun’ to confess that I laid it on pretty thick to-day; and so did you, sir,”—with a quiet chuckle—“but not no thicker than what I deserved. So, along in the second dog-watch, Rogers comes up to me where I was smokin’, sulky-like, under the lee of the long-boat, away from everybody else, but where anybody could see me that wanted to, and he says—
“‘Hullo, Joe, old shipmate,’ says he, ‘what’s the matter? You looks as if the hazin’ that the skipper’s been givin’ of you to-day has give you a fit of the blues!’
“‘Blues?’ says I. ‘Blues ain’t no name for it! I’m sick and tired of the ship, and everybody in her. I haven’t been given no peace nor rest,’ says I, ‘since the day when I was clumsy enough to smash the gig. Of course I was sorry I done it,’ I says, ‘and I’d ha’ said so if the skipper had only treated me properly; but I ain’t sorry now, and I means to take it out of him for the rest of the v’yage by doin’ every blessed thing I can think of to vex him. He’s made it pretty hot for me lately, and I means to make it hot for him,’ I says; ‘and you may go aft and tell him so if you like,’ says I.
“‘No, Joey,’ says he, ‘I’m not the man to tell tales upon a shipmate; nor there ain’t nobody else in the fo’c’s’le as’ll do such a dirty trick. But what’s come over ye, man? You’re that changed as your own mother wouldn’t know ye. I’m surprised at you,’ he says—‘a man that used to be such a tremenjous favourite with the skipper and the rest of ’em aft. What’s the meanin’ of it all?’
“‘Look here, Bill Rogers,’ says I, turnin’ upon him as savage as you please, ‘just you drop that—d’ye hear? I gets hectorin’ and hazin’ enough from the quarter-deck; I won’t have none of it from you, nor from any other man what’s in this ship’s fo’c’s’le; so now I hopes you understand,’ I says.
“‘All right, mate,’ he says; ‘you needn’t lose your temper with me; there’s no occasion for it. Besides, I’m a short-tempered man myself, and if it comes to—but that’s neither here nor there. I don’t want to quarrel with you, Joe; I’d a deal rather we was all fast friends in the fo’c’s’le. We foremast men ought to stick to one another, and back one another up; don’t you think so?’
“‘Yes, I do,’ says I; ‘but how much have any of you chaps stuck to me, or backed me up? You’ve been as thick as thieves together,’ I says; ‘but—because, I s’pose, I haven’t been to the gold-fields—you’ve made me feel like a houtsider, from the very commencement of the v’yage,’ I says.
“‘Well, if we did,’ says he, ‘it was because we didn’t know you so well as we do now.’
“After that he stood pullin’ away at his pipe, and cogitatin’ like, for a minute or two; and then he looks up in my face, and says—
“‘Look here, Joe Martin, you’ve been on the growl for more’n a week now; but I s’pose if I was to give you the chance to get back into the skipper’s favour by tellin’ him somethin’ he’d very much like to know, you wouldn’t be above doin’ it, would you?’
“‘I don’t want no chance to get back into the skipper’s favour,’ I says. ‘If you knows anything that he’d like to know, go and tell him yourself,’ says I.
“‘Why, Joe,’ he says, laughin’, ‘you’ve regular got your knife into the old man,’—beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n Saint Leger, but them was his words, sir.”
“All right, Joe,” I whispered, anxiously; “what happened next?”
“I says, ‘I haven’t got my knife into him any more’n he’s got his into me, I suppose. But if a man does me a hinjury, I ain’t goin’ to rest until I’ve got even with him.’
“Then says Bill, ‘Now, I wonder what you’d say if anybody was to offer you a chance to get even with the skipper, and do a good thing for yourself at the same time?’
“‘You wouldn’t have to wonder very long,’ says I, ‘if so be as anybody aboard this ship had such a chance to offer me. But them sort of chances don’t come to a man away out here in mid-ocean.’
“‘Oh, don’t they?’ he says. ‘Well, I believes they do—sometimes. Just you stop here a minute, Joe,’ he says; ‘I’ll be back in a brace of shakes.’
“So off he goes, and presently I hears him talkin’ to the cook in the galley, very earnest. By-and-by he comes out again, and he says—
“‘Joe,’ says he, ‘do you know what the skipper’s pokin’ the ship away up here into this outlandish part of the Pacific for?’
“‘Well,’ I says, ‘I’ve been told as he wants to get a cargo of sandal-wood for the China market.’
“‘Nothin’ else?’ says he.
“‘He never told me as he was after anythin’ else,’ I says, lookin’ very knowin’.
“‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t suppose he ever did; but somebody else might, mightn’t they?’
“Says I, ‘What’s the use of all this backin’ and fillin’? I see you knows somethin’ as I thought nobody in the fo’c’s’le knowed anything about but myself. Now, if you’ve got anything to say about it, out with it; and if you haven’t, let’s talk about somethin’ else.’
“Says he, ‘Did you ever know anybody by the name of George Moore?’
“‘Yes,’ says I, ‘I did.’ And I had it on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘And a more worthless scamp I never wishes to meet with.’ But I didn’t, because it come to me to remember, just in time, that if these here chaps knowed anything about the treasure, ’twas most likely through George that they’d come to know it. So I says, ‘He was steward aboard here until the skipper sacked him in Sydney.’
“‘I s’pose you’d know him again if you was to see him?’ he says; and he looked at me in a curious sort of way that makes me think, ‘Now, what the mischief are you a-drivin’ at? It’s my belief, Joe,’ thinks I, ‘that this chap’s layin’ a trap for you; and if you don’t keep your weather eye liftin’, you’ll fall into it, my lad,’ thinks I. So I just says, careless-like—
“‘Oh yes, in course I should.’
“‘When did you see him last?’ says Rogers.
“‘The last time I seen him,’ says I, ‘was the day we arrived in Sydney, when the skipper paid him off and he left the ship.’
“‘Quite sure?’ says Bill.
“‘Certain,’ says I.
“Then he laughed, and he says, ‘Well, Joe, you’re a more simple sort of a feller than I give you credit for bein’. Come into the galley,’ he says, ‘and let me introjuce you to an old friend.’
“So we went into the galley together, and there was cookie busy amongst his pots and pans. When he sees us come in, he looks hard at Bill, and he says—
“‘Well?’
“I tell you, Cap’n Saint Leger, you might ha’ knocked me down with a rope-yarn, I was that astonished—for the voice was the voice of George Moore, and no other.
“Hows’ever, all this backin’ and fillin’ of Bill’s had put me on my guard. I began to understand that, after all my play-actin’, they didn’t even then feel altogether sure of me—they was tryin’ me still; and that made me brace up and pull myself together; for I says to myself, ‘Now, if I makes a single mistake it’s all up with everybody abaft the mainmast, and me, too.’ So I looks cookie hard in the face, and I says—
“‘Now I knows you, George, spite of your black hair and all your beard and mustachers. What’s the meanin’ of this here maskeradin’? Tip us your flipper, old shipmate,’ I says, hearty like, and as if I was downright glad to see him.
“Well, sir, I can tell you George looked considerable nonplussed; while Bill, he just laughed; and he says to George, ‘Jacob, my son, you’ve been and let the cat out of the bag!’ Then he turns to me and says—
“‘Now, Joe, there you are! Now’s your chance to get back the skipper’s favour by goin’ aft and tellin’ him as his old steward, George Moore, is aboard here, sailin’ under false colours.’
“‘If he does,’ says George, ‘he’d better look out for hisself!’
“‘All right, George, old man,’ I says; ‘don’t you worry. Did I tell the skipper anything about the way you used to talk to us about the treasure—and, by the livin’ Jingo,’ I says, ‘that’s what you’re after now, ain’t it, mate?’
“‘Supposin’ we was,’ says he, ‘would you take a hand in the game? You didn’t seem noways eager about it when ’twas last mentioned.’
“‘What was the use?’ says I. ‘None of the others ’d have nothin’ to do with it, and we couldn’t manage the thing by our two selves. But if that’s your game,’ says I, ‘I’m in with you—if it’s share and share alike; not otherwise,’ I says.
“‘Well, it amounts pretty much to that,’ George says, ‘only I’m to have two shares instead of one, seein’ that I was the man that found out all about it. That’s the arrangement, ain’t it, Bill?’
“‘That’s the arrangement,’ says Bill, ‘and a fair one it is, too, I think. What’s your opinion, Joe?’
“‘Yes,’ I says, reluctant like, ‘I s’pose it’s fair. But how will it work out? will there be enough to make it worth the risk?’
“‘Oh yes,’ says George. ‘I don’t know how much there is of it, but there’s sure to be a goodish pile, or the skipper wouldn’t take the trouble to come all this way to get it.’
“‘Well, but,’ I says, ‘how’s the thing goin’ to be worked? I hope there ain’t goin’ to be no murder!’
“‘Murder be hanged!’ says Bill. ‘What should there be any murder for? No; the whole thing’s very simple. We’re all goin’ to be perfectly quiet and do exactly as we’re told until the treasure’s found and put aboard the ship; and then, when the order’s give to up anchor and make sail from the island, we’re just goin’ to seize the skipper, the mate, and the passengers, unawares; clap the mate in irons; put the rest ashore; and off we goes.’
“‘Well,’ I says, ‘and afterwards?’
“‘Afterwards,’ says Bill, ‘we shall divide the treasure fairly amongst us; make the mate navigate the ship to some place where she can be comfortably cast away; and we poor shipwrecked mariners will land, with our swag snugly stowed away amongst our dunnage, and every man will then look after hisself.’
“‘Well,’ I says, ‘that seems to be all plain sailin’ enough.’ It wasn’t my business to point out to ’em that they’d prob’ly find Mr Forbes a hard nut to crack, you see, sir; so I makes out to be quite satisfied with their plans, and to be quite ready to join in with ’em; and then I was took into the fo’c’s’le and introjuced to the rest as havin’ joined ’em, and everybody said how glad they was to have me, and that now there’d be no bother or trouble at all about the job. And—and—well, I think that’s about all, sir.”
“Thank you, Joe,” said I, grasping the honest fellow’s hand. “It is a long story, but you have managed to make everything perfectly clear to me; and I fancy I shall not have much difficulty in circumventing the rascals. Now, if the men should make any alterations in their plans, you must let me know, if you possibly can; but be careful, above all things, that the men shall have no cause whatever to suspect your fidelity to them. And, remember, whatever orders I may give you, execute them to the letter, and promptly. Now, I will go on deck and have a word or two with Mr Forbes, during which you must get away for’ard again, as best you can.”
I accordingly left Joe in my cabin, and sauntered up on deck, as was often my habit, even in my watch below, ostensibly to take a look at the weather, but in reality to caution Forbes against taking any notice of Joe, should he catch sight of that individual moving about the deck.
It was by this time nearly seven bells in the middle watch; the moon hung low in the western sky over our port quarter, and a mottling of fine-weather cloud had gradually gathered in the heavens, which, while it allowed a few of the larger stars to gleam dimly through it here and there, intercepted a large proportion of the starlight, and rendered the night dark enough to make Joe’s escape forward a comparatively easy matter.
The mate was pacing the poop slowly, fore and aft, as I emerged from the companion; but, catching sight of me, he came to my side and remarked—
“The night continues fine, sir, but the wind seems inclined to drop. We were only going four and half when I hove the log at four bells, and now we seem to be scarcely going four.”
“Yes,” said I, “it has dropped perceptibly since I went below; but if it will only last at this we shall be at anchor by sunset to-morrow.” Then, in a lower tone, I added, “If you see Joe Martin creeping away for’ard from the saloon, don’t take any notice of him, or make any sign that you are aware of his presence. I have much to tell you; but we must wait for a more favourable opportunity.”
At this moment Joe’s head emerged from the darkness of the companion; so I walked aft, glanced into the binnacle, and then abstractedly placed myself before the helmsman in such a position as to obstruct his view of that part of the maindeck which Joe would have to traverse before reaching the concealing shadow of the long-boat. I stood thus, apparently sunk in reflection, until I observed Joe glide across the exposed space and disappear; when I went back to my cabin and fully dressed myself, in readiness to go on deck again at eight bells.