Chapter Fifty Eight.
Kill or Drown?
Having set the Condor’s course, with Slush still in charge at the helm, the second mate returns to the fore-deck, where by the manger-board the others are again in deliberation; Gomez counselling, or rather dictating what they are next to do.
The programme he places before them is in part what has been arranged already—to run along coast till they discover a gap in the line of coral reef; for it is this which causes the breakers. Further, they are told that, when such gap be found, they will lower a boat; and having first scuttled the barque, abandon her; then row themselves ashore.
The night is so far favourable to the execution of the scheme. It is a clear moonlight; and running parallel to the trend of the shore, as they are now doing, they can see the breakers distinctly, their white crests in contrast with the dark façade of cliff, which extends continuously along the horizon’s edge; here and there rising into hills, one of which looming up on the starboard bow has the dimensions of a mountain.
The barque is now about a league’s distance from land; and half-way between are the breakers, their roar sounding ominously through the calm quiet of the night. As they were making but little way—scarce three knots an hour—one proposes that the boat be lowered at once, and such traps as they intend taking put into her. In such a tranquil sea it will tow alongside in safety.
As this will be some trouble taken off their hands in advance, the plan is approved of, and the pinnace being selected, as the most suitable boat for beaching.
Clustering around it, they commence operations. Two leap lightly inside; insert the plug, ship the rudder, secure the oars and boat-hooks, clear the life-lines, and cast off the lanyards of the gripes; the others holding the fall-tackle in hand, to see that they were clear for running. Then taking a proper turn they lower away.
And, soon as the boat’s bottom touches water, with the two men in it, the painter, whose loose end has been left aboard, is hauled fast, bringing the boat abeam, where it is made fast under a set of man-ropes, already dropped over the side.
Other movements succeed; the pirates passing to and from the forecastle, carrying canvas bags, and bundles of clothing, with such other of their belongings as they deem necessary for a debarkation like that intended. A barrel of pork, another of biscuit, and a beaker of water are turned out, and handed down into the boat; not forgetting a keg containing rum, and several bottles of wine they have purloined, or rather taken at will, from Captain Lantanas’ locker bins.
The miscellaneous supply is not meant for a voyage, only a stock to serve for that night, which they must needs spend upon the beach—as also to provision them for the land journey, to be commenced in the morning.
In silence, but with no great show of caution or stealth, are these movements made. They who make them have but little fear of being detected, some scarce caring if they be. Indeed, there is no one to observe them, save those taking part. For the negro cook, after dressing the dinner, and serving it, has gone out of the galley for good; and, now acting as table waiter, keeps below in the cabin.
Soon everything is stowed in the pinnace, except that which is to form its most precious freight; and again the piratical crew bring their heads together, to deliberate about the final step; the time for taking which is fast drawing nigh.
A thing so serious calls for calm consideration, or, at all events, there must be a thorough understanding among them. For it is the disposal of those they have destined as victims. How this is to be done, nothing definite has yet been said. Even the most hardened among them shrinks from putting it in words. Still it is tacitly understood. The ladies are to be taken along, the others to be dealt with in a different way. But how? that is the question, yet unasked by any, but as well understood by all, as if it had been spoken in loudest voice.
For a time they stand silent, waiting for some one who can command the courage to speak.
And one does this—a ruffian of unmitigated type, whose breast is not stirred by the slightest throb of humanity. It is the second mate, Padilla. Breaking silence, he says:
“Let us cut their throats, and have done with it!”
The horrible proposition, more so from its very laconism, despite the auditory to whom it is addressed, does not find favourable response. Several speak in opposition to it; Harry Blew first and loudest. Though broken his word, and forfeited his faith, the British sailor is not so abandoned as to contemplate murder in such cool, deliberate manner. Some of those around him have no doubt committed it; but he does not feel up to it. Opposing Padilla’s counsel, he says:
“What need for our killin’ them? For my part, I don’t see any.”
“And for your part, what would you do?” sneeringly retorts the second mate.
“Give the poor devils a chance for their lives.”
“How?” promptly asks Padilla.
“Why; if we set the barque’s head out to sea, as the wind’s off-shore, she’d soon carry them beyond sight o’ land, and we’d niver hear another word o’ ’em.”
“No, no! that won’t do,” protest several in the same breath. “They might get picked up, and then we’d be sure of hearing of them—may be something more than words.”
“Carrai!” exclaims Padilla scornfully; “that would be a wise way. Just the one to get our throats in the garrota. You forget that Don Gregorio Montijo is a man of the big grandee kind. And should he ever set foot ashore, after what we’d done to him, he’d have influence enough to make most places—ay, the whole of the habitable globe—a trifle too hot for us. There’s an old saw, about dead men telling no tales. No doubt most of you have heard it, and some have reason to know it true. Take my advice, camarados, and let us act up to it. What’s your opinion, Señor Gomez?”
“Since you ask for it,” responds Gomez, speaking for the first time on this special matter, “my opinion is, that there’s no need for any difference among us. Mr Blew’s against the spilling of blood, and so would I, if it could be avoided. But it can’t, with safety to ourselves; at least not in the way he has suggested. To act as he advises would be madness on our part—nay more, it might be suicide. Still, there don’t seem any necessity for a cold cutting of throats, which has an ugly sound about it. The same with knocking on the head; they’re both too brutal. I think I know a way that will save us from resorting to either, and, at the same time, ensure our own safety.”
“What way?” demanded several voices. “Tell us!”
“One simple enough; so simple, I wonder you haven’t all thought of it, same as myself. Of course, we intend sending this craft to the bottom of the sea. But she’s not likely to go down all of a sudden; nor till we’re a good way off out of sight. We can leave the gentlemen aboard, and let them slip quietly down along with her!”
“Why, that’s just what Blew proposes,” say several.
“True,” returns Gomez; “but not exactly as I mean it. He’d leave them free to go about the ship—perhaps get out of her before she sinks, on a sofa, or hencoop, or something.”
“How would you do with them?” asks one, impatiently.
“Tie, before taking leave of them.”
“Bah!” exclaims Padilla, a monster to whom spilling blood seems congenial. “What’s the use of being at all that bother? It’s sure to bring some. The skipper will resist, and so’ll the old Don. What then? We’ll be compelled to knock them on the head all the same, or toss them overboard. For my part, I don’t see the object of making such a worry about it; and still say, let’s stop their wind at once!”
“Dash it, man!” cries Striker, hitherto only a listener, but a backer of Harry Blew; “you ’pear to ’a been practisin’ a queery plan in jobs o’ this sort. Mr Gomez hev got a better way o’t, same as I’ve myself seed in the Australian bush, wheres they an’t so bloodthirsty. When they stick up a chap theer, so long’s he don’t cut up nasty, they settle things by splicin’ him to a tree, an’ leavin’ him to his meditashuns. Why can’t we do the same wi’ the skipper, an’ the Don, an’ the darkey—supposin’ any o’ ’em to show reefractry?”
“That’s it!” exclaims Davis, strengthening the proposal thus endorsed by his chum, Striker. “My old pal’s got the correct idea of sich things.”
“Besides,” continues the older of the ex-convicts, “this job seems to me simple enuf. We want the swag, an’ some may want the weemen. Well, we can git both ’ithout the needcessity o’ doin’ murder!”
Striker’s remonstrance sounds strange—under the circumstances, serio-comical.
“What might you call murder?” mockingly asks Padilla. “Is there any difference between their getting their breath stopped by drowning, or the cutting of their throats? Not much to them, I take it; and no more to us. If there’s a distinction, it’s so nice I can’t see it. Carramba! no!”
“Whether you see it or not,” interposes Harry Blew, “there be much; and for myself, as I’ve said, I object to spillin’ blood, where the thing an’t absolute needcessary. True, by leavin them aboard an’ tied, as Mr Gomez suggests, they’ll get drowned, for sartin; but it’ll at least keep our hands clear o’ blood murder!”
“That’s true!” cried several in assent. “Let’s take the Australian way of it, and tie them up!”
The assenting voices are nearly unanimous; and the eccentric compromise is carried.
So far everything is fixed, and it but remains to arrange about the action, and apportion to every one his part.
For this very few words suffice, the apportionment being, that the first officer, assisted by Davis, who has some knowledge of ship-carpentry, is to see to the scuttling of the vessel; Gomez and Hernandez to take charge of the girls, and get them into the boat; Slush to look after the steering; Padilla to head the party entrusted with the seizure of the gold; while Striker, assisted by Tarry and the Frenchman, is to secure the unfortunate men by fast binding, or, as he calls it, “sticking them up.”
The atrocious plan is complete, in all its revolting details—the hour of execution at hand.