A Desperate Voyage

by E. F. Knight

"That you are impersonating a man whose property you have stolen."

Carew felt as if his heart had stopped; the tall palms swam around him. He closed his eyes, and was only conscious of the cataract of sound raised by the shrieking paroquets and the manifold hum of insects. It was only for a moment; then he recovered himself, and, opening his eyes, again saw before him the cynical face of the Frenchman. "What else?" he asked, with a deep sigh.

"Surely that is enough, captain. But, in short, understand that I know all about you."

"How have you learnt this?"

"Suffice it that I know it. I don't wish to spoil your little game, captain, but you must help me in mine. I will now sit down and silently smoke a cigarette, so that you can ponder a while on what I have said. I perceive that I have somewhat disturbed your mind. Now, as violent emotions are very bad for the health in this hot climate, it will do you good to rest for a few minutes; for I have more exciting news to communicate."

The Frenchman resumed his former lazy position, and proceeded to smoke, as he smiled contentedly at his own reflections; while Carew sat with knit brows, the perspiration streaming down his face, unable to collect his thoughts, but terribly conscious in a vague way that he could never extricate himself from the network of crime into which he had voluntarily thrown himself; that for him there was no hope of putting the past away; that one sin would lead irrevocably to another; that Nemesis had made all his future life as one long chain of iniquity, even to the unknown dreadful end of it.

The Frenchman was very pleased with himself. He had succeeded beyond his expectations in gaining a hold over Carew, whom he could now compel to subserve his purposes. The mate had played a bold game of "bluff"; he had made Carew believe that he was acquainted with his history, whereas he knew nothing of it, possessed no proofs of what he had so boldly asserted, and had merely made an ingenious guess at the truth.

At a very early stage of the voyage, Baptiste had come to the conclusion that the conscience of the Englishman was burdened with some crime, and that he was a fugitive from justice.

A variety of circumstances had led him to this belief. That Carew had shipped three men who were known to be murderers, and had sailed away with them across the ocean at a moment's notice, was in itself highly suspicious. So the wily Frenchman, bethinking himself how useful it often is to know another man's disagreeable secrets, set himself to discover all he could of his employer's past.