“Well, if you will wait a bit I will speak to Captain Baker, and hear what he says to the idea of taking charge of your ship. I suppose you can find room for his crew? There are ten of them altogether.”
“Oh yes, sir; and glad to have ’em. We were short-handed when we left Calcutta; and now—”
“Yes, yes; of course,” I interposed hastily. And, with a suggestion that his crew should come on deck and get some breakfast while waiting the progress of negotiations, I stepped aft to the wheel grating, where Captain Baker was busy spinning yarns to the youngsters, and, beckoning him aside, repeated the story I had just heard; winding up by asking him whether he felt disposed to undertake the duty of navigating the ship home.
As might have been expected, he was more than willing to take advantage of so favourable an opportunity to return home; and as neither he nor his crew had anything to pack, or any preparations to make for the contemplated change, they were quite ready to leave us by the time that the Calcutta’s people had finished their breakfast. Before they left, however, it was privately arranged between Captain Baker and myself that, with the first breeze that came to us, the two craft should close, in order that I might have an opportunity of going on board and adding my signature to a declaration that he proposed to insert in the City of Calcutta’s log-book relative to the statement made to us by the boatswain, and the circumstances generally under which he was assuming the command of the ship.
The weather was, as I have already said, stark calm, with not a speck of cloud anywhere within the whole visible bounds of the heavens; the sea was like glass; and if I had been asked whether there was any movement in the atmosphere I should unhesitatingly have answered “No;” yet, as Roberts was careful to indicate to me more than once during the morning, the helmsman managed not only to get the Esmeralda’s head pointed towards the distant ship, but also to keep it pretty steadily in that direction; and it is an unquestionable fact that, this done, we neared her at the rate of about three-quarters of a knot per hour. This state of things lasted during the whole day; and accordingly, when eight bells in the afternoon watch struck, the two ships being at that time about a mile and a half apart, I had the gig lowered, and, after carefully instructing the chief mate how to proceed in the event of a breeze unexpectedly springing up, pulled on board the City of Calcutta.
She was a noble ship, of some eighteen hundred tons measurement, built of iron, with a spacious poop aft; the decks as white as snow; fittings of every kind of the very best; double topsail and topgallant yards; in fact, a typical modern clipper. She had accommodation for thirty saloon passengers; but was luckily carrying none, on that voyage at least. The accommodation ladder had been lowered for my convenience, and as the gig dashed alongside and the oars were tossed in, Captain Baker made his appearance at the gangway to welcome me, and at once led me into the saloon.
“Well,” said I, “how did you find matters on board here on your arrival?”
“Just as I might have expected to find them after listening to the boatswain’s story,” was the reply. “The poor skipper is undoubtedly mad—he is in that cabin, there, and I will take you in to see him presently—but within the last two hours a change seems to have come over him. Before that he was dreadfully violent and noisy; but he has now calmed down, and I should not be surprised to find that the worst of the attack is past. I have not the slightest doubt in the world that the story of his having murdered the two mates is perfectly true; all the men—and I have examined each of them separately—tell exactly the same tale, and there is confirmatory evidence of a certain kind; that is to say, there are blood-stains on the deck in the skipper’s state-room, proving that the deed was committed there; the door has been broken in, as stated, and is now in the state-room, with the lock still turned and the key in it; the revolver with which the murders were committed has three chambers still loaded, and it is splashed with blood—showing how close the madman was to his victims when he used the weapon; and last, and most convincing evidence of all, there are certain entries in the official log-book, signed ‘A. Talbot, Chief Mate,’ particularising the captain’s eccentricities of behaviour; and one—dated four days ago—recording the consultation held as to the propriety of temporarily confining Captain Clarke to his cabin, and the decision arrived at, duly signed by each of the parties concerned. See, here they are.”
Saying which, he opened the closed log-book that I had already noticed lying on the table, and drew my attention to the entries, one after the other, in consecutive order. I looked them all over most carefully, and was bound to admit that they had all the appearance of being genuine. “A most fortunate circumstance for the hands forward that the mate took the precaution to make those entries,” I remarked.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Baker. “And now,” he continued, opening the book at a fresh page, “this is the entry I made shortly before I saw you pulling on board us. I want you to have the goodness to confirm the statement by appending your signature.”