The Cruise of the "Esmeralda"

by Harry Collingwood

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?”