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CHAPTER XXV - A BAD BARGAIN
With the first colour in the east, Carthew awoke and sat up. A
while he gazed at the scroll of the morning bank and the spars
and hanging canvas of the brig, like a man who wakes in a
strange bed, with a child's simplicity of wonder. He wondered
above all what ailed him, what he had lost, what disfavour had
been done him, which he knew he should resent, yet had
forgotten. And then, like a river bursting through a dam, the
truth rolled on him its instantaneous volume: his memory
teemed with speech and pictures that he should never again
forget; and he sprang to his feet, stood a moment hand to brow,
and began to walk violently to and fro by the companion. As
he walked, he wrung his hands. "God--God--God," he kept
saying, with no thought of prayer, uttering a mere voice of
agony.
The time may have been long or short, it was perhaps minutes,
perhaps only seconds, ere he awoke to find himself observed,
and saw the captain sitting up and watching him over the break
of the poop, a strange blindness as of fever in his eyes, a
haggard knot of corrugations on his brow. Cain saw himself in
a mirror. For a flash they looked upon each other, and then
glanced guiltily aside; and Carthew fled from the eye of his
accomplice, and stood leaning on the taffrail.
An hour went by, while the day came brighter, and the sun rose
and drank up the clouds: an hour of silence in the ship, an hour
of agony beyond narration for the sufferers. Brown's gabbling
prayers, the cries of the sailors in the rigging, strains of the
dead Hemstead's minstrelsy, ran together in Carthew's mind,
with sickening iteration. He neither acquitted nor condemned
himself: he did not think, he suffered. In the bright water into
which he stared, the pictures changed and were repeated: the
baresark rage of Goddedaal; the blood-red light of the sunset
into which they had run forth; the face of the babbling
Chinaman as they cast him over; the face of the captain, seen a
moment since, as he awoke from drunkenness into remorse.
And time passed, and the sun swam higher, and his torment
was not abated.
Then were fulfilled many sayings, and the weakest of these
condemned brought relief and healing to the others. Amalu the
drudge awoke (like the rest) to sickness of body and distress of
mind; but the habit of obedience ruled in that simple spirit, and
appalled to be so late, he went direct into the galley, kindled the
fire, and began to get breakfast. At the rattle of dishes, the
snapping of the fire, and the thin smoke that went up straight
into the air, the spell was lifted. The condemned felt once more
the good dry land of habit under foot; they touched again the
familiar guide-ropes of sanity; they were restored to a sense of
the blessed revolution and return of all things earthly. The
captain drew a bucket of water and began to bathe. Tommy sat
up, watched him awhile, and slowly followed his example; and
Carthew, remembering his last thoughts of the night before,
hastened to the cabin.
Mac was awake; perhaps had not slept. Over his head
Goddedaal's canary twittered shrilly from its cage.
"How are you?" asked Carthew.
"Me arrum's broke," returned Mac; "but I can stand that. It's
this place I can't abide. I was coming on deck anyway."
"Stay where you are, though," said Carthew. "It's deadly hot
above, and there's no wind. I'll wash out this----" and he
paused, seeking a word and not finding one for the grisly
foulness of the cabin.
"Faith, I'll be obliged to ye, then," replied the Irishman. He
spoke mild and meek, like a sick child with its mother. There
was now no violence in the violent man; and as Carthew
fetched a bucket and swab and the steward's sponge, and began
to cleanse the field of battle, he alternately watched him or shut
his eyes and sighed like a man near fainting. "I have to ask all
your pardons," he began again presently, "and the more shame
to me as I got ye into trouble and couldn't do nothing when it
came. Ye saved me life, sir; ye're a clane shot."
"For God's sake, don't talk of it!" cried Carthew. "It can't be
talked of; you don't know what it was. It was nothing down
here; they fought. On deck--O, my God!" And Carthew, with
the bloody sponge pressed to his face, struggled a moment with
hysteria.
"Kape cool, Mr. Cart'ew. It's done now," said Mac; "and ye
may bless God ye're not in pain and helpless in the bargain."
There was no more said by one or other, and the cabin was
pretty well cleansed when a stroke on the ship's bell summoned
Carthew to breakfast. Tommy had been busy in the
meanwhile; he had hauled the whaleboat close aboard, and
already lowered into it a small keg of beef that he found ready
broached beside the galley door; it was plain he had but the one
idea--to escape.
"We have a shipful of stores to draw upon," he said. "Well,
what are we staying for? Let's get off at once for Hawaii. I've
begun preparing already."
"Mac has his arm broken," observed Carthew; "how would he
stand the voyage?"
"A broken arm?" repeated the captain. "That all? I'll set it after
breakfast. I thought he was dead like the rest. That madman
hit out like----" and there, at the evocation of the battle, his
voice ceased and the talk died with it.
After breakfast, the three white men went down into the cabin.
"I've come to set your arm," said the captain.
"I beg your pardon, captain," replied Mac; "but the firrst thing
ye got to do is to get this ship to sea. We'll talk of me arrum
after that."
"O, there's no such blooming hurry," returned Wicks.
"When the next ship sails in, ye'll tell me stories!" retorted Mac.
"But there's nothing so unlikely in the world," objected
Carthew.
"Don't be deceivin' yourself," said Mac. "If ye want a ship,
divil a one'll look near ye in six year; but if ye don't, ye may
take my word for ut, we'll have a squadron layin' here."
"That's what I say," cried Tommy; "that's what I call sense!
Let's stock that whaleboat and be off."
"And what will Captain Wicks be thinking of the whaleboat?"
asked the Irishman.
"I don't think of it at all," said Wicks. "We've a smart-looking
brig under foot; that's all the whaleboat I want."
"Excuse me!" cried Tommy. "That's childish talk. You've got a
brig, to be sure, and what use is she? You daren't go anywhere
in her. What port are you to sail for?"
"For the port of Davy Jones's Locker, my son," replied the
captain. "This brig's going to be lost at sea. I'll tell you where,
too, and that's about forty miles to windward of Kauai. We're
going to stay by her till she's down; and once the masts are
under, she's the Flying Scud no more, and we never heard of
such a brig; and it's the crew of the schooner Currency Lass
that comes ashore in the boat, and takes the first chance to
Sydney."
"Captain dear, that's the first Christian word I've heard of ut!"
cried Mac. "And now, just let me arrum be, jewel, and get the
brig outside."
"I'm as anxious as yourself, Mac," returned Wicks; "but there's
not wind enough to swear by. So let's see your arm, and no
more talk."
The arm was set and splinted; the body of Brown fetched from
the forepeak, where it lay still and cold, and committed to the
waters of the lagoon; and the washing of the cabin rudely
finished. All these were done ere midday; and it was past three
when the first cat's-paw ruffled the lagoon, and the wind came
in a dry squall, which presently sobered to a steady breeze.
The interval was passed by all in feverish impatience, and by
one of the party in secret and extreme concern of mind.
Captain Wicks was a fore-and-aft sailor; he could take a
schooner through a Scotch reel, felt her mouth and divined her
temper like a rider with a horse; she, on her side, recognising
her master and following his wishes like a dog. But by a not
very unusual train of circumstance, the man's dexterity was
partial and circumscribed. On a schooner's deck he was
Rembrandt or (at the least) Mr. Whistler; on board a brig he
was Pierre Grassou. Again and again in the course of the
morning, he had reasoned out his policy and rehearsed his
orders; and ever with the same depression and weariness. It
was guess-work; it was chance; the ship might behave as he
expected, and might not; suppose she failed him, he stood there
helpless, beggared of all the proved resources of experience.
Had not all hands been so weary, had he not feared to
communicate his own misgivings, he could have towed her out.
But these reasons sufficed, and the most he could do was to
take all possible precautions. Accordingly he had Carthew aft,
explained what was to be done with anxious patience, and
visited along with him the various sheets and braces.
"I hope I'll remember," said Carthew. "It seems awfully
muddled."
"It's the rottenest kind of rig," the captain admitted: "all
blooming pocket handkerchiefs! And not one sailor-man on
deck! Ah, if she'd only been a brigantine, now! But it's lucky
the passage is so plain; there's no manoeuvring to mention. We
get under way before the wind, and run right so till we begin to
get foul of the island; then we haul our wind and lie as near
south-east as may be till we're on that line; 'bout ship there and
stand straight out on the port tack. Catch the idea?"
"Yes, I see the idea," replied Carthew, rather dismally, and the
two incompetents studied for a long time in silence the
complicated gear above their heads.
But the time came when these rehearsals must be put in
practice. The sails were lowered, and all hands heaved the
anchor short. The whaleboat was then cut adrift, the upper
topsails and the spanker set, the yards braced up, and the
spanker sheet hauled out to starboard.
"Heave away on your anchor, Mr. Carthew."
"Anchor's gone, sir."
"Set jibs."
It was done, and the brig still hung enchanted. Wicks, his head
full of a schooner's mainsail, turned his mind to the spanker.
First he hauled in the sheet, and then he hauled it out, with no
result.
"Brail the damned thing up!" he bawled at last, with a red face.
"There ain't no sense in it."
It was the last stroke of bewilderment for the poor captain, that
he had no sooner brailed up the spanker than the vessel came
before the wind. The laws of nature seemed to him to be
suspended; he was like a man in a world of pantomime tricks;
the cause of any result, and the probable result of any action,
equally concealed from him. He was the more careful not to
shake the nerve of his amateur assistants. He stood there with
a face like a torch; but he gave his orders with aplomb; and
indeed, now the ship was under weigh, supposed his
difficulties over.
The lower topsails and courses were then set, and the brig
began to walk the water like a thing of life, her forefoot
discoursing music, the birds flying and crying over her spars.
Bit by bit the passage began to open and the blue sea to show
between the flanking breakers on the reef; bit by bit, on the
starboard bow, the low land of the islet began to heave closer
aboard. The yards were braced up, the spanker sheet hauled aft
again; the brig was close hauled, lay down to her work like a
thing in earnest, and had soon drawn near to the point of
advantage, where she might stay and lie out of the lagoon in a
single tack.
Wicks took the wheel himself, swelling with success. He kept
the brig full to give her heels, and began to bark his orders:
"Ready about. Helm's a-lee. Tacks and sheets. Mainsail
haul." And then the fatal words: "That'll do your mainsail;
jump forrard and haul round your foreyards."
To stay a square-rigged ship is an affair of knowledge and swift
sight; and a man used to the succinct evolutions of a schooner
will always tend to be too hasty with a brig. It was so now.
The order came too soon; the topsails set flat aback; the ship
was in irons. Even yet, had the helm been reversed, they might
have saved her. But to think of a stern-board at all, far more to
think of profiting by one, were foreign to the schooner-sailor's
mind. Wicks made haste instead to wear ship, a manoeuvre for
which room was wanting, and the Flying Scud took ground on
a bank of sand and coral about twenty minutes before five.
Wicks was no hand with a square-rigger, and he had shown it.
But he was a sailor and a born captain of men for all homely
purposes, where intellect is not required and an eye in a man's
head and a heart under his jacket will suffice. Before the others
had time to understand the misfortune, he was bawling fresh
orders, and had the sails clewed up, and took soundings round
the ship.
"She lies lovely," he remarked, and ordered out a boat with the
starboard anchor.
"Here! steady!" cried Tommy. "You ain't going to turn us to, to
warp her off?"
"I am though," replied Wicks.
"I won't set a hand to such tomfoolery for one," replied Tommy.
"I'm dead beat." He went and sat down doggedly on the main
hatch. "You got us on; get us off again," he added.
Carthew and Wicks turned to each other.
"Perhaps you don't know how tired we are," said Carthew.
"The tide's flowing!" cried the captain. "You wouldn't have me
miss a rising tide?"
"O, gammon! there's tides to-morrow!" retorted Tommy.
"And I'll tell you what," added Carthew, "the breeze is failing
fast, and the sun will soon be down. We may get into all kinds
of fresh mess in the dark and with nothing but light airs."
"I don't deny it," answered Wicks, and stood awhile as if in
thought. "But what I can't make out," he began again, with
agitation, "what I can't make out is what you're made of! To
stay in this place is beyond me. There's the bloody sun going
down--and to stay here is beyond me!"
The others looked upon him with horrified surprise. This fall
of their chief pillar--this irrational passion in the practical man,
suddenly barred out of his true sphere, the sphere of action--
shocked and daunted them. But it gave to another and unseen
hearer the chance for which he had been waiting. Mac, on the
striking of the brig, had crawled up the companion, and he now
showed himself and spoke up.
"Captain Wicks," said he, "it's me that brought this trouble on
the lot of ye. I'm sorry for ut, I ask all your pardons, and if
there's any one can say 'I forgive ye,' it'll make my soul the
lighter."
Wicks stared upon the man in amaze; then his self-control
returned to him. "We're all in glass houses here," he said; "we
ain't going to turn to and throw stones. I forgive you, sure
enough; and much good may it do you!"
The others spoke to the same purpose.
"I thank ye for ut, and 'tis done like gentlemen," said Mac.
"But there's another thing I have upon my mind. I hope we're
all Prodestan's here?"
It appeared they were; it seemed a small thing for the Protestant
religion to rejoice in!
"Well, that's as it should be," continued Mac. "And why
shouldn't we say the Lord's Prayer? There can't be no hurt in
ut."
He had the same quiet, pleading, childlike way with him as in
the morning; and the others accepted his proposal, and knelt
down without a word.
"Knale if ye like!" said he. "I'll stand." And he covered his
eyes.
So the prayer was said to the accompaniment of the surf and
seabirds, and all rose refreshed and felt lightened of a load. Up
to then, they had cherished their guilty memories in private, or
only referred to them in the heat of a moment and fallen
immediately silent. Now they had faced their remorse in
company, and the worst seemed over. Nor was it only that.
But the petition "Forgive us our trespasses," falling in so
apposite after they had themselves forgiven the immediate
author of their miseries, sounded like an absolution.
Tea was taken on deck in the time of the sunset, and not long
after the five castaways--castaways once more--lay down to
sleep.
Day dawned windless and hot. Their slumbers had been too
profound to be refreshing, and they woke listless, and sat up,
and stared about them with dull eyes. Only Wicks, smelling a
hard day's work ahead, was more alert. He went first to the
well, sounded it once and then a second time, and stood awhile
with a grim look, so that all could see he was dissatisfied.
Then he shook himself, stripped to the buff, clambered on the
rail, drew himself up and raised his arms to plunge. The dive
was never taken. He stood instead transfixed, his eyes on the
horizon.
"Hand up that glass," he said.
In a trice they were all swarming aloft, the nude captain leading
with the glass.
On the northern horizon was a finger of grey smoke, straight in
the windless air like a point of admiration.
"What do you make it?" they asked of Wicks.
"She's truck down," he replied; "no telling yet. By the way the
smoke builds, she must be heading right here."
"What can she be?"
"She might be a China mail," returned Wicks, "and she might
be a blooming man-of-war, come to look for castaways. Here!
This ain't the time to stand staring. On deck, boys!"
He was the first on deck, as he had been the first aloft, handed
down the ensign, bent it again to the signal halliards, and ran it
up union down.
"Now hear me," he said, jumping into his trousers, "and
everything I say you grip on to. If that's a man-of-war, she'll be
in a tearing hurry; all these ships are what don't do nothing and
have their expenses paid. That's our chance; for we'll go with
them, and they won't take the time to look twice or to ask a
question. I'm Captain Trent; Carthew, you're Goddedaal;
Tommy, you're Hardy; Mac's Brown; Amalu-- Hold hard! we
can't make a Chinaman of him! Ah Wing must have deserted;
Amalu stowed away; and I turned him to as cook, and was
never at the bother to sign him. Catch the idea? Say your
names."
And that pale company recited their lesson earnestly.
"What were the names of the other two?" he asked. "Him
Carthew shot in the companion, and the one I caught in the jaw
on the main top-gallant?"
"Holdorsen and Wallen," said some one.
"Well, they're drowned," continued Wicks; "drowned alongside
trying to lower a boat. We had a bit of a squall last night:
that's how we got ashore." He ran and squinted at the compass.
"Squall out of nor'-nor'-west-half-west; blew hard; every one in
a mess, falls jammed, and Holdorsen and Wallen spilt
overboard. See? Clear your blooming heads!" He was in his
jacket now, and spoke with a feverish impatience and
contention that rang like anger.
"But is it safe?" asked Tommy.
"Safe?" bellowed the captain. "We're standing on the drop, you
moon-calf! If that ship's bound for China (which she don't look
to be), we're lost as soon as we arrive; if she's bound the other
way, she comes from China, don't she? Well, if there's a man
on board of her that ever clapped eyes on Trent or any
blooming hand out of this brig, we'll all be in irons in two
hours. Safe! no, it ain't safe; it's a beggarly last chance to shave
the gallows, and that's what it is."
At this convincing picture, fear took hold on all.
"Hadn't we a hundred times better stay by the brig?" cried
Carthew. "They would give us a hand to float her off."
"You'll make me waste this holy day in chattering!" cried
Wicks. "Look here, when I sounded the well this morning,
there was two foot of water there against eight inches last
night. What's wrong? I don't know; might be nothing; might
be the worst kind of smash. And then, there we are in for a
thousand miles in an open boat, if that's your taste!"
"But it may be nothing, and anyway their carpenters are bound
to help us repair her," argued Carthew.
"Moses Murphy!" cried the captain. "How did she strike?
Bows on, I believe. And she's down by the head now. If any
carpenter comes tinkering here, where'll he go first? Down in
the forepeak, I suppose! And then, how about all that blood
among the chandlery? You would think you were a lot of
members of Parliament discussing Plimsoll; and you're just a
pack of murderers with the halter round your neck. Any other
ass got any time to waste? No? Thank God for that! Now, all
hands! I'm going below, and I leave you here on deck. You get
the boat cover off that boat; then you turn to and open the
specie chest. There are five of us; get five chests, and divide
the specie equal among the five--put it at the bottom--and go at
it like tigers. Get blankets, or canvas, or clothes, so it won't
rattle. It'll make five pretty heavy chests, but we can't help that.
You, Carthew--dash me!--You, Mr. Goddedaal, come below.
We've our share before us."
And he cast another glance at the smoke, and hurried below
with Carthew at his heels.
The logs were found in the main cabin behind the canary's
cage; two of them, one kept by Trent, one by Goddedaal.
Wicks looked first at one, then at the other, and his lip stuck
out.
"Can you forge hand of write?" he asked.
"No," said Carthew.
"There's luck for you--no more can I!" cried the captain.
"Hullo! here's worse yet, here's this Goddedaal up to date; he
must have filled it in before supper. See for yourself: 'Smoke
observed.--Captain Kirkup and five hands of the schooner
Currency Lass.' Ah! this is better," he added, turning to the
other log. "The old man ain't written anything for a clear
fortnight. We'll dispose of your log altogether, Mr. Goddedaal,
and stick to the old man's--to mine, I mean; only I ain't going to
write it up, for reasons of my own. You are. You're going to
sit down right here and fill it in the way I tell you."
"How to explain the loss of mine?" asked Carthew.
"You never kept one," replied the captain. "Gross neglect of
duty. You'll catch it."
"And the change of writing?" resumed Carthew. "You began;
why do you stop and why do I come in? And you'll have to
sign anyway."
"O! I've met with an accident and can't write," replied Wicks.
"An accident?" repeated Carthew. "It don't sound natural.
What kind of an accident?"
Wicks spread his hand face-up on the table, and drove a knife
through his palm.
"That kind of an accident," said he. "There's a way to draw to
windward of most difficulties, if you've a head on your
shoulders." He began to bind up his hand with a handkerchief,
glancing the while over Goddedaal's log. "Hullo!" he said,
"this'll never do for us--this is an impossible kind of a yarn.
Here, to begin with, is this Captain Trent trying some fancy
course, leastways he's a thousand miles to south'ard of the great
circle. And here, it seems, he was close up with this island on
the sixth, sails all these days, and is close up with it again by
daylight on the eleventh."
"Goddedaal said they had the deuce's luck," said Carthew.
"Well, it don't look like real life--that's all I can say," returned
Wicks.
"It's the way it was, though," argued Carthew.
"So it is; and what the better are we for that, if it don't look so?"
cried the captain, sounding unwonted depths of art criticism.
"Here! try and see if you can't tie this bandage; I'm bleeding
like a pig."
As Carthew sought to adjust the handkerchief, his patient
seemed sunk in a deep muse, his eye veiled, his mouth partly
open. The job was yet scarce done, when he sprang to his feet.
"I have it," he broke out, and ran on deck. "Here, boys!" he
cried, "we didn't come here on the eleventh; we came in here on
the evening of the sixth, and lay here ever since becalmed. As
soon as you've done with these chests," he added, "you can turn
to and roll out beef and water breakers; it'll look more
shipshape--like as if we were getting ready for the boat
voyage."
And he was back again in a moment, cooking the new log.
Goddedaal's was then carefully destroyed, and a hunt began for
the ship's papers. Of all the agonies of that breathless morning,
this was perhaps the most poignant. Here and there the two
men searched, cursing, cannoning together, streaming with
heat, freezing with terror. News was bawled down to them that
the ship was indeed a man-of-war, that she was close up, that
she was lowering a boat; and still they sought in vain. By what
accident they missed the iron box with the money and accounts,
is hard to fancy; but they did. And the vital documents were
found at last in the pocket of Trent's shore-going coat, where he
had left them when last he came on board.
Wicks smiled for the first time that morning. "None too soon,"
said he. "And now for it! Take these others for me; I'm afraid
I'll get them mixed if I keep both."
"What are they?" Carthew asked.
"They're the Kirkup and Currency Lass papers," he replied.
"Pray God we need 'em again!"
"Boat's inside the lagoon, sir," hailed down Mac, who sat by
the skylight doing sentry while the others worked.
"Time we were on deck, then, Mr. Goddedaal," said Wicks.
As they turned to leave the cabin, the canary burst into piercing
song.
"My God!" cried Carthew, with a gulp, "we can't leave that
wretched bird to starve. It was poor Goddedaal's."
"Bring the bally thing along!" cried the captain.
And they went on deck.
An ugly brute of a modern man-of-war lay just without the reef,
now quite inert, now giving a flap or two with her propeller.
Nearer hand, and just within, a big white boat came skimming
to the stroke of many oars, her ensign blowing at the stern.
"One word more," said Wicks, after he had taken in the scene.
"Mac, you've been in China ports? All right; then you can
speak for yourself. The rest of you I kept on board all the time
we were in Hongkong, hoping you would desert; but you fooled
me and stuck to the brig. That'll make your lying come easier."
The boat was now close at hand; a boy in the stern sheets was
the only officer, and a poor one plainly, for the men were
talking as they pulled.
"Thank God, they've only sent a kind of a middy!" ejaculated
Wicks. "Here you, Hardy, stand for'ard! I'll have no deck
hands on my quarter-deck," he cried, and the reproof braced the
whole crew like a cold douche.
The boat came alongside with perfect neatness, and the boy
officer stepped on board, where he was respectfully greeted by
Wicks.
"You the master of this ship?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Wicks. "Trent is my name, and this is the
Flying Scud of Hull."
"You seem to have got into a mess," said the officer.
"If you'll step aft with me here, I'll tell you all there is of it,"
said Wicks.
"Why, man, you're shaking!" cried the officer.
"So would you, perhaps, if you had been in the same berth,"
returned Wicks; and he told the whole story of the rotten water,
the long calm, the squall, the seamen drowned; glibly and
hotly; talking, with his head in the lion's mouth, like one
pleading in the dock. I heard the same tale from the same
narrator in the saloon in San Francisco; and even then his
bearing filled me with suspicion. But the officer was no
observer.
"Well, the captain is in no end of a hurry," said he; "but I was
instructed to give you all the assistance in my power, and
signal back for another boat if more hands were necessary.
What can I do for you?"
"O, we won't keep you no time," replied Wicks cheerily.
"We're all ready, bless you--men's chests, chronometer, papers
and all."
"Do you mean to leave her?" cried the officer. "She seems to
me to lie nicely; can't we get your ship off?"
"So we could, and no mistake; but how we're to keep her
afloat's another question. Her bows is stove in," replied Wicks.
The officer coloured to the eyes. He was incompetent and
knew he was; thought he was already detected, and feared to
expose himself again. There was nothing further from his mind
than that the captain should deceive him; if the captain was
pleased, why, so was he. "All right," he said. "Tell your men
to get their chests aboard."
"Mr. Goddedaal, turn the hands to to get the chests aboard,"
said Wicks.
The four Currency Lasses had waited the while on tenter-
hooks. This welcome news broke upon them like the sun at
midnight; and Hadden burst into a storm of tears, sobbing
aloud as he heaved upon the tackle. But the work went none
the less briskly forward; chests, men, and bundles were got
over the side with alacrity; the boat was shoved off; it moved
out of the long shadow of the Flying Scud, and its bows were
pointed at the passage.
So much, then, was accomplished. The sham wreck had
passed muster; they were clear of her, they were safe away; and
the water widened between them and her damning evidences.
On the other hand, they were drawing nearer to the ship of war,
which might very well prove to be their prison and a hangman's
cart to bear them to the gallows--of which they had not yet
learned either whence she came or whither she was bound; and
the doubt weighed upon their heart like mountains.
It was Wicks who did the talking. The sound was small in
Carthew's ears, like the voices of men miles away, but the
meaning of each word struck home to him like a bullet. "What
did you say your ship was?" inquired Wicks.
"Tempest, don't you know?" returned the officer.
Don't you know? What could that mean? Perhaps nothing:
perhaps that the ships had met already. Wicks took his
courage in both hands. "Where is she bound?" he asked.
"O, we're just looking in at all these miserable islands here,"
said the officer. "Then we bear up for San Francisco."
"O, yes, you're from China ways, like us?" pursued Wicks.
"Hong Kong," said the officer, and spat over the side.
Hong Kong. Then the game was up; as soon as they set foot on
board, they would be seized; the wreck would be examined, the
blood found, the lagoon perhaps dredged, and the bodies of the
dead would reappear to testify. An impulse almost
incontrollable bade Carthew rise from the thwart, shriek out
aloud, and leap overboard; it seemed so vain a thing to
dissemble longer, to dally with the inevitable, to spin out some
hundred seconds more of agonised suspense, with shame and
death thus visibly approaching. But the indomitable Wicks
persevered. His face was like a skull, his voice scarce
recognisable; the dullest of men and officers (it seemed) must
have remarked that telltale countenance and broken utterance.
And still he persevered, bent upon certitude.
"Nice place, Hong Kong?" he said.
"I'm sure I don't know," said the officer. "Only a day and a half
there; called for orders and came straight on here. Never heard
of such a beastly cruise." And he went on describing and
lamenting the untoward fortunes of the Tempest.
But Wicks and Carthew heeded him no longer. They lay back
on the gunnel, breathing deep, sunk in a stupor of the body: the
mind within still nimbly and agreeably at work, measuring the
past danger, exulting in the present relief, numbering with
ecstasy their ultimate chances of escape. For the voyage in the
man-of-war they were now safe; yet a few more days of peril,
activity, and presence of mind in San Francisco, and the whole
horrid tale was blotted out; and Wicks again became Kirkup,
and Goddedaal became Carthew--men beyond all shot of
possible suspicion, men who had never heard of the Flying
Scud, who had never been in sight of Midway Reef.
So they came alongside, under many craning heads of seamen
and projecting mouths of guns; so they climbed on board
somnambulous, and looked blindly about them at the tall spars,
the white decks, and the crowding ship's company, and heard
men as from far away, and answered them at random.
And then a hand fell softly on Carthew's shoulder.
"Why, Norrie, old chappie, where have you dropped from? All
the world's been looking for you. Don't you know you've come
into your kingdom?"
He turned, beheld the face of his old schoolmate Sebright, and
fell unconscious at his feet.
The doctor was attending him, a while later, in Lieutenant
Sebright's cabin, when he came to himself. He opened his
eyes, looked hard in the strange face, and spoke with a kind of
solemn vigour.
"Brown must go the same road," he said; "now or never." And
then paused, and his reason coming to him with more
clearness, spoke again: "What was I saying? Where am I?
Who are you?"
"I am the doctor of the Tempest," was the reply. "You are in
Lieutenant Sebright's berth, and you may dismiss all concern
from your mind. Your troubles are over, Mr. Carthew."
"Why do you call me that?" he asked. "Ah, I remember--
Sebright knew me! O!" and he groaned and shook. "Send
down Wicks to me; I must see Wicks at once!" he cried, and
seized the doctor's wrist with unconscious violence.
"All right," said the doctor. "Let's make a bargain. You
swallow down this draught, and I'll go and fetch Wicks."
And he gave the wretched man an opiate that laid him out
within ten minutes and in all likelihood preserved his reason.
It was the doctor's next business to attend to Mac; and he found
occasion, while engaged upon his arm, to make the man repeat
the names of the rescued crew. It was now the turn of the
captain, and there is no doubt he was no longer the man that
we have seen; sudden relief, the sense of perfect safety, a
square meal and a good glass of grog, had all combined to
relax his vigilance and depress his energy.
"When was this done?" asked the doctor, looking at the wound.
"More than a week ago," replied Wicks, thinking singly of his
log.
"Hey?" cried the doctor, and he raised his hand and looked the
captain in the eyes.
"I don't remember exactly," faltered Wicks.
And at this remarkable falsehood, the suspicions of the doctor
were at once quadrupled.
"By the way, which of you is called Wicks?" he asked easily.
"What's that?" snapped the captain, falling white as paper.
"Wicks," repeated the doctor; "which of you is he? that's surely
a plain question."
Wicks stared upon his questioner in silence.
"Which is Brown, then?" pursued the doctor.
"What are you talking of? what do you mean by this?" cried
Wicks, snatching his half-bandaged hand away, so that the
blood sprinkled in the surgeon's face.
He did not trouble to remove it. Looking straight at his victim,
he pursued his questions. "Why must Brown go the same
way?" he asked.
Wicks fell trembling on a locker. "Carthew's told you," he
cried.
"No," replied the doctor, "he has not. But he and you between
you have set me thinking, and I think there's something
wrong."
"Give me some grog," said Wicks. "I'd rather tell than have
you find out. I'm damned if it's half as bad as what any one
would think."
And with the help of a couple of strong grogs, the tragedy of
the Flying Scud was told for the first time.
It was a fortunate series of accidents that brought the story to
the doctor. He understood and pitied the position of these
wretched men, and came whole-heartedly to their assistance.
He and Wicks and Carthew (so soon as he was recovered) held
a hundred councils and prepared a policy for San Francisco. It
was he who certified "Goddedaal" unfit to be moved and
smuggled Carthew ashore under cloud of night; it was he who
kept Wicks's wound open that he might sign with his left hand;
he who took all their Chile silver and (in the course of the first
day) got it converted for them into portable gold. He used his
influence in the wardroom to keep the tongues of the young
officers in order, so that Carthew's identification was kept out
of the papers. And he rendered another service yet more
important. He had a friend in San Francisco, a millionaire; to
this man he privately presented Carthew as a young gentleman
come newly into a huge estate, but troubled with Jew debts
which he was trying to settle on the quiet. The millionaire
came readily to help; and it was with his money that the
wrecker gang was to be fought. What was his name, out of a
thousand guesses? It was Douglas Longhurst.
As long as the Currency Lasses could all disappear under fresh
names, it did not greatly matter if the brig were bought, or any
small discrepancies should be discovered in the wrecking. The
identification of one of their number had changed all that. The
smallest scandal must now direct attention to the movements of
Norris. It would be asked how he who had sailed in a schooner
from Sydney, had turned up so shortly after in a brig out of
Hong Kong; and from one question to another all his original
shipmates were pretty sure to be involved. Hence arose
naturally the idea of preventing danger, profiting by Carthew's
new-found wealth, and buying the brig under an alias; and it
was put in hand with equal energy and caution. Carthew took
lodgings alone under a false name, picked up Bellairs at
random, and commissioned him to buy the wreck.
"What figure, if you please?" the lawyer asked.
"I want it bought," replied Carthew. "I don't mind about the
price."
"Any price is no price," said Bellairs. "Put a name upon it."
"Call it ten thousand pounds then, if you like!" said Carthew.
In the meanwhile, the captain had to walk the streets, appear in
the consulate, be cross-examined by Lloyd's agent, be badgered
about his lost accounts, sign papers with his left hand, and
repeat his lies to every skipper in San Francisco: not knowing
at what moment he might run into the arms of some old friend
who should hail him by the name of Wicks, or some new
enemy who should be in a position to deny him that of Trent.
And the latter incident did actually befall him, but was
transformed by his stout countenance into an element of
strength. It was in the consulate (of all untoward places) that
he suddenly heard a big voice inquiring for Captain Trent. He
turned with the customary sinking at his heart.
"YOU ain't Captain Trent!" said the stranger, falling back.
"Why, what's all this? They tell me you're passing off as
Captain Trent--Captain Jacob Trent--a man I knew since I was
that high."
"O, you're thinking of my uncle as had the bank in Cardiff,"
replied Wicks, with desperate aplomb.
"I declare I never knew he had a nevvy!" said the stranger.
"Well, you see he has!" says Wicks.
"And how is the old man?" asked the other.
"Fit as a fiddle," answered Wicks, and was opportunely
summoned by the clerk.
This alert was the only one until the morning of the sale, when
he was once more alarmed by his interview with Jim; and it
was with some anxiety that he attended the sale, knowing only
that Carthew was to be represented, but neither who was to
represent him nor what were the instructions given. I suppose
Captain Wicks is a good life. In spite of his personal
appearance and his own known uneasiness, I suppose he is
secure from apoplexy, or it must have struck him there and
then, as he looked on at the stages of that insane sale and saw
the old brig and her not very valuable cargo knocked down at
last to a total stranger for ten thousand pounds.
It had been agreed that he was to avoid Carthew, and above all
Carthew's lodging, so that no connexion might be traced
between the crew and the pseudonymous purchaser. But the
hour for caution was gone by, and he caught a tram and made
all speed to Mission Street.
Carthew met him in the door.
"Come away, come away from here," said Carthew; and when
they were clear of the house, "All's up!" he added.
"O, you've heard of the sale, then?" said Wicks.
"The sale!" cried Carthew. "I declare I had forgotten it." And
he told of the voice in the telephone, and the maddening
question: "Why did you want to buy the Flying Scud?"
This circumstance, coming on the back of the monstrous
improbabilities of the sale, was enough to have shaken the
reason of Immanuel Kant. The earth seemed banded together
to defeat them; the stones and the boys on the street appeared to
be in possession of their guilty secret. Flight was their one
thought. The treasure of the Currency Lass they packed in
waist-belts, expressed their chests to an imaginary address in
British Columbia, and left San Francisco the same afternoon,
booked for Los Angeles.
The next day they pursued their retreat by the Southern Pacific
route, which Carthew followed on his way to England; but the
other three branched off for Mexico.
Content of CHAPTER XXV - A BAD BARGAIN [Robert Louis Stevenson's novel: The Wrecker]
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