CHAPTER XXIV
CHECK TO THE KING, AND A NEW MOVE
As on a previous and never-to-be-forgotten occasion, in the midst of the multifarious activities prevailing on the deck of theGrampusthere was a sense of profound peace. And now there was also a feeling of fierce delight that their tyrant was tasting in his own body some of the pains he had so joyously inflicted upon others. All the white men’s faces wore a pleasant expression, not at all mitigated by the presence of the Portuguese jealously noting the satisfaction and fully aware of its cause. And, human nature being what it is, there is no doubt whatever that had Captain Da Silva died, his Portuguese henchmen would have been compelled to eat the humblest of humble-pie, or commit themselves to a fearful mutiny with all its consequences.
Mr. Court moved majestically among the toilers with the air of a man from whom an awful incubus has been removed, and to whom has come a veritable inspiration. He did not shout; all his orders were issued quietly, but how wise and far-seeing were all his arrangements! And, first of all, he told off Mr. Pease to watch Rube, who was fighting with all the splendid reserve of force in his clean, healthy body against the encroaching Angel of Death. Mr. Court’s reasons for this were two-fold. First, he needed badly to show his detestation of the malice which had placed this fine officer in the position of a seaman, and next he had noticed that in Rube’s deliriumone name continually fell from his lips like a peal of dactyls, ‘Priscilla, Priscilla, Priscilla.’ And Mr. Court knew that Priscilla was the name of his skipper’s wife. Therefore, although he fully believed poor Rube’s chanting of that name to be a mere coincidence, he knew how essential it was that the skipper should not hear of it. For he was sure that in that case Rube’s days would be few and evil, supposing the skipper to live. So calling Mr. Pease to him, after being exceedingly careful to see that none of the Dagoes was within earshot, he explained the matter to him carefully, winding up by saying that at least until the devil was unchained again, he (Mr. Court) would see that a brother officer was, as far as possible, saved from the degradation deliberately prepared for him.
All this, of course, was seen, noted, and commented upon by the Portuguese, secure in the general utter ignorance of their language by the white men, and consequently not needing to get away in private for consultation. But all they could do under present circumstances was to ‘bide their time, doing their duty meanwhile as before, for they knew quite enough of their skipper to be sure that no amount of favouritism would be held to excuse slackness of work when money-making was to the fore. And as the Americans worked now with a hearty good will because of the absence of the skipper, it was truly marvellous to see how the tremendous task of cutting-in and trying-out was tackled. A spirit of emulation was abroad, manifesting itself in extraordinary ways. For instance, a lean American from Connecticut, who had somehow learned to swim splendidly, was down on the back of a whale for thepurpose of hooking a mighty iron hook into what is called the ‘rising,’ or eye-piece. He sprang there at the word, alighting in the foul pool of grease and blood and salt water at the same moment as a gigantic Portuguese, but just as they both reached out for the hook a big swell came along, the ship gave a heave, and a vast volume of water swept over the carcass, washing both the men into the sea alongside, which as usual was alive with sharks. They disappeared for a moment among the shovel heads and dorsal fins crowding round; then, springing to the surface, Nat, the American, snatched at a strip of blubber, and by sheer agility flung himself back to his former position, grabbing at the dangling hook as he reached it, and yelling in a half-strangled voice, ‘Heave away!’ Then, with a contemptuous look at the Dago struggling to climb back, he seized the already rising parts of the tackle and swung himself on deck. The Dago’s friends had flung him a rope, and he mounted easily enough by its aid, but their remarks to him, aided by the satisfied chuckles of the white men, seemed to depress him very much. He was about to slouch off to the foc’s’le to change, when Mr. Court’s voice rang out clearly:
‘Whar you goin’?’
‘Changea me close,’ was the sullen answer.
‘You git right on with the work,’ said Mr. Court, and, taken by surprise, the man obeyed. He and his countrymen felt that it was only another item in the account to be paid off presently when their champion returned to his command.
Below, however, that champion was in evil case.In his previous mishap, although his bruises were many and severe, there had been no bones broken, but now his injuries were of so extensive a character that he could hardly find energy enough to curse his wife and the steward, his only attendants. In fact, the conditions of things were entirely altered. Mr. Court, in full vigour, was in charge, and came in to report to him twice a day in the most formal manner how matters were progressing on deck. The mate never asked him how he was, never attempted any conversation, and, after the report had been made, only answered questions, and that in the curtest manner possible. At certain intervals, being responsible for his commanders welfare, he made careful examination of the injuries, and saw that they were doing as well as possible under the circumstances. Also he gave the steward secret orders that all the ventilation possible should be secured in the cabin for the Captain’s wife’s sake, who throughout this trying time, as before, scarcely ever left her husband’s side.
On deck Rube progressed most favourably. His splendid constitution won in the great fight, and when at last he opened his eyes sanely on his devoted nurse, that much-tried man made up his mind at once that Rube would live. No matter that he was worn to a shadow, that he looked even worse than when rescued from the boat, he had evidently got a grip on life which he had no idea of relinquishing just yet. He wanted to live, and, as all doctors know, that is the great factor in the problem of recovery from any illness. But Mr. Pease was mightily puzzled as Rube grew stronger to find him so constantly referring to the early incidents occurring during the cruise of theXiphias. He seemed to have no knowledge whateverof the stirring events which had happened since. Also Mr. Pease noticed that his eyes had an anxious careworn look in them as of a man who feels that the threads of his life are all entangled, and that he has no ability to clear them. He had, besides, a habit of muttering to himself and of mentioning names all unfamiliar to Mr. Pease, as if by some freak of memory a certain portion of his life, utterly forgotten until now, had just been recalled, while another portion, much more recent in its incidence upon his brain, had become completely obliterated. There was as well an utter absence of that cheery, wide-eyed outlook which he used to wear, the true expression of the Biblical injunction to take no thought for the morrow. Moreover, he was so anxious to get well. He did not know where he was, except that he was at sea and ill, and his helplessness worried him much. It took all Mr. Pease’s power of persuasion to convince him that by worrying he was retarding his own recovery, and that, as matters were, it really did not matter a pin whether he was fit again in a week or a month. But it was a difficult job to explain things to a man who knew absolutely nothing about the necessary details, who remembered nothing at all of the happenings of the last eleven months. At last Mr. Pease sought an audience of the mate, taking care that there should be a white man at the wheel, and that all the rest of the hands should be busy forward.
To him Mr. Pease told all that he knew about Rube, of his joining the ship, of his terrible accident and recoverytherefrom, how since then he had always behaved more like an angel than a man, and how every man on board had grown from deriding him to loving him—in fact, the story which the reader knows. During the recital Mr. Court glanced from time to time most curiously at Mr. Pease, as if wondering whether the latter were crazed or not. Nor could this be wondered at, remembering the life Mr. Court had been leading in theGrampus. What wonder that he had come to disbelieve in the existence of a God at all?—having always been indifferent in his acceptance of the existence of a Supreme Being as a matter of course, and since he had been mate of theGrampushaving grown certain that whether there was a God or not there must be a devil, and that this devil was apparently permitted to have everything his own way for the present. Now he was interested in spite of himself at the idea of one greenie having been permitted to alter the character of everybody on board his ship. Also he told Mr. Pease how Rube’s present condition was entirely due to his interference on behalf of his former officer. At this news, now first made known to him, Mr. Pease bowed his head, saying:
‘Wall, I alwuz thought he wuz a sure-’nough angel, but I never calculated on him so nearly coming to his death for me. Anyway, my life’s his frum this eout, ef he wants it—there’s no question ’bout that.’
Now, whether it was the intensity of devotion manifested towards Rube thenceforward by Mr. Pease, or his own innate vigour asserting itself, is no doubt a moot point, but certainly from that day Rube’s recovery was exceedingly rapid. But he was puzzled beyond expression at his former mate’s dog-like affection for him, also at the want of deference shownto Mr. Pease by all hands. And as it was entirely useless trying to remember anything about recent events or to understand what he was told about them, he resigned himself to the mystery. Long before the skipper was able to move sufficiently to come on deck he had resumed his place among the crew, and was doing his work, but with a hesitation, awkwardness, and want of spring that made Mr. Pease tremble for his welfare when once the skipper had again taken command of the ship.
With that consummate ability for navigating difficult seas that seems inherent in American whaling officers, Mr. Court had, despite his limitation of access to the means of navigation, due to the Captain’s behaviour, brought theGrampusthrough the intricacies of those waters south of Celebes, and had steered her safely past the western end of New Guinea out to the southward of the Pelew Islands before Captain Da Silva came on deck. I have purposely avoided all mention of his behaviour while thus laid helpless a second time, for the subject is such a painful one that it is difficult to do more than hint at it. A wounded tiger would certainly have been far more docile, and have repaid his nurses with much more gratitude than this man, from whom every one of the Divine qualities of our nature seemed to have been withheld. Doubtless this vile temper did much to delay his recovery, but that he could not see; and hard as his language was to bear, the mate felt that it was infinitely better to listen to it occasionally below than to have his presence on deck again. And as the news of his approaching recovery crept about the ship, every white man,except Rube, kept repeating to himself most fervently, ‘Oh, if he would only die!’—‘he,’ of course, being the common enemy. As for Priscilla, the long confinement and constant strain of nursing this terrible man had worn her to a shadow. He did not abuse her so much now, but she had to listen constantly to his abuse of others, listen to his furious conversations with his Portuguese harpooners, who were daily summoned below to his bedside to report to him their observations of how the Yankee unmentionables were handling the ship. But this latter affected her as little as the former, which she could understand. The abominable phrases in her own language fell upon utterly unheeding ears, and left no more impression than did the imprecations in an unknown tongue. What she was suffering from was purely physical, as it had been before reaching the Cosmoledos.
At last one lovely morning, with the ship’s head pointed towards the Bonins under his instructions, the skipper gave orders that Pedro and Manuel should attend him and assist him on deck. He needed help. He was worn to a shadow, his face was like a hatchet for sharpness of outline, and many threads of white appeared in his hair and whiskers. But from out the caverns whither his eyes had retreated gleamed the same infernal fires: the indomitable will had not been subdued in the slightest degree. Upon reaching the deck, he cast a comprehensive glance around the vessel. She was like a new pin for cleanliness, not a rope yarn was awry, and most of the watch were busy scraping the spare spars, always a favourite device with him whennothing else could be found for them to do.
From forward came the clink, clink of iron where the remainder of the men were beating iron-rust off the anchors and cables. Everything was going, in fact, as goes a good watch after it has been wound by the master’s hand. There was absolutely nothing to find fault with, yet the mate surely knew that fault would be found. So he stood near, offering no salutation nor expecting any, but awaiting the contemptuous burning words he knew would soon be flung at him. Suddenly the skipper said, without looking at the mate:
‘Wall, seems yew’ve mistook th’ ship fur a pleasure boat. Wut in thunder yew ben doin’ all the way up hyar from Borneo?’
‘Doin’ wut hed t’ be done, ’n’ doin’ it well too,’ growled Mr. Court. ‘Wat d’ye expect I’d be doin’, ef I mout be askin’?’
‘Ha,thet’swut ye ben doin’, is it—gittin’ things ripe fur a mut’ny a’gin’ me. All right. I’m layin’ fur ye. Y’ mout hev made sure while I ben lyin’ thar he’pless ef yew hed th’ grit ov a purp, but yew haint, yew ——’ There is no need to suggest the remainder of the vile sentence. But Mr. Court had found time not only to recover his self-control and respect, but to gauge the capacity of Captain Da Silva’s supporters to overcome the white portion of the crew. Moreover he had, with commendable forethought, drawn the stings of the harpooners and as many of the foremost Portuguese hands as he could convict of possessing them—that is, he had taken away their revolvers and ammunition, and by perfect equality of treatment had re-establisheda proper order of things in the foc’s’le. All of these things Captain Da Silva, with his almost superhuman grasp of matters only faintly shadowed forth to his senses, had already seen except the disarming of his gang. He was not likely to mistake the import of the change in Mr. Court’s tone and bearing towards him. It was a heavy blow, but he was wily as a snake, and immediately changing his tone slightly, he resumed:
‘Thar, I s’pose it’s no use makin’ more trouble than thar’s any need fur. P’r’aps I’m a bit frazzled eout with lyin’ below like a gutted herrin’. Anyhaow, I guess I’ll be all right time we git on the Jappan groun’, an’ then we’ll hev some fun. Hyar! Manuel, Pedro, come an’ git me b’low ’gen. I ain’t feelin’ good a bit.’
As the two scowling dark men passed him and placed each an arm carefully behind the skipper’s back to assist him down into the cuddy, Mr. Court viewed them with clear eyes, saying nothing, but pondering a great deal. He was not in the least deceived by the change in his skipper’s tone. He knew full well that no stone would be left unturned to do him a mischief, and he determined to treble his vigilance and that of his compatriot officers in order to guard against any sudden surprise, and, satisfied that he was doing all that in him lay both for duty and self-preservation, he turned away and resumed his daily business of supervision.
What he did not, could not, know was that by his resolute bearing and brave words he had saved one of his countrymen from being put to the torture. It had been the skipper’s determination when he came on deck to see his cruel intention towards Rubecarried out, and, as we know, he was not easily turned away from his purpose. Ever since he had regained consciousness the idea of wreaking his will upon Rube—first as being one of the rescued boat’s crew he had been, as it were, driven to save; and, secondly, as the successful opponent of that will—had been fermenting in his busy brain, and at the earliest possible opportunity he had appeared on deck for the purpose of putting it into practice. But for the first time that voyage he had found himself successfully thwarted by one of the hated Americans, and he needed all his marvellous powers of self-control and dissimulation not to indulge in some frantic outburst that would certainly have resulted in his being disabled from doing any more harm that cruise. His cup of humiliation was not yet full either. As they went slowly down the companion-way, Manuel whispered to him in Portuguese:
‘Do you know that the mate has taken away our weapons?’
‘What!’ he hissed, and wrenching himself free from Pedro on the other side, he struck at Manuel with all his might, and missed him, falling down four stairs upon his injured side, and lying there foaming with pain and fury. Manuel, his face green with rage, turned upon his heel and remounted the cabin stairs. What black thoughts filled his heart we cannot tell, but certainly the cost of that injudicious outburst to Captain Da Silva was an exceedingly heavy one. He reckoned too much upon the perfect subjugation of his countrymen to his will, forgetting the obvious fact that if you give your subordinates too much power over you they are apt to use itat inconvenient times, to the complete upheaval and reversal of some of your most cherished plans.
Pedro, alarmed at the Captain’s condition, for the latter was quite beside himself with agony, called in that subdued voice common to sailors when they are in the cabin, ‘Madem, senhora, Missis, Capena very too mucha bad; pleasea come!’ But there was no answer. Nor could be, for Priscilla, completely worn out, was lying in a dead faint upon the settee in their little state-room. The mate was away forward conducting the work, the steward was busy washing clothes on deck, and poor Pedro, looking upon his skipper’s horribly distorted face, listening to the gnashing of his teeth and watching the writhings of his body, forgot everything but the need for instant aid, and shouted, ‘On deck, dere, somebody, anybody, comea down here quick!’ At that moment Rube was on his way to relieve the wheel, being now fully recovered as far as physical strength went. With one glance at the sphinx-like face of the helmsman, Rube sprang down the companion, finding the skipper in convulsions, and Pedro at his wits’ end to know what to do. Together they raised the twisting body and carried it into the state-room, where the first object which met Rube’s eyes was the apparently lifeless form of his loved and lost Priscilla.
THE APPARENTLY LIFELESS FORM OF HIS LOVED AND LOST PRISCILLA.P. 322.
THE APPARENTLY LIFELESS FORM OF HIS LOVED AND LOST PRISCILLA.P. 322.
THE APPARENTLY LIFELESS FORM OF HIS LOVED AND LOST PRISCILLA.
P. 322.
For a moment all things reeled with him, and then, quietly laying the skipper on the deck, and controlling himself by a Titanic effort, he said,‘Pedro, some water—quick!’ Even as he did so and Pedro started off, Priscilla gave a deep, deep sigh, opened her eyes, and seeing a strange man before her, madean effort to rise, while a faint tinge of pink cameinto her face. But with a mingled pang of regret and thankfulness Rube saw that there was no recognition in the look—he was just one of the crew to her, and nothing more. And then, to his intense relief, came hurrying the steward and the mate, called frantically by Pedro. Rube stole away, leaving the new-comers to render such aid as was possible, and wearily crept to the wheel, taking absolutely no heed of the bitter words with which he was greeted by the waiting helmsman.
A trick at the wheel by a good steersman is a splendid place for meditation. For while the mechanical section of the brain is busy with the primal duty of keeping the particular point of the course given as near the ‘lubber’s point,’ or line drawn on the inner rim of the compass-bowl, corresponding to the midship line of the ship, as circumstances will allow, the lobes devoted to thought may be fully occupied with the most recondite speculations. May be, but are not often, for your ordinary sailor is a most unimaginative human animal. Reuben, however, for the first half-hour of the present ‘trick’ found the meditative side of his brain one seething whirlpool surging around its vortex. ‘Priscilla is aboard this ship.’ True, she had not recognised him, and that was, so far, a gain; but how could he control himself? His speech, his looks? Moreover, she was unhappy. How much so he did not, could not, know, for the reasons that have before been fully given; but that wan face, those thin hands, those deeply shadowed eyes, what a tale of misery they had to tell to a loving heart like Rube’s! Yet even had he not been powerless to do anything, loyalty, honour, truth demanded that he should besilent, cost what it might, unless he saw danger to that dear life. Then the problem of her being here at all suddenly came back with awful force. And utterly confounded, he lifted his heart again to God, not blithely or hopefully, but in a sort of mechanical way, or instinctively, if it be better put so. Instantly a great peace fell upon him. A merciful veil stole down between him and his mental troubles, and the utter blankness of want of thought enwrapped his mind.
In the cabin the mate and the steward had laboured manfully at their task, although much hampered by the want of knowledge of how this condition of things had been brought about. Priscilla had fully recovered consciousness, but was still too weak to help. Still she was no hindrance. She was just watching, and claiming no attention. Mr. Court found several of his bandages displaced, much of the laceration re-opened, and altogether the patient in a bad way. With native skill and judgment he did his best to make his tyrant comfortable, and then having instructed the steward to devote his whole time to the Captain and his wife, returned on deck and sent for the two Portuguese.
‘Now,’ said Mr. Court sternly, when they appeared, ‘I got to know wut yew two ben a-doin’ t’ th’ Captain. Yew wuzn’t thar, Manuel, when I kem an’ Pedro wuz. Wut d’ ye go ’way fur?’ Volubly Pedro began, but the mate in a roar bade him ‘shet erp,’ and turning to Manuel, said quietly, ‘Heave ahead.’
‘Well, sah,’ said Manuel savagely, ‘we’s a-he’pin’ole man daown companyon, an’ ole man le’s go my arm an’ hits me. Then he fall daown steps. I don’ care if he break his neck, so I don’ go daown ’n’ look. I kem on deck. Dat’s all, sah.’ And this lucid explanation he followed up with asseverations unprintable—indeed, untranslatable.