For three days theHawkcontinued to follow in the gunboat's trail, and everybody was asking everybody else in hushed whispers what the Captain's plans were. The consensus of opinion now was that he intended the German to play the part of the cat in the fable and pull the chestnuts out of the fire: in other words, to wait till the enemy had got all the plunder he could carry and then swoop down upon him. The question was, when would the swooping start?
During all this time, Calamity had not spoken a single word to Miss Fletcher, or, indeed, betrayed any sign that he was aware of her existence. He had never even mentioned her or asked how she was accommodated, and, for all he knew to the contrary, she might have been sleeping on deck under a steam-winch. Mr. Dykes had not told him that he had given up his own cabin to the girl and was sharing the second-mate's. He feared, not without reason, that, had he done so, Calamity would have ordered him back to his own quarters. As to the ex-bos'n Skelt, he had become a very unobtrusive member of the crew, and nothing further had been heard from him concerning his right to be treated as a passenger. It is true that he once let out a dark hint to the effect that he was "biding his time," but no one paid the slightest attention to him.
Meanwhile, a change had come over the lives and habits of the two mates and the chief engineer. The refining influence of feminine society—as McPhulach poetically termed it—was already beginning to tell on them. The mate, for instance, now used up two clean shirts a week and quite a number of white pocket-handkerchiefs; the second followed the good example by having his shoes cleaned every day, and substituting, whenever he happened to think of it, "blooming," for the sanguinary adjective he had hitherto favoured, and the engineer not only washed his face every night when coming off watch, but, on his own confession, changed his socks rather more frequently than he had done in the past.
Whether the lady on whose behalf these sacrifices were made was aware of them, and duly appreciative, the three dandies had no means of determining. McPhulach, who was a practical man and saw no merit in hiding his light under a bushel, did once suggest that Miss Fletcher should be tactfully made aware of the astonishing changes she had wrought. The suggestion, however, was promptly sat upon by the mates, who wanted to convey the impression that their present exemplary mode of life was in nowise abnormal despite the strain it entailed.
"I've had twa pairs o' socks washed sin' we started, and that's no' a month ago," grumbled the engineer, when his publicity proposition was opposed.
"You've got to remember you're a—bloomin' gentleman nah," answered Smith.
"It's awfu' expenseeve," murmured McPhulach plaintively.
Although Miss Fletcher was the last person to encourage familiarity, she was capable of a certaincamaraderiethrough having lived so much among men. She had, it seemed, lost her mother at an early age, and since then had accompanied her father on nearly all his voyages. Therefore she exhibited neither the coy timidity nor coquettish lure which might have been expected from a girl of her age under circumstances like the present. Her manner towards the three men who had, as it were, appointed themselves her hosts was disarmingly frank; as a woman she kept them at arm's length, as a companion she was as free and easy as a man. Smith, when discussing her one day with the mate, remarked that she only remembered she was a woman when something was said which any decent man would resent. Mr. Dykes alone occasionally assumed a patronisingly masculine attitude, towards which, so far, the girl had shown no resentment. This, he sometimes tried to believe, was a tacit admission that she regarded him with special favour, if not with some degree of awe, though at other times common sense prevailed and he realised that it was due to sheer indifference.
But Mr. Dykes was becoming very dissatisfied with things as they were. For no particular reason, unless it was that he had given up his cabin to her, the mate somehow felt that he had a prior claim to Miss Fletcher's respect and esteem. He was, therefore, secretly aggrieved to think that Smith and McPhulach, whose sacrifices on her behalf had not exceeded a little extra personal cleanliness, were as much in favour as himself. In short, Mr. Dykes was in danger of falling a victim to the tender passion—if, indeed he had not already done so—hence the jealous feelings that were beginning to ferment in his bosom. He suffered most, however, when it happened that he was taking the second dog-watch, and, from his post on the bridge, could see Miss Fletcher, Smith, and McPhulach, laughing and chatting on the after-hatch as though he, Ephraim Dykes, had never existed.
It was during one of these "free and easys," as Smith called them, that the girl suddenly began to discuss the Captain of theHawk. Hitherto she had ignored him as completely as he had ignored her, though a keen observer might have noticed that she frequently cast a curious glance towards the bridge when he happened to be on it.
"Bless you, he's a bloomin' bag of mystery, he is; a reg'lar perambulatin' paradox," replied the second-mate in answer to a question which the girl had put regarding the skipper. "There ain't no gettin' the latitude nor longitude of him."
"He's a michty quare mon," corroborated the engineer.
"But is his name really Calamity?" asked the girl.
"Meybe it is and meybe it isna," answered McPhulach cautiously. "Some say he's a mon o' guid family, and others declare the revairse is the truth; but which is right I dinna ken."
"Well, I've never sailed with him before," put in Smith, "but from the little I've see'd of his gentle habits I should say he'd die of throat trouble all of a sudden."
"Throat trouble?" queried the girl.
"Yes; the throat trouble that comes of wearin' a rope collar too tight. Why, we'd only been out a few days when he starts to half murder the whole bloomin' crew. A roarin', ravin', rampin' lunatic he was," and Smith proceeded to relate, in pungent, picturesque language, the manner in which Calamity had quelled the mutiny single-handed.
"I wish I'd been here to see it," murmured the girl almost fervently, while a light leapt to her grey eyes which made Smith think of firelight seen through a closed window in winter time.
"Blimey! I don't admire your taste, Miss," he ejaculated. "The decks were like a blood—yes, they were—like a bloody slaughter-house. There's no other way of puttin' it."
"At any rate, he's a man," retorted Miss Fletcher with a queer note of defiance in her voice, "and I admire him for it."
Smith gazed at her for a moment in utter perplexity. He had confidently expected that, after the way in which the Captain had treated her, the girl would be only too ready to accept anything that could be said to his disadvantage. Yet she was actually expressing admiration for him and his bloodthirsty methods! Her attitude not only amazed him, but struck him as being shockingly unfeminine. As a woman she ought to have expressed the strongest disgust at the skipper's brutality, and not gloried in it.
"Lummy! You're a queer'n and no error," he murmured.
He rose to his feet, and, going to the taffrail, expectorated over the side with unnecessary violence. Like most men whose lives have been spent in rough places and whose knowledge of women is limited, he cherished a pathetic belief in their legendary gentleness and timidity. It was true that this particular young woman had not displayed these qualities in any marked degree, but he had never doubted their existence even so. He felt now that, in being a woman, she was living under false pretences, so to speak. It was a very real grievance in his eyes, more especially when he reflected on the noble restraint he had exercised over his speech and manners out of regard for her sex.
He returned moodily to the hatch and sat down. The girl was still discussing Calamity with McPhulach, her voice defiantly enthusiastic.
"If I were a man I'd ask for no better Captain to sail under," she was saying.
"It's a pity you ain't, then," growled Smith, who had returned just in time to overhear this remark.
"I've often thought so myself," she retorted. "Men are getting too soft nowadays."
"Meybe so," put in the engineer soothingly. "But ye'll hae no cause to complain o' the saftness aboord this packet, I'm thinkin'. And gin it's devilry ye're so muckle fond of, ye've no need to fash yersel' aboot missin' any here."
"Not half you needn't," added Smith with a grim chuckle. "When the old man——" he broke off abruptly as the ship's bell struck. "Holy Moses! eight bells already!" he ejaculated, and, rising to his feet, went off to relieve Mr. Dykes.
As the latter descended the companion-ladder after handing over the watch to the second-mate, he paused suddenly before reaching the deck. He was not an imaginative man and had never made a study of beauty except as represented by the female crimps and spongers who infested the various ports he had visited. But for a moment the sight of the girl sitting on the hatch, her beautiful hair softly radiant in the moonlight, and her figure in its close-fitting jersey so strangely alluring in the half-concealment of the shadows, held him spellbound. The splendour of the night, with its star-powdered sky of deepest, limpid blue; the brilliant moon whose beams made an ever-widening track of molten silver with shimmering tints of bronze, across the blue-black waters; the wake of foaming, sparkling iridescence in the steamer's track,—all these things moved him not one jot for he had witnessed them times without number. He saw nothing, in fact, but the girl, sitting with her face resting on her hands, gazing pensively out to sea. Never before had he realised that she was beautiful and intensely feminine despite all her affected masculinity.
"Durned if she don't look like a picture postcard," he murmured ecstatically.
He walked up to the hatch and sat down near her, but she did not turn her head nor show any sign of being aware of his presence. He coughed to attract her attention, but without result; she continued gazing with sad, thoughtful eyes into the distant mingling of crystal blue and glistening silver-grey which marked the junction of sea and sky.
"Say, ain't it a dandy night?" he observed, unable to keep silence any longer.
The girl made no answer, but the remark aroused McPhulach from the reverie into which he, also, had fallen. Rising to his feet, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and yawned.
"Gin I bide here any langer, I'll be consooming anither pipe o' bacca; so I'll wish ye a verra guid nicht, Miss Fletcher," he said.
"Good-night, McPhulach," answered the girl, who rarely used the prefix "Mr." when addressing her companions.
The engineer strolled off towards his cabin and the mate, to his great satisfaction, was left alone with her. For some time he sat fidgeting, anxious to speak, yet unable to think of anything to say. He watched her furtively out of the corner of his eye, secretly gloating over the outlines of her shapely figure, the delicate poise of her head, and the fascinating profusion of her wonderful hair.
Suddenly the girl rose to her feet, and, seeing the mate, started.
"I didn't know you were there," she said.
The mate made as if to speak, but uttered no sound. He rose unsteadily, and as the girl was about to move away, strode to her side.
"I want you," he said in a hoarse, quivering voice.
He made a movement as if to encircle her waist with his arm, but, before he could do so, her left fist shot out and, catching him unexpectedly squarely between the eyes, sent him reeling into the scuppers.
When he recovered himself and sat up he was a different man. All the passionate ardour, all the irresistible desire had left him, and he was conscious only of a singing in the head.
"No," he remarked thoughtfully, addressing himself to an iron stanchion, "she ain't no dime novel heroine, she ain't."
It was Sunday morning and those of the crew who were not on watch lay upon the foc'sle head, sat on the for'ad hatch, or still lay snoring in their bunks. A favoured few were lounging round the galley, some peeling potatoes—for which they would receive their reward in due course—and others helping them with good advice. From within the galley came the voice of "Slushy," the cook, bellowing out snatches of hymns intermingled with pungent profanities, each equally sincere.
"There is a fountain filled with blood,Drawn from Emmanuel's veins,"
"There is a fountain filled with blood,Drawn from Emmanuel's veins,"
he roared. "Get to hell out o' this, you perishin' son of a swab!" he added to a fireman who was making a surreptitious effort to get at the hot water.
"Damn your 'ot water, you pasty-faced dough-walloper!" retorted the fireman.
Then followed a scuffle, more profanities, and the fireman performed an acrobatic feat which landed him in the scuppers.
"Put your lousy 'ead in 'ere again and I'll murder you," said the cook. "I won't 'ave no bloomin' bad language in 'ere," he added warningly to the others. "There's a damned sight too much of it on this bug-trap."
He again lifted up his voice in song.
"And sinners plunged beneath the flood,Lose all their guilty sta—a—ains."
"And sinners plunged beneath the flood,Lose all their guilty sta—a—ains."
He paused to administer a cutting admonition to one of his assistants.
"Lose all their guilty stains," he trilled forth, pouring the hot water in which potatoes had been boiled, into the iron kettle that held the crew's tea.
In another part of the ship, under the lee of the forecastle a second and somewhat different meeting was in progress. Jasper Skelt, ex-boatswain of theEsmeralda, was addressing half a dozen men in fierce whispers, emphasising his remarks with violent gestures of the head and hands. The men listened, placidly smoking their pipes and occasionally turning a nervous glance towards the bridge to make sure that they were not being observed by the Captain.
"What proof have we that this boat is a licensed privateer?" Skelt was saying—or rather, whispering—"only the Captain's word. We ain't seen his Letters of Marque and ain't likely to. Why?"
The orator paused as if for a reply. It came.
"'Cause the first man 'as asked to see 'em 'ud get murdered," said one of the audience.
For a moment Skelt was disconcerted by the subdued laughter which followed this answer. But he pulled himself together and went on:
"No; and I'll tell you why we ain't likely to see his Letters of Marque: because he ain't got any."
This statement, delivered with all the confidence of one who knew, produced an effect. The men stared at each other with puzzled faces.
"'Ow the blazes do you know?" asked one of the men angrily.
"Because the British Government haven't granted any for this war," answered the agitator. "They're chartering merchant steamers and arming 'em themselves. Commerce-destroyers they call them, but they're really Government-owned privateers."
"Who told you so?" queried a sceptic.
"Don't ask me, read the papers and see for yourself," answered Skelt.
"Ho yus, I forgot all about me Sunday paper!" ejaculated another member of the audience sarcastically. "Boy, give me aLloydsand theObserver."
A roar of unrestrained laughter went up at this witticism, and the orator had some ado to master his wrath.
"It's all very well to laugh about it now," he said heatedly. "But wait till later on; wait till this lunatic who calls himself a Captain sinks one or two vessels; wait till he's called upon to show his papers—then you'll change your tune, my merry clinker-knockers!"
"What the 'ell does it matter to us, anyway?" asked someone.
"I'll tell you, my innocent babe. If we start in to sink ships, commit murder and rob the cargoes without having the proper authority—that is Letters of Marque—we're not privateers at all; we're blooming, God-damn pirates, that's what we are," answered Skelt. "What's more, if any brainless swab here doesn't know what the punishment is for piracy, I'll have much pleasure in telling him."
"'Anging, ain't it?"
"Right first time; hanging it is."
"It ain't nothin' to do with us, any'ow," said one of the objectors. "We ain't responsible for what the skipper does."
"P'raps not, but if he orders you to shoot a man and you do it, you're a murderer and will be treated as such. You won't save your neck by telling the beak that you thought you were a privateer. No, my son, it'll be a hanging job, you can take your Davy on that. Maybe they'll put a photo of your handsome dial in the newspapers, but your gal will soon be looking for another jolly sailor-boy to sponge on, and mother'll lose her curly-headed darling."
There was a constrained silence for some moments, during which Skelt grinned at his audience sardonically. Despite the affected incredulity of his listeners, they were evidently beginning to feel nervous. To even the most ignorant among them, piracy was an ugly word, much akin to murder.
"S'posing what you say's right, what are we to do?" asked one of the hecklers at last.
"Ask the skipper to let us get out and walk," suggested someone amidst laughter.
"If any of you had brains a fraction of the size of your guts you wouldn't ask me a fool question like that," answered Skelt. "If a bloke came up and said 'I'm going to hang you in five minutes,' what would you do?"
"Knock 'is bloomin' light out," said a fireman.
"Shove a knife between 'is ribs," suggested another.
"Of course you would," said the ex-boatswain. "But here's a man who gets you on board his ship and then tells you to do something that'll get you hanged as sure as infants eat pap. And you'd sooner risk your necks than tell him that, if he wants any murdering done, he'd better do it himself. You're a perishing set of heroes, strike me blind!"
"Why don't you tell that to the old man yourself?" asked one of the audience. "Your neck's as much in danger as ours."
"Aye, aye, tell 'im yourself," echoed the others.
"So I would if I thought you'd stand by me. But you're such a set of white-livered skunks that, at the first word from this one-eyed skipper, you'd turn on me. Why, if you were men instead of a damned pack of slaves, you'd take charge of this packet yourselves and clap that lunatic aft in irons. Then you'd take the ship into the nearest port and claim salvage, and a nice little fortune you'd make out of it. It'd be every man his own pub then and don't you forget it."
"What about the orf'cers, old son?" inquired someone.
"Treat 'em the same if they refused to come in with us. One of them would have to do the navigating, and if he had any objections we'd soon get rid of them. A bit of whipcord tightened round a man's head is a wonderful persuader."
"So's the wooden 'orse," cried a fireman, referring to the manner in which the fiery orator had been induced to waive his claim to be regarded as a passenger.
There was another burst of laughter at this sally, but the would-be righter of wrongs, though annoyed, was not to be put down.
"Whose fault was that?" he demanded. "One man couldn't fight the whole crowd of you, and if that swivel-eyed swine had given the word you'd have been on me like a pack of dogs. But I haven't forgotten, and I'll lay my life against a mouldy biscuit that I get even before I leave this stinking slave-dhow."
"You oughter be in 'Ide Park, you ought," said the sceptical fireman. "You'd look fine on a Sunday afternoon standin' on the top of a tub."
"If it pleases you to be funny, it doesn't hurt me," retorted Skelt. "But wait till you're up before the beak on a charge of piracy on the high seas; maybe you'll sing a different tune."
He stuck his hands in his pockets and, with an expression of utter contempt on his face, turned away. But, despite the scornful incredulity with which his remarks had been received, they had not fallen on entirely barren soil. As a general rule, the sailor-man is hopelessly ignorant of the law, and, in consequence, has a vague but very real dread of it. For him, it possesses all the terrors of the unknown; its very jargon cows him, and the wording of a summons sounds more terrible in his ears than the worst abuse of the worst skipper that ever sailed the seas. Skelt, it was true, had not served out any fear-inspiring legal phrases, but he had mentioned piracy, which is an ugly word to use on a ship whose character and mission savour somewhat of that offence.
So, while they pretended to laugh at the ex-boatswain's words, those who had heard them began to feel a new and unpleasant sense of dread. This quickly communicated itself to the rest of the crew, and before the first dog-watch was called that day there was hardly a man who was not obsessed by it. Many of them would have cut a person's throat for the price of a drink; not a few had seen the inside of a prison for some offence or other, but piracy, the greatest crime of which a sailor can be guilty, made them shudder. It belonged to the highest order of crime, and, though the punishment could not be greater than that meted out for stabbing a man in the back, the fact that it was vaster and infinitely more daring than anything their coarse minds had ever conceived, made it seem appallingly stupendous.
During the afternoon those who were off watch discussed the subject in whispers. Some were for sending a deputation to the skipper, but no one could be found whose courage was equal to the task. Skelt, who was approached on the subject, flatly declined to act as the crew's representative. He had done his part, he asserted, by warning them of their danger; let somebody else have the privilege of bearding Calamity.
"You didn't help me when I was strung across that damned spar and I'm not going to help you," he said. "Still," he added, "I'll give you a bit of advice. When the time comes for you to man the guns and start blazing away at some ship or other, stand fast. Let the swivel-eyed blighter do his own murdering."
"That's all right," growled a voice, "but 'e'll start doin' it on us."
"Yes, and you'll ask his kind permission to take off your jumpers so's he can cut your throats easier," sneered Skelt.
"No, by God, we won't!" exclaimed someone truculently.
The new note of defiance was taken up. It was one thing to face the terrible skipper in his cabin, but quite another to swear to disobey his orders, when there was no immediate prospect of those orders being given. Their courage went up by leaps and bounds, and they discussed plans for defying the Captain's commands—in whispers.
"That's the right spirit," said Skelt encouragingly. "This skipper may be a holy terror, but he can't murder us all if we stick together. Just show him that you don't mean to put your necks in the hangman's rope for his sake, and he'll soon calm down, I'll swear. I know them bucko skippers: all froth and fury so long as they think you're afraid of 'em; but once they see you don't care a Dago's damn for all their bullying, they become as meek as lambs. Oh, I know 'em! Sailed with one——"
The ex-boatswain's reminiscence was cut short by the sound of a whistle on deck. Next moment the foc'sle door was flung open and the second-mate put his head in.
"To your stations, every man!" he shouted. "Uncover the guns and stand by for orders!"
There was a rush from the foc'sle, and the first man to take his station and start peeling the tarpaulins off the machine-gun, was the fiery and defiant Jasper Skelt.
A slight haze hung over the water, so that sea and sky were merged in a film of brooding grey. Through this, looking strangely flimsy and unreal by reason of the mist, could be seen a large cargo-steamer of about five thousand tons. She was steaming in the opposite direction to theHawkat something like ten knots, and from her triatic stay fluttered a hoist of signal-flags indicating the question: "What ship are you?"
"What shall I answer, sir?" inquired Mr. Dykes of Calamity.
"'British steamerHawk. Singapore for London.'"
The signal was hoisted and the reply came: "British steamerAnn, Rio for Hongkong." At the same time the red ensign was hoisted at the stern.
"You say that when you first saw her she was flying the German flag?" Calamity inquired of Mr. Dykes.
"Yes, sir. I think she must have just passed another German ship, for the ensign was being hauled down when I sighted her."
"H'm, she was German a few minutes ago; now she's British. Signal her to stop, Mr. Dykes."
The signal was duly hoisted, but the steamer paid no attention and proceeded on her course, while from her funnel arose a thick cloud of black smoke, showing that the stokers were firing up. Although the skipper of theAnnmight resent being called upon to stop by what looked like another merchant vessel, this sudden attempt to accelerate speed, coupled with an unusual freedom in the use of national flags, was suspicious to say the least of it.
"Put a shot through her funnel, Mr. Dykes," said Calamity.
With his own hands, the mate sighted the quick-firer on the bridge and then nodded to the boatswain, who was also chief gunner. Next moment a sheet of flame leapt from the muzzle, there was a terrific roar, and a shell struck, not theAnn'sfunnel, but the supporting guys and passed through a ventilating cowl above the engine-room. Despite this unequivocal hint, the steamer did not stop, and the foam under her stern showed that she was putting on speed.
"Aim for the chart-room and make a better shot of it," said Calamity.
Mr. Dykes, greatly chagrined at his first shot having gone wide of its mark, again sighted the gun. Meanwhile the Captain was bringing round theHawkin the arc of a circle to get her in the wake of the retreating steamer.
Bang!
This time the mate had better luck, his second shot smashing through the chart-room and completely wrecking it.
"That ought to bring them to reason," he remarked complacently.
It did. Before the thin veil of smoke had drifted away a man was seen on theAnn'sstern, frantically calling up theHawkin the semaphore code. A man on the privateer's bridge answered and then the other started to flap his flags about.
"Don't fire, stopping," read the message.
The foam under the stranger's stern was subsiding and an arrow of white steam shot into the air out of her exhaust-pipe. Already the distance between the two vessels was rapidly diminishing and soon they were within hailing distance. The skipper of theAnnwas the first to avail himself of this, for, making a funnel of his hands, he demanded to know what the sanguinary blazes was meant by this hold-up.
"I demand to see your papers," bellowed Calamity.
The other appeared to execute a sort of complicated war-dance on the bridge, wildly waving his clenched fists above his head. No words came for a second or more, and then a burst of raw, pungent, and kaleidoscopic profanity hurtled across the intervening space, evoking by its wonderful variety the admiration even of theHawk'screw.
"Blimey!" murmured Smith in an awed tone, "it's a treat to 'ear a bloke handle cuss-words like that."
Even Mr. Dykes, who rather prided himself on his mastery of the refreshing art of invective, was moved to wonder. Indeed, he made a mental note of several vituperative combinations whose force and originality impressed him.
When, at last, the master of theAnnpaused, presumably for want of breath, the crew of theHawklooked expectantly towards Calamity. Would he be able to rise to the occasion and wither his opponent by a scorching blast of even deadlier profanity, or would he humiliate them by using the commonplace swear-words of everyday life? He did neither.
"I'm going to board you!" he shouted. "Make one attempt to hinder me and you go to the bottom."
His words, backed by the guns which were trained on theAnn, brought an immediate reply:
"Come aboard if you must, but for the love of God don't sink me."
"Fizzled out like a damp squib," muttered Smith.
"I guess he's played his long suit," remarked the mate, who also felt disappointed at the ignoble collapse of theAnn'sskipper after such brilliant promise.
A boat was quickly lowered from theHawk, and the Captain, before getting into it, gave Mr. Dykes certain instructions.
"And remember," he added, "if you see any sign of trickery put a shot under her water-line amidships."
"Very good, sir," answered the mate.
A few minutes afterwards Calamity had reached the deck of theAnn, where he was met by the Captain and the first mate.
"I demand an explanation of this outrage!" blustered the former. "Are you aware that you are committing piracy? that——"
Calamity cut him short.
"I know perfectly well what I'm doing, or I shouldn't be here. Your papers, Captain."
"By what right do you ask for my papers?" demanded the other, who showed signs of again becoming truculent.
"That," answered Calamity shortly, pointing to theHawk'sguns.
"This is outrageous, and I shall——"
"Your papers, Captain," interrupted Calamity peremptorily.
There was something in his voice which made theAnn'sskipper realise that argument was not only useless, but probably dangerous as well. He shrugged his shoulders and led the way to his cabin, where he invited Calamity to sit down. Then he unlocked a drawer and took from it a metal deed-box which he placed on the table.
"Where the devil are the keys?" he muttered, and, stooping over the box, began to fumble in his pockets.
Suddenly stepping back, he raised his head, and, as he did so, gave a sharp exclamation of mingled rage and fear. He was staring right into the barrel of a nasty-looking automatic pistol which Calamity was pointing directly at him.
"I've seen that game played before," said Calamity with a quiet smile. "Hand me your pistol; butt first, please."
And the discomfited skipper of theAnnreluctantly handed over a fully loaded revolver, which he had been in the act of drawing from his pocket when he chanced to look down the barrel of the automatic pistol.
"Thanks," said Calamity as he took it. "Now for those papers, if you'll be so kind."
Without a word, the other unlocked the box and handed over a bundle of documents. Calamity glanced over them hastily and then smiled.
"Your other papers, Captain," he said.
"Other papers! What other papers d'you mean? They're all there."
"I think not. If you wish to avoid trouble, you will fetch out your alternative papers at once. You didn't hoist the German ensign without having something to justify it."
"I swear that——"
"Don't," broke in Calamity. "I can do all the swearing I want for myself."
"But I can't give you what I haven't got!"
Calamity leant across the table till his face almost touched the other's.
"The papers," he said in a low, menacing voice. "Understand me?"
The other did, apparently, for, with a muttered curse, he unlocked one of the table drawers and took therefrom a second bundle of documents.
"Take them and be damned to you," he said, flinging them on the table.
Calamity picked up the papers, and, as he glanced at them there was a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
"Will you be good enough to explain to me, Captain Noel, how it is that you happen to have two different sets of papers?" he inquired. "The first state that theAnnis a British ship, owned by Masters and Ready of Sunderland, and that she has cleared for Hongkong from Rio. The second batch declare her to be a German vessel, cleared for Bangkok from Bremen. They give the owner as——"
He stopped abruptly as he glanced again at the paper he was holding. A look of incredulous astonishment appeared on his face, but it was almost immediately succeeded by one of the keenest satisfaction.
"——Isaac Solomon of Singapore," he concluded.
The other made no answer, and for a moment or two Calamity regarded him thoughtfully.
"It's a clever trick and how you managed to obtain these two sets of papers I don't pretend to guess," he went on. "It may interest you, however, to know that the esteemed Mr. Isaac Solomon is a dear—one might almost say, expensive—friend of mine, and no doubt he will let me into the secret later on. What is your cargo, Captain?"
"Sand ballast and Portland cement," growled the other.
"No doubt the cargo you took out was rather more interesting. But what's this?" he added, holding up a document heavily sealed.
"I don't know."
"Still, it would be as well to find out," and without hesitation he calmly broke the seals.
To the astonishment of them both, the document was absolutely blank; to all appearances a virgin sheet of paper.
"H'm, this is strange," murmured Calamity. "It is not usual to enclose and seal a blank sheet of paper with the ship's documents. Have you got a candle?"
Captain Noel produced one from a shelf and lit it. He seemed as eager to find out the meaning of this mysterious enclosure as Calamity himself. The latter held the paper in front of the flame and, as he had expected, writing began to appear. When the whole communication became legible he spread the document out on the table and commenced to read.
It was, in effect, a letter from a German official to Mr. Isaac Solomon of Singapore, informing him that his last cargo had reached its first destination, a neutral port, without mishap. This was followed by some very valuable advice concerning the manner in which another cargo—referred to as "Eastern merchandise"—might be delivered at the same port. There were also other matters of even greater interest, but Calamity decided to study these at a more convenient time.
"I have only one more question to ask you, Captain," he said. "What was the exact nature of this 'Eastern merchandise'?"
"Copper and nickel," answered the other.
"A very profitable cargo, I should imagine; yet not as profitable as this one little piece of paper should prove to me—eh, Captain Noel?"
"I'll take my oath I knew nothing of this," answered the latter eagerly.
"You knew about the cargo, at any rate. However, that's a matter which doesn't concern me. I shall hand you back your German clearance papers, but the English ones, together with this interesting little document, I shall keep."
"You—you're going to keep the English papers?" faltered the other.
"Yes."
"But, good God, man, I shall be captured! I can't reach a port with German papers. I'm at the mercy of the first British cruiser I meet!"
"Exactly. And dear Isaac Solomon, bless his gentle heart, will have his ship confiscated. Still, I'll wager he'd sooner the authorities took his ship than this piece of paper."
Calamity rose to his feet, and, leaving the German papers on the table, put the others in his pocket.
"I'll wish you good-day, Captain Noel," he said. "I may capture a few prizes during my cruise, but I can never hope to get another like this. If you should meet Mr. Solomon during the next week or so kindly remember me to him. Captain Calamity; he'll not have forgotten the name."
He left the steamer, and, returning to theHawk, told Mr. Dykes to continue the original course.
"Very good, sir," answered the mate. "I suppose," he added, "there weren't nothin' worth freezin' on to aboard that packet?"
Calamity made no answer, and, going to his cabin, locked himself in. Meanwhile, to the surprise and disappointment of the crew, theAnnwas permitted to proceed on her way and theHawkresumed her course.
"Don't savee what it means, don't you?" Jasper Skelt was saying in the foc'sle. "It means this, my jolly sailor-boys. The skipper's helped himself to the money-chest on that blooming barge and he's going to stick to it. Yes, my festive deck-wallopers, all the prize-money and plunder that comes your way you'll be able to stick in a hollow tooth."
A low, angry murmur went up, and then a man, bolder than the rest, rose to his feet.
"If I b'lieved you, Jas Skelt, I'd 'ave a go at that un'oly swine aft, and chance it."
"Aye, aye," growled some others. "We ain't goin' to be done out of our rights."
"Then you stand by me," answered Skelt, "and I'll see that you get 'em."
"We'll stand by you, mate," said the first speaker. "And, what's more, we'll make you skipper of the'Awk. Ain't that so?" he added, turning to the others.
There was a low murmur of approval.
As Calamity sat in his cabin reading the secret document which had so unexpectedly fallen into his hands, he chuckled grimly. It proved, beyond any vestige of a doubt, that Mr. Isaac Solomon was playing an extremely profitable, but also extremely hazardous game. It was not simply a case of blockade-running, it was a matter of trading with the enemy—in effect, treason. He was, by devious tricks and dodges, supplying the enemy with war material, and, it went without saying, making a gigantic profit on each rascally transaction. His method was wonderfully ingenious, for, by providing German and English clearance papers for his ships, he was reasonably sure of their getting through, whether stopped by British vessels or those of the enemy. Moreover, the cargoes were shipped to neutral ports and their real nature disguised, to lessen further the risk of discovery. But how the astute Solomon had managed to get these papers Calamity could not imagine; still, he had done so.
This remarkable document also shed a light on the character and variety of some of Mr. Solomon's numerous business activities, and seemed to show that he was even wealthier than rumour had alleged. Until now, Calamity himself had never guessed that his partner possessed any ships, and certainly Singapore knew nothing of it.
"Inscrutable are the ways of Solomon," he murmured with a smile.
He would not have parted with the incriminating document for a fortune because it meant that, henceforward, Solomon would be in his power. In all his transactions with the wily ship-chandler, he had always been made to feel that it was the latter who held the whip-hand. He had been conscious of it when he left Singapore on this privateering expedition and had more than suspected that Solomon's motives for financing him had been only partly concerned with the making of a profit out of possible prizes. He felt even more sure of it now, but it only increased his sense of grim satisfaction. The tables had been turned, and it was he who held the whip-hand, for it was in his power not only to ruin his partner financially, but to have him sent to prison for what, in all probability, would be the term of his natural life.
While Calamity was gloating over these matters, and while Jasper Skelt was doing his best to incite the crew to mutiny, Mr. Dykes was ventilating a grievance to the chief engineer. What puzzled and irritated him, as it did nearly everyone else on theHawk, was the Captain's seeming folly in letting theAnn, admittedly an enemy ship, get away. Even if she carried no cargo of any value, she could have been escorted into Singapore and claimed as a prize. The Admiralty award would surely have been generous, and well worth all the trouble.
This view he explained at some length to McPhulach, who was absorbing a fearful concoction of gin and rum. The engineer was not a very sympathetic listener at any time, but as both the second-mate and the second-engineer were on watch, there was no one else to whom Mr. Dykes could unburden himself with anything like freedom.
"I ain't saying but what he mayn't have his reasons, and very good ones," said the mate; "but, if he has, he ought to tell us. The crew are startin' to look nasty again, and who's to blame 'em? Three times already we've had a chance to rope in a prize and he's let every one breeze away. It gets by me, and that's a fact."
McPhulach, who had been dozing between drinks, opened his eyes as the speaker paused.
"He's a michty quare mon; a verra michty—hic—quare mon," he murmured, and closed his eyes again.
"Mind you," went on the mate, "I ain't grouchin', but, all the same, I'd like to know where this dance is going to end. Is he goin' to tote us all over the Pacific for the fun of stoppin' ships and letting 'em go again? And where's the prize-money that we were goin' to get such lashings of?"
A stentorian snore was the only reply, and Mr. Dykes, realising that the engineer was fast asleep, suppressed a desire to administer him a hearty kick, and left the cabin. Outside he came upon Miss Fletcher sitting on a camp-stool at the door of the cabin that had once been his.
"What's the matter? You're looking very serious," she said.
Mr. Dykes paused, and, leaning his back against the opposite bulkhead, stuck both hands in his pockets and assumed an air of weary resignation.
"I was jest tryin' to figger out whether we're on a yachtin' trip or whether the old man is jest dodgin' about for the sake of his health," he answered.
The girl looked puzzled.
"I don't understand," she said.
The mate heaved a sigh and sat down on the cabin step beside her. In spite of that past episode when he had forgotten himself, they were on very friendly terms. She did not appear to resent or even to remember the incident, probably because she knew that Mr. Dykes had learnt his lesson and would be more discreet in future. Certainly she had not reported the matter to Calamity, as he had at first feared she would, and this fact raised her in his esteem as much as the blow between the eyes had done. In fact, he had a very healthy respect for this self-possessed young woman.
"I don't understand what you mean," she reiterated.
Whereupon Mr. Dykes repeated more or less what he had said to the engineer concerning the Captain's apparent want of enterprise.
"You may be sure he knows what he's about," she said, when the mate had finished.
"I'm willin' to allow that," he answered; "but it don't help us any. We didn't sign on this packet for a pleasure cruise, and good intentions don't cut no ice."
"Then you don't trust the Captain?" she inquired, with a touch of scorn in her voice.
"Now you're gettin' a hitch on the wrong cow. I didn't say anything of the sort. What I want to know is, when are we goin' to start biz, the real biz? I ain't out to study the beauties of the deep; none of us are; we've seen 'em too often, and they ain't none too beautiful neither."
"Why don't you ask the Captain?"
"That ain't all," went on Mr. Dykes, ignoring the question, "it won't do to bank too much on this here crew. They're gettin' ugly, and when they do stampede it won't be like last time. There'll be real, genuine trouble accompanied by corpses—you can put your shirt on that."
"But you told me he quelled a mutiny single-handed when you were only a few days out."
"Yes; but this is different. Then the men were unprepared, they didn't know what to expect, and so the old man was able to raise Cain before they'd got their bearin's. This time it'll be different; it'll be a real, genuine, bloody mutiny, with hell to pay."
"Personally, I have no fear. I would back your Captain against any number of such scum," answered the girl a little contemptuously.
Mr. Dykes shook his head gloomily.
"This ain't the sort of ship for a woman to be on," he remarked.
"I am quite capable of taking care of myself."
The mate made no answer, and, realising that his forebodings were not meeting with any sympathy, rose slowly from the step and yawned.
"Guess I'll turn in for a spell," he said; "mine's the middle watch."
She made no attempt to detain him, and he lounged away towards the second-mate's cabin to get some sleep before going on duty.
The brief twilight of the tropics had given place to night, and, though there was no moon, the sky was ablaze with myriads of brilliant stars, some in clusters like groups of sparkling gems, others strewn, as it were, promiscuously over the translucent blue dome and a few isolated and outstanding by reason of their wonderful brilliance. The cool night-air was filled with a subtle, intoxicating perfume, and the sea was like a vast steel mirror save for the expanding streak of bubbling, foam-flecked water in the steamer's wake. And the only sounds to be heard were the steady, rhythmic beat of the engines and the gurgling swish of the water as it swept past the ship's sides, clear, cool, and enticing. The mast-head light shone out steady and bright like a star of enormous magnitude and on either beam the navigating lights cast red or green reflections on the placid sea.
Dora Fletcher retired to her cabin, where she sat watching, through an open port, the beauty and wonder of the starlit night. She had extinguished the lamp the better to enjoy this and the sense of peace which the darkness induced. Presently, however, she turned away with a sigh to prepare for bed, and, as she did so, glanced carelessly out of the port which looked across the deck towards the foc'sle. The door of the latter was shut, but through the chinks a yellow ray of light penetrated, and, listening intently, she caught the murmur of voices.
For a moment she forgot all about the beauty and peacefulness of the night, and her thoughts turned to the lugubrious forebodings of the mate. On such a night, and under such conditions, it was almost impossible to imagine a scene such as he had hinted; impossible to picture the silent and deserted decks aswarm with savage, bloodthirsty men, intent upon murder and destruction. Yet she, who had been afloat before most children have left the nursery, knew that it was possible, just as she knew that it was only the iron mastery of one man which kept this horde of ruffians in check. Since babyhood, almost, she had listened to tales of mutiny and crime on the high seas; had sailed with men who had witnessed such things, and some who even boasted of the parts they had played therein.
Suddenly she was roused from the vague, waking dream into which she had fallen by the sound of a man's voice raised almost to a shout. It dropped abruptly as though the speaker had suddenly recollected himself and was conscious of having committed an indiscretion. It was evident, however, that something unusual was going on in the foc'sle which, ordinarily, should have been silent till the relief watch was routed out and the off-going watch tumbled in. After a while she again heard voices, and then sounds that seemed to suggest subdued quarrelling. These sounds again died down, all was silent, and soon afterwards the light in the foc'sle was extinguished.
For some moments the girl lingered at the port, wondering what the commotion for'ad portended, wondering also whether the officer on the bridge had noticed it. The chances were that he had not, for the noise of the engines coming through the gratings would probably have drowned the sounds in the foc'sle, and the fact that it had been lighted up was not in itself suspicious; a dim light was always kept burning there.
She was just about to move away and turn in, when she saw the foc'sle door open and a man creep stealthily out. Had he stepped out boldly she would have thought nothing of it, but his furtive movements at once roused her curiosity. Keeping well in the shadow of the bulwarks, he crept forward till at last he reached the alleyway between the cabins amidships and disappeared. Next moment the girl heard soft footsteps approach her cabin, pass the door, and die away.
She kept quite still for a few seconds in order to let the man pass, then softly opened her door and peered out. At the other end of the alleyway, giving upon the after-deck, she caught sight of the shadowy figure making its way aft, and still keeping well in the shadows. Stepping noiselessly out of the cabin, she followed him in obedience to an insistent desire to find out what he was about to do. On reaching the deck-house aft which led to the Captain's quarters, the man stopped and the girl had barely time to sink behind a steam-winch before he turned round and gazed furtively about him.
Then, apparently satisfied that he was not being watched, the man did an extraordinary thing. Climbing over the taffrail, he began to lower himself gently towards the water. A wild fear that he intended to commit suicide took possession of the girl, and she was about to cry out, when his next action arrested her. With his feet on the iron wind-shoot that projected from the scuttle of the Captain's cabin, he lowered himself still farther and then, grasping the shoot with his hands, let himself down till he was nearly up to the waist in water.
Then, and not till then, the girl guessed what his intention was. The Captain's bunk was situated immediately beneath the porthole, a fact she had noticed during her first and, so far, last interview with Calamity. From his present insecure position, the man could, by putting his arm through the open port, reach the Captain as he lay asleep, and, providing he had a weapon, a knife for instance, stab him before he could utter a cry for help or defend himself.
And, even as she looked, Dora Fletcher saw the gleam of a knife in the man's hand; saw it raised for the murderous blow. Involuntarily she closed her eyes and was about to shriek for help when she felt herself seized from behind and a hand pressed tightly over her mouth.
"Not a word," whispered a harsh voice which, to her astonishment, she recognised as belonging to Captain Calamity.
He removed his hand from her mouth.
"Go back to your bunk," he said in a low tone. "And not a whisper of what you have seen to a soul. Understand?"
She nodded.
He jerked his head in a manner signifying that she was to go, and the girl crept back to her cabin, feeling very much like a school-boy who has been discovered breaking bounds. What she had thought to be a horrible tragedy had, so far as she was concerned, turned out to be a farce. Yet, with feminine inconsistency, her secret admiration for Calamity was increased a hundredfold. His extraordinary preparedness, his calm, unshakable self-reliance, his independence of everyone else, fascinated her. There was nothing picturesque or heroic in his manner or appearance, yet he had proved himself a match, and more than a match, for the desperadoes who surrounded him. There was not a man on board his equal in resourcefulness, watchfulness, or strength of purpose; he was master of them all.
Even while she felt deeply humiliated at his treatment of her, she realised the absurdity of such a feeling. To him she was of less consequence even than the most inefficient fireman or sailor on board; for all she knew to the contrary, he had, until this brief and unexpected encounter, forgotten her very existence. She felt that to nourish resentment on this account would be childish; a wave might as well nourish resentment against the rock on which it ineffectually dashed itself. For the first time in her life Dora Fletcher had met a man who was as indifferent to her feelings as he was to her sex, and, curiously enough, she was not altogether displeased by this.
Calamity, meanwhile, was playing his own game in his own way. Withdrawing into the shadows, he awaited the return of Skelt from his murderous errand. He had not long to wait. A moment or two after Dora Fletcher had been so curtly ordered back to her cabin, the head of the ex-boatswain appeared over the taffrail. He cast a hurried glance right and left, then cautiously clambered over the rail and lowered himself on to the deck. As he did so a hand shot out from the darkness and clutched his throat with a grip of steel. Not until he was on the verge of being suffocated did the choking grip relax, and then a hand fastened upon his shoulder.
"Silence. Come with me," said a voice which sent a thrill of terror through him.
Skelt had no alternative but to obey, and so, with the Captain's heavy hand still upon his shoulder, accompanied him into the cabin.
"Now," said Calamity as he seated himself and surveyed his prisoner, "be good enough to explain this disobedience to orders."
The fellow looked at him in astonishment. It was disconcerting enough to find himself a prisoner in the hands of the man he had intended to murder, but it was amazing to be accused by him of what sounded like a minor offence.
"I don't understand," he answered sullenly.
"Is that how you have been in the habit of addressing your Captain?"
"Sir," growled the man.
"Remember that the next time you speak. Now then, what is your excuse for being on the after-deck when, as you know, no men are allowed there after sunset unless by express command?"
Something akin to hope arose in the ex-bos'n's breast. Could it be possible, he thought, that the Captain was unaware of his real intention and thought that he had merely disobeyed one of the ship's regulations? And, being wholly ignorant of the extraordinary methods of the terrible skipper of theHawk, Jasper Skelt permitted himself the luxury of a little secret contempt.
"I didn't know anything about the orders, sir," he answered.
"Indeed? Do you know the penalty for disobedience on board a privateer?"
"No, sir."
"Death."
The man started nervously and turned a shade paler. Things were not going quite so well as he had thought, after all.
"I've never been aboard a privateer before, sir," he replied humbly.
"So I presume. What's more, I don't think you're likely ever to be aboard another."
Again the ex-boatswain glanced nervously at the skipper. The last remark struck him as being unpleasantly ominous. The question which followed confirmed his worst fears.
"Did the men know why you came aft to-night?"
"I—I can't say, sir," faltered Skelt.
"You mean to say that you told none of them what you intended to do?"
The man's knees were trembling. He made an attempt to speak, but seemed to choke before he could get the words out.
"Answer me!" rapped out the Captain, and Skelt started as if at the sound of a pistol-shot.
"N—no, sir," he faltered, hardly realising what he said.
"Then I am to understand that they didn't know you intended to murder me?"
Skelt's last hope deserted him. His face turned an ashen grey. He tried to speak, but only a dry sob of abject terror escaped him.
"If you don't answer my question, you die inside two minutes," said Calamity quietly.
"Not all of them, sir," replied the wretched man.
"You admit that you meant to kill me, then?"
"God forgive me, sir, I——"
"Never mind about God," interrupted the Captain grimly. "It's me you're up against at the moment. Answer me, did all the men know of this?"
"Yes, sir."
"And they were all quite willing you should do it."
"Only two objected, sir."
"Who were they?"
"Li Chang and Brunton, sir."
"But they made no effort to warn me."
"The others said they'd kill them if they did."
"I see."
Calamity leant back in his chair and surveyed his prisoner with the calm, questioning scrutiny of a scientist surveying some new and interesting specimen.
"So," he remarked at length, "it never occurred to any of you that I might be acquainted with everything that went on in the foc'sle; you even felt sure that I knew nothing of the little indignation meeting you held last Sunday. You were actually such fools as to suppose that, having shipped the worst gang of port vermin that ever soiled a ship's decks, I should remain quietly in my cabin in the hope that they were behaving themselves like decent men. I never thought that rascality and faith went hand in hand."
Skelt made no answer, and the Captain rang a little hand-bell on the table. Next moment the steward, a huge Chinaman called Sing-hi, entered the cabin.
"You lingee?" he inquired.
"Yes." Calamity turned to the prisoner. "Have you anything to say?" he asked.
"For God's sake don't be hard on me," implored the would-be murderer with abject piteousness. "Give me a chance, sir, and I'll do anything for you. Only one chance, sir, only one, and, before Christ, I'll be your slave."
A queer smile came over Calamity's face as he regarded the cringing servility of the ruffian.
"You would, would you?" he observed. "If I asked you to kill a certain man fora'd while he was asleep, would you do it?"
"Yes, sir, if you'll spare my life. I'll do anything, sir!" cried the man, with grovelling eagerness.
"You'd swear to do it?"
"I'll take my oath on the Bible, sir."
"I thought you would," answered the Captain grimly. "Steward, lock the man up in your room and don't hesitate to kill him if he tries to escape. Savee?"
"Savee plenty muchee," answered the huge Chinaman with a grin, whereupon he caught hold of the ex-boatswain's collar, swung him round, and hustled him out of the cabin. When they had gone, Calamity arose and made his way to the bridge, where Mr. Dykes was on watch.
"Anything to report?" asked the Captain.
"No, sir."
"How are you managing with the crew?"
"Well, sir, they ain't quite as peaceful as they might be; not since we met theAnn."
"Indeed? why?"
"They seem to think we might have made her a prize and taken her into port. In fact," added the mate, warming up, "I may as well tell you there's going to be trouble, sir."
"Mutiny, you mean?"
"Yep, and when they start there'll be blue murder. It's that swine we picked up that's been workin' the mischief."
"Then we must deal with him, Mr. Dykes."
"I guess it'll be a stiff proposition, Cap'n; he's gotten all the crew behind him. D'rectly you lay hands on him, it'll be like a spark in a powder-barrel."
"Then you regard him, virtually, as Captain of the ship?"
The mate made no answer, but shrugged his shoulders significantly. He believed that, in utterly disregarding the wishes of the crew, and, at the same time, maintaining an iron discipline, Calamity had bitten off "a bigger chunk than he could chew." However, he considered it prudent to keep this opinion to himself, and therein he was undoubtedly right.
"By to-morrow morning," went on the Captain after a pause, "all signs of mutiny will, I think, have disappeared."
"I hope to God they will, sir."
"I feel sure that an appeal to the men's reason, such as I shall make to-morrow, will not fail in its effect."
"An appeal to their reason, sir!" gasped the mate.
"Yes. A mild demonstration of the absurdity of attempting to mutiny."
"I don't get you, sir."
"No? Well, muster all hands on deck at eight bells. Good-night, Mr. Dykes."
"Good-night, sir," answered the mate, and, walking to the bridge-rail, expectorated over the side. "Well," he muttered, "if it ain't enough to make a feller spit blood. An appeal to their reason! Gee, he'll be holdin' family prayers in the cabin next."
At six bells, which was an hour before his watch was up, the mate perceived a man mounting the bridge-ladder.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, "who are you?"
"Brunton, sir," answered the man.
"Well, what d'you want? It's not your watch."
"Have you seen Skelt, sir?"
"Seen Skelt!" roared the mate. "What the hell do you take me for? D'you think I know where every perishin' son of a cock-eyed monkey aboard this packet is?"
"He was going to murder the Captain, sir. I couldn't get away before, as all the others were watching me. I only got out now because they think he's funked it."
"Goin' to murder—here, fetch the second-mate up, quick!"
The man hurried to Smith's cabin and roused out the sleeping occupant, who stumbled up to the bridge vomiting profanity of varied hues.
"Get aft!" shouted the mate, "they're murderin' the old man."
Smith turned and dashed off to the Captain's cabin, which he entered without even the ceremony of knocking. It was empty, but from a small room adjoining came the sound of stentorian snores.
"Blimey!" muttered Smith, glancing round him. "He don't sound as if he were dead."
His eye fell on the ship's log which lay open on the table. Instinctively he glanced at it and, under the entry for the day, read the following:
"Jasper Skelt, boatswain of the barqueEsmeralda. Died at sea. Cause, misadventure."
He slowly returned to the bridge and told the mate what he had seen.
"You're sure he was alive?" asked the latter.
"Well, he was makin' a noise like a motor-'bus climbin' a hill," answered Smith.
At eight bells that morning Mr. Dykes, in quite a different frame of mind to that of a couple of hours ago, sent the bos'n to muster all hands on deck. The men tumbled out sullenly, muttering among themselves in a manner which seemed to justify the mate's recent warning to the Captain.
Suddenly one of them gave a cry.
In the clear, grey morning light, they beheld, hanging from one of the derricks, the lifeless body of Jasper Skelt. His hands and feet were tightly bound with cords, and he was suspended from the boom by a rope round his neck.
Judging from the men's faces as they stared at the ghastly spectacle, Calamity's "appeal" was not likely to prove a vain one.