"Oh I'll tak' the high road,An' you'll tak' the low——"
"Oh I'll tak' the high road,An' you'll tak' the low——"
The voice ceased abruptly and there staggered into the open the figure of Phineas McPhulach, a revolver in one hand and a gin-bottle—which, at the moment, he was holding up to his mouth—in the other.
"For the days of auld Lang Syne!"
"For the days of auld Lang Syne!"
bellowed the engineer as he removed the bottle from his lips.
Then, heedless of the sensation he was causing among friend and foe alike, he commenced to dance a Highland fling, at the same time waving the revolver above his head and firing it to the peril of all beholders. Suddenly he threw the weapon from him, tried to execute a complicated step, failed, and collapsed on a heap of smoking timber.
"How the devil did you get here?" demanded Calamity.
A beatific but uncomprehending smile illumined the engineer's face and he made a vain effort to raise the gin-bottle to his lips.
"It's a—hic—michty square bus—hic—iness," he murmured.
"Get up," commanded the Captain.
"Eh, mon, but will ye no hae a wee sup o' this—hic—cordial. It's a verra——"
His voice died away into an incoherent murmur, his eyes closed, and he emitted a lusty snore. Calamity seized his arm and dragged him to his feet; but McPhulach, still snoring, slid gently back into his former recumbent position. Suddenly, however, he sat up with a jerk and his expression changed from befuddled contentment to genuine horror.
"Mon!" he cried, pointing a trembling finger in front of him, "D'ye ken yon snake? An' losh presairve us, there's anither beastie, a pink ane, wi' thairty legs!"
He raised the bottle above his head and threw it with all his might at the imaginary reptile, narrowly missing Calamity.
"Smith!" called the latter, "take this drunken sot back to the ship and pour a bucket of cold water over him."
With the assistance of a couple of men, the inebriated engineer was raised to his feet. After a vain attempt to embrace Calamity, whom he addressed as "me ain dear mither," and to kiss one of the German prisoners, he burst into tears and was carried away by four seamen, who ducked him in the water before depositing him in the bottom of one of the boats. Here, although soaked to the skin, he fell into a peaceful slumber, from which he did not awake till the morning, when he found himself back in his bunk.
In the meantime, the prisoners were marched down the hill and placed in the "go-down," except the commandant, whom Calamity wished to question concerning the place where the booty taken by the gunboat was stored—for it was pretty certain the Germans had not left it on board her. He was, however, unable at first to elicit any satisfactory reply, the prisoner declaring that he knew nothing about it.
"Very well," said Calamity, "since you refuse to tell me, I must take measures to induce you to change your mind."
"What is that?" asked the prisoner, starting. Like most German officers, he understood English perfectly.
"I mean," answered the Captain suavely, "that if your memory is at fault concerning the disposal of the gunboat's plunder, I shall try and find some means of refreshing it."
"You would not dare to torture me, sir!" exclaimed the commandant, turning pale.
"There are a few things I wouldn't dare, perhaps, but that's not one of them."
At last the commandant, fearing that his captor was in earnest, reluctantly gave the required information, and Calamity, with the bos'n and half a dozen picked men, made his way to the place indicated. There they found, on the side of the hill, a strong iron door, in front of which was a narrow foot-track about twenty yards long, evidently the result of sentinels pacing up and down. This door, of course, was securely fastened, but a charge of dynamite sufficed to blow it in, and Calamity, followed by the others, who carried storm lanterns, entered. There was nothing romantic or suggestive of Aladdin's cave about the place; in fact, it looked much like an ordinary store-house, with cases and packages stacked around it.
"Open that," said Calamity, indicating one of several heavily sealed cases, edged with metal.
After some little difficulty, for the case was very stoutly made, the top was knocked off, revealing bars of bullion.
"Very good," murmured the Captain, "very good."
From the marks on the cases, he judged that the gold had been sent out from England to a Colonial bank. Obviously the ship carrying it had been stopped and robbed by the German pirate-captain, who, taking one thing with another, appeared to have been both industrious and successful in the profession of his adoption. A methodical search showed that there were quite a number of these cases, not all of them bearing the same marks, for some were French, and must have been taken from a different ship. There were other things besides bullion: bales of cloth, cases of wines and spirits, tobacco and cigars, and so forth. A money-chest, well stocked with English, American, and German notes and gold, was probably the property of the German Government for use in paying wages, purchasing coal, ammunition, and such-like necessaries, while the Kaiser's cruisers were still at large in the Pacific.
Dawn was breaking and the fires which had consumed the fort were dying down as if satiated, when the treasure, strongly guarded, was taken on board theHawk, where, under Calamity's personal supervision, it was carefully stowed away.
On the following morning Calamity went ashore, Mr. Dykes having preceded him for the purpose of finding out what stores, coal, and so forth had escaped the fire. Of coal there proved to be an abundance stored in a "go-down" near the little jetty that ran out into the harbour, and so arrangements were made to replenish theHawk'sbunkers, which were running low.
"By the way," said the Captain after Mr. Dykes had made his report, "have you come across any natives? Surely there ought to be some on an island like this."
"Well, sir, I guess if there ever were any they've been cleared out by the squareheads," answered the mate. "I ain't seen a sign of one."
"Well, come with me and bring half a dozen men with you," said Calamity, and led the way up the hill to the smoking remains of the fort. Upon the very summit a spar was set up on end with the Union Jack nailed to it, and Calamity formally annexed the island in the name of His Britannic Majesty, King George the Fifth. This done, the Captain, accompanied by Mr. Dykes, paid a visit to the beached gunboat and found that, although her propeller had been damaged, the work of repair was all but completed. Moreover, in a shed near by they found a forge and a well-fitted engineer's workshop, with all the tools and machinery for repairing damaged engines.
"This is better than I could have hoped," said Calamity. "They seem to have established a regular small dockyard here."
"German thoroughness, sir," answered the mate. "You see, if any of their small boats in the Pacific got knocked about they could put in here for repairs. I'll bet theEmdenwould have quitted business long ago if it hadn't been for this little cosy corner."
"Well, we'll take over the gunboat since we can't cram all the prisoners on board theHawk, otherwise I should blow her up."
"Don't know how you're going to officer her, sir."
"We must manage somehow," answered Calamity.
Mr. Dykes, however, mildly protested. He pointed out that there were only himself and Smith available to take command of her, and, since only one of them could be spared from theHawk, the whole work of navigating the gunboat would fall on one man.
"It would mean that he'd have to be on the bridge practically night and day, sir," he concluded.
"You'll have to make the best arrangements you can, that's all."
"Me, sir!" ejaculated the mate.
"Yes, I shall place you in command of the gunboat with some of theHawk'smen. You must divide the watches with the bos'n's-mate and any other man you like to select. You may pick your crew."
Mr. Dykes groaned, but decided that it was not safe to offer any further objections. To be placed in command of a steamer without even one reliable officer under him, and with, perhaps, twenty or more prisoners on board, was a great deal more than he had bargained for.
"What about an engineer, sir?" he asked.
"You can have Sims."
The mate choked back the remark he was about to make concerning the qualities of Mr. Sims. But inwardly he vowed that, if the second-engineer had no conception of what hell might be like, he would be in possession of a good working theory before he left the gunboat.
"Now that's settled," went on the Captain, "you had better go aboard her and make preparations for coaling and victualling."
"Very good, sir," answered Mr. Dykes in a spiritless voice, and departed in deep dudgeon. Had the Captain shown any inclination to listen to his advice, he would have suggested leaving the prisoners on the island under a strong guard, till the British authorities were informed and could send a vessel to take them away. However, to argue with Calamity would be about as cheerful a job as trying experiments with a live shell, and so the mate wisely accepted his burden with what fortitude he could muster.
Having acquainted himself with what resources the one-time German colony possessed, Calamity returned to theHawk. He was anxious to consult McPhulach concerning the repairs to the engines and other parts of the ship which had suffered from the fort's guns on the preceding night. There was to be explained, also, the mystery of the engineer's presence in the fort, when, according to orders, he should have been in the engine-room of theHawk.
"Where is Mr. McPhulach?" asked the Captain as soon as he stepped on board.
"In his cabin, sir," answered one of the men.
"Then go and fetch him—no, stay though, I'll go to him myself," and Calamity made his way to the engineer's abode.
"Wha's there?" inquired a feeble voice in answer to the Captain's knock.
Calamity, instead of answering, opened the door and stepped in. The cabin was darkened by having the curtains drawn across the ports, but he could make out the figure of McPhulach propped up in his bunk with the aid of a battered leather bag and a pillow. The engineer presented a sorry spectacle; his head was enveloped in a wet towel, and on a locker by his side stood a cup of tea and a half-eaten slice of dry toast.
"How are you?" inquired the Captain, drawing the curtains apart to admit the daylight.
"I'm no verra weel, an' I thank ye," replied McPhulach, still in a feeble voice. "Ma heid is like a footba' filled wi' lead."
"Naturally," remarked the Captain coldly.
"Aye, I ken it weel," groaned the sufferer.
"What I want to know is, how the devil you got into the fort and what you did when you got there," went on Calamity.
"It's a michty quare business, skeeper, an' I dinna a'togither ken it mesel'."
"You were ordered to remain on board, instead of which, I suppose, you smuggled yourself into one of the boats when they put off."
"Weel, I didna swim," answered McPhulach testily, and held his aching head in both hands.
"You disobeyed orders."
There was an ominous ring in the Captain's voice which made the victim of alcoholic excess pull himself together sharply.
"It was a' due to a nichtmare I had, d'ye ken?" he said, thinking as hard as his befuddled brain would permit.
"A nightmare! What in hell are you talking about?"
"Weel, I must ha' walked in ma sleep. I thocht ma second—or mebbe 'twas ma thaird—wife was after me...."
McPhulach rambled on till Calamity, losing patience, pulled him up and demanded to know the truth. It came out gradually, and the Captain learnt that, just as the boats were putting off from theHawk, McPhulach had been seized with an irresistible desire to feel dry land under him again. So, unobserved in the darkness, he had slipped into the last boat and been taken ashore. There he mingled with the men and advanced with them in the first attack. During the fight which followed, he succeeded in scaling the stockade and had just landed safely on the other side when a soldier sprang forward and clubbed him with the butt-end of a rifle. For a time he lay there unconscious, but, on coming to, quickly realised that he was inside the stockade and might be killed at any moment. As this latter contingency did not figure on his programme, he started to crawl away and at last came to an orderly-room which was untenanted. Taking careful observations, he noticed on the table several bottles of spirits, and drew the conclusion that the place was a sort of smoking-room used by the officers of the fort; at any rate, he decided to sample the contents of the bottles.
By the time he had finished what must have been nearly two pints of mixed spirits, he felt equal to taking the fort single-handed; in fact, as he now confessed to Calamity, he would have charged a whole battalion.
"I didna quite ken what to do," he said, gazing dreamily out of the porthole, "so I sat doon on the doorstep an' waited for ma temper to rise."
Apparently it rose pretty quickly, for soon afterwards he wandered out into the dark enclosure—having first placed the remains of a bottle of gin in his pocket—to see what he could do. As a start, he drew his revolver and one of the first shots, fired at random, hit a charge of powder as it was being removed from the magazine.
"An' after that," concluded the engineer wearily, "I kenned no mair."
"I see," murmured Calamity, for now the mysterious explosion which had resulted in the capture of the fort was explained. "I suppose," he added, with unwonted geniality, "you don't remember trying to kill pink snakes with an empty gin-bottle?"
McPhulach slowly shook his head.
"I ca' to mind seein' a green spider an' a blue centipede creepin' across yon bulkhead a whiles since," he replied. "But ye meet wi' unco' quare animals in these latitudes."
Calamity rose to his feet.
"I've a good mind to log you a week's pay for disobeying orders," he said.
The threat did not seem to impress the engineer, who suddenly leant over the side of his bunk and stared fixedly at the floor.
"I'll hae to get a rat-trap," he murmured.
The next day a number of sampans and canoes loaded with fruit, vegetables, and flowers, came alongside theHawk. Mr. Dykes had been in error when he stated his belief that the Germans had cleared all the natives out. As it was discovered afterwards, the people had fled to the interior on hearing the guns and had only come back that afternoon.
Smith, walking along the deck, caught sight of Dora Fletcher leaning over the taffrail, just below which was a sampan loaded with wonderful tropical flowers. Its owner had been endeavouring to sell these, but without much success, because none of the crew wanted flowers, being chiefly concerned with the eatables.
"How much?" asked the girl of the native in the sampan.
The man did not understand English, but he comprehended the girl's gestures, and made some unintelligible reply.
Miss Fletcher, seeing Smith, asked if he would help her.
"Like a bird," answered the second-mate cheerfully, and, addressing the owner of the flowers, shouted something in the vernacular.
"Well?" queried the girl, when the man had answered.
"He says," answered Smith, "that you can have all those flowers for a pair of old trousers."
The girl stared at him with a look of astonishment that gradually gave place to amusement.
"It's the truth, straight," went on Smith, as though she had questioned the accuracy of his translation.
"What am I to do?" she asked helplessly. "I wanted those flowers."
"I dunno, unless—half a mo' though. I'll be back in a jiff," and the second-mate darted off towards his cabin.
He returned a couple of minutes later with a pair of greasy, paint-daubed trousers over his arm.
"Here, corffee-dial," he said, and flung the garments into the sampan.
The native's face expanded into a broad grin, he cast an approving eye over the discarded trousers, and then started to hand up the flowers.
"How's that?" demanded Smith triumphantly, when the sampan had been emptied.
"It's very kind of you," answered the girl. "How much do I owe you for the trousers?"
"Owe me!" ejaculated the other. Then he smiled. "Well, I reckon I could have got a bob for them from a Whitechapel Sheeny."
"Then I owe you a shilling."
Smith nodded. He knew she would insist on paying him that shilling and was wondering how on earth she would raise it. He helped her to carry the flowers away and heap them on the bunk in her cabin.
"Oh, aren't they lovely?" she murmured.
"Um—m, I s'pose so," answered Smith, eyeing them critically, "but I'd rather have a cokernut myself," whereupon he departed.
Dora Fletcher, susceptible to beauty herself, was amused at the second-mate's polite contempt for the flowers. She began to arrange them about the cabin, and, while doing so, was struck by a whimsical thought.
What, she wondered, would the grim and taciturn Captain think if he came back and found his cabin full of tastefully arranged flowers?
She paused for a minute with one finger on her underlip, considering the startling proposition. Then her mouth curved in an ironical little smile, and, half-amused, half-contemptuous of her action, she gathered up some scarlet hibiscus into a bunch and made her way towards the Captain's cabin. Descending the companion quietly, she found herself for the second time in that mysterious sanctum. It was not very large, and there were none of the homely decorations—photographs, pictures, and so forth—with which some skippers decorate their quarters. Some maps and charts, a pair of pistols, one or two bracket-shelves with books hung from the bulkheads, and the sideboards were littered with odds and ends—tobacco-pipes, half-empty boxes of matches, and other masculine lumber. The place reeked, too, of strong tobacco, and there were two or three cigar-butts lying on the table.
The girl glanced around her with an expression of mingled amusement and perplexity, then took a tumbler from the rack and filled it with water. Having arranged the flowers in it to her satisfaction, she stood for a moment surveying the effect, with that half-ironical smile still playing about her lips.
As she stood thus, the cabin door opened softly and she swung round, the blood mounting in a crimson flood to her face. But, with a gasp of relief, she saw that the intruder was Sing-hi and not the Captain, and her heart ceased beating tumultuously.
The imperturbable celestial showed not the slightest sign of surprise at finding her there, and merely greeted her with his usual urbane smile.
"Sing-hi, I have been putting some flowers here for the Captain," she said; "but you're not to tell him I've been here—savee?"
"Savee," answered Sing-hi, and the girl left the cabin feeling tolerably sure that the Chinaman would not betray her.
She was quite correct in this assumption, for, after watching her disappear up the companion, Sing-hi shuffled back into the cabin, emptied the flowers out of the port, dried the glass, and returned it to the rack.
During the afternoon McPhulach, who had recovered from the effects of his debauch, went ashore to meet Calamity. The engineer wished to inspect the workshop and the plant it contained, in order to make arrangements for repairing theHawk'sengines as speedily as possible. Also, since the Captain had decided to convey some of the prisoners to Singapore in the gunboat, the latter had to be examined and overhauled before she could be floated; thus, in one way and another, McPhulach and his staff were likely to be kept busy for several days to come.
Leaving the engineer to attend to these matters, Calamity went in search of Mr. Dykes, whom he found superintending the loading of lighters with coal for replenishing theHawk'sbunkers. To facilitate this work, the mate had pressed some of the German prisoners into his service and these were employed in transferring the coal from the "go-down" to the jetty.
"Thought I might as well make use of these squareheads, sir," he explained when the Captain came up.
"Where are the others?"
"Still in the shack yonder, sir. Before rations were served out this morning I made 'em all take a bath in the harbour. One of 'em, who speaks English, said he should complain to you."
"On account of the bath?"
"Yes, sir. Called it cruelty towards defenceless prisoners."
"We'll see about that later. How many have you got, Mr. Dykes?"
"Somewhere between thirty and forty I guess, sir. One of them—the slob who complained about the bath—reckons that the explosion and the fire did for about the same number, not countin' those who were killed and wounded in the fighting."
"Which means that there must have been about a hundred men in the fort all told."
"That's how I figger it out, sir."
"Well, you'd better fetch the prisoners out, Mr. Dykes, and I'll have a look at them," said Calamity.
Accordingly they were marched out of the "go-down" under an armed guard and paraded before the Captain. Most of them were soldiers, but a few had formed part of the gunboat's crew and belonged to the German Naval Reserve.
"Which is the man who wishes to make a complaint?" asked Calamity, when the prisoners had filed past him.
"You with the grouch, fall out!" cried the mate.
A man in sailor's uniform stepped out of the ranks, and, drawing himself up stiffly, saluted the Captain. The latter, as he glanced at him more closely, started, and a look of recognition flashed between the two.
"Your name?" asked Calamity.
"Fritz Siemann, sir," answered the prisoner.
"Mr. Dykes," said the Captain, "have this man sent aboard theHawk, and see that he's kept away from the other prisoners."
"Very good, sir," answered the mate, who supposed that Calamity was going to deal with the grumbler in a manner that would check any further display of discontent.
When, later on in the day, the Captain returned on board theHawk, he ordered Fritz Siemann to be brought to his cabin. The prisoner was brought in by a couple of sailors, who, at a word from Calamity, left them together.
"This is a strange meeting, my worthy Fritz," said the Captain, looking at the man with an ironical smile.
The prisoner shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. He was a man of between thirty and forty, very fair, tall, and with a pair of small, cunning eyes.
"Well, how is it that I find you out here in the Pacific, a sailor instead of a valet?" asked the Captain after a pause.
"I came out on a cruiser as a Naval Reservist, and was afterwards transferred to the gunboat," answered the fellow.
"When did you leave England?"
"A day or two before war was declared."
"You were recalled by the German Government?"
"Yes."
"H'm; and how was your master when you left?"
"He died about three months before I went," answered the man.
"Died!"
"Yes, sir, he fell from his horse while hunting."
Calamity was silent for some moments, and then he turned once more to the German.
"Did he ever mention my name in your presence?"
"Not often, but he was always trying to find out if you were dead."
A grim smile stole over the Captain's face at this. Somehow it seemed to amuse him.
"But, so far as you know, he was never able to find out for certain?"
"I don't think so, but everyone thought you were dead, except Mr. Vayne."
"Yes, Vayne was the only friend I had," muttered the Captain. He turned sharply to the prisoner. "Did my brother pay you well for assisting him in his rascality?"
"I—I don't understand," faltered the German nervously.
"Nevertheless, I should advise you to try," answered Calamity quietly, "it may save you considerable discomfort. Now, answer my question."
"He paid me well enough while I was in his service," growled the man reluctantly; "but, as for rascality——"
"I'm referring to the forged cheque," broke in the Captain.
The prisoner started and shot a keen glance at him.
"Forged cheque?" he repeated as if puzzled.
"I am perfectly aware of the part you played in that little affair, so don't risk your neck by trying to prevaricate. As it is, I'm half inclined to hang you here and now, but you shall assuredly swing, my lad, if you utter a single lie."
The ex-valet turned deathly pale, for he realised that the threat was no empty one. He shifted uneasily from one foot to another, glanced furtively round the cabin as if considering the possibilities of escape, and finally let his gaze rest on the Captain.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked sullenly.
"I want you to tell me the truth, and bear in mind that your life depends on it."
"About the cheque?"
"About the cheque."
"He forged it."
"How do you know?"
"I was in the room with him?"
"You helped him, in fact?"
"I suppose so."
"By God, you deserve to be hanged if ever a man did," exclaimed the Captain.
"You asked me to tell you the truth, sir," said the man, shrinking back.
"Get on with your story."
"There's nothing much to tell, sir. The scheme worked without a hitch, and everyone was deceived—except Mr. Vayne; he was always doubtful."
"Well, and what did you get out of it? Such assistance as you gave was invaluable."
"Five hundred pounds."
"H'm, a very profitable stroke of business on your part, especially as it placed you in a position to levy blackmail at will. Now what fee"—an ugly expression crossed the Captain's face as he uttered this—"do you require in consideration of your writing down a full account of that interesting transaction and signing it in the presence of witnesses?"
The other hesitated a moment.
"A thousand pounds in cash and a guarantee that I shall not be handed over to the British authorities as a prisoner of war."
"Agreed. You shall have the money in English and American notes as soon as you have prepared the document."
"And if I change my mind?"
"Why, then," answered Calamity with a genial smile, "it'll be the last time you ever change it on this earth," and, rising, he laid pen, ink, and paper before the prisoner.
"Call the steward when you have finished and he will send for me," said Calamity as he left the cabin.
For nearly an hour the German wrote steadily, pausing every now and again to read what he had written. When at last he had finished he called for the steward.
"Tell the Captain I'm ready," he said as Sing-hi appeared in the doorway.
The Chinaman nodded and a few minutes afterwards the Captain entered, accompanied by Smith and McPhulach.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said Calamity, himself taking a chair. "I have brought you here," he went on, "to witness the signature of a document which this man has written. He will read it over first, and when I tell you that every word is absolutely confidential, I feel sure you will both observe the strictest secrecy. At least," he added significantly, "it will be to your advantage to do so."
The two witnesses murmured assent and settled themselves down to listen. Then, at a nod from the Captain, Fritz picked up the paper and began to read. At the start, the engineer and the second-mate looked mildly surprised, but as the man read on their expressions changed to amazement and they stared from the reader to Calamity with looks of mingled incredulity and awed wonder. At length the prisoner, having finished reading the document, laid it on the table and signed it.
"Blimey!" muttered Smith under his breath.
"A michty quare business," remarked McPhulach.
"Now, gentlemen," said Calamity, "I will ask you to append your signatures as witnesses of this interesting confession."
Smith picked up the pen, and, after a preparatory flourish, signed his name. Then he handed the pen to McPhulach, who took it somewhat gingerly.
"I'm no incurrin' ony liabeelity?" he asked cautiously.
"None whatever," answered the Captain.
"I dinna hauld wi' signing papers mesel'," went on the engineer, "it's producteeve of unco——"
"Are you going to sign that paper or not?" interrupted the Captain.
McPhulach hesitated no longer, but hastily scrawled his signature underneath Smith's.
"Thank you both," said Calamity; "that's all I shall need."
Smith and the engineer, taking the hint, departed and left the Captain with his prisoner.
"Now you want your reward, I suppose," remarked Calamity, and, stepping into his little sleeping cabin, he brought out the money-chest which had been taken from the treasure-house in the fort. From this he counted out the equivalent of one thousand pounds, most of it, at the prisoner's request, in American notes.
"You must give me a receipt for these," he said.
The man wrote out a receipt, signed it, and took in exchange the parcel of notes.
"You've promised not to hand me over to the British, remember," said he.
"I shan't forget it," answered the Captain. "There are quite enough scoundrels in English prisons already, without adding to their number."
"And I can't go back to the island."
"I suppose not. Well, I will see what can be done, and in the meantime you had better stay here."
Calamity locked the document in a steel deed-box, placed it under the bunk in his sleeping-cabin, and then went on deck, having previously told Sing-hi to keep watch outside the cabin and not to let the prisoner leave it. He was somewhat puzzled with regard to the promise he had made Fritz Siemann, for, should he be taken to Singapore with the other prisoners, he would certainly be interned. The only way out of it, seemingly, was to put in at some neutral port and land the man there.
Some two hours later he returned to the cabin and found the prisoner seated on the settee ostensibly reading a book.
"I hope," said the Captain quietly, "you find the book entertaining, Mr. Siemann?"
"Ye—yes, thank you," answered the man rather nervously.
"May I ask, purely as a matter of curiosity, whether you always read your books upside down?"
The volume slipped from the German's hand and he muttered a guttural oath.
"I just picked it up as you came in," he said.
"And did your investigations meet with success?"
"My—I don't understand."
"I mean," went on the Captain, "did you succeed in your efforts to force that deed-box and abstract your confession?"
The prisoner's face changed colour, but he tried to bluster out a denial.
"I—I haven't touched the box," he said.
"Then it's rather strange that your jacket should be smeared with white paint. You see, my bunk was re-painted only this——"
The Captain's remark was cut short, for the German suddenly sprang to his feet and aimed a terrific blow at him with a short, pointed sheath-knife. Calamity was just in time to avoid the weapon, which struck the table with such force that the point snapped off, while the would-be murderer stumbled forward under the impetus of the stroke. Before he could recover himself, the Captain had seized him by the throat, at the same time calling for Sing-hi.
"The irons out of my drawer," he said when the Chinaman appeared.
Sing-hi opened a drawer, took therefrom a pair of handcuffs and slipped them over the prisoner's wrists.
"You'd better lock the fellow in your pantry for the time being," said Calamity as he went out.
The same night Mr. Fritz Siemann—that is to say, his mortal remains—was lowered into the sea, sewed up in a canvas bag. And, inside that bag, besides the firebars used as sinkers, was the thousand pounds in notes.
Captain Calamity was not the man to break his word.
During the next three days the work of repairing theHawk'sengines went on unceasingly under McPhulach's supervision. The gunboat, which, it was found, had already been repaired by the Germans, was floated, and arrangements were made for accommodating the prisoners she would have to carry. Calamity christened herSatellite, and the name was painted on her stern in big white letters over the wordGnesen, which had formerly been there.
On the afternoon of the day preceding Calamity's departure three of the guns in the fort which had escaped damage from the fire were rendered useless, while such stores, ammunition, and coal as could not be taken away were destroyed or flung into the sea. This seeming waste was necessary in order to prevent any stray vessel that might put in there from re-coaling or victualling with what would otherwise have been left.
On the following morning, McPhulach, grimy of person and half-dead from want of sleep, reported that the engines were in working order and that he had a full head of steam in the boilers. A few hours afterwards everything was ready for the departure; the prisoners had been divided into two lots, one being sent aboard theSatellite, now under the command of Mr. Dykes, and the other transferred to theHawk, whose after-hold had been fitted up for the purpose.
A blast from theHawk'ssyren gave the signal to weigh anchor; the winches rattled, the cables came rumbling up through the hawse-pipes, and the privateer slowly steamed towards the harbour mouth with theSatellitein her wake. As she passed the ruined fort with the Union Jack fluttering above it, she fired an irregular salute of three guns, while theSatellite, not to be outdone, dipped her flag.
Leaning over theHawk'sstern rail, watching the hissing water being churned into foam by the propeller, was Dora Fletcher. She was still there when the trees which lined the shore had dissolved into a vague green outline that presently took on a bluish tint, and finally became merged in the hills beyond. When the hills themselves faded, became blurred, and melted into the horizon leaving against the sky-line nothing but a dark smudge resembling a low-lying cloud, the girl had not moved from her post, but still continued to gaze with wistful eyes into the distance. Long before the brief twilight cast a cooling shadow across the flaming sky the last vestige of the island had faded out of sight and nothing was to be seen save an unbroken vista of sea that changed from green to grey, was for a few moments transformed into a shimmering expanse of molten gold in the rays of the dying sun, then slowly changed to purple, and so to a deep, unfathomable blue. Darker it grew as the twilight deepened, and when night abruptly blotted out the soft half-lights, the sea became a vast and trembling mirror, reflecting in its depths a thousand twinkling points of light.
It was not by any means the first time that Dora Fletcher had seen sea and sky swallow up the land, but for a reason she could not explain even to herself, there seemed to be something unusually depressing in this departure from the island. It was not that it had possessed any particular charm for her; she had seen lands far more beautiful and islands infinitely more picturesque—no, it was not this.
To add to her unaccountable depression came thoughts of her dead father and the great, empty future which lay before her. Now that her father had gone, she reflected, there was no one in all the world to whom she mattered, or who would miss her were she never to return. A sensation of utter loneliness descended upon her, and with it a strange foreboding, none the less disquieting because it was so vague. She felt an urgent desire for human companionship, and, looking round the deck, saw that it was deserted. Smith was on the bridge, but she had no wish to speak to him, even had it been possible. And Mr. Dykes, now aboard theSatellite, would not have satisfied this hunger of her soul for fellowship. Her thoughts turned to the Captain, and him she did not dismiss from her mind, but lingered contemplatively upon this strange, taciturn man; so vital, so dominating.
Illogically, she found herself wishing that this cruise might last for ever; there was something soothing in the thought of her utter dependence on this man's will. For a moment she lingered luxuriously upon the thought of her life ordered and controlled by him, and gave herself up to a delicious feeling of absence from care and responsibility. Suddenly she experienced a revulsion of feeling, and flushed vividly with a sensation of shame. Was it possible, she asked herself angrily, that she was no stronger than some bread-and-butter miss who had lived sheltered all her days? Was she so dismayed because she must start life for herself, that she must needs wish for dependence and protection; in short, a master?
The cool night-wind fanned her hot cheeks and she made an effort to compose herself and reduce the chaos of her thoughts to some sort of order. Unfortunately for her efforts in this direction the door of the little deck-house above the companion-way opened, and turning, she saw the Captain himself.
"Good evening," she said, but for some reason her voice was half-choked and utterly unlike her own.
Something about her, perhaps the unconscious appeal of her graceful figure or the unusual note in her voice, arrested him as he was about to pass on.
"Good evening," he answered, a little less curtly than was his wont.
She hoped he would go on, but, as if recollecting something, he paused.
"I suppose you know we are bound for Singapore?" he said.
"Yes."
"Have you, by any chance, friends there?"
"No."
"I gathered from the papers you placed in my charge that your home is in England."
"My home is not in England," she answered; "it is here," and she waved her arm dramatically as if to indicate sea and space.
"At any rate, I presume you will go to England," he said, in nowise affected by her poetic suggestion.
"If I must."
"I can't force you to go anywhere against your will," he answered in the tone of one trying to keep patient. "If you take my advice, you will consult the British Consul."
"You seem very anxious to get rid of me!" exclaimed the girl with sudden bitterness. "Have I been such an encumbrance since I came on board?"
Calamity gazed at her flushed and angry face with surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean this," she replied impulsively. "Ever since I have been on this ship you've either ignored me or else treated me as if I were a nuisance which had to be tolerated somehow. Yet I've done my share of the work, haven't I?"
The question was flung out like a challenge, and some moments elapsed before the Captain spoke. It was, perhaps, the first time he had ever considered this girl as an entity, as anything but an unwelcome passenger forced upon him by circumstances.
"What has all this to do with your destination?" he asked at last.
"Everything," she answered, in a voice that trembled with anger and indignation. "You ask me where I want to be sent, as though I were a—a——" her voice failed, and to the Captain's astonishment no less than her own, she burst into a passion of tears.
"You had better come to my cabin," said Calamity, when she had regained control of herself, and he led the way down the companion.
She felt abashed and humiliated now, and, metaphorically, kicked herself for her foolishness. Yet even so, she realised that this sudden burst of emotion had not been anger at his treatment of her, so much as despair at the thought that she must soon pass out of his life as utterly as though she had never been; that to him, henceforward, she would be something less, even, than a memory.
On reaching the cabin, Calamity shut the door and swung a chair round for her to sit upon.
"Now," he said, "just tell me what you want me to do. You say you have no home, and you object, apparently, to being placed in charge of the British Consul. What then?"
He spoke very quietly, almost gently, and because of this, perhaps, a feeling of utter hopelessness came over the girl.
"You must do as you think best," she answered in a voice from which all fire and spirit had gone.
"But just now you refused to let me do this."
"I know. I—I was foolish and unreasonable, I suppose."
Calamity remained silent for a minute or two, regarding her curiously. He read her better than she guessed. When he spoke again she recognised a new quality in his voice. It made her feel as if they two, though so near, were yet miles apart. There was a note of pity in it which hurt her more than anything she had ever known before because it demonstrated so positively the distance between them.
"You and I, Miss Fletcher," he said slowly, "can never be friends; at least, not in the sense I am thinking of, for our paths lie wide apart. If my assumption is wrong—and you have sense and discrimination enough to know what I mean by that—you must pardon me and put it down to lack of insight on my part, not to any presumption or vanity. If it is not wrong, you will understand without my saying more, why it is necessary that you should leave this ship for good at Singapore."
The girl was looking at him with large, startled eyes. What, she wondered, was that unnamable something about him which she had never observed before? Why was it that, of a sudden, he seemed to have assumed the guise of another class—a class about which she had read, but with which she had never come into contact? The bold, fearless sea-captain, the man of infinite resource, unscrupulous and even brutal, had disappeared. In his place was a quiet, self-contained gentleman, speaking in a low, kind voice; chiding her while he apologised for doing it.
In some subtle way he had made her feel pitifully small and ignorant; he awed her; but in a way she had never been awed before. It was impossible to resent this, because she did not know how to do so; it was something outside her experience. For the first time in her life she felt herself up against that indefinable power which for centuries has made the masses of the world subject to the few. It was something more than the power to command, it was the power to be obeyed.
There was a long pause, and then the girl, too proud to deny her love for him, spoke.
"You have not misunderstood me," she said, with a frankness that lent dignity to her confession. "Without knowing it I have come to love you. I think I would willingly and gladly have followed you to the uttermost ends of the earth; I would have suffered with and for you. I believed that I was meant for such as you; but you have made me see how foolish I have been. Don't think that I am ashamed you should know this. I'm not."
She stopped, her eyes fixed on his defiantly as though daring him to misunderstand her. In any other man but Calamity her words would have produced a deep impression, but he, to all appearances, was perfectly unmoved.
"We will forget all this," he said quietly. "The thing still to be settled is this matter of what's to become of you when we reach Singapore."
"From what you have told me, I assume you have no mother," Calamity went on. The note of pity had left his voice, and his manner, if not brusque, was cold and judicial.
"No," answered the girl, "my mother died when I was four years old." Her manner, too, had changed; all the heat and defiance had left it and she spoke in a subdued, colourless voice, as though these matters hardly concerned her.
"And you have no relatives living?"
"I have a couple of aunts in Sunderland. I stayed with them until I was eight years old. I—I hate them!" She made a passionate gesture as though the very mention of these people aroused bitter memories. "It was not that they were unkind exactly; but—well, it doesn't matter now. Soon after my eighth birthday my father took me away with him on a voyage to the East, and after that I went with him on nearly all his voyages. He educated me, too; taught me French, mathematics, navigation, and so on."
"Navigation, eh?" remarked Calamity with a note of surprise in his voice.
"Yes; if I had been a man I could have passed for mate and got my master's ticket long ago. I'd pit my knowledge of seamanship against that of any man on this ship," she concluded defiantly.
"That wouldn't be a very hard test," answered the Captain with a cynical smile. "But what did your father intend you to be; surely he didn't suppose you would eventually command a ship?"
"I don't know what his intentions were; but the trip before this last one, he bought a fruit farm near Los Angeles, California, and I think he meant to settle down there when he retired from the sea."
"Probably he thought it might provide you with an occupation."
"Perhaps so; but he never spoke of it."
"Then he had no home of his own in England?"
"No. The house my aunts occupy and several others in Sunderland were his, but he never lived in any of them."
"He made a will, I suppose?"
"Yes, it's among those papers that I handed over to you. I know everything's left to me, because he told me so when he made his will."
"H'm, then you're not so badly off after all. I should strongly advise you to go to California and see what you can do with the fruit-farm. It's both a healthy and remunerative occupation I've been told."
The girl nodded, but made no answer.
"What I propose to do is to take you to Singapore and place you under the protection of the British Consul, who, no doubt, will advise you concerning the proving of your father's will and so forth, for I know nothing of such matters."
"It's very kind of you," murmured the girl.
"Well now, I think that's all we can arrange for the present," said Calamity in a tone which intimated that the interview was at an end.
She rose, and, with a murmured "Good-night," left the cabin and mounted the companion-way to the deck. Slowly, as one in a dream, she made her way to her cabin, casting no glance at the unruffled sea with its millions of scintillating reflections. Her bold statement to Calamity, admittedly a declaration of love, had met with a rebuff which would have induced in most women a feeling of intolerable shame and, in all probability, inspired them with a lasting hatred of the man who had so humiliated them. But this was not the case with Dora Fletcher; she felt neither shame nor anger. Indeed, she would have been puzzled to say exactly what her feelings were, so incoherent and altogether strange were they. But she knew she had met a hitherto unrecognised force; that she had been awed not so much by a man as by a mysterious something inherent in him; by a quality rather than an individual.
During the next few days she avoided the Captain in every possible way. Not that he ever attempted to seek her out, for, since that memorable interview he seemed to have forgotten her existence as completely as though she had ceased to be. He had again become the grim, taciturn, and mysterious individual she had first encountered. Yet, despite the girl's avoidance of him, there was gradually developing in her mind a desire to do something which would exalt her in his eyes. She wanted to bridge that vague gulf between them; to achieve something which would prove her worth. It was a delightfully ingenuous dream, only possible to a girl as unsophisticated and natural as this young Amazon of the Seas.
In due time and through no effort of her own, the hoped-for opportunity did occur and the girl was able to play the part she had so often pictured in her waking dreams. It came about, as such things usually do, in quite a fortuitous manner.
One day, about a week after her interview with Calamity, the weather, which had been remarkably fine since they left the island, showed signs of a change and before mid-day the sun had disappeared behind a curtain of sombre-tinted clouds. A wind sprang up and freshened as the day wore on, the sea became choppy, and a great bank of black clouds spread over the sky till there was barely sufficient light by which to read the compass on the bridge. Soon theHawkwas rolling and pitching in a nasty fashion and shipping seas over her weather-bow every time she ducked her nose. In view of the approaching storm, hand-lines were rigged across the decks, the prisoner in the wheel-house was transferred to the hold, and a couple of men stationed at the hand steering-gear in case the steam-gear should break down at a critical moment.
Swiftly and with ever-increasing violence the hurricane swept down upon them. The seas, a turbid green, with great, foaming crests, had increased in fury and every moment grew higher, while the valleys between them, streaked and mottled with patches of foam, became deeper and more engulfing. In the midst of themêléeof raging waters, theHawklurched and rolled and pitched, curveted and plunged as though she were on gimbals. Blacker and blacker grew the sky, higher and higher leapt the waves. Now they rose in front of the straining ship in solid walls of inky water, to plunge down upon the forecastle with a roar like thunder and a force which made her reel and stagger. Then a great wave would leap high above the weather-bow, and, rushing past her listing beam, descend with a mighty crash upon the starboard quarter, filling the wheel-house waist-deep with seething water.
Night came on, scarce darker than the afternoon which had preceded it, and with never a friendly star nor a rift in the solid blackness. Above the wild, devouring waste of tumbling seas the mast-head light tossed and circled—a dim, luminous speck in the fathomless darkness. The wind howled and shrieked and moaned like a chorus of lost souls in torment.
Throughout that seemingly endless night Calamity and Smith kept the bridge together, drenched and cold despite their oilskins; their faces whipped by the stinging wind, their eyes sore with the salt spray that was flung in ghostly eddies against them. Two bells struck—four—six—eight; the two relief quartermasters fought their way along the sea-swept for'ad deck and took over the wheel from the worn-out men who clutched it. Two—four—six—eight bells over again; another four hours had passed, and another two quartermasters had come upon the bridge to take their "trick" and release the exhausted men at the wheel.
Soon after this—it was four o'clock in the morning—Calamity staggered up the inclined deck to the spot where Smith was standing.
"You'd better get below," he yelled above the roar of the gale. "You've been up here over twelve hours."
"I'm all right, sir," answered the second-mate, as he clung to the bridge-rail.
"Never mind, get to your bunk."
Though well-nigh exhausted and shivering with cold, the little Cockney obeyed with reluctance, being loth to leave the Captain up there to con the ship alone. But he knew better than to disobey or argue, and so, grumbling to himself, he crawled down the companion-ladder and sought his cabin.
At last the dawn broke, chill and sombre and leaden. Calamity, weary and heavy-eyed, scanned the forbidding, sullen sky in the hope of glimpsing a break in its glowering expanse. But no break was there; only wind-torn, tattered shreds of black cloud driving across it to assemble eastward in a massed and solid bank of evil aspect.
At six bells—seven o'clock in the morning watch—Smith tumbled out of his bunk after three hours' unbroken slumber, dragged on his oilskins, and stepped into the alleyway with the object of relieving the Captain, who had now been on the bridge over twenty hours. As he reached the deck, still only half awake, he was caught up by a huge sea which came leaping over the bulwarks, swept him off his feet, and dashed him violently against the iron ladder leading up to the bridge. It was a miracle that the wave, as it receded, did not carry him overboard. As it was, it left him a limp, crumpled figure, lying motionless under the ladder with one foot jammed beneath the lowest rung.
Calamity, who alone had witnessed the accident, took the wheel from the quartermasters and sent them to rescue the second-mate from his perilous position. After some difficulty they succeeded in releasing the imprisoned foot and then carried the unconscious man, whose left leg dangled loosely from the knee, to his cabin. Here, after roughly bandaging a wound on his forehead, they stripped him of his dripping garments and laid him in his bunk.
When these details were reported to the Captain he frowned and muttered something under his breath. He dared not leave the bridge, and yet there was no one on board but himself who could set a broken leg or even administer first-aid. No one, that is, except——
"Tell Miss Fletcher," he said curtly.
That order, probably, represented the biggest humiliation he had ever suffered.
One of the men went to Miss Fletcher's cabin and informed her of what had taken place, adding that he had been sent by the Captain.
"What did he say?" asked the girl.
"All 'e says was 'Tell Miss Fletcher,'" answered the man.
"Tell him I will attend to Mr. Smith," she said with a curtness that matched Calamity's own. "Stop," she added as the man was leaving, "send the steward along first."
There was a look of triumph in the girl's eyes as she stepped out of her cabin and went over to the one occupied by the hapless second-mate. He was still unconscious and she at once proceeded to remove the crude bandage from his forehead and bathe the wound properly. While she was in the act of binding it up again Sing-hi entered.
"I want you to help me fix Mr. Smith's broken leg," said the girl. "Do you think you can manage it?"
"Plenty savee," answered the Chinaman with a grin, "two piecee man fixee one piecee leg." He had often assisted Calamity with surgical cases and was proud of his experience.
"Yes, that's right. Can you make me a splint?"
"One piecee leg wantchee two piecee wood?" inquired Sing-hi.
"Yes."
The Chinaman glanced round the cabin, then removed the books from a narrow shelf just above the bunk and took it down. He split this in two with his hands, and, without awaiting further instructions, started to wind a towel round it to form a pad on which the injured limb could rest.
"Excellent," she said, watching him. "You're a splendid assistant."
Sing-hi understood her tone more than her words.
"Plenty muchee helpee," he replied modestly.
At that moment Smith opened his eyes, stared about him in bewilderment, and then uttered a loud groan.
"Gawd, what's happened?" he ejaculated.
"Your left leg is broken and there's a nasty gash on your forehead," answered the girl tersely.
"Just my bloomin' bad luck. As if——" he broke off suddenly, a new thought having occurred to him. "What the devil will the old man do now? He's been on watch over twenty hours, and there ain't a soul to relieve him. Dykes is on that blighted packet astern—leastways, I suppose he is if she's still afloat—and I'm half corpsed. It's a cheerful look-out and no bloomin' error."
"Don't worry," answered the girl calmly as she took the improvised splint from Sing-hi. "I'll relieve the Captain myself presently."
"What—you!" And Smith, despite the pain he was suffering, laughed outright. "Oh my stars, I can see him going below and leaving you in charge of the ship—I don't think."
"Then the sooner you do think, the better," retorted the girl cheerfully.
Before Smith had time to recover from his astonishment at Miss Fletcher's remark, the business of placing his broken leg in splints was begun. The operation—no easy one with the ship rolling and lurching incessantly—proved so painful that he swooned before he was able to make any audible comment.
"There," remarked the girl when the difficult task had been accomplished, "it may not be a perfect job, but I think it'll answer till we reach port."
"Heap good doctor pigeon," murmured Sing-hi complacently.
Having made the patient as comfortable as circumstances would permit, the girl left the cabin and stepped into the alleyway. Here she paused for a moment, steadying herself against the bulkhead and gazing at the waves breaking over the bulwarks and flooding the decks knee-deep with a swirling mass of turbid, green water. Then, with an abrupt movement as though she had arrived at some momentous decision, she went to her own cabin and hastily donned sea-boots, oilskins, and sou'-wester. This done, she passed out into the alleyway again, just as the bos'n, with a life-belt strapped over his oilskins, appeared at the entrance, staggering and slithering.
"S'truth!" he ejaculated, "it's 'ell down there."
"Down where?" asked the girl.
The bos'n jerked his head in the direction of the after-hatch.
"In the 'old," he answered. "Jest been down there, and, Gawd, it fair made me sick. Never see'd anything like it since I was aboard a River Plate cattle boat."
"What's the matter there, then?"
"Matter! Why, it's what I said it was just now—'ell. The 'atches are battened down, it's as 'ot as a furnace, and the stink of the bilge water's enough to knock you down. There ain't no light except for a lantern, which don't give no more than a glim, and the air's that thick you could cut it into slabs and 'eave it overboard."
He was about to turn away when the girl's attire arrested his attention.
"You ain't going on deck?" he said.
"I am."
"Well, don't you go; you didn't ought to this weather."
"That's my affair, bos'n."
"It'll be the skipper's, too, when 'e catches sight of you," answered the man grimly. "Still, it ain't no business of mine, and if you wants to try and get drownded, I s'pose you must," with which philosophical reflection the bos'n proceeded on his way.
The storm had reached such a pitch of fury that the girl was half inclined to follow the bos'n's advice, but pride forbade, and, clinging to the handrail, she made her way towards the deck. Experienced sailor as she was, it proved no easy task, for theHawkwas rolling to such an extent that at times she seemed to lie on her beam-ends, and the girl had to cling with both hands to the rails to prevent herself from being flung violently against the bulkheads at each terrific lurch. However, she succeeded at last in reaching the deck, where the seas came thundering down with the force of battering-rams.
She paused here because the nearest hand-line had been torn away, and to have ventured further without anything to cling to would have been courting certain death. Yet it was very nearly as dangerous to remain where she was, since at any moment an extra large sea might swoop down, and, tearing her from the insecure handrail, sweep her overboard. And, once engulfed in that inferno of raging waters, rescue would be utterly impossible, even if anyone happened to witness the catastrophe. Therefore, watching her opportunity, she made a dash, reached the iron ladder leading up to the bridge, and clung to it while another huge wave flung itself upon the reeling ship. When it had passed she started to mount, clinging to the rails for dear life. As her head came level with the bridge she saw Calamity gripping an iron stanchion to steady himself, and apparently trying to peer ahead through the swirling spindrift. His back was towards the girl, and he did not even see her as she set foot on the sacred bridge and glanced doubtfully around.
She was still hesitating—none but a sailor realises the extraordinary sanctity of the bridge—when one of the quartermasters uttered a warning cry. Almost before the words had left his lips a terrific sea struck theHawkon the port beam, and, leaping high into the air, discharged itself with a deafening roar upon the bridge. The iron stanchion to which the Captain had been clinging was wrenched from its socket, Calamity was swept off his feet, and, but for the fact that, in falling, he became wedged between the rails and the engine-room telegraph, would certainly have been carried overboard by the receding water. As it was, one of the two quartermasters was swept away and lost for ever in the raging sea, while the other lay stunned against the binnacle.
Trained as she had been in seamanship, Dora Fletcher saw in a flash the peril which threatened the ship. With no one to control the steering-gear, theHawkwould fall away into the trough of that tremendous sea and then no mortal power could save her. Even as this thought struck her, the girl sprang to the wheel and brought the vessel round again bows-on to the rollers just as she was about to swing broadside-on.
Calamity, staggering to his feet, saw the girl there at the wheel and the inert form of the quartermaster at her feet. Imbued with the traditions and customs of the sea as she was, Dora Fletcher experienced a momentary misgiving at thought of the sacrilege she had committed and wondered whether the Captain, in his just wrath, would order her to be locked in her cabin for the rest of the voyage. The fact that, by her presence of mind, she had saved the ship and all on board from inevitable destruction did not occur to her at the moment. Involuntarily she clenched her teeth in expectation of the storm of anger she felt sure was about to descend upon her. Then, above the howling of the gale, she caught the Captain's voice, harsh and commanding.
"Port a little! That'll do; steady now, steady!"
And that was all. Her presence there at the wheel seemed to have caused him no more surprise than if she had been one of the deck-hands. It was, in a way, humiliating, because it robbed her of all sense of triumph; all the wilful delight of having committed a daring and unauthorised act.
In answer to a signal from the bridge, a couple of seamen came up from the forecastle and removed the unconscious quartermaster, leaving the Captain and the girl by themselves upon the bridge. Calamity took no further notice of her, but, hanging on to the rail, continued to gaze into the teeth of the gale. Presently, without turning round, he shouted a hoarse command which the girl obeyed, repeating the order as she turned the wheel. Her apprehension had left her now, and she was even conscious of a feeling of pride that the Captain, seemingly, was content to trust the steering to her, and, though he had hitherto kept two quartermasters at the wheel, seemed to take it for granted that she was quite competent to manage alone.
When six bells struck—eleven o'clock in the forenoon watch—Dora Fletcher had been at the wheel over three hours. The storm, far from abating, had increased in fury, and some there were among the crew who began to doubt whether the steamer would live through it.
At eight bells the relief watch came up to take over the wheel. The girl relinquished it thankfully, for she was both hungry and exhausted. Reaching her cabin, she ate ravenously of the food which the steward had left for her, and then turned in, falling asleep almost before she had removed her sea-boots. She did not awaken till eight bells in the afternoon watch, and then, as the crew were keeping "watch and watch," she turned out of her bunk and donned oilskins and sea-boots once more. Whether or no Calamity expected her, she was determined to take it for granted that she should do her "trick" as though she were a regular member of the crew.
Feeling just a little bit apprehensive, she climbed to the bridge, took over the wheel, and was given steering directions by the off-going quartermasters, one of whom paused as he was going and bellowed in the girl's ear:
"Better keep a bright look-out, Miss. The skipper's got one of 'is malaria attacks comin' on. I've sailed with 'im before, and I know."
This was startling, for the girl, somehow, had never conceived it possible that Calamity could suffer from any of the ordinary ills which flesh is heir to. She watched him more intently after the sailor's warning, and noticed that he moved stiffly as if in pain, and that, whenever he stood still, he seemed to be trembling in every limb.
On the whole, it was not a very cheerful prospect. The Captain sick and likely to become worse, the only officer incapacitated, and the crew, in all probability, ready to break into open mutiny if they felt assured that the one man they feared was unable to raise a hand against them. And there were the prisoners to be reckoned with as well, should there be trouble on board. As for Mr. Dykes, it was useless to count on any assistance from him, for the gunboat had been lost sight of twelve hours ago.
Another two hours passed by, and it was plain that Calamity was growing worse. Though he did not utter a word of complaint, the girl realised that he was fighting with all his might against the fever which was slowly but surely sapping his strength. Once or twice he would have fallen had he not clutched the bridge-rail in time to save himself, and it became evident that even his iron will could not stave off the threatened collapse much longer. Suddenly, as though some sustaining force had snapped, he reeled back against the starboard rail and collapsed against the pedestal of the engine-room telegraph. The girl, who dared not leave the wheel for a second, called to a couple of seamen who were on deck, and, when they had arrived on the bridge, told them to carry the Captain to his cabin and put him to bed.
"When you have done that," she said, "come back here."
They lifted up the senseless form of the Captain, and, with considerable difficulty, carried him aft. When they had done this and returned to the bridge, Miss Fletcher placed them in charge of the wheel with directions concerning the course they were to steer. It was, of course, a somewhat risky proceeding to leave the bridge without any officer there to give orders in case of a sudden emergency; but, under the circumstances, there was nothing else for it.