IV
During the following day the captain indulged in a heavy, solitary drinking-bout; and on finding out from the steward that the skipper was hopelessly drunk the first mate took upon himself to put the second over the side. He did not fancy another night with that thing aboard.
That the first mate had taken the extraordinary event of the night to heart, was common talk in the fo’cas’le; for he relaxed entirely his bullying attitude to the men and in addition on three separate occasions sent word forrard to learn how Jones was progressing. It may be that the skipper’s theorizing of the preceding night had something to do with this sudden display of sympathy.
With the captain being drunk, the first mate had to take all the night-watches. This he managed by having one of the older men up on the poop a portion of the time to keep a lookout, while he himself got a little rest upon the seat of the saloon skylight. Yet it was evident to the man whom he had called to keep him company, that the mate obtained little sleep; for every now and again he would sit up and listen anxiously.
Once he went so far as to call the man to him and ask if he could not hear something stirring on the bridge. The man listened, and thought perhaps that he did; but he could not be sure. At that the mate stood up excitedly and ordered him to go forrard and find out how Jones was. Much surprised, the man did as he was bid, returning to say that he seemed queer and that the men in the fo’cas’le thought he was slipping his cable and would the first mate go forrard and have a look at him.
But this the mate would by no means do. Instead he sent the man along to the fo’cas’le every bell and between whiles he himself stood by the rail across the break of the poop. Twice he called to the man to come and listen, and the second time the man agreed that there certainly was a noise on the little bridge. After that the mate continued to stand where he was, glancing ’round about him frightenedly, a very picture of shattered nerves.
At half-past two in the morning the man came back from one of his visits forrard to say that Jones had just gone. Even as he delivered himself of the news there came a distinct grating sound from the direction of the bridge. They both turned and stared; but though the moonlight was full upon everything there was nothing visible. The man and the mate faced one another—the man startled, the mate sweating with terror.
“My—!” said the man. “Did yer ’ear that, sir?”
The mate replied nothing; his lips quivered beyond his control.
Presently the dawn came.
In the morning the skipper appeared on deck. He seemed quite sober. He found the first mate haggard and nervous, standing beside the poop rail.
“I guess you’d best get below an’ ’ave er sleep, Mr. Jacob,” he remarked, stepping over to him. “You look as if you was spun out.”
The first mate nodded in a tired manner but beyond that made no reply. The skipper looked him up and down.
“Anythin’ ’appened while I was—was below?” he asked, as though the mate’s manner suggested the thought.
“Jones has gone,” replied the mate harshly.
The captain nodded as though the mate’s reply answered some further question.
“I s’pose you dumped ’im?” he said, nodding toward the bridge, where the second mate had lain. The mate nodded.
“Seen—or ’eard anythin’?” beckoning again toward the bridge.
The first mate straightened himself up from the rail and looked at the skipper.
“Directly after Jones went, there was something messing about yonder.” He jerked his thumb toward the bridge. “Stains heard it as well.”
The captain made no immediate reply. He appeared to be digesting this piece of information.
“I sh’d keep clear of ther bridge, Mr. Jacob, if I was you,” he remarked at length.
A slight flush rose in the mate’s face.
“I heard from one of the boys that young Tommy seems pretty shaky this morning,” he replied with apparent irrelevance.
“— ther b’y !” growled the captain.
Then, glancing at the mate—
“You think—”
His gaze followed the mate’s to the bridge and he did not finish.
It was noticeable after the mate had gone below that the captain for the first time made inquiries as to the state of Tommy’s health. At first he sent the steward; the second time he went himself. It was a memorable fact.
V
That night the captain and the mate kept the first watch together. At the beginning, before it was quite dark, they paced the poop and kept up an irregular conversation; but now that it was night they had drifted to the forrard poop-rail and there leaned, scarcely speaking once in a couple of minutes.
To a close observer their attitudes might have suggested that they were listening intently. Once it seemed there came a faint sound through the darkness, from the direction of the bridge, whereat the first mate babbled out something in a strained, husky voice.
“You keep ther stopper on, Mr. Jacob,” said the skipper, “else you’ll be goin’ barmy.”
After that there was nothing further until the moon rose, which it did board away on the starboard bow. At first it gave little or no light, the horizon being somewhat cloudy. Presently its upper edge came into sight above the “Standard” binnacle, framing the bulging brass dome with a halo of misty light that gave it for the minute almost a curiously unreal spectral appearance. The light grew plainer, casting grotesque but indistinct shadows.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a strange husky inhuman gurgle from the bridge. The skipper started; but the mate never moved; only his face shone white in the glowing light. The captain could see that the little bridge was clear of all life. Abruptly as he stared there came from it a low, incredible, abominable laughter. The effect upon the mate was extraordinary. He stood up with a jerk, shaking from head to foot.
“He’s come for me!” he said, his voice rising into an insane quavering shout.
From forrard and aft there came the sound of running feet. His wild cry had brought out the crew. From the bridge there came a further sound, vague, and, to the captain, meaningless. But it had meaning to the mate.
“Coming!” he screamed in a voice as shrill as a woman’s.
He sprang away from the skipper’s side, and ran stumbling along the narrow gangway to the bridge.
“Come back, you fool!” roared the captain. “Come back!”
The mate took no notice, and the skipper made a rush for him. He had reached the bridge and flung his arms about the “Standard” binnacle. He appeared to be wrestling with it. The captain seized him by the arm and tried to tear him away; but it was useless. Suddenly as the skipper struggled something bright flashed over his shoulder, past his ear, and the mate went slowly limp and slid down upon the deck.
The captain wrenched around and stared. Exactly what he saw no one knew. The grouped men beneath heard him shout hoarsely. Then he came flying over the bridge-rail down among them. They broke and ran a few yards. Something else came down over the rail. Something white and slender that ran upon the captain noiselessly. The captain dodged, rushing sidewise with his head down. He butted into the steel side of the deck-house and crumpled up.
“Catch it, mates,” shouted one of the men, and ran among the shadows.
The rest, inspired by his courage, closed about in a semicircle. The decks were still very dim and indistinct.
“Where is it?” came in a man’s voice.
“There—there—no—”
“It’s on ther spar,” cut in some one. “It’s—”
“Overboard!” came in a chorus, and there was a general rush for the side.
“There weren’t no splash,” said one of the men presently, and no one contradicted him.
Yet whether this was so or not Martin, the oldest ’prentice, insisted that the white thing had reminded him of Toby the ordinary seaman, who had been hazed to the verge of insanity by the brutality of the captain and officers on the previous vo
yage.
“It’s the way his knees went,” he explained. “We used to call him ‘Knees’ before he went queer.”
There is little doubt but that it was Toby who, in his half-insane condition, had stowed away and worked out a terrible vengeance upon his tormentors. Though, of course, it cannot be proved.
When after a sleepless excited night the crew of the Lady Shannon made a search of the bridge they found traces of flour upon the bridge-deck, while the mouth and throat of the ventilator in the center of the bridge was dusted with the same whiteness. Inspired by these signs to doubt their superstitions they unshipped the after hatch and made a way to where the lower end of the ventilator opened above the water-tanks. Here they found further traces of flour and in addition discovered that the manhole-lid of the port tank was unshipped. Searching ’round, they saw that a board was loose in the partition enclosing the tanks from the surrounding hold. This they removed and came upon more flour—the ship was loaded with this commodity—which led them finally to a sort of nest amid the cargo. Here were fragments of food, a tin hook-pot, a bag of stale bread and some ship’s biscuits; all of which tended to show that some one had been stowed away there. Close at hand was an open flour barrel.
Toby had crawled at night from his hiding-place to the ventilator and, concealed there, had stabbed the officers as they came within reach.
Tommy regained his health, as did both Captain Jeller and Jacob, the mate; but as a “hardcase” skipper and a “buck-o-mate,” they are no longer shining examples.
The Heathen’s Revenge
There are still many people who refuse to recognize that in spite of evolution, education, progress—call it what you like—there remains a tremendous difference between the East and the West. And that East of the “Near East” and West of the “Far West”, there are minor details of life that differ somewhat from what the white man considers to be the right and proper order of things.
For instance, it is no misstatement to say that there are places where the heathen maintain the dignity of the gods against the efforts of the missionary or the stranger.
And again, it is no untruth to say that a beautiful white girl is about as safe in some parts of this globe as a bag of gold would be in a healthy riot of the unemployed.
These facts, however, are ignored by a large proportion of our stiff-necked countrymen who never venture off our tight little island. Hallett was once of the same opinion, but experience taught him different, to his cost.
He had gone a little East of the Near East and done his vigorous utmost during one long year of what he termed innocently enough: “missionary work” to create for himself and his Cause a healthy and well-deserved hatred—that is if you view his “work” from the heathen’s side of the road.
What exactly Hallett did, above all his other offences, to raise the undying hatred of Jurwash—a somewhat ragged native in the eyes of any European but the holiest priest of a tribe of priests, in the eyes of the native—I do not know. I can well imagine it was something idiotic and brutally insulting—and also very innocent! It depends, of course, how you look at it. If you had Jurwash the Holy, I have no doubt your views would have been quite as serious as his. Which was about as serious as it could be.
Before the end of that year, Hallett did one more act of idiocy to crown his twelve month’s vigorous war with the religious self respect of the heathens. He wrote home to Mary Kingston to come out to him, telling her that at last he had made such headway in his work that their marriage was possible and they could, I suppose, live happy ever after.
The girl came out, and the vast machinery of revenge which Jurwash had set into motion to get even with Hallett the Insulter of his god was checked for a time while the priest considered this addition to his problem. We in the Police Secret Service know many things hidden from others. Eventually, when Jurwash had done considering, the machinery of vengeance went forth again, and Mary Kingston disappeared.
I was alone in my office when Hallett dashed in. A young man of enormous build and strength, intensely earnest to the point of fanaticism in regard to his work, simple and honest but, unfortunately, a little lacking in imagination and sensitiveness.
“She’s gone!” he shouted, gripping my arm in his excitement. “She’s disappeared.”
I got the details after some questioning; then, knowing I should have to act quickly, I hurried him away with work to do, though I knew perfectly well he was too upset to be of use in such methods we were likely to follow.
Mary Kingston had gone. Her disappearance left no trace whatever, but we in the S.P. spread our feelers out over the four quarters of the earth, and in ten minutes I had dispatched two of my men on special work. Another I sent with a squad with instructions to follow Hallett at a distance.
In the evening two of the men returned and made their report. I knew that unless I could persuade Hallett to leave the place, he was as good as dead, or worse. Knowing him as I did, I judged that persuasion would be useless, but would have to be tried before I resorted to other methods. And with that idea in view, I set off in the direction of his house.
Halfway there I fell in with the man and his squad who was supposed to be guarding Hallett’s house. To my questions about his charge he replied that all was well. Why, I asked, had he left him unguarded? I asked him so quietly that he shook, as well he might, knowing all that lay behind my question.
I gave the beggar a note to give Abdual, the keeper of the wands, and ordered him to send Number 4 with a relief squad. Abdual was no sparer of his wands, as many knew to their cost. Then, marching back the squad, I posted them about Hallett’s place and went in to argue with him.
As I had suspected, he refused to budge.
“I shall move heaven and earth to find her,” he said, pacing the room like a caged animal. “She’s being held for ransom by some of those ignorant tribes. Surely you can do something. Offer some reward… send a troop out into the surrounding country. Anything rather than this waiting!”
I put a few careful questions to him, taking care to keep from him all that I knew. It never occurred to him that Jurwash knew the whereabouts of the girl. Had he suspected that, I have no doubt it would have taken more than my squads to hold him. He would have gone straight to the very doom the priest had prepared for him. Before leaving him, I got him to promise that he would leave everything in my hands till the following day.
When I got back to the office, I gave personal and strict directions concerning the relief squads. It is wise, in the East, to give personal attention when a friend may be involved in any trouble. As I have said before, the heathen orders the minor details of life on a plan peculiar to the ideas of the Western Mind. Only by having the house guarded by my men could I hope to find Hallett alive in the morning. Therefore I sent a squad of men commanded by Number 4 and Number 5. Officer Number 4 keenly desired promotion. Officer Number 5 was of a jealous nature, and the fear of an ambitious junior is apt to stimulate a good service. It is a very sound method to work on.
Early the next morning I went to see Hallett and found the men posted as arranged all round the house, dilligent in their watching and officially alert… too much so as I soon learned. No Hallett was to be found, yet both sergeants and the men protested that he had never gone past them. As a thorough search revealed nothing, I gave another note to the chief sergeant for my friend Abdual, the keeper of the wands. Those same wands would cover the whole of them as well as the men of all the reliefs during that night. I guess Abdual’s arm ached that day.
Immediately on reaching the office, I sent a messenger out who returned with the information that Jurwash, accompanied by others of his tribe, had gone off in the night. Three men whom I sent out later brought back a certain unwashed native whom we thrashed till he confessed that word had been carried that night to Hallett indicating that Jurwash could give him news of Mary Kingston.
As might be expected, when Hallett got to the place where the guide led him, there was no Ju
rwash the Holy, only one of the heathens who professed to know that the priest had set off into the desert. This information, as Jurwash had directed, was given to Hallett after he had been invited to turn out the contents of his pockets. Nothing more would, or could, the man tell me, though we thrashed him right well—except that my friend had gone off on foot, running in pursuit of that fiend.
Having got all the information I could, I dismissed the man who was promptly caught and thrashed again in the courtyard by my men who thus eased their own pains from Abdual’s wands, and tried to punish the unfortunate beggar for the indignities they themselves had suffered. But this wasn’t for my notice.
Knowing now how Hallett had gone, I sent a fast squad, mounted, to scour the desert ten miles to the south, while I picked a troop of fifty men who, if necessary, could ride with me further into the desert. At night, with the return of the fast squad unsuccessful, we put off, thus beginning the search which I had foreseen from the first.
A few miles hard riding to the south brought us news of our quarry, with always the same tale. Jurwash the Holy, with his followers and a white man, bound, had ridden that way. Knowing something of the mind of the native and the power of that particular priest, I always believed the second story—which generally came after an application of the wands—and which is a very sound method to go on.
Two months later we were still hot upon the track of Jurwash, though we could never come upon him. At last, tired of scouring the desert and with our provisions running perilously low, I made a camp and sent off twenty of my men to bring back the things we were so badly in need of. During their absence, I sent out ten men daily to inquire and search, feeling pretty certain that we were near the place where Jurwash had camped.
One night about a month after the messenger had gone, we had word from a ragged native who crawled into our camp whining for food, that Jurwash the Holy was living in a great tower which lay about a day’s journey to the southeast. But though we rode hard a day and a night we found nothing, which made me regret that I had not followed my rule and beaten the heathen, instead of showing mercy toward him—which to the native mind is a foolish thing to show. This again is another truth which I have proved through many years.
The House on the Borderland and Other Mysterious Places Page 57