I found extremely hard walking as I advanced through tangled underbrush, over unlevel ground, the night so dark in those shadows I could but barely perceive the outlines of a hand held before the eyes. Fortunately the distance was even shorter than I had anticipated, but, when I finally emerged upon the opposite beach, it was at once quite evident that the sea beating upon the sand was decidedly heavier than higher up the Bay, the white line of breakers showing conspicuously even in the night, while their continuous roar sounded loud through the silence. It was not until after I had advanced cautiously into the water, and then stooped low to thus gain clearer vision along the surface, that I succeeded in locating the vessel sought. Even then the Namur appeared only as a mere shadow, without so much as a light showing aboard, yet apparently anchored in the same position as when we had swept past the previous afternoon. The slightly brighter sky above served to reveal the tracery of bare poles, while the hull was no more than a blot in the gloom, utterly shapeless, and appearing to be much farther away than it was in reality. Indeed, as the sky gradually darkened the entire vision vanished, as though it had been one of those strange mirages I had seen in the African deserts. Yet I knew with certainty the ship was there, had sufficient time in which to mark its position accurately, and rejoiced at the increase of darkness to conceal my approach. Guided by this memory I waded straight out through the lines of surf, until all excepting the head became completely submerged. If I was to reach the bark at all, this was the one opportunity.
I stood there, resisting the undertow tugging at my limbs, and barely able to retain my footing, intent upon my purpose. Full strength had come back to my muscles, and my head was again clear. The imminent sense of danger seemed to bring me a feeling of happiness, of new confidence in myself. The die was cast, and whatever the result, I was going ahead to accomplish all that was humanly possible. From now on there was to be no doubting, no turning back. A voice, high-pitched, echoed to me across the water, reaching my ears a mere thread of sound, the words indistinguishable. It must have been an order, for, a moment later, I distinguished the clank of capstan bars, as though men of the crew were engaged in warping the vessel off shore for greater safety. The movement was too deliberate and noiseless to mean the lifting of the anchor, nor was it accompanied by any flapping of sail, or shifting of yards to denote departure. Nevertheless even this movement decided me to delay my attempt no longer, and, with strong, silent strokes I swam forward, directly breasting the force of the incoming sea, yet making fair progress. Some unconsidered current must have swept me to the right, for, when the outlines of the bark again became dimly visible through the night, I found myself well to starboard of the vessel, and quite likely would have passed it by altogether, but for the sudden rattle of a block aloft, causing me to glance in that direction. As my eyes explored the darkness, yet uncertain that I really beheld the Namur, a light flared for a brief instant, and I had glimpse of a face illumined by the yellow glare, as the single spark of flame ignited a cigarette. It was all over with so swiftly, swallowed up in that blackness, as to seem a vision of imagination. Yet I knew it to be real. Stroking well under water, and with only my eyes exposed above the surface, I changed my course to the left, and slowly and cautiously drew in toward the starboard bow. A few moments later, unperceived from above, and protected from observation by the bulge of the overhang, and density of shadow, my hands clung to the anchor hawser, my mind busy in devising some means for attaining the deck.
CHAPTER X
ON THE DECK OF THE NAMUR
It was here that fortune favored me, strengthening my decision, and yielding a fresh courage to persevere. The pounding of the seas against the bow rendered other sounds, for the moment, unnoticeable, while the current swept so strongly against my submerged body as to compel me to cling tightly to the swaying rope to prevent being overcome. Close as I was the bark appeared scarcely more than a dense shadow swaying above me, without special form, and unrevealed by the slightest gleam of light, merely a vast bulk, towering between sea and sky. Forking out, however, directly over where I clung desperately to the wet hawser, my eyes were able to trace the bow-sprit, a massive bit of timber, with ropes faintly traced against the sky, the rather loosely furled jib flapping ragged edges in the gusts of wind. Suddenly, as I stared upward, I became aware that two men were working their way out along the foot-ropes, and, as they reached a point almost directly over my head, became busily engaged in tightening the gaskets to better secure the loosening sail. The foot of one slipped, and he hung dangling, giving vent to a stiff English oath before he succeeded in hauling himself back to safety. The other indulged in a chuckling laugh, yet was careful not to speak loudly.
“Had one drink too many, Tom?” he asked. “That will pay yer fer finishin’ the bottle, an’ never givin’ me another sup.”
The other growled, evidently not in any too good humor after his mishap.
“You, hell! Yer bed the fu’st ov it. Thar’s no sorter luck yer don’t git yer fair share of, Bill Haines—trust yer fer thet. What I ain’t got straight yet, is whar thet stuff cum from so easy. Thet wus the real thing.”
Haines laughed again, working carelessly. As the men advanced along the spar I could distinguish their forms more clearly.
“That wus part o’ the luck, Tom,” he acknowledged, his accent that of a cockney. “Did yer git eyes on thet new feller Manuel Estevan brought back with him in the boat?”
“The one you and Jose carried aboard?”
“He’s the lad. Thar wa’n’t nuthin’ the matter with the cove, ’cept he wus dead drunk, an’ he hed a bottle o’ rum stowed away in every pocket. But Manuel, he never knew thet. It wus just ’bout dark when he cum staggerin’ down ter the boat. We wus waitin’ on the beach fer Estevan, an’ three fellers he hed taken along with him inter town, ter cum back—the black, Jose, an’ me—when this yere chap hove ’longside. He never hailed us, ner nuthin’; just clim over inter the boat, an’ lay down. ‘Whar ye aimin’ ter go, friend?’ ses I, but by then the cove wus dead asleep. I shook him, an’ kicked him, but it wa’n’t no use; so we just left him lie thar fer Manuel ter say whut wus ter be done with him. Only Jose he went thru his pockets, an’ found three bottles o’ rum. We took a few drinks, an’ hid whut wus left in the boat locker.”
“So that’s how yer got it! Who wus the party?”
“Thet’s mor’n I’ll ever tell yer. I never got no sight o’ him, ’cept in the dark. ’Bout all I know is he wus white, an’ likely a sailor, judgin’ frum the feel o’ his hands. Maybe he thought that wus his boat he’d stumbled inter—thar wus quite a few ’long the beach. Enyhow, when Manuel got back, he just took a look at him in the dark, an’ then told us to haul the lad forrard out o’ the way, an’ fetch him along. So we pulled out with the feller cuddled up in the bow. He was drunk all right.”
“I never seed nuthin’ more of him after he was hauled aboard,” commented Tom, as the other ceased speaking. “Whut become o’ the lad?”
“Him? Oh, Jose an’ me carried him inter the for’cassel, an’ shoved him inter a berth ter sleep off his liquor. Thet wus the last I ever see, er hear o’ him fer ’bout six hours. I’d fergot all ’bout the feller—er wud have, if it hadn’t been fer the rum. Manuel went off in the long-boat with Estada, an’ when my watch went below, I stowed myself away back o’ the bow gun fer a few drinks. I hadn’t been thar mor’n ten minutes, when this yere feller must a woke up in the for’cassel sum crazy. He cum a chargin’ out on deck, whoopin’ like an Indian, wavin’ a knife in his hand, intendin’ fer ter raise hell. I cudn’t see then who the lad wus, but it must o’ been him, fer when I went down later he wusn’t whar we’d put him. Well, it happened thet the fu’st feller he run up against wus LeVere, who wus cumin’ forrard fer sumthin’, an’ fer about a minute thar was one hell ov a fight. Maybe LeVere didn’t know et onct just whut hed happened, but he wusn’t almighty long finding out his job, an’ the way he started in fer ter man-handle the cuss, wus worth se
ein’. It was so damn dark thar by the foremast I couldn’t tell whut did happen, but it wus fists mostly, till the mate drove the poor devil, cussin’ like mad, over agin the rail, an’ then heaved him out inter the water ’longside. I heerd the feller splash when he struck, but he never let out no yell.”
“What did LeVere do?”
“Him? Hell, he didn’t do nuthin’. Just stared down over the rail a bit, an’ then cum back, rubbin’ his hands. Never even asked who the feller wus. Thar ain’t nuthin’ kin skeer that black brute.”
“By God—no! He ain’t got no human in him. It’s hell when English sailormen has got ter take orders frum a damned black, an’ be knocked ’round if they don’t jump when he barks. He’s goin’ ter get a knife in his ribs sum day.”
“Maybe he is; but yer better hold yer tongue, Tom. Sanchez don’t stand fer thet talk, an’ he’s back o’ LeVere. Let’s go in; them gaskets will hold all right now—cum ’long.”
The two vaguely distinguishable figures disappeared, clambering awkwardly over the rail, and as instantly vanishing into the blackness of the bark’s deck. An unsecured bit of canvas continued to flap noisily above me, and the constant surge of water pounded against the bow, but I could perceive now clearly the character I was destined to assume when once safely aboard the Namur. Such an assumption would involve but slight danger of discovery. It was as though a miracle had opened the way, revealed to me by the unconscious lips of these two half-drunken, gossiping sailors. The story told fitted my necessities exactly. Had I planned the circumstances myself, nothing could have been better prearranged. No one on board had seen the missing man by daylight; if an impression of his features remained in any individual mind, it must be extremely vague, and valueless. Bill’s conviction that the man was English, and probably a sailor, was the most definite, and he had had greater opportunity closely to observe the stranger than anyone else. LeVere had obtained no more than a glimpse of his opponent, during their struggle in the dark, and while fighting for his life. Surely it would be easy enough to obscure any faint impression thus acquired. And the fellow had been heartlessly flung overboard; was believed to have sunk without a struggle, too drunk to save himself; was scarcely given another thought. Yet no one knew positively that this was so, because no one cared. The death of the lad had simply been taken for granted, when LeVere failed to see his body rise again to the surface. Yet it was quite within the realm of possibility for the fellow to come up once more in that darkness, beyond LeVere’s range of vision, and even to have remained afloat, buoyed up by clinging to the anchor hawser, until strong enough to return on board. At least there was no one aboard the Namur able to deny that this had been done.
Satisfied by this reasoning of being able to pass myself off as the dead man, with small danger of detection, and likewise assured—so far at least as eyes and ears testified—that none of the crew were grouped on the forecastle, to be attracted by my movements, I began, slowly and cautiously, to drag myself up the taut hawser, hoping thus to attain a position from which to gain hand-hold on the rail, and thus attain the deck unseen. While my explanation might suffice, I greatly preferred having to present it only as a last resort. I would much rather slip quietly aboard, and mingle unnoticed with the crew for the next few hours, than be haled at once before LeVere, and endure his scrutiny and possible violence. The fellow was evidently a brute, and a hard master. Seemingly I had chosen a fortunate moment for my effort; no one heeded the little noise I made, and, when I finally topped the rail, and was able to look inboard, it was to discover a deserted fore deck, with the watch all engaged at some task amidships. There was no gleam of light, but I could hear the patter of feet, and imagined seeing dim moving figures. A rather high-pitched voice was giving orders, and enough of his words reached me to convince that other men were aloft on the main yard. Believing my best policy would be to join those busied on deck, just as though I belonged among them, I crept down the forecastle ladder, and worked my way aft beneath the black shadow of the port rail, until able thus to drift unnoticed into a group tailing on to a mainsail halliard. The fellow next to me, without releasing his grip, turned his head and stared, but without discerning my features.
“Whar the hell did yer cum’ frum?” he growled, and I as instantly recognized Bill Haines. “Been sojerin’, have yer? Well, now, damn yer eyes! lay too an’ pull.”
Before I could attempt an answer, a tall figure loomed up before us, the same high-pitched voice I had noticed previously calling out sharply:
“There, that’s enough, men! Now make fast. We can head the old girl out from here in a jiffy, if it really begins to blow. Jose, you stand by at the wheel, in case you’re needed; some of the rest ship the capstan bars, and remain near for a call.”
Discipline on board must have been somewhat lax, or else Haines held some minor official position which gave him unusual privilege, for, while the others instantly separated to carry out these orders, he remained motionless, confronting the man I supposed to be the mulatto, LeVere. My own position was such I could not press past the two without attracting attention.
“What are ye swingin’ the yards fer, enyhow?” asked the sailor insolently. “Just fer exercise?”
The other, who already had started to turn away, stopped, and took a step backward toward his questioner.
“Because I am a sailor, Haines,” he replied angrily. “Anyhow it is none of your business; I was left in command here. Those clouds don’t look good to me; there is going to be a blow before morning.”
“Then it’s yer intention ter work out’er this yere berth?”
“It’s my intention to be ready, if it becomes necessary. There is no regular officer left aboard, but, just the same, I am not going to let this bark pile up on those rocks yonder. We’ll hang on here for another half hour, maybe, and then, if the long-boat don’t show up, we’ll work further off shore until daylight. That’s sensible, isn’t it?”
Haines growled something, inaudible to me, but evidently accepted as an assent, and LeVere, still in no good humor from the questioning, wheeled sharply about to go forward. This movement placed him face to face with me.
“What are you loafing here for?” he burst forth, no doubt glad to thus vent his anger on someone. “Who the hell are you?”
“Joe Gates, sir,” I answered quickly, mouthing the first name which came to my lips.
“Gates—Joe Gates?” peering savagely into my face, but unable to distinguish the features. “I never heard of anybody on board by that name. Who is the fellow, Haines?”
The Englishman gripped me by the sleeve to whirl me about, but as his fingers touched the soaked cloth of my jacket, he burst forth with an oath.
“By God! but he’s wet enough to be the same lad you chucked overboard an hour ago. Damn me, I believe he is. Say, mate, are you the gay buck we hauled aboard drunk, and dumped inter the for’cassel?”
“I dunno, sir,” I answered dumbly, believing it best not to remember too much. “I couldn’t even tell yer whut ship this is, ner how I signed on. Last I seem ter remember I wus ashore frum the schooner Caroline; but this yere is a bark.”
Haines laughed, already convinced of my identity, and considering it a good joke.
“Well, my buck, I’ll tell yer whar yer are, an’ likewise how yer got yere,” he chuckled. “I wus one of a party frum this hooker ashore ’bout dusk, when yer hove in sight ’bout as drunk as a sailorman kin get. Fact is yer wus so soused yer stumbled inter the wrong boat, and went ter sleep. We’re allers ready fer ter take on a new hand er two, so we just let yer lie thar, an’ brought yer aboard. ’Bout an hour ago yer must a had a touch o’ tremens, fer, all at onct yer cum chargin’ out on deck, an’ tried ter knife LeVere, an’ he flung yer overboard. We sorter figured thet yer went down, an’ never cum up agin.”
LeVere broke in with a savage snarl.
“What’s all that? Do you mean, Haines, that this is the same damned scamp who tried to stick me?”
�
�No doubt of it. But he never knew what he was dloin’—he wus crazy as a loon. There’s nuthin’ fer yer ter fuss over now. Tell us about it, Gates—the bath must have sobered yer up?”
I watched LeVere, but he remained motionless, a mere shadow.
“I suppose it must have been thet, sir,” I confessed respectfully, “if things happened as you say they did. I haven’t any memory o’ tryin’ ter slash nobody. Leastwise I seemed ter know whut I wus about when I cum up. I don’t remember how I got ther; furst I knew I wus slushin’ ’round in the water, a tryin’ ter keep afloat. It wus so blame dark I cudn’t see nuthin’, but sumhow I got grip on a hawser, an’ hung on till I got back ’nough strength ter clime on board. I knew this wa’n’t my ship, so I just lay quiet awhile, figurin’ out whar I wus.”
“Yer English?”
“Born in Bristol, sir, but I wus workin’ on the Caroline—she’s a Colony schooner, in the fish trade.”
“Sailor?”
“At sea since I wus twelve. What’s this yere bark—Dutch, ain’t she?”
“Once upon a time; just now we are flying whatever flag cumes handy. We ain’t got no prejudice in flags.”
“Is thet a gun forrard, covered with taupalin?”
“Yes, an’ yer might find another aft, if yer looked fer it. Mor’n thet, we know how ter use ’em. Now see here, Gates; thar’s no reason why we should beat about the bush—fact is we’re sea rovers.”
“Sea rovers—pirates, sir?”
“Bah! what’s a name! We take what we want; it’s our trade, that’s all. No worse than many another. The question is, are yer goin’ ter take a chance ’long with us? It’s the only life, lad—plenty of fun, the best of liquor and pretty girls, with a share in all the swag.”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 196