The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  “That’s right, Mart,” nodded Captain Hollinger. “You take your orders from me, and that’s all. Hello, there’s Swanson now!”

  The boys looked up to see the burly mate coming along the dock. Without heeding them, he crossed the gangplank and went forward, doubtless to remove his “shore clothes,” in order to prepare for the night’s work.

  Captain Hollinger had heard the message left by Jerry Smith, saying that the old man could sign articles and draw wages if he liked. It looked to Mart as though the old seaman was cranky and wanted to have things just so, in which opinion Bob agreed, but as Jerry was to all intents a partner in the expedition, it mattered little.

  The sun was just going down, and the boys were looking for the last time on the hills of San Francisco, when Swanson came along the deck and touched his hat to the captain in a hesitant fashion. Mr. Hollinger, who was no mere amateur sailor, nodded.

  “Yes, Mr. Swanson? Mr. Peters come aboard yet?”

  “Not yet, sir.” Swanson hesitated again. “I—I wanted to ask you something, sir, meanin’ no offense. Yesterday mornin’, sir, there was a little round-shouldered man come aboard—gray hair, he had, and—”

  “You mean old Jerry Smith?” asked Captain Hollinger. Somehow both he and the boys always thought of the man as “Old Jerry.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s him. If I might ask, sir, is he a-going to ship aboard us?”

  “Why, he was going as passenger, Mr. Swanson, but seems to have changed his mind. Yes, he’ll sign articles as quartermaster. Why, do you know him?”

  “No, sir, not rightly,” and the mate shuffled awkwardly. “He—he ain’t said to be a lucky shipmate, Cap’n. They tell queer yarns about him; I’ve heard say as he was off his head a bit. Is he the one what’s bringing the crew abroad, sir!”

  “Yes—why? This talk is all nonsense, Swanson. Smith is as sound in his head as you or I, and he certainly knows the sea.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed the mate quickly—a little too quickly, thought Mart, who was watching him keenly. “Yes, sir. He does that. And he’ll bring a crew, Cap’n Hollinger, as’ll take handlin’. I was thinkin’, sir, that mebbe we’d have quite a ruction tonight—”

  The financier laughed. He, as well as the boys, saw now what was on the mate’s mind. Swanson believed that old Jerry would pick up a scoundrelly crew, most of them drunk when they came aboard, and that the millionaire might get drawn into a fight with them. Much as he disliked the big mate, Mart gave him credit for being true to his salt, as indeed he was.

  “Look here,” smiled the captain, getting to his feet and facing the mate, who was an inch shorter than he. “I wouldn’t be captain of this yacht unless I could take care of myself, Mr. Swanson. If you doubt it, I’ll put on the gloves with you now!”

  Swanson grinned. “No, sir, not me! I’m satisfied if you are, Cap’n Hollinger. I just wanted to ease off steam a bit—”

  “I understand,” laughed the financier. “But I guess you and Peters can handle the crew right enough. Now, you come down and mess with us, and Mr. Peters can take the deck when he comes.”

  All four descended into the mess cabin as Ah Sing rang the bell, and during the meal Mart revised his opinion of the mate to some extent. He saw that Swanson did not like him because he considered the wireless job a sinecure, and wanted to keep all the crew hard at work all the time. It was the usage of the sea, and the big mate himself was blunt and well-meaning. But Mart Judson had no mind to be ordered about by anyone, and he determined that if Swanson tried it, the mate would find out something.

  Peters, the second mate, came aboard before dark, and put the engine-room crew to work, so that after mess the boys went on deck to find steam up and the lines ready to be flung off at a moment’s notice. By ten o’clock no crew had come aboard, however, and Captain Hollinger finally ordered the boys to their cabins, in order to get to sleep early.

  “Holly!” said Mart softly, when they had left the main cabin. “You going to bed?”

  “Huh! With a scrap due to arrive? Not much!”

  “Me neither. Let’s get up in the bow.”

  So, treading very softly, they made their way to the bow and crouched there as comfortably as possible. Hardly fifteen minutes had passed when there came a tramp of feet from the wharf, and a confused murmur of voices. Looking down the deck, by the gangway light the two boys could see Captain Hollinger and “Liverpool” Peters waiting. Swanson had disappeared, as it was his watch below.

  The noise of feet swelled up into a steady stamping; then, as Mart and Bob got to the rail and looked over, they made out the figures of eight or ten men in the dim glow from the gangway. But, to their great disappointment, there was no fight whatever, and neither did any of the new arrivals seem to be intoxicated. Instead, all halted at sight of the two waiting officers, and the boys saw the stoop-shouldered Jerry Smith come forward and touch his hat.

  “We’ve come aboard, sir, all shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

  “Very good, quartermaster,” replied Captain Hollinger briskly. “Mr. Peters, if you’ll see that these men sign articles, we’ll be off at the turn of the tide. I’d better come with you, while you send someone after Mr. Swanson. We’ll want all hands—”

  “On deck, sir,” came the voice of Swanson, and Mart looked aft to see the burly mate come to the gangway. Captain Hollinger nodded and led the way below, followed by the first mate and the crew, all of whom seemed to be decent-looking fellows, and far from what Swanson had so gloomily predicted. But, as they vanished, the boys saw the stoop-shouldered figure of Jerry Smith stop abruptly by the gangway; then came Swanson’s voice once more, aggressive and heavy.

  “Look a-here, Shark Smith! I don’t know what your game is aboard this craft, but you lay a fair course or I’ll trim you. Savvy that? This ain’t the old Coralie, not by a long shot. I’m workin’ honest now, an’ you ain’t goin’ to get me from behind neither, like you got poor Bucko Tom!”

  Mart, watching in wild astonishment, saw old Jerry crouch abjectly. Then with the mate’s final words the old man straightened up as if in accusation. His white hair shone dimly in the light.

  “You’re right, Joe Swanson, you’re right!” he said in his quiet voice, that carried clearly and distinctly to the boys at the forward rail. “But if it was me as got Bucko Tom, who was it got the officers o’ the Melbourne, eh? No, no, Joe Swanson! I’m a new man now, and let’s forget the past. Fish tell no tales, Joe; fish tell no tales. I’m an old man, but I’m quartermaster o’ this packet. I’m an old man, but I’m a new man inside—”

  And turning abruptly, muttering as if he was actually out of his head, old Jerry Smith shuffled to the companionway and vanished. For a moment Swanson stared after him as if in surprise, then Mart felt his chum’s hand on his arm.

  “Better get out o’ here, Mart! They’ll be sendin’ the men forward pretty soon.”

  “You’re right,” Mart cautiously led the way aft, as Swanson began ascending the ladder to the bridge deck. When he had vanished, the two boys hurriedly gained their own staterooms, and Bob stopped with Mart for a short chat.

  “What d’you reckon those old fellows meant?” asked Mart, rumpling his black hair in perplexity. “Think they knew each other before this?”

  “Looks like it,” agreed Bob thoughtfully, his blue eyes narrowed. “What did they mean by ‘getting’ Bucko Tom, an’ the Melbourne officers? Do you s’pose—”

  “Pirates!” cried Mart excitedly, and dropped his voice. “They werepirates together on a ship called the Coralie! Bet you a dollar on it!”

  “Then we’re off to sea with a couple o’ pirates aboard,” responded Bob, as they heard shouted orders above, and the engines began to throb. “Shucks—forget it, Mart—we’ll wake up plumb out of sight o’ land. We’re off—hooray for Tringanu!”

  And the Seamew had begun her long voyage.

  CHAPTER IV

  THE PIRATE SHARK

  During the days that followed, the boys sa
w little of Captain Hollinger. He was largely occupied with getting everything running smoothly aboard ship, during his watches on deck, and except at mealtime he kept to his stateroom at work over maps and papers.

  Mart’s work was extremely nominal, although necessary. He had few messages to send out and invariably directed that answers be sent at a given time of day, so that he had little more than four hours of work each morning. Bob usually stuck close to the wireless house at this time, and in fact the boys made it a sort of headquarters during the day. It stood back of the chart house on the lower bridge, and the second mate or old Jerry Smith would spend many a “watch below” with them. Swanson, however, kept surlily to himself.

  “Liverpool” Peters, the second mate, was a pleasant young Britisher who had been at sea practically all his life, while old Jerry was full of odd ways and tales which delighted both boys, though it was seldom that he would open up to them. He seemed to take a great fancy to Mart, and often when the boys were alone he would wander up, fill his cutty pipe, and settle down for a chat.

  The crew was a strange lot. Of the nine men, five were brown-skinned Kanakas, but the other four were white, and seemed to be all old men, though they moved about spryly enough. Dailey was wrinkled and leathery, Birch had only one very black and sparkling eye, Yorke’s mouth was twisted into a perpetual smile, and Borden was a quiet little man like old Jerry, gray-haired and respectful.

  “They’re a queer lookin’ bunch,” observed Bob one morning, as they left the wireless house and went forward to the bridge, watching the men sluicing down the decks forward.

  “You bet,” nodded Mart, laughing with sheer enjoyment of the blue sky and bluer ocean. “Where’d you pick ’em up, Jerry?”

  Both boys turned to the quartermaster, who was at the wheel in the little house behind them. He smiled, as watches were changed and Dailey came up to relieve him.

  “Where’d I find them, Mart? Oh, I just ran across ’em. Dailey, here, used to be on a ship wi’ me, once.” He looked around, and the leathery seaman grinned slightly.

  “Who’ll do the diving?” asked Bob, as they walked back to the wireless house and flung themselves into deck chairs, while old Jerry filled his pipe.

  “Two o’ the Kanakas, lad. They’re main good at that.”

  “Are you goin’ hunting with us?” shot out Mart. “Tiger hunting?”

  “That depends, lad, that depends,” and Jerry wagged his head solemnly. “I never killed a tiger yet. I’ve killed whales, though, aye, and tiger sharks! Think of the mystery of the sea, lads—wave after wave, with the fish down below and us up here above! Fish tell no tales, lads, fish tell no tales. There’s strange things out where we be bound for.”

  “What?” asked Bob eagerly. “Sharks?”

  The quartermaster nodded. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then turned to Mart and laid a hand on the boy’s knee.

  “Lads, did you ever hear tell o’ the Pirate Shark?”

  Mart thrilled at the name, and the tone of the old man’s voice gave him a creepy feeling, as it often did.

  “No!” he exclaimed delightedly, scenting a yarn. “What about him?”

  “Well, I’ve heard as he’s livin’ in the very place we’re going to—that Kuala Besut, off Tringanu.”

  “Huh?” grunted Bob, sitting up quickly. “And us going to dive? Not much!”

  Jerry laughed softly, gazing out at the sparkling waters.

  “The Kanakas ain’t afraid, lad. Only they don’t know—they don’t know. You see, this here Pirate Shark is pretty famous down through the Chiny Sea. But old Jerry Smith, he’s the only one that knows. He’s the only white man, lads. The Chinks know, and the Malays know, but they wouldn’t go near the place. The mystery o’ the sea, lads—wave after wave! The gold down below, and us up above—and fish tell no tales, lads—”

  He fell silent, still gazing at the horizon. Mart glanced at Bob, and caught a significant wink as Holly tapped his forehead. Mart frowned.

  “What do you mean?” he asked sharply. “Is there a shark by that name? What kind o’ stuff are you handing us, Jerry?”

  The old man turned and looked square at him, and his gentle face seemed suddenly changed into a swift vehemence that was amazing. But it vanished instantly, and he was himself again—as if he had put on a mask, thought Mart quickly.

  “The Pirate Shark,” answered old Jerry slowly. “Yes, I’ll tell you about it, lads. There ain’t many as knows where the Pirate Shark is, but old Jerry Smith, he knows. He’s a big shark, he is—mighty big, an’ a man-killer. He come up first at Thursday Island, years ago, an’ caught half a dozen Jap pearlers. Then he showed up in the Flores Sea, an’ for a year the fishers didn’t dare visit the pearlin’ beds. After that he went over to the Sulu Islands, down to Java, back to the Chiny Sea—always killin’ men, natives or white. Then he vanished for a while—mystery o’ the sea, lads, wave after wave—”

  Again the old man paused, dreaminess on his gentle face. The boys were leaning forward eagerly, and Bob brought him back abruptly to the subject.

  “But what about this place we’re goin’ to? Is he there now?”

  Once more that peculiar look flitted across the wrinkled face—a look of swift suspicion, that vanished as quickly as it came. Jerry smiled softly.

  “Why, yes! See here, lads, you promise you’ll say nothing? I likes you fine, but I don’t want news leakin’ out. I’m an old man—fish tell no tales, lads—”

  “Of course,” agreed Mart instantly. “We’ll keep quiet, Jerry.” Bob nodded.

  “Well, this is a yarn as a Chink told me, lads. But it’s true, gospel true! A long time ago there was only Portugees an’ Dutch in the Chiny sea, an’ they carried on somethin’ awful, fightin’ an’ robbin’. Once there was a big battle—”

  “Yes!” volunteered Bob eagerly. “I was readin’ about it last night—that time back about 1600 when the Dutch fought a Spanish armada for a week an’ licked ’em!”

  “It was a big battle,” went on old Jerry. “One o’ the ships drifted up to the coast of Tringanu an’ sunk. Some o’ the men got away, but she’s there still—right where we’re goin’, lads, in Kuala Besut Bay. She’s got treasure aboard, gold an’ pearls an’ such, an’ the Pirate Shark’s guarding her.”

  “Oh, rats!” laughed Mart, to whose practical mind treasure stories were all absurd. “If there’d been any treasure there it’d be gone long ago.”

  “So?” Jerry looked at him, and Mart felt suddenly afraid, so strange was the look in the bleared old eyes. “So? This Chink had been there wi’ some Chink divers, after pearls, lads. O’ course, folks know the wreck is down there, eight fathom down, lads. The Dutch has been there, the Japs, the Chinks—but they didn’t get the gold, lads! ’Cause why? ThePirate Shark is there, keepin’ watch. The divers went down, but he cut their air lines—he cut their air lines, lads! And they didn’t come up. He’s got a black fin, a big black back fin, which is one reason why he’s called the Pirate Shark.

  “But there’s another reason, lads. That’s because he went from one pearl fishery to another, cuttin’ air hose, killin’ men, keepin’ the pearlers off the grounds. They were scared of him all through the south seas. When the big black fin cut the water, not even a Jap would go down. Fish tell no tales, lads, fish tell no tales! Man after man he ate, Malay an’ Chink an’ Britisher an’ Arab, and now he’s got the old galleon an’ her gold, and no one knows where it is but the old quartermaster. The fish down below, lads, and us up above—”

  “I guess you’re mixed up, Jerry,” said Bob quickly. “A little while ago you said that lots o’ people know the wreck is there, but just now you say no one knows where it is except you. How ’bout that?”

  Jerry chuckled, rising slowly to his feet.

  “She’s inside the lagoon, lad, eight fathom down, an’ no one knows but old Jerry Smith where she is now. She used to be under the sand, but the tide and the river dug her out and she drifted, drifted, down with the fish. F
ish tell no tales, lads—fish tell no tales! Now she’s wedged up among the rocks, eight fathom down, wi’ the Pirate Shark’s flag over her. Lads, ye won’t tell the cap’n or Joe Swanson that old Jerry told ye about the Pirate Shark, will you?”

  “Sure not, Jerry,” chorused the two together. Jerry nodded and turned.

  “Well, I got to get down an’ see to gettin’ that cable flaked.” And he shuffled away, muttering still of “wave after wave—the fish down below and us up above!”

  The two boys stared at each other, their eyes sparkling. Incredible, wild and fantastic as the yarn sounded, something about the old quartermaster’s manner had impressed them both with the fact that he believed it firmly.

  “Do you s’pose it’s true, Holly?” asked Mart.

  “Blamed if I know,” returned Bob slowly, for he seldom gave any direct opinion on a subject. “O’ course it isn’t true, because if he knew about that place and the gold and the wreck, he’d get after that shark in short order. It’s prob’ly a sea yarn.”

  “I ain’t so sure,” returned Mart. “It sounds fishy,” and Bob grinned. “Well, it does, for a fact. But Jerry believes it himself, that’s sure. I tell you what, Holly, if that Pirate Shark’s really there, and them Kanakas get to diving, we’re goin’ to see something! Some idea, though! A big shark cruising around the pearling beds, killing men, and finally taking possession of an old wreck full o’ treasure! Why, it reads like—like a Jules Verne story! Say—you remember that dynamite your dad said Jerry wanted put aboard?”

  Bob looked up, startled, and gave a nod.

  “Well, I bet a cookie Jerry’s goin’ after that Pirate Shark with it!”

  “What!” Bob’s blue eyes widened and his face lost its careless expression. “By juniper! Mart, do you s’pose he’s after the gold? Let’s ask dad—maybe that’s what he meant all along by gold mining—”

  “Hold on there,” cried Mart, hauling back the eager Holly. “We promised we wouldn’t say anything to your dad or the mate, remember? Hello, here comes Birch with a message I’ve got to send, prob’ly.”