A Bottomless Grave

by A Bottomless Grave

  So, early one Thursday morning away we went with eighteen hundred of the ugliest, dirtiest wretches on board that it had ever been my lot to see—filthier, I believe, than the cargo of pilgrims we took to Jeddah last year. Pilgrims, I admit, are universally given the palm for filth; it is a part of their sanctity: they are human sewers, and worse; but I think that even the most devout pilgrim that ever journeyed to the sacred shrine at Mecca could not give many points to several of the wretches we had aboard. At least, for the sake of the poor devils who have to carry them, I hope not. I was never on such a floating midden in my life, and I pray to heaven, apart from what happened, that I may never be again. To poke your nose down a hatchway, to get to leeward of a ventilator, or to pass ’tween decks, was to inhale the concentrated essence of eighteen hundred unprecedented stinks. To describe the scene is impossible, the details would be too revolting; but perhaps it is not altogether impossible to imagine eighteen hundred filthy creatures all huddled together for four or five days, afraid to leave their belongings for a moment.

  All went well with us till we had passed the dangerous Paracels, a cluster of rocks lying in the track of steamers bound from Hong Kong to Singapore, upon which many a good ship had rushed to her doom. Even the thoughtless coolie breathes freer when he knows that he has passed that treacherous spot; while captain and officer, though not dreading it, heave an inward sigh of satisfaction as they think of it far astern.

  But, as I was saying, everything went well with us till we had passed this place. Our passengers seemed an innocent, well-behaved lot, albeit not over-cleanly. There were few disturbances among them, and little prowling in forbidden quarters, though once or twice we caught two or three ugly fellows in places where they had no right to be; but as one stands on no ceremony with coolies, they were somewhat unceremoniously hustled back to their own quarters. Yet when we were well on our voyage, and the Paracels passed, this prowling about increased to an alarming extent. No matter at what time of day or night you happened to be about the ship, you would find one of these fellows sneaking around somewhere, and not infrequently when you expostulated with him, he would show his teeth. At night they spread themselves across the decks in such a way that you could scarcely move without walking on them; and though you might tread on the faces of eleven men with impunity, the twelfth might uprise and hamstring you, or, with a friend or two, toss you over the side, and who but themselves would be the wiser? When you have eighteen hundred of the lowest class Chinamen aboard, you must not be surprised at anything.

  As we drew nearer Singapore this prowling about grew more general, till we were pestered out of our lives. Our worthy passengers did not alone frequent the after-deck, which they knew they had no right to do, but they even took to peeping into the saloon and cabins. This was more than we could bear. Though only a ‘tramp’, we had our dignity, and could not tolerate this setting our authority at defiance. One afternoon the captain, as he passed down the companion, caught a coolie, a thick, one-eyed, villainous-looking fellow, making his way into the saloon. Without more ado the old man seized him by the pigtail, and gave him sundry sledge-hammer cuffs alongside of the ear, and then sent him spinning backwards with a kick. There were some horrid screams and oaths, and for a moment the fellow looked like fighting; but thinking better of it, he picked himself up and, growling beneath his breath, slunk off.

  That was the beginning of the bother. The next move was one which for brazen impudence fairly staggered me.

  I was keeping the first dog-watch at the time. We were making good headway in a smooth sea, with every prospect of reaching Singapore before another forty-eight hours had passed. The sky was clear, the glass set fair. On the starboard bow the sun, a great golden chrysanthemum, was sloping down to the west. I never knew a brighter day bring in a blacker night. and, after making a

  Presently the captain joined me on the bridge, and, after making a few of the usual inquiries, perched himself up in the port corner, and took a good look round, I, in the meantime, continuing my walk between the starboard corner and the binnacle. After a while he beckoned me to him.

  ‘I don’t like the look of those damned coolies,’ he said. ‘Have you noticed anything?’

  ‘Nothing really suspicious, sir. They are always a bad lot, of course; but I think they know how far they can go.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ve taught one of them a lesson anyway.’ And he told me what he had done.

  I knew the man well enough, an ugly one-eyed pig. He had been prowling about the ship ever since we had left Hong Kong.

  ‘But the best of the joke,’ continued the old man seriously, as though not quite sure of the humour of the thing, ‘is that that one-eyed cuckoo actually came up to me just now and inquired if we were really going to Singapore. What do you think he meant?’

  ‘I am glad we have not three or four hundred like him,’ I answered evasively. ‘We should want a detachment of soldiers to guard them.’

  The old man began to laugh, then stopped midway, looking quickly over my shoulder. I saw his eyes start as though they would jump from his head. Then he bounded past me. Turning round, I saw that three of our passengers had mounted the bridge by the starboard ladder, and that the leader of the trio was the squat, one-eyed blackguard whom the captain had thrashed that afternoon.

  ‘Well,’ yelled the skipper, who, when his authority was disputed, was a fiend incarnate, ‘what do you want?’ Only he embellished this simple question with a whole gallery of beautiful adjectives.

  The Chow grinned servilely, showing a row of dirty yellow teeth.

  ‘Me likee speakee you, cap’n.’

  ‘You infernal—’ began the old man. But no. Since I cannot give the captain’s impressive language in full, it would be folly to attempt any other. When the gods are angry the heavens thunder and the world quakes. Our captain was a god in his way, and when he spoke in anger, his rage coloured the atmosphere. He, however, gave the impudent Chinaman to understand that the bridge was the Olympus of the gods, and that neither mortals nor inferior deities had any right there. The one-eyed yellow man bowed and smiled. A Chinaman always smiles, though the smile is not always pretty.

  ‘Wing solly, welly solly,’ he said, ‘but all’ee same he come top side speak along of cap’n.’

  ‘Well,’ said the old man, unbending like a god, ‘what the dooce do you want?’

  ‘Me no wantee go Singlaplore.’

  ‘Eh?’ roared the captain, as though he doubted his hearing.

  ‘Wing no wantee go Singlaplore side. Sabbee?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the old man sarcastically, ‘wouldn’t like to go to Singapore, eh? Now, where would you like me to take you? Please give it a name.’

  This delicate irony was lost upon Wing.

  ‘Tonking way,’ he said seriously: ‘Flenchyman’s China. Plenty better than Singlaplore.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ said the old man suavely, ‘but this ship’s going to Singapore. Now clear, damn you, clear, or I’ll break your damned neck.’ And, his suavity gone, he strode savagely forward. The man, however, did not budge, though his two companions flew down the ladder, where, on the deck below, half a dozen more ugly wretches awaited them.

  ‘Are you going?’ roared the captain, pointing down to the deck.

  ‘All li, all li.’

  But his movements were so slow that the old man’s boot had to waken him up a bit.

  ‘Pretty cool, Anderson?’ said he, turning to me.

  ‘Very, sir. I think I should put that one-eyed chap in irons.’

  ‘Oh, I guess he’s had enough for one day,’ was the laughing reply. ‘You won’t forget to call me if you see anything?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  And so away he went, an awful bully of a man, but one in whom there was a lot of good run wild. I know I liked him with all his faults; and though at times I could have punched his head, at others I would have done anything for him.

  Early the next morning the mate came to my berth
and roughly awakened me.

  ‘Hallo, Joe, what the devil are you doing?’

  I sprang up, rubbing my eyes.

  ‘For God’s sake come on deck!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘The old man’s missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘Yes. Come as soon as you can.’ And he was gone.

  In two minutes I joined him on the bridge, and in the early morning light I thought his face looked ghastly.

  ‘What is it, old chap?’ I asked.

  ‘My God!’ he whined, ‘this is a nice business and no mistake. The old man’s missing. I went below to call him half an hour ago and he wasn’t in his room. I have searched everywhere, but there’s not a trace of him to be seen.’

  ‘But he must be about somewhere. He couldn’t fall overboard.’

  ‘No,’ said the mate in a scared voice, ‘he couldn’t very well fall overboard; but suppose he was chucked?’

  I started. Visions of the one-eyed Wing and his villainous companions flashed before me.

  ‘They wouldn’t dare,’ I stammered.

  ‘Ah, wouldn’t they. I tell you what it is, Anderson, we’ve got the choicest crowd of blackguards aboard this boat that you’ll find between here and Shanghai. My God!’ he groaned, ‘we may thank our stars if we don’t get our damned throats cut between this and Singapore.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ I answered, disgusted at the cowardice of the man. ‘Let us go down and fish out our revolvers, and put the engineers on guard. We ought to be in Singapore to-night.’

  ‘O my God!’ he moaned, ‘I don’t think we shall ever see Singapore again.’

  ‘Not if you let them see you in that state. I’ll go and warn the third and the engineers. You keep a sharp look-out.’

  ‘Wait a minute, Anderson. I—I think you’d better not risk it.’

  Knowing why he wished me to stay, I laughingly pooh-poohed all idea of danger.

  ‘Then let us have a look at the chart first.’

  We went into the chart-room, which was a house built on a level with the bridge, the door of which was set in the back, or afterpart of it. Here, spread out on the top of the locker, which answered the purpose of a table, lay the chart, and the mate and I at once began to study it. Along the chart the captain had drawn our course, marking off the length of each day’s run, and putting the date opposite it. There was the addition he had made at noon yesterday; the last, I was afraid, he would ever make.

  ‘Well, Anderson,’ said the mate, ‘what do you make of it?’

  I respected his feelings. He was not a quick or skilful navigator.

  ‘We should be abreast the lighthouse between nine and ten to-night.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Work it out yourself.’

  The mate did not take the hint.

  ‘Well, let us hope you’re right, Anderson. But seventeen hours! My God, what an eternity!’

  I was turning away from him in disgust when I heard a scuffle outside by the binnacle. The next moment the quartermaster who was steering, shouted loudly, ‘Look out, sir!’ I had only time to spring forward, unhitch the door, and slam it to when the foremost ruffian threw himself upon it.

  ‘The window. Quick, quick!’ I yelled to the mate.

  In the front of the chart-room, looking out over the bridge, and so out across the bows of the ship, was a window, the glass of which slid in and out like a screen. There was also a sliding shutter of wood outside the glass again. This, luckily, the mate had seized in his fright. It came to with a bang, and we were safe for a while.

  Save for a pale gleam of light which played about the end of the window, we were in utter darkness, and I could hear the mate moaning as he clutched the ring of the shutter to keep it in its place.

  ‘My God!’ he whined, ‘we’re in for it now.’

  Though believing he was right, I would not gratify him by admitting as much. I struck a match and lit the lamp which was always kept in the chart-room-which, in fact, the mate had only put out an hour before.

  ‘Let’s see what’s here,’ I said, as I began to search the lockers. ‘Perhaps we shall find something we want.’

  ‘No dashed fear,’ whined the mate. ‘You never find a thing when you want it.’ And he began to feebly curse his star, the mother who bore him, and all things beneath the sun. The way he blasphemed in his terror might have been amusing were it not for its extreme pathos.

  And yet on opening the second small drawer I discovered a revolver —the captain’s I knew it to be—which I held delightedly before my companion’s eyes.

  ‘There,’ I cried, ‘what do you think of this?’

  For a moment a ray of hope brightened his dull eyes. Then a gloomy look leapt into them.

  ‘It would just be my dashed luck if it wasn’t loaded.’

  An icy wind swept across my heart.

  ‘It’s not,’ I said, after examining it.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he added consolingly.

  But there might be cartridges somewhere in the locker! I searched high and low but without success. Two of the big drawers were filled with charts, the other one with nautical odds and ends, among which I noticed a battered compass, a coil of india-rubber tubing, an old sextant, and one barrel of a pair of glasses. But not a cartridge: not even the shell of one.

  The mate looked at me despairingly: a look of blank, unutterable terror.

  ‘My God! we’re done for,’ he wailed. ‘These devils will rip us up, Anderson, and then chuck us overboard.’

  ‘They may do what they like with me when I am dead,’ I answered; ‘but I’m not dead yet.’

  ‘No, but you soon will be. I know them, Anderson. They’re devils, fiends incarnate. They’ll torture us, I tell you—torture us, by God. They’ll cut us into strips and grill them before our eyes.’

  ‘Damn you, shut up!’ I shouted, as a wild sensation of frizzling ran down my backbone. ‘It’s bad enough to know those devils are prowling about unchecked, without being plagued with your confounded croaking. If you can’t suggest a way out of this, you had better hold your row.’

  Remembering his dignity, that he was my superior officer, he tried to look offended; but the time and place forbade any outburst. Indeed, the rap which came upon the shutter at that moment knocked all the dignity out of him.

  ‘Wha-at’s that?’ he gasped.

  ‘Our friends want to come in.’

  ‘Don’t budge, Anderson; my God! don’t budge.’

  ‘But, my dear sir, we can’t stay here all day. Let us see what they want.’

  He implored, he entreated; but quietly shoving him aside, I flung back the shutter. Wing, the one-eyed coolie, who seemed to be the ringleader, and three others immediately sprang forward; but in an instant they drew up sharp, for I had covered them with my empty revolver.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘what is all this about? Do you know that this means hanging when we get to Singapore?’

  The one-eyed rascal grinned in his oily, unpleasant fashion, and I knew by the way he was hitching his trousers behind that he was hiding a knife. But I caught no glimpse of a revolver, for which I was devoutly thankful. My own harmless weapon had an evident effect upon them.

  ‘Me plenty sabbee,’ he grinned, ‘but me no go Singlaplore. Singlaplore too muchee no good. Me wantee speakee mate. He all the same belong cap’n now.’

  ‘They want to speak to you,’ I said. ‘Come, don’t let them think you’re frightened.’

  ‘My God!’ he whispered, ‘I’m not frightened.’ But it was a wretched, craven face he turned to the pirates.

  The one-eyed scoundrel bowed.

  ‘Good mornin’, cap’n,’ he said. ’You all the same belong cap’n now. Udder cap’n, he say he wantee go Singlaplore. This ship no go Singlaplore. Udder cap’n, he say he will go Singlaplore, so he jumpee overboard to swimee-swimee. Sabbee? Suppose new cap’n, he wantee go Singlaplore, he also have to swimee-swimee. Sabbee?’

  The mate’s face grew livid with terror.

 
‘What do you want?’ he groaned.

  ‘No wantee this ship go Singlaplore. Singlaplore too muchee dam swingee-swingee,’ and he encircled his ugly neck with an imaginary noose. ‘Me wantee go Flenchyman’s China. New cap’n, he find nice spot, takee ship there, Wing let him go flee,—new cap’n, he no takee ship there, Wing slit him thloat.’

  ‘My God, Anderson!’ groaned the mate, ‘what shall we do? These devils have got possession of the ship. They’ll slit our damned throats as sure as eggs.’

  ‘Let them slit and be damned,’ I answered angrily. ‘Of one thing you may be sure, they’re not to be trusted. It’s only a ruse to get us out of this. You may go if you like. I don’t. That villain, Wing as he calls himself, knows well enough how to steer to pick up the coast of Cochin China. Look here,’ and I unhitched the little compass that hung at my watch-chain, ‘we’re steering west by north now.’

  My companion looked thunderstruck.

  ‘We’re fast getting out of the track of ships,’ he said. ‘Anderson, we’re lost.’

  ‘Not yet. Tell them you will think over their proposal. I have an idea.’

  The mate did as he was bidden, and I pulled the shutter to.

  That the engines should be running freely all this time betokened one of two things: that either the engineers were unconscious of what had happened above deck, or that they had all been overpowered and the engines were running unattended. If the latter were the case, I knew we should not go long without a dreadful breakdown; if the former, there was still some hope, for those three sturdy Scotsmen in the engine-room were worth half a dozen men.

  In the left-hand corner of the chart-room was a metal speaking-tube which led down into the engine-room, but which I had never seen anyone use. In fact, I did not know if it was in working order, for there was not even a whistle in the orifice. However, there was the faint hope that there might be one in the other end. As I leant over it I could distinctly hear the clank, clank of the engines. But there was, unfortunately, no whistle for me to sound the alarm upon. I halloed, I roared, I whistled down it, but in vain. Nothing but the monotonous clank, clank of the engines greeted my ear.