Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “All right?” inquired Mr. Biggs, somewhat anxiously, as he lounged up to him a few minutes later.

  Mr. Tarn nodded. “I told ‘im I done as I was told,” he replied. “When he arst me who told me, I said the orders come from ‘im in a manner of speaking, but I couldn’t tell ‘im ‘ow if he was to cut me up in five million pieces. When I said p’raps I’d gone a bit beyond ‘is orders, he swore he ‘adn’t given me none. He’s a bit excited — got to talking about wot he called my ugly mug, afore he’d finished.”

  The skipper’s excitement died down during the day and gave place to a condition of sulky uneasiness. Under the doctor’s advice he turned a deaf ear to all questions, and the only satisfaction the passengers received was the news that the Starlight was proceeding as fast as her engines could carry her to the rescue of Carstairs and his companions in misfortune.

  “And I hope that Mr. Carstairs will insist upon a full explanation,” said Miss Flack.

  “And then retail it to us,” said Mrs. Jardine, in a thin voice.” I must confess that I am very curious.”

  It was the condition of everybody on board, as Knight, who paid a visit to the skipper in his cabin after lunch, told him.

  “They’re just bursting with it, aren’t they?” he said, turning to Maloney, who had accompanied him.

  “Let ’em burst,” said Vobster churlishly.

  “At present,” pursued Knight, “they’re just guessing at things — putting two and two together, so to speak. What they’ll say when they know the truth I can’t imagine. Tollhurst is the worst — he’s been made to look a bit ridiculous, and he doesn’t like it. He’s got a cousin who is editor of a newspaper, and I expect the whole thing will be made public as soon as we get home.”

  “D — n the newspapers,” said Vobster, “and the public,” he added impartially.

  Knight murmured acquiescence. “Very awkward, all the same,” he said thoughtfully. “Of course, it will be worse for you than anybody else. The idea of a skipper giving his crew orders to mutiny, and then tie him up as though he were going to play what the children call ‘Honey-pots,’ is almost incredible. Do you know the game?”

  “You get out of my cabin,” vociferated the indignant skipper. “Who asked you to come here?”

  “With pleasure,” said the unmoved Knight. “I merely came to try and do you a kindness, that’s all. However, if you prefer to have your portrait in the public press, with ‘Captain Vobster, the Honey-pot Champion,’ underneath—”

  Maloney flung his arms round the skipper’s waist just in time. Baulked of his prey, the latter subsided on the settee and sat glaring darkly at his would-be benefactor.

  “Do you a kindness,” repeated Knight. “If this comes out it might be some time before you get a ship again. If you can keep your officers’ mouths shut I think I can get you out of it.”

  “How?” inquired the other, still glaring.

  “That’s my affair,” was the reply. “I’ve already cautioned Pope and the bo’sun to keep quiet, and if you’ll put me ashore alone I think I can fix Carstairs. If the others get hold of him first it’ll all come out.”

  “Suppose they want to go?” growled Vobster, considering.

  “What’s that got to do with it?” said Knight. “When we get to the island put me ashore. If anybody else wants to go, don’t let ’em. You’re master of this ship, aren’t you?”

  Maloney caught the skipper’s eye. “Better trust him,” he said encouragingly.” He’s the most unscrupulous chap I ever met; but you can’t be in a worse fix than you are.”

  The skipper sat pondering. “All right,” he said at last, “have it your own way. And if you never come back I don’t know that I shall be sorry.”

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE island was sighted about an hour later, and it was clear from the behaviour of the passengers that a landing on an extensive scale was contemplated. Boat parties were arranged, and, by universal consent, a place was reserved for the bereaved Markham; Albert, in view of his sufferings in the general cause, was also included. On these preparations the skipper bestowed a frosty smile but made no comment, and it was not until the Starlight was hove-to on the weather-side of the island and two little groups gathered by their respective boats that he showed his hand.

  “Not go ashore?” demanded Tollhurst in a loud voice. “Why not?”

  “My orders,” said the skipper laconically. “I don’t understand,” said Talwyn, coming forward haughtily. “Do you mean to say that you forbid us to go?”

  “I don’t say that,” said Vobster, “you must do as you please. All I say is that you are not going in my boats.”

  “But this is preposterous,” claimed Tollhurst, as an indignant murmur arose from his friends. “We insist upon going. We are Mr. Carstairs’ guests, and if we choose to go ashore we will. Pope, I suppose you are in charge while Carstairs is away; what are your orders?”

  “I really think—” began Pope, in his deepest tones.

  “Think as much as you like, sir,” said Vobster, reddening. “I’m the only man that gives orders here.”

  He turned away and paced slowly up and down as one of the boats was lowered. Tollhurst and Talwyn, eyeing him defiantly, went to the accommodation ladder and endeavoured, but in vain, to push past the seamen in charge. Their anger was not lessened when they saw Knight trip jauntily down the ladder and step into the waiting boat.

  “Why is he allowed to go?” demanded Tollhurst.

  “My orders,” repeated the skipper.

  The oars dipped and the boat shot away. The noise of many people, all speaking at once, was borne after it, and Knight, turning his head, was oddly reminded of the mobbing of an owl. The demonstration was not concluded until Vobster had climbed to his perch on the bridge.

  The lagoon was reached after a stiff pull, and the seamen, relaxing their efforts, took it easy across the smooth water in the direction of a tent on the beach. Four noble hearts throbbed as one as Miss Mudge, aroused by the sound of oars in rowlocks, burst out of the tent and stood frantically waving at them.

  “It’s all right, miss,” said the bow-oar as the boat grounded and the men jumped out and hauled it up on the beach. “We’ve come to take you back.”

  Miss Mudge, clasping her hands dramatically, raised her eyes to the sky.

  “I had given up all hope,” she said in moving tones. “Oh, if you only knew what I have suffered, you wouldn’t—”

  “Where’s Mr. Carstairs?” interrupted Knight sharply.

  Miss Mudge pointed to the right. “The last I saw of him,” she said precisely, “he was walking along the beach with my lady. Shall I go and tell them you’re here?”

  “I’ll go,” said Knight, moving off. “You stay where you are.”

  Miss Mudge hesitated, and then, seating herself on the side of the boat and shading her eyes with her hand, looked out to sea. “Where is the yacht?” she inquired.

  “T’other side, miss,” said one of the men. He stood looking at her for a moment, and then perched himself delicately against the side of the boat about a yard away. Inch by inch the intervening space disappeared.

  “Bill,” he said softly as another seaman prepared to seat himself on the left of the attraction, “if you and Joe and Bob like to go for to stretch your legs a bit I’ll stand by the boat.”

  “Ay, ay,” said Bill, seating himself. “Was it very lonely, miss?”

  Miss Mudge clasped her hands. “Oh, awful,” she said, with a shiver. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep all night. I was so frightened.”

  Bill gave a sympathetic groan. “I couldn’t sleep neither,” he said in a low voice. “Every moment, just as I was dropping off, I thought of you cast away ‘ere, and woke up agin, with a start.”

  “I didn’t go to bed at all,” said the voice of Joe from behind. “I felt as if I should choke if I laid down.”

  “It’s a wonder to me he don’t choke now,” said Bill, in amazed accents.

  “Or be str
uck dead,” said Tom.

  “But you helped to put me ashore,” said the girl severely. “You were all as bad as one another.”

  “We only done wot we was told, miss,” said Joe, coming round the boat and seating himself on the beach at her feet. “Orders is orders, but I’d much rather ‘ave been told to go up to the mast-head and chuck myself into the sea.”

  “He will be struck dead,” said Tom with conviction.

  “It’s all very dreadful,” said Miss Mudge, clasping her hands again. “When I think of that Mr. Tarn having the cheek to take me up in his arms as if I was a bundle of washing, and you all howling like wild beasts, I don’t know what to think. I shall never be the same again; my trust in my fellow-creatures has gone — I shall never see a sailor again without shuddering.”

  The information was received in pained silence, broken at last by Bill, who had been regarding with silent indignation the manoeuvres of his shipmate on the beach.

  “If you don’t like that nasty, oily ‘ead in your lap, miss,” he said, in tones of outraged propriety, “pull its ‘air.”

  He waited hopefully, but the well-bred Miss Mudge manifesting no signs of any intention to follow his advice, acted upon it himself. His ministrations, at first gentle, increased in power. Joe winced.

  “You ‘ave got strong fingers, miss,” he said in tones of soft reproach. “You’re making my eyes fair water.”

  “Well, why don’t you take that fat ‘ead of yours away then?” inquired the delighted Bill. “She’s not wot you could call hurting of you.”

  He took a firmer grip, and a groan of anguish broke from the unfortunate Joe. “Here, easy on, my dear,” he exclaimed, reaching up. “You don’t know the strength of them pretty little fingers of yours. You’ve got — BILL! s’welp me, you do that agin, and I’ll knock your ugly face off of you.”

  He sprang to his feet so suddenly that the conscience-stricken Bill went over backwards into the boat, half taking his fair companion with him. Placed on an even keel by the strong arm of Tom she manifested no gratitude, and, after giving herself an angry shake, started off along the beach, followed at a respectful distance by four distressed sailormen.

  In the meantime Knight, having drawn blank on the beach, had turned inland. His canvas shoes made no noise as he strode on, glancing right and left until, beyond a little group of coco-palms, he found what he sought. Side by side they stood, looking out to sea, and the intruder noticed with gratified astonishment that Carstairs’ arm was placed in a comfortable fashion around his companion’s waist. For a few seconds Knight gazed his fill and then, with a faint cough, blew them a yard apart.

  “Knight!” cried Carstairs in amazement.

  “How do you do,” said Knight blandly, as he bowed to Lady Penrose. “I have come to beg you to return to the ship.”

  “Return to the ship!” repeated the bewildered Carstairs.

  Knight nodded. “Everything is at sixes and sevens since you left us,” he said slowly. “We’re in a state of civil war almost. Tollhurst got up another mutiny this morning, but that’s all over and Vobster is in command again. At least he was when I left, but it’s quite possible by this time that Albert is in charge. Won’t you come?”

  “Come!” said Carstairs helplessly. “Come! Do you think we left the ship of our own free will?”

  Knight looked puzzled. “Didn’t you?” he inquired. “Wasn’t it part of the arrangement?”

  “What arrangement?” inquired Carstairs, in well-acted surprise.

  “Why the mutiny you ordered. Wasn’t that a part of it?”

  “Certainly not,” said Carstairs, glancing at Lady Penrose. “And what do you mean by ‘the mutiny I ordered’?”

  Knight smiled. “Oh, that’s all right,” he said airily. “I’ve seen your instructions to the skipper. In fact, I’ve got ’em. Good job they fell into such safe hands. By the way, please accept my warmest congratulations. I am delighted — delighted.”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Carstairs at last.

  “Talking about,” repeated Knight. “Why your engagement to Lady Penrose. Everybody will be delighted when I tell them. It’s a ripping — er — sequel.”

  “Engaged? What do you mean?” demanded Carstairs.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Knight coolly. “I was merely judging by appearances. I naturally thought — anybody would have thought — they will all think—”

  “I forbid you to say anything about it,” interrupted Lady Penrose angrily.

  Knight bowed. “It is all so misleading,” he murmured. “You arrange a mutiny and are set ashore under the most romantic circumstances, and, when I discover you — making the best of things—”

  “That’ll do,” said Carstairs loudly, “and we did not arrange to be set ashore. Nobody was more surprised than we were. It’s an absolute mystery to us.”

  Knight sighed. “It’s a censorious world, and you must admit that appearances are against you,” he said gently. “It will be very difficult to convince Mrs. Jardine. She has been shaking her head off nearly; and, as for Tollhurst, he is simply raging. He got rather badly knocked about, and I’m afraid you will find it hard to give him satisfactory reasons for your little joke. After all, he is your guest, you know. What did you do it for?”

  Carstairs made no reply.

  “You’re in a mess,” continued Knight, “but if Lady Penrose will come to terms I think I can get you out of it. Money returned if not satisfied.”

  “Terms?” said Lady Penrose, regarding him scornfully.

  Knight nodded. “Let me marry Winnie, and promise to do the best you can for Freddie, and I’ll take the sole blame,” he replied. “Nobody will have the slightest difficulty in believing me responsible for the outrage. It’ll seem the most natural thing in the world to them. Otherwise—”

  “No,” said Lady Penrose, with sudden vehemence.

  “Think it over,” urged Knight. “Think of the long voyage home with Tollhurst and Mrs. Jardine.”

  “No,” said Lady Penrose again. “Tell them what you like, and do what you like. I never thought much of you, and now I think less.”

  She turned to Carstairs, and, holding herself very erect, started to walk back to the tent. Knight, a shade discomfited, followed in the rear, and they walked on in silence until they came in sight of Miss Mudge and her retinue.

  “Well, if you won’t accept my terms,” said Knight, ranging himself alongside Carstairs, “virtue shall be its own reward. I’ll sacrifice myself for friendship’s sake. You keep quiet and I’ll do the rest.”

  Lady Penrose turned to Carstairs. “Don’t discuss things with him,” she said icily.

  “The engagement,” continued the unmoved Knight, “had better be kept secret for the present. And both of you try and look as disagreeable as you can.”

  Lady Penrose quickened her pace and walked straight towards the boat, and four sheepish mariners, touching their caps respectfully to Carstairs, pushed it into the water. With a subdued air Knight left the stern seats to the others and made his way to the bows. As the boat rounded the point and came into view of the ship he observed, with some gratification, that his two friends were looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “No signs of uncontrollable enthusiasm,” he remarked, with a cough, as they approached the yacht, and Lady Penrose shivered despite herself as she looked at the row of silent figures lining the side. She waved her hand, and her friends waved silently in reply. The line arranged itself into a little group as she passed up the accommodation-ladder, and a babel of inquiries broke on her ears as she gained the deck; the voice of Mrs. Jardine being particularly insistent.

  “Ask him,” shouted Carstairs, levelling a’ trembling forefinger at Knight, who was coming slowly up the ladder.

  “Eh!” said Tollhurst and Talwyn together with extraordinary emphasis.

  Knight paused at the head of the ladder and smiled guiltily. “Just a little joke of mine,” he explai
ned, “to relieve the tedium of the voyage.”

  “Joke!” exclaimed Mrs. Jardine, breaking an amazed silence. She turned suddenly upon Pope. “Why, you told us—” she began.

  “I misled him,” interrupted Knight. “At least, I told him to prepare you for a little surprise. It was a little surprise, wasn’t it?”

  Mrs. Jardine drew herself up and stood regarding him in speechless indignation, but in the hubbub that ensued her temporary loss of voice was not noticed.

  “Most extraordinary behaviour,” said Talwyn. “Was it by your orders that I was hustled about the deck, and that one of the seamen put his dirty fist beneath my nose and told me to smell it? Eh?”

  “And that I was knocked about and locked up in my cabin?” vociferated Tollhurst, regarding him fiercely.

  “Mere animal spirits,” said Knight. “Only their fun.”

  “Fun!” repeated Tollhurst in a choking voice. “What are you going to do about it, Carstairs?” he demanded.

  Carstairs shrugged his shoulders. “What can I do?” he inquired. “I can’t have him thrown overboard. Better leave him to his conscience — if he’s got any. I suppose we ought to be thankful that nobody is really hurt.”

  “Not his fault,” said Maloney in a deep voice, with a side-glance at the culprit. “If you’re not careful it’s an undertaker you’ll be wanting aboard instead of a doctor. He’s not safe to be at large.”

  “Let us hope he is ashamed of himself,” said Miss Flack piously.

  It seemed to be an absurd hope, and Mrs.

  Jardine said so plainly. In the midst of a discussion, inaugurated by Talwyn, as to whether it would be possible for Vobster to confine the offender to his cabin for the remainder of the voyage, Knight thrust his hands in his pockets and sauntered off below.

  His appearance at the dinner-table was the signal for a sudden lull in the conversation, a state of affairs which by no means affected his appetite. When towards the end of the meal he raised his glass and proposed “Sweethearts and Wives” Mrs. Jardine arose and, with a lingering glance at the savoury which had just been placed before her, left the table.