“He’s gone, right enough,” said an awe-stricken voice, “and I reckon it’ll be our turn next. This is a bad lookout, mates.”
There was a brief and dismal silence; then a distant report was heard, followed quickly by two more.
“That’s Dhoody,” exclaimed another voice. “He’s a-swimmin’ and makin’ signals. What’s to be done? We can’t let ’im drownd without doin’ nothin’.”
“No,” agreed the first man, “we must have a try at pickin’ ’im up. You and me, Tom, will put off in the dinghy, while Joe keeps the ship hove-to.”
“What!” protested Joe. “Am I to be left alone on the ship with no one but Jim Darker, and him below in his bunk?”
“Well, yer can’t let a shipmate drownd, can yer?” demanded the other. “And look here, Joe Bradley, as soon as you’ve got the ship hove-to, you just fetch up the fo’c’sle lamp and show us a glim, or we shall be goners, too. Now hard down with the helm, mate!”
Very soon the loud flapping of canvas announced that the ship had come up into the wind, and immediately after the squeal of tackle-blocks was heard. The Speedwell carried a dinghy, slung from davits at the taffrail, in addition to the larger boat on deck, and it was in this that the two men were putting out on their rather hopeless quest.
Osmond rapidly reviewed the situation. Of the original seven men one was overboard, two were in the hold, one was below in his bunk, and two were away in the boat. There remained only Joe Bradley. It would be pretty easy to overpower him and stow him in the hold; but a yet easier plan suggested itself. Joe was evidently in a state of extreme superstitious funk and the other two were in little better case. He recalled the captain’s remark as to his resemblance to the dead mate and also the fact that Redford’s oilskins were different from any others on board. These circumstances seemed to group themselves naturally and indicate a course of action.
He made his way to the captain’s berth and, knocking softly and receiving no answer, entered. The skipper had fallen asleep over his book and lay in his bunk, a living commentary on the Book of Job. Osmond took the oilskins from the peg, and, stealing back silently to the cabin, invested himself in the borrowed raiment. Presently a passing gleam of light from above told him that Joe was carrying the fore castle lamp aft to ‘show a glim’ from the taffrail. Remembering that he had left the companion hatch unfastened, he ascended the ladder, and, softly opening one door, looked out. At the moment, Joe was engaged in hanging the lamp from a fair-lead over the stern, and, as his back was towards the deck, Osmond stepped out of the hatch and silently approached him.
Having secured the lamp, Joe took a long look over the dark sea and then turned towards the deck; and as his eyes fell on the tall, oilskinned figure, obscurely visible in the gloom—for the lamp was below the bulwark—he uttered a gasp of horror and began rapidly to shuffle away backwards. Osmond stood motionless, watching him from under the deep shade of his sou’-wester as he continued to edge away backwards. Suddenly his heel caught on a ring-bolt and he staggered and fell on the deck with a howl of terror; but in another instant he had scrambled to his feet and raced away forward, whence the slam of the forecastle scuttle announced his retirement to the sanctuary of his berth.
More than a quarter of an hour elapsed before a hoarse hail from the sea heralded the return of the boat.
“Joe ahoy! It’s no go, mate. He’s gone.” There was a pause. Then came the splash of oars, a bump under the counter, the sound of the hooking on of tackles, and another hail.
“Joe ahoy! Is all well aboard?”
Osmond stepped away into the shadow of the main sail, whence he watched the taffrail. Soon the two men came actively up the tackle-ropes, their heads appeared above the rail, and they swung themselves on board simultaneously.
“Joe ahoy!” one of them sang out huskily, as he looked blankly round the deck. “Where are yer, Joe?” There was a brief silence; then, in an awe-stricken voice, he exclaimed: “Gawd-amighty, Tom! If he ain’t gone overboard, too!”
At this moment the other man caught sight of Osmond, and, silently touching his companion on the shoulder, pointed to the motionless figure. Osmond moved a little out of the shadow and began to pace aft, treading without a sound. For one instant the two men watched as if petrified; then, with one accord, they stampeded forward, and once more the forecastle scuttle slammed. Osmond followed, and quietly thrusting a belaying-pin through the staple of the scuttle, secured them in their retreat.
CHAPTER V
The New Afterguard
When Captain Hartup, brusquely aroused from his slumbers, opened his eyes and beheld a tall, yellow oilskinned figure in his berth, the Book of Job faded instantly from his memory and he scrambled from his bunk with a yell of terror. Then, when Osmond took off his sou’-wester, he recognized his visitor and became distinctly uncivil.
“What the devil do you mean by masquerading in this idiotic fashion?” he demanded angrily. “I don’t want any of your silly schoolboy jokes on this ship, so you please understand that.”
“I came down,” said Osmond, smothering a grin and ignoring the reproaches, “to report progress. I have hove the ship to, but there is no one at the wheel and no lookout.”
The skipper stared at him in bewilderment as he crawled back into his bunk. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You’ve hove the ship to? Isn’t there anybody on deck?”
“No. The ship is taking care of herself at the moment.”
“Queer,” said the skipper. “I wonder what Dhoody’s up to.”
“Dhoody is overboard,” said Osmond.
“Overboard!” exclaimed the skipper, staring harder than ever at Osmond. Then, after an interval of silent astonishment, he said severely:
“You are talking in riddles, young man. Just try to explain yourself a little more clearly. Do I understand that you have hove my second mate overboard?”
“No,” replied Osmond. “He went overboard by accident. But it was all for the best;” and hereupon he proceeded to give the skipper a somewhat sketchy account of the stirring events of the last few hours, to which the latter listened with sour disapproval.
“I don’t hold with deeds of violence,” he said when the story was finished, “but what you have done is on your own head. Where do you say the crew are?”
“Two are in the hold and the other four in the fo’c’sle, bolted in. They are all pretty drunk, but you’ll find them as quiet as lambs when they’ve slept off their tipple. But the question is, what is to be done now. The men won’t be any good for an hour or two, but there ought to be someone at the wheel and some sort of watch on deck. And I can’t take it on until I have had a sleep. I’ve been hard at it ever since I came on board yesterday.”
“Yes,” Captain Hartup agreed, sarcastically, “I daresay you found it fatiguing, chucking your fellow-creatures overboard and breaking their heads. Well, you had better take the second mate’s berth—the one Redford had—and I will go on deck and keep a look out. But I can’t do much with my arm in a sling.”
“What about the lady?” asked Osmond. “Couldn’t she hold on to the wheel if you stood by and told her what to do?”
“Ha!” exclaimed the skipper. “I had forgotten her. Yes, she knows how to steer—in a fashion. She used to wheedle Redford into letting her take a trick in his watch while he stood by and instructed her; a parcel of silly philandering, really, but it wasn’t any affair of mine. I’d better go and rouse her up.”
“Wait till I’ve turned in,” said Osmond. “I am not fit to meet a lady until I have had a sleep and a wash. If you will show me my berth, I will go and cast the lashings off those two beggars in the hold and then turn in for an hour or two.”
The captain smiled sardonically but made no comment; and when Osmond, furnished with a lantern, had visited the hold and removed the lashings from the still slumbering seamen, he entered the tiny berth that the skipper pointed out to him, closed the door, and, having taken off his jacket and folded it carefully, and
wound his watch, blew out the candle in the lantern, stretched himself in the bunk and instantly fell asleep.
When he awoke, the gleam from the deck-light over his head—the berth had no port-hole—informed him that it was day. Reference to his watch showed the hour to be about half-past eight; and the clink of crockery and a murmur of voices—one very distinctly feminine—suggested that breakfast was in progress.
Which, again, suggested that the conditions of life on board had returned to the more or less normal.
Osmond sprang out of the bunk, and, impelled by hunger and curiosity, made a lightning toilet with the aid of Redford’s razor, sponge, and brushes. There was, of course, no bath; but a ‘dry’ rub-down in the oven-like cabin was a fair substitute. In a surprisingly short time, with the imperfect means at hand, he had made himself almost incredibly presentable and after a final ‘look over’ in Redford’s minute shaving-glass, he opened the door and entered the cuddy.
The little table, roughly laid for breakfast, was occupied by Captain Hartup and a lady, and a flat-faced seaman with a black eye officiated as cabin steward. They all looked up as Osmond emerged from his door and the sailor grinned a little sheepishly.
“Had a short night, haven’t you?” said the captain. “Didn’t expect you to turn out yet. Let me present you to our passenger. Miss Burleigh, this is Mr.—Mr.—”
“Cook,” said Osmond, ready for the question this time.
“Mr. Cook, the young man I was telling you about.”
Miss Burleigh acknowledged Osmond’s bow, gazing at him with devouring curiosity and marvelling at his cool, trim, well appearance.
“I think,” she said, “we had a brief interview last night, if you can call it an interview when there was a locked door between us. I am afraid I wasn’t very civil. But you must try to forgive me. I’ve been sorry since.”
“There is no need to be,” replied Osmond. “It was perfectly natural.”
“Oh, but it isn’t mere remorse. I am so mad with myself for having missed all the excitements. If I had only known! But, you see, I had happened to look out of my door in the evening, hearing a peculiar sort of noise, and then I saw somebody boring holes in the partition, and of course I thought it was those wretches trying to get into the cabin. Then, when I heard your voice, I made sure it was Dhoody or one of those other ruffians, trying to entice me out. And so I missed all the fun.”
“Just as well that you did,” said the captain. “Females are out of place in scenes of violence and disorder. What are you going to have, Mr. Cook? There’s corned pork and biscuit and I think there’s some lobscouse or sea-pie in the galley, if the men haven’t eaten it all.”
Osmond turned suddenly to the sailor, who instantly came to ‘attention.’
“You’re Sam Winter, aren’t you?”
“Aye, sir,” the man replied, considerably taken aback by the ‘factory bug’s’ uncanny omniscience. “Sam Winter it is, sir.”
“How is Jim Darker?”
“He’s a-doin’ nicely, sir,” replied Sam, regarding Osmond with secret awe. “Eat a rare breakfast of lobscouse, he did.”
“Is there any left?”
“I think there is, sir.”
“Then I’ll have some;” and, as the man saluted and bustled away up the companion-steps, he seated himself on the fixed bench by the table.
Captain Hartup smiled sourly, while Miss Burleigh regarded Osmond with delighted amusement.
“Seem quite intimate with ’em all,” the former remarked. “Regular friend of the family. I suppose it was you who gave Winter that black eye?”
“I expect so,” replied Osmond. “He probably caught it in the scrum when I first came on board. Did you have any trouble in getting the men to go back to duty?”
“The men in the fo’c’sle wouldn’t come out till daylight, and the two men in the hold took a lot of rousing from their drunken sleep. Of course, I couldn’t get through that hole with my arm in this sling, so I had to prod them with a boat-hook. It’s a pity you made that hole. Lets the smell of the cargo and the bilge through into the cabin.”
He looked distastefully at the dark aperture in the bulkhead and sniffed—quite unnecessarily, for the air of the cuddy was charged with the mingled aroma of bilge and kernels.
“Well, it had to be,” said Osmond; “and it will be easy to cover it up. After all, a smell in the cuddy is better than sea-water.”
Here Sam Winter was seen unsteadily descending the companion-steps with a large enamelled-iron plate in his hands; which plate, being deferentially placed on the table before Osmond, was seen to be loaded with a repulsive-looking mixture of ‘salt horse,’ shreds of fat pork and soaked biscuit floating in a greasy brown liquid.
“That’s all there was left, sir,” said he, transferring a small surplus from his hands to the dorsal aspect of his trousers.
Osmond made no comment on this statement but fell-to on the unsavoury mess with wolfish voracity, while the captain filled a mug with alleged coffee and passed it to him.
“Who is at the wheel, Winter?” the captain asked.
“Simmons, sir,” was the reply. “I woke him up again as I come aft.”
“Well, you’d better go up and take it from him. Carry on till I come up.”
As Winter disappeared up the companionway Miss Burleigh uttered a little gurgle of enjoyment. “Aren’t they funny?” she exclaimed. “Fancy waking up the man at the wheel! It’s like a comic opera.”
The captain looked at her sourly as he tapped the table with a piece of biscuit for the purpose of evicting a couple of fat weevils; but he made no comment, and for a time the meal proceeded in silence. The skipper was fully occupied with cutting up his corned pork with one hand and in breaking the hard biscuit and knocking out the weevils, while Osmond doggedly worked his way through the lobscouse with the silent concentration of a famished man, all unconscious of the interest and curiosity with which he was being observed by the girl opposite him.
However, the lobscouse came to an end—all too soon—and as he reached out to the bread-barge for a handful of biscuit he met her eyes; and fine, clear, bright blue eyes they were, sparkling with vivacity and humour. She greeted his glance with an affable smile and hoped that he was feeling revived.
“That looked rather awful stuff,” she added.
“It was all right,” said he, “only there wasn’t enough of it. But I hope you had something more suitable.”
“She has had what the ship’s stores provide, like the rest of us,” snapped the captain. “This is not a floating hotel.”
“No, it isn’t,” Osmond agreed, “and that’s a fact. But it is something that she still floats; and it would be just as well to keep her floating.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the skipper.
Osmond thoughtfully extracted a weevil with the prong of his fork as he replied: “You’ve got a crew of six, three to a watch, and one of them has got to do the cooking. But you have got no officers.”
“Well, I know that,” said the captain. “What about it?”
“You can’t carry on without officers.”
“I can and I shall. I shall appoint one of the men to be mate and take the other watch myself.”
“That won’t answer,” said Osmond. “There isn’t a man among them who could be trusted or who is up to the job; and you are not in a fit state to stand regular watches.”
Captain Hartup snorted. “Don’t you lay down the law to me, young man. I am the master of this ship.” And then he added, a little inconsistently “Perhaps you can tell me how I am to get a couple of officers.”
“I can,” replied Osmond. “There will have to be some responsible person on deck with each watch.”
“Well?
“Well, there are two responsible persons sitting at this table with you.”
For a few moments the captain stared at Osmond in speechless astonishment (while Miss Burleigh murmured “Hear, hear!” and rapped the table with the handle o
f her knife). At length he burst out: “What! Do I understand you to suggest that I should navigate this vessel with a landsman and a female as my mates?”
“I am not exactly a landsman,” Osmond replied. “I am an experienced yachtsman and I have made a voyage in a sailing ship.”
“Pah!” exclaimed the skipper. “Fresh-water sailor and a passenger! Don’t talk nonsense. And a female, too!”
“What I am suggesting,” Osmond persisted calmly, “is that you should be about as much as is possible in your condition and that Miss Burleigh and I should keep an eye on the men when you are below. I could take all the night watches and Miss Burleigh could be on deck during the day.”
“That’s just rank foolishness,” said the skipper. “Talk of a comic opera! Why, you are wanting to turn the ship into a Punch and Judy show! I’ve no patience to listen to you,” and the captain rose in dudgeon and crawled—not without difficulty—up the companion-steps. Miss Burleigh watched him with a mischievous smile, and as his stumbling feet disappeared she turned to Osmond.
“What a lark it would be!” she exclaimed, gleefully. “Do you think you will be able to persuade him? He is rather an obstinate little man.”
“The best way with obstinate people,” replied Osmond, “is to assume that they have agreed, and carry on. Can you steer—not that you need, being an officer. But you ought to know how to.”
“I can steer by the compass. But I don’t know much about the sails excepting that you have to keep the wind on the right side of them.”
“Yes, that is important with a square vessel. But you will soon learn the essentials—enough to enable you to keep the crew out of mischief. We will go on deck presently and then I will show you the ropes and explain how the gear works.”
“That will be jolly,” said she. “But there’s another thing that I want you to explain: about this mutiny, you know. Captain Hartup was awfully muddled about it. I want to know all that happened while I was locked in my berth.”
“I expect you know all about it now,” Osmond replied evasively. “There was a bit of a rumpus, of course, but as soon as Dhoody was overboard it was all plain sailing.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 31