Halfhyde Outward Bound

by Philip McCutchan

  Although he had his directions from Trucco, Halfhyde acquiesced; partly because he now had no alternative, but also because to arrive with someone known to the establishment might give him some extra authenticity. He reckoned he could have struck lucky. But as it turned out, the luck was not due to last.

  Chapter 6

  IT WAS only a short walk. The man swayed along, not talking now. Halfhyde propped him up as the legs went in all directions. They turned off into a narrow, unpaved alley of mean dwellings; half of them appeared to be derelict but yet inhabited by poor families with many children and mangy, half-starved dogs that bared their teeth and snarled as the two men passed by. From here they turned into another alley; Halfhyde recognized his destination from Trucco’s description before his drunken companion had stopped at a heavy door set into a whitewashed wall with the roof of a building visible beyond.

  The man banged at the door, and they waited.

  The door was quickly opened by an old woman, bent and withered, dressed in black. As she admitted them she mumbled something in Spanish, something that Halfhyde didn’t catch. As the crone shut and bolted the door behind them, they made their way across a dirty, littered courtyard towards the building whose roof had been seen beyond the outer wall. Still lurching, the bearded man led the way to a door at the side, which he jerked open. It swung back; inside, a window, though dirty, gave some light. Three men were visible, sitting on an earth floor with their backs against the wall. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, Halfhyde saw more men to the left of the door.

  Halfhyde’s companion gave a hiccup. “Brought a mate,” he said. “Where’s Espinoza?”

  One of the sitters answered in English. “Gone down to the docks. Who’ve you brought, Raby?”

  “He’s come from Red Danny’s.”

  The sitter got to his feet and came close. He looked dangerous; he said, “Your friend’s supposed to say that for himself, Raby.”

  “He did. Said it to me.”

  “You’ve been drinking, Raby.”

  “None o’ your business if I have.”

  “No? We’re all dependent, one on another, so long as we’re here. You know that.” There was steel in the voice and a clear threat. The bearded man seemed subdued. The speaker turned to Halfhyde. “I’ll not ask your name since you’d not give your true one. But I want your story, and I want it now.”

  “Certainly,” Halfhyde said. “May I know who I’m talking to?”

  “You heard what I just said. What applies to you, applies to me. If you want a name, let’s say it’s Smith. All right?”

  Halfhyde nodded. He had his story ready, and he gave it. He’d fallen foul of the law down south in Valparaiso: he’d been short of funds, and he’d helped himself, a case of embezzlement of money belonging to his employers, a mining company. Certain contacts had led him to Red Danny’s, and Red Danny had kitted him out as a seaman, but that had been as far as he could assist at that time. There was a greater chance of finding a passage out of Iquique, and he had been sent north. And here he was. He said, “I was told down in Valparaiso that I’d find another British subject here. Maybe that’s you.”

  The man nodded. “Maybe. What name were you given?”

  “Cantlow.”

  “I’m not Cantlow.”

  That, Halfhyde thought, was probably true; the man had no military aspect and indeed looked more like a seaman. “Is he here?”

  “No. I’m the only Britisher. So there’s no Cantlow, whether the name’s true or false.” The man paused. “You’ve told me your story. I don’t promise you can be helped, that’s not up to me. You’ll have to wait for Espinoza.” There was another pause, and again there was a threat in the voice when he went on, “Espinoza may have more questions to ask.”

  “Then I shall answer them,” Halfhyde retorted evenly and sat down like the others. The man addressed as Raby had already slumped to the ground and lay in a heap, breathing stertorously. The air in the room was close, thick with humanity and the fumes of whisky coming from Raby. Halfhyde took stock of his situation. If this Espinoza was handling McRafferty’s passenger, he could already have removed his human cargo to be handy for embarkation. Halfhyde looked around warily. The men had a comatose look mostly, an aspect of resigned apathy. Possibly they had had a long wait in the clearing house, and they had acclimatized themselves to inactivity, preferring not to leave the place as Raby had done in case they should miss a suddenly announced sailing. They were a mixed bunch, some young, some old, some with their crimes almost written upon their faces, some with expressions of apparent innocence. Halfhyde sat in mounting impatience, knowing that he could be wasting his time. The wait, in fact, lasted a little over an hour, then footsteps were heard approaching the door. There was more than one man. The first in was thin-faced, dark, and was probably, Halfhyde thought, Espinoza. The next was a man like a gorilla, thick, deep-chested, heavily bearded and with longish hair. But there was a swagger in the walk, and the bearing was erect, the eyes hard and challenging, and there was the unmistakable stamp of the soldier.

  Behind him came Bullock.

  THERE HAD been no avoiding the First Mate. The man who had questioned Halfhyde on his arrival with Raby had drawn Espinoza’s attention to the newcomer. As Halfhyde got to his feet, Bullock’s face was murderous.

  “What’s this mean? What are you doing here?”

  Halfhyde smiled icily. “That is a question I might well ask you, Mr Bullock. I think you’re engaging in a very dirty trade, and acting strongly against the interests of Captain McRafferty. I shall ask you to desist, or—”

  “Or nothing.” Bullock thrust his face close and brought out the revolver Halfhyde had seen aboard the Aysgarth Falls. “I warned you not to cross me. Just look around you, Halfhyde. You don’t imagine you’re coming out of this, do you?”

  Halfhyde had no need to look anywhere; all the recumbent forms had got to their feet, seeing their safety under threat. The soldierly man’s eyes blazed in the light from the window, and he took a pace forward. He was pushed back by Bullock. In a thick voice Bullock said, “Leave him to me. Just leave him to me. I’ve a score to settle, and he’s mine.”

  Halfhyde saw the fist come up, and he moved fast as he had done in Liverpool. Bullock was caught for the second time. Missing target, he was carried on by his own impetus and almost fell over. As he came back in, Halfhyde swung at him and gave him a glancing blow that almost tore off an ear. Bullock swore viciously, gave his head a shake, and lashed out blindly. He had no finesse, and Halfhyde parried him neatly and easily enough. But in the long run there was no chance; as Bullock went down flat with blood pouring from his mouth after a smashing left, Halfhyde was taken from behind by the man of military bearing, a heavy blow to the head with the muzzle of a revolver, and he fell beside Bullock, out like a blown candle.

  When he came to his senses, with a violent, throbbing head, he was alone and no longer in the room where he had been struck down. He was in total darkness, and although he was not bound there was a feeling of constriction; reaching out and around, his hand contacted cold, damp walls set very close. He tried to sit up despite a spinning head, and that head smacked into what felt like stone. After a moment of near panic, he tried to relax and think out his situation, to force his mind to clarity. There was air; no sense of undue difficulty in breathing. Therefore there must be some contact with the world outside, though scarcely anything large enough to permit escape.

  There was also total silence.

  That he was in some kind of a cellar, he didn’t doubt, but the silence must indicate that he was not below the room where the men had been sitting out their wait for a ship. They could not all have been shipped out together. Escape from Chile was a matter for individual negotiation—it must be. Thus he was in some other part of the building or even possibly right away from it. In Iquique, the carrying of a supposed drunk through the streets would arouse no particular interest from passers-by.

  Why hadn’t
he been killed already? Was he, in fact, to be killed at all, would release come when the Aysgarth Falls was safely away, if she wasn’t already? He had no idea of the time; his watch was still with him and was ticking, but in the total darkness he couldn’t read its face. But he hadn’t been there all that long; there was no stubble on his face and the blood he felt beneath his eyes and in his hair was still sticky. He rolled over and began an exploration of the dank cellar, the cellar that was more like a stone coffin. There had to be an entry somewhere. It didn’t take him long to find it: a square recess above his head, blocked by a heavy segment of stone. Not surprisingly, it was immoveable from below.

  FOR THE hundredth time, Captain McRafferty looked at the brass clock on the saloon bulkhead and then went along the alleyway to the door that gave access to the waist. The ship had now been moved to the loading berth and Bullock was supervising the removal of the cover from the after hatch in preparation to take the part cargo for Sydney. McRafferty said, “I’m anxious about Halfhyde, Mr Bullock.”

  The First Mate wiped a hand across his ginger moustache. “Likely he’s jumped ship. Found the life too hard for his lily-white hands.” He paused, staring at McRafferty. “Better not to have let him go ashore.”

  “Possibly. But I doubt if he’s deserted. I fear some harm may have come to him.”

  Bullock grinned. “Iquique’s a funny place for the unwary, Captain, as we all know well enough.” He looked away from McRafferty, shading his eyes along the loading quay. “A lazy place, too. There’s no sign of our cargo—it should have been ready for us.”

  “And the man Jesson, Mr Bullock—my passenger?”

  Bullock said, “All arrangements made. I told you, he’ll come aboard after dark.” He sounded impatient. “There’ll be no trouble, not this end of the run, anyway.”

  McRafferty nodded and walked away, hands behind his back. His chief worry with regard to his passenger was the Australian arrival. So far the First Mate had been unwilling to discuss this, insisting that all would be well and there was no need for any anxiety. Difficulties would be overcome, but Bullock refused to commit the passenger in advance: Jesson would have made his own arrangements for his reception and they, the shippers, would have to comply with his requirements. McRafferty went aft to the saloon and found Goss pushing a duster around the mahogany furnishings.

  “Whisky, Goss,” he said.

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Goss brought out the bottle of Dunville’s and a glass. McRafferty took a large one, thoughtfully, his hand shaking a little. He was liking the prospect of his passenger less and less and was more and more resentful of his First Mate’s manner, but now he was deeply committed and no less in need of the passage money than before; and he would be very relieved when Halfhyde returned aboard. McRafferty felt more than ever that the presence of Her Majesty’s commission at his side would be a comfort.

  THE CARGO was sent aboard in the early evening, and after that the hands were put to work again, cleaning down and seeing all shipshape for the long haul across the Pacific for their Australian landfall off Sydney Heads. They turned to with many grumbles; the Old Man was a bastard, not allowing them any shore leave. They had been both sober and continent for too long, longer than it was reasonable to expect any man to be. The mutters reached the afterguard, but McRafferty disregarded them; the hands must put up with it, and Bullock went for’ard to tell them so in no uncertain terms. If they didn’t shut their gobs and pull their weight, there would be a few heads sore from the First Mate’s fist. They worked a little harder thereafter, but the grumbles continued in lower tones. As the day darkened towards dusk they were sent below, only the night watchman remaining on deck. It was Finney who took the first trick, and there was a stir of interest when he went below on being relieved from his watch and reported the embarkation of a passenger.

  “A toff,” he said. “A real toff, frock coat an’ all, an’ fancy boots. Name o’ Jesson. Came in a cab an’ paid it off in gold.” Finney sucked at his teeth. “Bleedin’ mass o’ gear I ’ad to hump aboard, too! Reckon the Old Man, ’e’s goin’ to do well on the passage money.”

  Below the poop, Mr Jesson was settling into the spare cabin, attended by Goss. He spoke little, stood waiting ostentatiously for Goss to leave, and Goss took the hint. There was something about the passenger that had a scaring effect on the steward, as if at any moment Mr Jesson, like a mad dog, might bite. When he was alone in the cabin, Jesson, scarcely able to move for the amount of gear that stood around him in his heavy leather cases, reached into the capacious pocket of an ulster that he had carried aboard himself over his arm and brought out a revolver. This he put into a drawer beneath the bunk. Locking the drawer, he removed the key and slipped it into a pocket of his frock coat, glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the wash-hand basin, and stepped out into the alleyway.

  He met Bullock.

  Bullock asked, “Is everything all right, then?”

  He got a cold look. “Yes. At what time do we make sail?”

  Bullock pulled out his watch. “We’ll be away in a shade over an hour.”

  “Good. I don’t want any delay. Now I wish to speak to the Master.”

  Bullock indicated the saloon. “He’s in there. With his daughter.” He saw the gleam that came into the passenger’s eye. “A word of warning. The Old Man watches that girl like a hawk. He’ll crack down hard on any hanky-panky.”

  “When I want your advice, Bullock, I’ll ask for it,” Jesson said loudly and turned for’ard towards the saloon. Bullock flushed, took a step towards him, then shrugged. The passenger was paying, after all, and paying very well indeed, and Bullock had a fifty per cent interest on account of his own services in the matter. There were things that had to be accepted.

  IT WAS some while before anyone came to Halfhyde; by the time the stone block was lifted clear from above, he had given up hope. He was to be left to die, his body sealed for all time in a hole in the ground that might well arouse no one’s interest until he had been reduced to a heap of bones. He had drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness, and when the stone was lifted away, and yellow light came down from a candle-lantern held high in a man’s hand, he fancied for a moment that he was seeing beyond the grave and glimpsing the other world. But the voice that came down to him was no heavenly one: it was that of his earlier interrogator, the man who had refused to give any name beyond Smith.

  “Up,” the voice said, sounding hollow. “Or are you too weakened?”

  Halfhyde sat up, feeling a brief period of light-headedness. He said, “Far from it. I’m consumed with eagerness to be out of this place if that’s your intention.”

  “It is. Come up.” A hand reached down and steadied Halfhyde as he thrust head and shoulders through the opened square. He was assisted through; he found he was in the open air at one side of the courtyard and that a light wind was blowing to stir up the dust; also that it was now after nightfall. A revolver had now appeared in the man’s hand. Above it, in the lantern’s light, the eyes were watchful. The man said, “Careful now. I’ll shoot if I have to.”

  “And disturb the peace?”

  There was a laugh. “In Iquique, the peace is always being disturbed. No one takes any notice of gunshots.” There was a pause. “Your friend Bullock told us about you, Mr Halfhyde…a half-pay lieutenant of the British Navy, so he said. Is that right?”

  “I have that honour, and you would be well advised—”

  The man interrupted. “Bullock wanted you to be killed. We told him that would be done and that nothing would come out. He paid well for our silence—for Espinoza’s silence. We wondered where such money came from, so much gold. Then we were told, I shall not say who by, that Bullock’s passenger was the man you’d mentioned earlier.”

  “Cantlow?”

  “Yes. He’s known to be worth a lot of money—the little mystery was solved.”

  Halfhyde said between his teeth, “And now my ship will have sailed—with Sergeant Cantlow on board
presumably, and my Captain standing into much danger because of him!” Frustration mounted; if he could make a getaway, it might not be too late. If the authorities or the British consul could be informed, the Aysgarth Falls might be overhauled by a steamer and Cantlow taken off. At this stage McRafferty could very probably keep himself in the clear but if the affair was allowed to continue he would commit himself irrevocably by attempting, as he would have to attempt, a clandestine landing on the Australian coast. Halfhyde made a sudden movement towards the man with the gun, but was forestalled. His arms were seized from behind by a man he had not been aware of until now, and a voice in his ear told him, in Raby’s now sober tones, to take it easy.

  The man with the gun said, “That’s two warnings. You’ll not get another. You won’t be killed, but you’ll be disabled.”

  Halfhyde pondered this remark, then asked, “Should I take it that you have a use for me—one, perhaps, not known to Bullock?”

  “You’re quick in the uptake, Lieutenant Halfhyde! The answer’s yes. As I told you, friend Bullock believes you dead by now. You would have been, had he not told us your name. When he did, why, then matters took a different and more profitable turn.”

  “My name?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Halfhyde. It’s known in Chile—known to us as well…it’s not so long ago—”

  Halfhyde broke in. “You spoke of a different turn. May I ask in which direction the turn leads?”

  There was a laugh. “North, to the port of Arica. You have been in Chile before, Lieutenant Halfhyde…and you’ve made powerful enemies.”

  Chapter 7