Cocos Gold

by Ralph Hammond Innes

  “But we don’t know where they are,” I said.

  “Then we must search until we find ’em.”

  I laughed at that. “It’s clear you haven’t been ashore,” I said. “It’s all jungle and rocks and precipices and landslides. We’d never find them. And if we started calling, we’d be just as likely to find ourselves picked up by the mutineers.”

  “They’re spending the night on board. Heard The Rigger tell O’Flaherty so before he left. Where did the Captain camp last night?”

  “On the top of The Lookout,” I replied.

  “Ah. Thought I saw a fire up there.”

  “But he won’t be there tonight,” I said. “We left this morning because he was afraid they’d attack us. I don’t know where he’ll camp tonight.”

  “Does he know where the treasure is?”

  “He and Sir Brian have both seen the map and the directions.”

  “Ah. Then that’s where he’ll be. Whether it’s foc’s’le hands or ship’s officers, it gets them just the same. Treasure’s the same to a man as honey is to a bee.” He squinted up at The Lookout. “Reckon this island’s seen some blood in its time.”

  “If we went back to the ship—” I began.

  But he stopped me at once. “Now see here: That’s enough of that. I ain’t setting foot on the ‘Sally McGrew’ till the mutiny’s over, not for all the tea in China.”

  After that he bent to his oars again. The sun was going down fast now. The shadow of The Lookout lay right across the bay. I watched the lifeboat go in, riding the surf. Mike caught the bows and the other man jumped ashore. For several minutes they held the boat, while they argued, turning every now and then to look at us as though debating whether to give chase. But in the end they pulled the boat up the beach.

  “They’re not going back to the ship,” I said.

  “No,” replied Old Walrus. “Reckon they’re waiting for The Rigger.”

  I glanced at the deepening shadows at the base of the cliffs and then at the ship. She was not more than three-quarters of a mile away. In a few minutes the sun would set. Darkness would come with a rush then. And the “Sally McGrew” was deserted, except for the mate and the second engineer. I turned in sudden excitement and poured out my plan to the cook. But he only grunted. I pleaded with him. But it was no good. “I’m a peaceable sort of bloke, sonny. There’s enough trouble in this old world without a feller sticking his neck out looking for it.”

  “No wonder you’re only a cook,” I said hotly.

  But he just grunted again and rubbed his huge nose. “You’ll learn, sonny,” he said with a kind of tolerance that made me boil. “You got to buy your experience. I was lucky. I got mine on tick, just watching what happened to others. And when I saw a kid of my own age volunteer to take a line across to a stranded ship and get his head smashed like a rotten egg against the ship’s side, I said to myself: Joe, I said, heroics ain’t safe. You stick in the background. So I got a woman to teach me to cook and I stuck to the galleys ever since.”

  “But that’s cowardly,” I said. “My father always told me—”

  “No offense to yer dad, sonny. But you got to figure things out for yourself. It ain’t his life you’re living. It’s yours, an’ it’s the only one you got.” He chuckled. “Maybe it is cowardice. But I’m alive, ain’t I? That’s more than a lot of hotheaded fools I know what wanted to show off. An’ I like life, see. So now we’ll slip round the point here an’ find a place to lay up for the night.”

  As we rounded Point Colnett we came into the full blaze of the setting sun. It was a burnished disc of brass sitting on the rim of the sea. Even as I watched, the lower edge flattened out. It set so fast, you could see it going down. As the last lip disappeared, the sea went pale and all the color drained out of the sky.

  Old Walrus ran the dinghy into a rocky inlet and we climbed ashore in a cloud of sea birds disturbed from their rock perches. The sea was quiet here. We were sheltered from the swell by Breakfast Island. The cook found a palm perched precariously on a ledge. As we drank the warm cocoanut juice, night closed down on us and the stars came out.

  “And to think it’s raining in Liverpool,” Old Walrus said.

  “Why should it be raining in Liverpool?” I asked.

  “It always rains in Liverpool,” he replied gloomily. “Leastways I never docked in the Mersey without it was coming down cats and dogs. Know what I think—” But I had got to my feet and was scrambling along the shore of the little cove. I soon came to sheer rock, very loose and treacherous. I sat down and tried to think what I should do. It was clear I’d get no help from Old Walrus. If only it had been the mate, or even Danner. But it was Old Walrus and he’d just sit there on his fat behind and do nothing. And not a mile away lay the “Sally McGrew.” Any moment now Mike and Gault might return to the ship or The Rigger might put off from the beach with his whole gang. But just at this moment the ship was deserted save for the mate and the second engineer tied in their hammocks. If I was going to do anything it would have to be done now.

  I got to my feet and scrambled back along the rocks. I stopped just above the boat. She was rocking gently, chafing at the rock to which the painter was tied. A few yards away I could see the cook, still seated where I’d left him, his head and shoulders outlined against the stars. I shifted the boulder that held the painter and stepped down into the dinghy, at the same time shoving off with my foot.

  As I picked up the oars, the cook came scrambling down the rocks. “What are you up to, sonny?” he demanded, and I wasn’t sure whether his voice sounded angry or scared.

  “I’m going out to the ship,” I answered.

  He began to argue, but I cut him short. “If I’m to free the mate and the second and get to the wireless room, I must do it now,” I said, and fixed the oars into the rowlocks.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. But as I dipped the oars in and pulled the boat’s head round, he suddenly called out, “Hold hard a minute, sonny. You got room for a cook aboard, ain’t you?”

  “Not unless he’s prepared to join the boarding party,” I answered. And then suddenly suspicious of him, I added, “You’re not scared of being left alone here, are you?”

  But all he said was, “Back up, young feller. Cook’s joining the boarders.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I slid the dinghy in, stem-first, and it rocked violently as the cook’s weight came on to the stern. I pulled away and he directed me until we were clear of the rocks. Then he twisted round on to the afterthwart and took up the other pair of oars. For some time we rowed in silence. Then Old Walrus suddenly cleared his throat. “You didn’t mean what you said just now, sonny, did you? I mean, about my being so scary I didn’t want to stay on them rocks alone in the dark.” And when I didn’t answer, he said rather crossly, “ ’Cause I tell you I don’t run my neck into trouble, young feller, doesn’t mean I led exactly a sheltered life, see? For instance, I bin shipwrecked four times. Last time, in 1944, we was in an open boat forty-one days, sailed close on two thousand miles. Then again I bin lost on one of the Mariannas. Once a sailor ran amuck in a freighter in the China Seas. Got my meat hatchet. I fixed him with the carving knife. An’ in the first world war—well, I was younger then and I collected a medal or two. But I didn’t go looking for trouble, that’s all I meant. You stick around on ships. You won’t have to look for it. It’ll just come to you. But if you’re set on boarding the ‘Sally McGrew,’ well, that’s all there is to it. Can’t let you go alone. But God’s my witness, I didn’t want to go,” he added and spat morosely into the dark water that lapped alongside.

  It was quite cool now and we made good speed, the cook taking his direction from the stars. When we’d been rowing for about a quarter of an hour, he suddenly leaned on his oars and nodded over his shoulder. “There she is, sonny,” he said softly.

  I turned and saw the black bulk of the ship outlined against the stars. She was like a ghost ship, completely blacked out from stem
to stem—not even a riding light. “Looks like the others ain’t back on board yet. They’d have had the dynamos on and the lights going if they were. From now on take it easy, and quiet. We don’t want to be caught napping by the lifeboat. Can you hear anything?”

  I listened. But all I could hear was the murmur of the surf, which showed as a white line curving along the foreshore of the bay. “Nothing,” I said.

  He nodded. “All right, me lad. Stand by to go alongside. There’s davit ropes hanging down on the port side.”

  We passed right under the stem of the ship. I was so close to her I could have stretched out and touched her rudder. Then we came up along the portside, paddling our oars very gently, for wherever they touched the water there was a stream of phosphorescent bubbles. Something brushed against my back. I started up. The boat rocked violently. “Thai’s the ropes,” said Old Walrus reassuringly.

  We made the dinghy fast. Then the cook seized hold of one of the ropes and passed it to me. “Up you go, then.” I took hold of it. I’d done this sort of thing in the gym. But the ship’s side seemed to reach to the stars. I started to climb. Half way up I remembered the sharks. I had a moment of panic and hung there, banging gently against the hull plates. The sockets of my arms began to ache. I gritted my teeth and went on up, hand over hand, the rope gripped between my feet.

  I thought I should never reach the top. My arms seemed stretched right out of their sockets. And then, when I thought I could go no further, my hand encountered a block and I found that the deck was below me. I had climbed to the davit head. I slid down and swung myself over the rail. I was panting like a steam engine. I leaned over the rail. The dinghy rocked violently. I could see the shape of it outlined against the sudden burst of phosphorescence. Then the cook came up hand over hand as easy as if he were a kid on board a training ship. “It’s all a knack,” he panted, patting me on the shoulder. “Now, you cut along to the wireless room. I’ll get the mate and the second out of their bunks. And don’t make no noise,” he added. “You never know. An’ if you hear a whistle, it’ll be me and you get down that rope and into the dinghy for your very life, understand?” He gave me another pat on the shoulder. “Good luck, then.” And he disappeared for’ard.

  I found the ladder that led to the afterdeckhouse. I scrambled up it, reached the wireless room and fumbled in the dark for the door handle. But when I turned it, the door would not budge. It was locked. I went round to the starboard side. The porthole shone dully, reflecting the light of the stars. I smashed it in with one of the davit blocks. Something stirred inside. I hesitated, listening. But there wasn’t a sound in the whole ship, only the dull murmur of the surf on Cocos Island. I pulled out the broken pieces of glass. When I had cleared it all, I found a coil of rope to give me extra height. I was just about to climb in, when something small and dark leapt through the opening, shot across the deck and disappeared down the ladder with that dismal, grating cry that I had come to hate. I froze with sudden fear as that awful cry went wailing forward.

  I hesitated. That cat had unnerved me. It was like an omen. At length I plucked up my courage and, seizing hold of the brass ring of the porthole, pulled myself up and wriggled through. It was very dark inside. But I remembered there was a candle for emergencies in one of the lockers, and I found a box of matches and lit it. As the flame burned up, all the familiar details of the room emerged from the darkness—the day bunk along one side, the desk with the Morse key, backed by the receiving and transmitting equipment. I switched on, but there was no answering hum. The equipment was quite dead. I began to check over the sets, the way I had seen The Rigger do it time and again. But I could find nothing wrong. It was quite some time before’ I realized that the engine-room dynamos were not operating. I wasn’t immediately worried. I knew there were emergency batteries on the roof of the deckhouse. But I didn’t know where the switch was. I began to search, peering at the intricate wiring below the desk. I tried to trace the wiring. But it was no good. The room was very hot and I began to sweat. I glanced up at the clock. The minute hand was coming up to quarter past the hour. From fifteen to eighteen minutes past was the silence period for emergency calls. The dial of the transmitter was already set to the watch wave. I had only to find that switch and the freedom of the ether was mine. All over the ocean operators would be sitting, silent, listening for my SOS.

  But I couldn’t find it. I was almost crying with vexation. I must have wasted a good ten minutes searching for it. And all that time there was not a sound anywhere, except for the distant murmur of the surf.

  At last I gave it up. I’d have to find Danner and get him to switch on the dynamos. As I reached the ladder that led to the main deck, I saw a movement aft. “Cook!” I called softly.

  “Who’s that?” a voice countered, so softly that I could scarcely hear.

  “It’s me. Keverne.”

  “The devil it is.” And there was a chuckle. “And me and the boys looking for you all over Cocos Island.” It was the voice of The Rigger, and a feeling of utter despair seized me, so that I remained rooted to the spot.

  A torch flicked on. The circle of brilliant light blinded me as I stood there at the top of the ladder.

  “Put that torch out, you fool!” The Rigger snapped. “The boy wouldn’t be here on his own.” But before it was switched off I had a glimpse of the bulky figure of Nat, The Rigger, outlined against it, the cat perched on his shoulder like some grotesque familiar.

  “There’s only the dinghy alongside,” answered Mike.

  “It may have made more than one trip,” The Rigger spoke curtly. “Taffy! You and Shorty take the bridge. Mike! You, Maynard and Gault go for’ard and work aft. Bugs and I will work from the stem. Right. Get moving.”

  Silent as shadows the men detached themselves from the group. They passed right below me. “Johnny! Better come down here,” The Rigger suggested. “There’s no harm intended to you.”

  But in that instant my body seemed to come alive. Without thinking I ran to the further side of the deckhouse, lowered myself over the edge with my hands and dropped to the deck. Then I ran for’ard, shouting to the cook to warn him. There was a stab of flame in the dark and a bullet whizzed past me with the crash of the pistol shot. I heard The Rigger curse the man who’d fired it. Then I’d reached the bridge accommodation. I dived into it, still calling to the cook, and ran headlong into someone.

  “What’s happened?” It was the mate’s voice.

  “They’ve come aboard,” I gasped. “The whole lot of them.”

  He cursed. “Danner! Joe! Get to the bridge!”

  “They’re already on the bridge,” I told him.

  “The hell they are! D’ye ken where the rest of them might be?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Two on the bridge. Three for’ard. The rest aft.”

  “We must make a dash for the dinghy,” said the cook, breathing hard in the darkness.

  “Who’s up on the bridge?” the mate asked me.

  “The Welshmen, Taffy, and Shorty,” I answered.

  “And for’ard?”

  “Mike, Maynard, and Gault. And The Rigger is aft with another of his own gang.”

  He cursed savagely. “All right,” he said. “Here’s what we do. Danner, you and Joe get down on to the deck below and work your way aft. Keep the way open for me, otherwise don’t use your guns. I’ll bide here and make trouble for O’Flaherty. I’ll no be long.” I heard them feeling their way along the passage. Then they were on the ladder leading to the lower deck. The mate’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Ye’d best stay here wi’ me, laddie.”

  He led me along to the captain’s cabin, where he pushed open the porthole that looked out for’ard. “Gault! Maynard!” he called. “If ye join me in the bridge accommodation, we’ll no include you among the mutineers. Remember what happened to Roberts. They’ll get rid o’ you the same way. Now pluck up your courage, lads, and make a dash for it.” He paused and there was complete silence. “Hurry up, noo,” he ad
ded. “Before they get the lights on. I’ll gi’ ye thirty seconds.” There was the crash of a gun and a thud as the bullet ripped into the woodwork. The mate fired almost at the same instant. The noise of his gun was shattering in that confined space. “Come on. Quick, lads,” he called.

  For a second everything was quiet. I thought we’d merely wasted valuable time. I suddenly wanted to run. But as I turned, there was a shout and the sound of somebody running along the deck beside the bridge accommodation. There was the sharp crack of a gun, a cry, and then an outburst of shouting that was drowned in the roar of the mate’s gun. The next instant he’d turned and hustled me out of the cabin into the corridor. “Down to the next deck,” he hissed. “Quick!”

  The deck entrance was suddenly blocked. The mate pressed me flat against the door of one of the cabins. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

  “Maynard, sir.”

  “Good for you. Are you all right?”

  “Only my shoulder.”

  “Right. Down to the lower deck wi’ ye.” And as we tumbled down the ladder, he asked, “What about Gault?”

  “He stayed with O’Flaherty,” Maynard answered. He was breathing heavily and every now and then he drew in his breath sharply with pain.

  On the lower deck the mate switched on a torch and we ran the whole length of the corridor that connected the bridge accommodation with the afterdeckhouse. Then we were in darkness again, hurrying up the ladder to the deck above. “Danner! Are ye there?” the mate whispered in the darkness ahead of me.

  “Here,” came the answer.

  “Where’s The Rigger?”

  “Gone for’ard, I think.”

  “Right. We’re going out on deck now. Get to the port davits and slide straight down to the dinghy. All right?”