CHAPTER X
THE DEVIL'S ADMIRAL
For several minutes I listened breathlessly, waiting for some sound whichwould indicate that Captain Riggs had been killed or captured by thethree who had gone up the companionway after him. But when I heard nocry, or shot, or sounds of a struggle, I began to formulate plans forgetting back to my room or finding the captain and begging him to let mehelp him fight against Thirkle and his men.
Lying huddled under the bunk in the bilge-water, which swung from side toside as the vessel rolled, I must admit that I would have presented asorry spectacle to any one who could have seen me, clad only in thetrousers of my pajamas, and suggesting anything but a fighting man.
But, in spite of the poor part I had taken so far in the fighting, I hadno fear of an encounter with the men who seemed likely enough to takepossession of the _Kut Sang_ and murder all on board. I told myself thatit was not my fault that I had been stripped of my arms and made aprisoner, and blamed Captain Riggs for allowing Thirkle--in the characterof the Rev. Luther Meeker--to throw all the suspicion of the murder ofTrego on me and hold his own liberty and good-standing as a passenger.
I fully realized the danger which confronted me and the ship, and as Icrawled from under the bunk in the forecastle I had little hope of everescaping from the vessel alive. It was no time to go over past mistakes,no time to moan over what had happened. I longed for action, but, withboth Captain Riggs and Thirkle and his men against me, it looked as if Iwould have little chance, no matter which side was victorious in thebattle that was being fought for the ship.
I had to crawl over the body of the mate in order to get clear of thetier of bunks, and, thinking it possible that Harris might have a pistolin his clothing, or had dropped one as he fell into the forecastle, Iexamined his pockets. I got no pistol, but did find a box of matches,and, standing with my back to the scuttle to protect the flame from thewind, and also to shade the light from the open scuttle, I struck a matchand hurriedly looked over the littered deck of the forecastle.
I struck several matches at intervals in this way, waiting between lightsto make sure that no one had seen the flashes from the upper deck. IfHarris had had pistols his murderers must have taken them. I did find adozen or more cartridges of heavy calibre loose in the side-pocket of hiscoat, but those and the matches were all that resulted from my ghoulishwork.
In the brief illuminations of the forecastle I had seen clothing of thecrew hanging from nails, and I dressed myself in light-blue nankeen frockand trousers which had belonged to a Chinese sailor, for the jacketbuttoned in the back and smelled strongly of opium, as did the wholeforecastle.
The ports were all fast, but leaked, and what little air came indescended through the scuttle, so the place still reeked with acridpowder-smoke that bit the throat and eyes. The deck was strewn withpanniers and cups, that clattered to and fro with the motion of the ship.The water under foot, and the accumulations of refuse, rice, and food,made it difficult to keep a footing without clinging to the bunks ateither side.
There was a slush-lamp swinging from a string, and I had a mind to lightits rope wick and search through the chests for a weapon; but I did notwant to remain too long below, although I could not bring myself to leaveempty-handed the only place which offered a weapon.
Making a hasty search in the dark, I found a broken knife and an ironbelaying-pin. The knife-blade was broken within a couple of inches of thehandle, but diagonally from the point, so that it presented an end thatmight be dangerous at close quarters.
Ten minutes were probably spent in my exploration of the forecastle,although in my nervous haste it seemed an hour, and I stopped frequentlyto listen for intruders, and for some indication of how the fight wasgoing on deck.
With the handle of the belaying-pin gripped in one hand, and the knife inthe pocket of my nankeen jacket ready for an emergency, I felt my wayalong the port side toward the foot of the companion, determined to getout of the stinking hole and try my chances in the open. My plan was tofind Riggs, if I could, and, if he were besieged, attack Thirkle and hismen from the rear, although I knew full well my disadvantage againstthem, armed as they were with plenty of pistols.
But I trusted to the darkness, and hoped that I might outwit them by abluff that I, also, had firearms. Unless I could outmanoeuvre them beforedaylight and join forces with Riggs I knew we had small chance againstthem in daylight, if, indeed, they had not already eliminated the captainfrom the fight.
I had a gleeful picture of myself challenging Thirkle in the dark, andurging him and Buckrow, Long Jim, and Petrak, to come and take me,telling them at the same time that I would give them shot for shot, andcautioning my imaginary force to hold fire until the enemy was close athand. I imagined that a bold manner, and the surprise they wouldreceive at my appearance in the fight would diminish their confidence andgive them a wholesome respect for me until I could gain the saloon-deckand ally myself with Riggs.
Then all my brave plans went to smash as I heard some one sneaking downthe companionway. For an instant I was in a panic of terror and chagrinedthat I had lingered long enough to give the enemy time to return. But Idetermined that I might as well fight there as anywhere else, and,bracing myself against the bunks, I drew my knife and raised thebelaying-pin, prepared to begin the attack as soon as my visitor gotwithin reach.
I could hear him breathing gently as he came down one step at a time, andfrom the light "smack" on each succeeding board I knew that he wasbarefooted. He was feeling his way along, as if in strange territory, andI knew that it could be neither one of the Chinese crew nor one ofThirkle's band.
As I stood there waiting for him to come within reach I heard apeculiar fluttering which puzzled me, until my memory served me, and Iremembered that this queer swishing sound belonged to Rajah, the dumbMalay mess-boy. I knew it must be Rajah, probably seeking for Riggs; butI also knew that he would have his deadly kris, and I shivered for myselfat the prospect of being dealt a blow from that awful, irregular bladewhich he could wield so expertly.
Now, I did not want to kill or wound Rajah, for, if Riggs were stillalive, the boy would be a valuable member of our party; and, if Riggswere dead, I hoped that I might win the boy to my side. I could havestruck him down with the heavy iron pin as he groped his way out of thecompanion; but there would be small satisfaction in killing him, for itwould simply be doing a job which would please Thirkle and make his taskof taking the ship all the easier.
Neither did I expect to be able to explain to the Malay that I was nothis enemy, for he could not make any reply to my pleadings, and the onlyanswer I might get would be the awful kris.
I thought of crouching in his path and adopting footballtactics--tackling him low as soon as he stumbled upon me. But thatway had its dangers, for he would undoubtedly have his knife andwould make short work of me before I could overpower him.
As it happened I had no choice in the matter, and we came togethersuddenly and unexpectedly with a lurch of the vessel. He was nearer to methan I imagined, and as he threw up his knife-arm toward the bunk theblade clanged against the boarding, and his shoulder struck me.
I grabbed for his wrist, and at the same time dropped the pin, which musthave fallen on his foot. Twisting his arm, I made him drop the kris;and then, as I flung him backward over a chest, went with him, and,startled by the attack, I had him pinioned to the deck and helplessbefore he knew what had happened.
"Rajah! Rajah!" I whispered frantically as he attempted to squirm out ofmy grasp. "Number Four! Number Four! Good man--no fight Number Four!"
That was my number at the saloon-table, and I thought he must recognizeme by that. He hissed in the manner which he had to convey that heunderstood an order, but I held him as gently as I could for a minute andtried to demonstrate to him that I meant him no harm, and spoke thepeace-language of pidgin-English, common enough in the Orient.
He lay quiet and made no resistance, hissing, and I let go of him andfumbled for his kris. I found it, and then
patted his head as he stilllay upon the deck, and he patted my hand in turn and kissed it; and thenI gave him his blade, at which he was overjoyed.
I struck a match then, that he might see me, and by sign-language triedto make him understand that we should go on deck and search for Thirkleand the others.
Before we had finished our silent parley I heard a noise at the scuttle,and then Riggs whispered: "Rajah! Rajah!"
I was wondering what I should say to him, afraid that I might frightenhim away again, or that when he recognized my voice he would be all themore convinced that I was against him, or make some startled exclamationwhich would betray his presence to Thirkle, and also give him theinformation of my whereabouts. Before I made any sound Rajah had rapped asignal to him, and I heard him coming down.
Rajah scratched my hand and felt for the matchbox in my pocket, and asCaptain Riggs reached the foot of the companion I struck a match and heldit before my face, between Rajah and myself.
"Good God!" cried Riggs, and he backed toward the companion, holding uphis hands in terror as he thought that I had captured Rajah.
"Captain," I called as the match went out, "it's Trenholm, ready to fightwith you. I'm not with that murdering crew. I didn't kill Trego. Don'tbe a fool, but give me a chance to help you."
"Didn't kill Trego!" he said, amazed. "I know you didn't kill Trego, butyou had the red chap do it for you."
"No, I didn't. The money I gave that little devil was for bringing my bagon board, and he told you that I paid him for killing Trego so thatMeeker, or Thirkle, would get me out of the way. I tell you that I am notwith that gang. Give me a gun, and I'll help you in this fight."
"Who's that dead man on the deck?" he asked. "How come you down here?"
"That's Harris. Thirkle and Buckrow killed him."
"Thirkle! There's no Thirkle aboard here. Thirkle! Why, that's--"
"Thirkle," I said, "is the Rev. Luther Meeker. He is the head of thewhole gang."
"Then poor Harris was right," he moaned, feeling for a chest and sittingdown upon it. "Harris was right." I could hear despair in his voice--hewas master no longer, but a broken, dispirited old man.
"Cheer up, captain; we'll beat them yet," I said as cheerily as I could.
"We're lost," he moaned. "Light the slush-lamp,--they won't bother usnow."
"But let's get on deck and give them a fight," I said. "It won't do anygood to stay down here--"
The board at the scuttle rattled, and we listened. I stooped and gropedfor the belaying-pin.
"They got below," growled Buckrow. After a minute he slammed thescuttle-board shut, and we heard a heavy, thumping sound and theclanking of a chain.
"We're lost!" moaned Riggs. "They are making the scuttle fast withrail-chains. All hands lost, and the Lord have mercy on us! Light theslush-lamp, Mr. Trenholm--we're dead men!"
"What is their game?" I asked, in doubt as to the meaning of what he saidabout the rail-chains, although I was dismayed by the ominous sounds atthe scuttle and knew that we must be prisoners in the forecastle.
"There is no escape from here," said Riggs. "They hold the ship now, andthey'll scuttle her before day comes."
I struck a match and lit the swinging slush-lamp, which made a dismal,smoking flame and added to the heat and the multitude of smells whichmade the forecastle a hole of torture. But the light was comforting,and Rajah crept to his master's side and clung to his arm, the boy'smouth open and his eyes full of questions.
"So they got poor Harris," said Riggs, still sitting on the chest andgazing at the body of the mate. "I told him not to come down, but hewould have his way. I thought I could get down here and find one of hispistols."
"They are gone," I told him. "I made a search for them, and was about toget out of here when I heard Rajah coming down. It is lucky I didn'tkill the boy--or that he didn't kill me. But that's all done and over,captain, and we ought to begin to plan for our escape. Is there no wayout of here?"
He put his pallid face in his hands and shook his head, and it was thenthat I realized his age and his helplessness. He had given up the fight.
"You don't realize our situation, Mr. Trenholm, or what all thismeans, or the men we are against. That forecastle bulkhead is lined withsheet-iron on the other side to keep the crews from broaching cargo, and,even if we should cut through it, we would come against cargo in thehold, and would be no better off. I admire your pluck, but you don't knowthe odds against us. They'll loot her and scuttle her before the sun iswell up, and we'll go down in this trap. Help me lift poor Harris into abunk."
We stowed the body of the mate in a lower bunk and covered it with strawand some of the clothing of the Chinese. Riggs sat down again and staredat the littered deck.
"But we must fight to the last minute," I said. "We can't give up likethis, even if we are trapped. You certainly do not intend to surrendernow. I know, captain, that the odds are great; but we can fight, can'twe?"
"You don't know!" he almost wailed, beating his knees with his hands."You don't know what it all means, of course. I tell you they'll loot herand scuttle her when they have done their work aboard, and we're doomedmen!"
"But what is there to loot in this old tub?" I asked, preferring to havehim tell me of the mysterious cargo than to take the time of explaininghow I had followed him and Harris below.
"That's what they want," he said, talking to himself more than to me."Harris was right, but we found out too late. They got Mr. Trego beforehe could warn us. And it's not my fault if I die for it. Me, J. Riggs,master of sail and steam for thirty years, and never a ship lost nor adishonest dollar in all my life, not to know what's in my ship!
"It's not me that lost her, God knows; but that's what the owners willsay, and that's what everybody will say--if they don't say somethingworse when the truth comes out. 'Riggs gone, and his ship gone,' they'llsay, and then others will wink and whisper: 'And you know the _Kut Sang_was ballasted with gold,' and who's to know I never stole it?"
"Gold!" I said. "You say there is gold aboard?"
"Yes, gold!" he almost shouted at me. "Chests of gold coin, a dozen ormore! That's what they're after, and that's what they'll get, and that'swhat it is all about--Trego and all the rest of it!"
"And you never knew?" I asked, more to take his mind off his troubles androuse his fighting spirit than for the information, for the detailsmattered little to us now.
"Mr. Trenholm," he began with fervor, "if I had known there were anydangers I could have met them. I've faced death enough in my day not tofear it, and I'm no weakling if I am an old man. But a master should knowwhat's in his ship and what's before him, and not be caught in a mess oflies and sneaking. But perhaps the owners didn't know--the ship's incharter for the voyage, and Mr. Trego took charge at the last minute.
"Looking back now, I'm minded to think they were afraid I'd turn pirateat the sight of a few chests of gold. They thought they were slick; butthere were others just as slick, laying lines to beat 'em; and here I am,without officers or crew or ship, and jailed in my own fo'c'sle. Doggoneit! I guess all hands knew about that gold but me!
"What do they do? Kill my bos'n ashore, take the lampman for it, and makeme so short-handed that I ship a gang of pirates as passengers. It wasunderstood that there were to be no passengers this trip; but the ownerssaw a chance to make a few dollars extra, and the charter party says allright. I heard that much, and then the banker, who acted for the charterparty, says to another: 'It will make it look more ordinary to carrypassengers if there is some care exercised.'
"Some care! They give me a parson that's a pirate, and he makes mesuspect you of a murder; and you bring one of his very men aboard--andme, like a fool, ship him--and the other two he brings with his organ."
"But the gold--why should they ship so much gold in this manner?"
"For the Russians," he said. "I went through Trego's papers, and thebest I can make out of a lot of foreign writing is that it is going toHong-Kong to buy coal for the Baltic fleet. At first they
were going tomake their headquarters in Manila and do the business there; but the mostof the tramps--colliers--are British, and they found it easier to dobusiness out of Hong-Kong, I suppose, because the Japanese could keepclose watch of suspicious vessels making Manila a port of call.
"Ye see, all the banks out here are full of spies---Chinese clerks andall hands--and they are watching day and night. The masters of thecolliers and the blockade-runners into Port Arthur won't take checks orother money--they want it slap down in solid gold before they will sail,and this gold had to be landed in Hong-Kong.
"The Japs might send a couple of cruisers for it if they shipped itopenly, so they try to sneak it through like this, and with all theirhiding and lying and sneaking there was a leak somewhere, and thesefine chaps aboard us laid lines to git it--and here we are."
"And still fighting, captain," I said.
"Did you ever hear of the Devil's Admiral, Mr. Trenholm?"
"I never did. Who is the gentleman?"
"I never believed in the stories myself, but Harris did; and now I amsure that he is right. Two years ago a ship left Singapore for Bombay,and never was heard from until her chronometer turned up in Swatow orsomewhere. A Portuguese Jew had them in a pawnshop, and he said he boughtthem from a chink for seven Mex dollars. They never found the chink; butthere was the ship's name, or the captain's name written in the case witha pencil.
"Then last year the steamer _Legaspi_ left Manila for Hong-Kong withcattle and Christmas goods and passengers, and never was heard from. Somesaid she went out to run the blockade before Port Arthur, and the Japssunk her, but the others said the Devil's Admiral got her; and then thestories began, and when a ship was overdue or never heard from, peoplebegan to say the Devil's Admiral had her."
"But who is he, captain?"
"That's it, Mr. Trenholm. Nobody knows. He never leaves a man alive totell the tale. Some say he's a big chink, some say he's a big black manfrom the African coast who was mate in a whaler, some say he was anofficer in the British navy.
"They found a man dying from starvation and wounds in a boat that gotaway from him, and the poor chap told a crazy story that they couldn'tmake head or tail of, and he died before he told enough to help any, buthe said it was the Devil's Admiral and his crew that got 'em.
"Pearlers he went after first, and then he got bolder and went aftersailing-ships; and now they say he went after steamers and got the_Legaspi_, and, Mr. Trenholm, I believe he's aboard here now."
"But who--"
We heard heavy blows struck against a bulkhead, and the shriek of a dooras it was torn from its hinges.
"They are breaking into the storeshold," explained Riggs. "They have gotthe gold, and the next move will be to get away with it in the boatsafter they have opened her sea-valves, and down we'll go with the old_Kut Sang_."
"But what makes you think we have this Devil's Admiral aboard?" I asked.
"Thirkle is supposed to be the name of the Devil's Admiral."
"And Thirkle is--"
"Our Rev. Luther Meeker, Mr. Trenholm. We are dead men."
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