But my motive was only an itch to see what would then take place. But
when I saw that the issue would be an obvious one: that he would merely
be spirited forth to sea again, and this time, _forced_ to work, I felt
a little sorry for the man. At the same time, I admit I wanted to
observe the denouement myself, of his case ... and as I now intended to
desert the ship, it would have to take place in Sydney.
So, on the second night of Franz's incarceration, when nearly everybody
was away on shore-leave, I took the captain's bunch of keys, and I let
the shanghaied man, the mutineer, the man from Alsace-Lorraine--out!
It was not a very dark night. Franz stole along like a rat till he
reached the centre of the dock. There he gave a great shout of defiance
... why, I learned later....
The _Lord Summerville_, which had, after all, beat us in by two days,
despite Captain Schantze's boast, was lying on the other side of our
dock. And her mate and several sailors thus became witnesses of what
happened.
The shout brought, of course, our few men who remained on watch, on
deck, and over on the dock after Franz ... who allowed himself to be
caught ... the dock was English ground ... the ship was German ... a
good point legally, as the canny Franz had foreseen.
His clothes were almost torn from his body.
Miller accidentally showed up, coming back from shore. And he joined in.
"Come back with us, you verfluchte _Alsatz_-Lothringer."
The Englishmen from the _Lord Summerville_ now began calling out, "Let
him alone!" and "I say, give the lad fair play!"
Some of them leaped down on the dock in a trice.
"Who the hell let him out?" roared the mate.
I stood on deck, holding my breath, and ready to bolt in case Franz
betrayed me. But nevertheless my blood was running high and happy over
the excitement I had caused by unlocking the door.
"No one let me out. I picked the lock. Will that suit you?" lied Franz,
protecting me.
"What's the lad been and done?" asked the mate of the _Lord
Summerville_.
"I was shanghaied in New York," put in Franz swiftly, "and I demand
English justice."
"And you shall get it, my man!" answered the mate proudly, "for you have
been assaulted on English ground, as I'll stand witness."
A whistle was blown. Men came running. Soon Franz was outside the
jurisdiction of Germany.
* * * * *
The next day Captain Schantze stalked about, hardly speaking to Miller.
He was angry and laid the blame at the latter's door.
"Miller, why in the name of God didn't you guard that fellow better? An
English court ... you know what _they'll_ do to us!"
Miller spread his hands outward, shrugged his shoulders expressively,
remained in silence. The two mates and the captain ate the rest of their
supper in a silence that bristled.
The ship was detained for ten days more after its cargo had been
unloaded.
At the trial, during which the "old maids" and The Sailors' Aid Society
came to the fore, Captain Schantze roared his indignant best--so much so
that the judge warned him that he was not on his ship but on English
ground....
Franz got a handsome verdict in his favour, of course.
And for several days he was seen, rolling drunk about the streets, by
our boys, who now looked on him as a pretty clever person.
* * * * *
It was my time to run away--if I ever intended to. Within the next day
or so we were to take on coal for the West Coast. We were to load down
so heavily, the mate, who had conceived a hatred of me, informed me,
that even in fair weather the scuppers would be a-wash. Significantly he
added there would be much danger for a man who was not liked aboard a
certain ship ... by the mates ... much danger of such a person's being
washed overboard. For the waves, you know, washed over the deck of so
heavily loaded a ship at will.
* * * * *
On the _Lord Summerville_ was a mad Pennsylvania boy who had, like
myself, gone to sea for the first time ... but he had had no uncle to
beat timidity into him ... and he had dared ship as able seaman on the
big sky-sailed lime-juicer, and had gloriously acquitted himself.
He was a tall, rangy young bullock of a lad. He could split any door
with his fist. He liked to drink and fight. And he liked women in the
grog-house sense.
One of his chief exploits had been the punching of the second mate in
the jaw when both were high a-loft. Then he had caught him about the
waist, and held him till he came to, to keep him from falling. The mate
had used bad language at him.
Hoppner had worked from the first as if he had been born to the sea.
He and I met in a saloon. The plump little barmaid had made him what she
called, "A man's drink," while me she had served contemptuously with a
ginger ale.
Hoppner boasted of his exploits. I, of mine.
"I tell you what, Gregory, since we're both jumping ship here, let's be
pals for awhile and travel together."
"I'm with you, Hoppner."
"And why jump off empty-handed, since we are jumping off?"
"What is it you're driving at?"
"There ought to be a lot of loot on two boats!"
"Suppose we get caught?" I asked cautiously.
"Anybody that's worth a damn will take a chance in this world. Aren't
you game to take a chance?"
"Of course I'm game."
"Well, then, you watch your chance and I'll watch mine. I'll hook into
everything valuable that's liftable on my ship and you tend to yours in
the same fashion."
* * * * *
We struck hands in partnership, parted, and agreed to meet at the
wharf-gate the next night, just after dark, he with his loot, I with
mine.
I spent the morning of the following day prospecting. I had seen the
captain put the ship's money for the paying of the crew in a drawer, and
turn the key.
But first, with a curious primitive instinct, I fixed on a small ham and
a loaf of rye bread as part of the projected booty, in spite of the fact
that, if I but laid hands on the ship's money, I would have quite a
large sum.
It was the piquaresque romance of what I was about to do that moved me.
The romance of the deed, not the possession of the objects stolen, that
appealed to my imagination. I pictured my comrade and myself going
overland, our swag on our backs, eluding pursuit ... and joining with
the natives in some far hinterland. I would be a sort of Jonathan Wilde
plus a François Villon.
Before the captain returned I had surveyed everything to my satisfaction
... after supper the captain and the two mates left for shore again.
Now was the time. I searched the captain's old trousers and found the
ship's keys there. They were too bulky to carry around with him.
The keys seemed to jangle like thunder as I tried them one after the
other on the drawer where I had seen him put away the gold.
I heard someone coming. I started to whistle noisily, and to polish the
captain's _carpet slippers!_ ... it was only someone walking on deck ...
The last key was, dramatically, the right one. The drawer opened ... but
it was empty! I had seen the captain--the captain had also seen me. Now
I started to take anything I could lay my hands on.
I snatched off the wall two silver-mounted cavalry pistols, a present
from his brother to Schantze. I added a bottle of kümmel to the ham and
the rye bread. The kümmel a present for Hoppner.
Then, before leaving the _Valkyrie_ forever, I sat down to think if
there were not something I might do to show my contempt for Miller.
There were many things I could do, I found.
In the first place, I took a large sail-needle and some heavy-thread and
I sewed two pairs of his trousers and two of his coats up the middle of
the legs and arms, so he couldn't put them on, at least right away. I
picked up hammer and nails and nailed his shoes and sea-boots securely
to the middle of his cabin floor. Under his pillow I found a full flask
of brandy. I emptied half ... when I replaced it, it was full again. But
I had not resorted to the brandy cask to fill it.
* * * * *
The apprehension that I might be come upon _flagrante delictu_ gave me a
shiver of apprehension. But it was a pleasurable shiver. I enjoyed the
malicious wantonness of my acts, and my prospective jump into the
unknown ... all the South Seas waited for me ... all the world!
But, though every moment's delay brought detection and danger nearer, I
found time for yet one more stroke. With a laughable vision of Schantze
smashing Miller all over the cabin, I wrote and left this note pinned on
the former's pillow: