ON BOARD THE SEA GULL
The Captain--for so I must call him--went up first, after hailing the
deck in French, and receiving some answer. Then, under Herman's
orders, I was hustled roughly to my feet, and bundled aboard. My head
still reeled dizzily, and the two men gripping my arms, hurried me over
the rail so swiftly my first impressions were extremely vague. I knew
the sides of the vessel were painted a dull gray, as nearly an
invisible color as could be conceived; I recall the sharp sheer of her
bow, the clearness of her lines, and the low sweep of her rail. Less
than a 1,000 tons burden, I thought, and then, as my eyes swept aloft,
and along the decks, I knew her for either a private yacht, or tropic
fruit steamer.
"First stateroom, second cabin," said a new voice, sharply. "Lively
now."
"Shall we unloose the ropes, sir?"
"Yes; fasten the door, and leave a guard. Stow away the boat,
Broussard. Everything ready, Captain."
I went down a broad stairway, shining brass rails on either side, which
led to a spacious after-cabin. A table extended its full length,
already set for a meal, and a round-faced negro, in white serving
jacket, grinned at me, as the men pressed me between them into a narrow
passage leading forward. A moment later I was unceremoniously thrust
into a small apartment on the right, the ropes about my wrists
loosened, and the door shut and locked behind me. For perhaps five
minutes I lay where I had been so unceremoniously dropped, weakened by
loss of blood, and dazed by the rapidity of events. I found it hard to
adjust my faculties to this new situation. I knew what had occurred,
but into whose hands I had fallen, and what was the purpose of this
outrage, was beyond my comprehension. One thing, however, was
sufficiently clear--these men were playing for big stakes, and would
hesitate at nothing to accomplish their purpose. They had already
killed without remorse, and that I still survived was itself a mere
accident. Yet the very fact that I lived yielded me fresh confidence,
a fatalistic belief that my life had thus been spared for a specific
purpose. It might yet be my privilege to foil these villains, and
rescue Mrs. Henley. It was my belief she was also on board this
vessel. I had no reason to assume this, except the wording of
Broussard's report which I had overheard. But she was a prisoner, and
this vessel would be the most likely place for her to be confined. I
sat up, my flesh burning, and stared about. The light shining through
the single closed port was dim, convincing me the sun had already set,
yet I could perceive the few furnishings of that interior. These
consisted merely of a double berth, a blanket spread over the lower
mattress, and a four-legged stool. Hooks, empty, decorated the walls,
and a small lamp dangled from the overhead beam. As I got to my feet I
could feel a faint throb of the engine, and realized we were moving
slowly through the water. The glass of the porthole was thick, but
clear. I knelt on the berth, and looked out, dimly perceiving the
shore-line slipping past, with an ever-broadening stretch of water
intervening. Then I sat down helplessly on the stool, and waited for
something to occur. Escape was impossible; I could only hope for some
movement on the part of my captors.
I had little enough to think over, for the few words spoken in the
cellar had furnished no clew. My purpose there was known, and these
men had considered it worth while to put me out of the way, and to pick
up my companion also, yet I could not directly connect this action with
Judge Henley's will. We might have merely crossed their path,
interfered with their criminal plans. If so, then it was more than
likely our release would not be long delayed. Indeed, the man who
appeared to be the chief, had already said he would turn the girl free
in New Orleans, where she could do them no harm. New Orleans then was,
doubtless, the port for which we sailed. My knowledge of distance was
vague, yet that could not be a long voyage, nor one involving any great
danger. It was clear they meant no personal harm to her, and they
would never have brought me on board alive, if they had deemed it
necessary to otherwise dispose of me. These considerations were in the
main reassuring, and as I turned them over in my mind I drifted into
better humor. Besides, my head had ceased to ache, and a little
exercise put my numbed limbs into fair condition.
It was fully an hour after the coming of darkness before I was
disturbed. Then the door opened, and the entering gleam of a light
swinging in the passage revealed the grinning negro steward bearing a
well-filled tray. This he deposited in the berth, while applying a
match to the lamp overhead. I saw no shadow of any guard outside, but
the fellow made no effort to close the door, and I did not move,
confident he was not alone. As he turned to go, however, curiosity
compelled me to question him, his good-natured face provocative of
courage.
"Say, George, what boat is this?"
"Mah name is Louis, sah."
"All right, Louis, then; what's the name of this vessel?"
"She am de _Sea Gull_, an' a mighty fin' boat, sah."
"So I judge; what is she, fruiter, or private yacht?"
"I reckon I don't just know," and he grinned.
"Perhaps then you will inform me where we are bound--I suppose you know
that?"
"No, sah; de captain he nebber done tol' me, sah, nothing 'bout his
personal plans. All he done said wus fer me to hustle sum grub in
yere."
"But surely," I Insisted warmly, "you know what voyage you signed on
for?"
"Wal, boss, I did n't sign on fer no vige. I 'se de steward, sah, an'
I just naturally goes 'long where ebber de ship does. 'T ain't rightly
none o' my business what de white folks 'cides to do. Good Lor', dey
don't never ask dis nigger nuthin' 'bout dat. All I got ter do is just
go 'long with 'em--dat's all."
The shadow of a man blocked the doorway. He was one of those who had
been in the small boat, and I noticed a revolver at his waist.
"That's enough, boy. Come, now, out with you," he commanded gruffly.
"Never you mind the door; I 'll attend to that."
He pulled the door to after the retreating form of the negro, and I
heard the sharp click of the latch, and then his voice, muffled by
intervening wood, ordering the steward aft. There was no appearance of
any lock on the door; probably there was none, as otherwise it would
not have been necessary to post a guard. However, this was clearly no
time to experiment and I was hungry enough to forget all else in the
appetizing fragrance of the meal waiting. I fell to eagerly, convinced
there was a good cook on board, and enjoying every morsel. This did
not look as though I was destined to suffer, and merely being confined
in these narrow quarters for a few hours was no great hardship.
Probably the girl was receiving very similar treatment, and, as soon as
the _Sea Gull_ made whatever port was aimed at, we would both be put
ashore, and left to proceed as we thought best. Indeed, sitting there
alone, under the inspiration of choice food, well cooked, I became
quite cheerful, dismissing altogether from my mind any apprehension
that this attack upon us had any connection with the inheritance of
Philip Henley. These people were lawless enough, without doubt--the
murders already committed were evidence of that--but all they desired
so far as we were personally concerned, was to get us safely out of the
way, where we could no longer interfere with their plans. What those
plans might be I could merely conjecture, with little enough to guide
my guessing. They might be filibusters, connected with some revolution
along the Central American coast, smugglers, or marauders of even less
respectability. Their methods were desperate enough for any deeds of
crime. Without doubt they utilized this comparatively forsaken lagoon
as a hidden rendezvous, and the deserted Henley plantation--from which
even the negroes had been frightened away--was an ideal spot for them
to meet in, plan their raids, or secrete their spoils. These fellows
were doubtless the ghosts which haunted the place, and had given it so
uncanny a reputation throughout the neighborhood. They would naturally
resent any interference, any change in ownership, or control.
Possibly, if they were thieves, as I more than half suspected, they had
loot buried nearby, and were anxious to get us out of the way long
enough to remove it unobserved. This appealed to me as by far the most
probable explanation.
I had cleaned the dishes, and was sitting on the stool, leaning back
against the wall, already becoming sleepy, listening to the rhythmic
pulsation of the engines at low speed, when the door opened again, and
the guard stood revealed before me in the glare of light.
"The old man wants you," he explained brusquely, waving his hand aft as
though specifying the direction. "Come on, now."
"What does he want?"
"How the hell do I know! But let me tell you, his orders go on this
boat."
I preceded him along the narrow passage, utterly indifferent to the
threat in his manner, but still conscious that one hand gripped the
butt of his revolver. Without doubt the fellow had orders to be
vigilant, and, perhaps, would even welcome some excuse for violence. I
gave him none, however, hopeful that the approaching interview might
yield new information. The cabin was unoccupied, the table swung up
against the beams of the upper deck, the heavy chairs moved back
leaving a wide open space. The furnishings were rich, in excellent
taste, the carpet a soft, green Wilton; the hanging lamp quite ornate,
while a magnificent upright piano was firmly anchored against the butt
of the aftermast. It was a yacht-like interior, even to the sheet
music on the rack, and a gray striped cat dozing on one of the softly
cushioned chairs. Gazing about, I could scarcely realize this was an
abode of criminals, or that I was there a captive. It was the sudden
grip of my guard which brought the truth relentlessly home.
"This is no movin' picture show," he muttered. "Hustle along thar, in
back o' that music box. See--the way I 'm pointin'."
There was but one door, evidence that a single cabin occupied the
entire space astern, and I stopped before it, my companion applying his
knuckles to the wood, but without removing his watchful eyes from me.
A muffled voice asked who was there, and at the response replied:
"Open the door and show him in, Peters, and remain where you are within
call."
I entered, conscious of a strange feeling of hesitancy, pausing
involuntarily as I heard the door close, and glancing hastily about. I
had expected a scene of luxury, a counterpart of the outer cabin.
Instead, I stood upon a plain, uncarpeted deck, the white walls and
ceiling undecorated. On one side was a double tier of berths, lockers
were between the ports, and heavy curtains draped the two windows aft.
Opposite the berths was an arm rack, containing a variety of weapons,
and the only floor covering was a small rug beneath a desk near the
center of the apartment. This latter was littered with papers, among
them a map or two, on which courses had been pricked. Beyond these all
the room contained was a small bookcase, crowded with volumes, and a
few chairs, only one upholstered. The only person present occupied
this, and was seated at the desk, watching me, a cigarette smoking
between his fingers. It was the olive-hued man of the cellar, the one
I had picked as leader, and his teeth gleamed white in an effort to
smile. In spite of his skin and dark eyes, I could not guess at his
nationality, but felt an instinctive dislike to him, more deeply rooted
than before, now that I comprehended how completely I was in his power.
"Take a seat, Craig," he said, speaking with a faint accent barely
perceptible. "The second chair will be found the more comfortable.
Now we can talk easily. May I offer you a cigarette?"
I accepted it more to exhibit my own coolness than from any desire to
smoke, but without other response. The man had sent for me for some
specific purpose, and I desired to learn what that might be before
unmasking my own batteries.
"A smoke generally leaves me in more genial humor," he continued,
ignoring my reticence. "Mere habit, of course, but we are all more or
less in slavery to the weed. I trust you have been fairly comfortable
since coming on board the _Sea Gull_."
"As much so as a prisoner could naturally expect to be," I replied
indifferently. "This vessel then is the _Sea Gull_?"
He bowed, with an expressive gesticulation of the hand.
"At present--yes. In days gone by it has been found convenient to call
her the _Esmeralda_, the _Seven Sisters_, and the _Becky N_. The name
is immaterial, so long as it sounds well, and conforms to the manifest.
However, just now the register reads _Sea Gull_, Henley, master, 850
tons, schooner-rigged yacht."
"You are under steam?"
"Exactly; auxiliary steam power."
"In what trade?"
"Operated for pleasure exclusively," a slight tone of mockery in the
soft voice. "A rather expensive luxury, of course, but available all
the year around in this latitude."
"I failed to catch the captain's name--yours, I presume?"
He laughed, pausing to light another cigarette.
"Still it is one you seem fairly familiar with--Henley, Philip Henley."