THE CREOLE'S STORY
My time of preparation was brief, yet I already had a plan of operation
outlined. In truth, there was small choice left me. I must keep
Henley concealed and silent until darkness rendered our escape
possible. In order to accomplish this it would be necessary to prevent
either the steward or the mate from entering the after cabin. All
peril from the negro I dismissed quickly, confident that his knowledge
of my standing on board would impel him to accept any explanation I
might make. But with Herman the situation was not so clear. Whether,
or not, the Captain had informed him that I was a volunteer on their
lawless expedition, I did not know. We had not met since coming
aboard, and, unless he had received direct orders regarding my status,
any interference on my part would be apt to arouse instant suspicion.
Nor was he the kind to brook any assumed authority. I had him placed
as a gruff, hard-fisted sea-dog, who would strike first, and
investigate later--one in dealing with whom either diplomacy or force
might prove equal failures. Yet I possessed this advantage--I could
deal with him alone. With but two watch officers on board, only one at
a time could leave the deck, and Broussard, I felt assured, had no
privileges in the Captain's cabin. From what I knew of Henley I
doubted if even the first officer felt privileged to invade the privacy
of his chief without some special reason. There was discipline on
board, strict discipline; there had to be to control such a crew, and
it was my impression Henley was the very kind to insist on every
privilege of his station. Herman was of value merely for his ability
as navigator; socially, the Captain and he had nothing in common. It
was on this theory I decided to work.
As I lifted the helpless Captain into his berth, his eyes glaring at me
in impotent rage, my ears could distinguish the sound of oars as the
small boat rounded the stern of the _Sea Gull_. Much as I despised the
fellow, I hated to gag him, yet our safety depended on his silence, and
I dare not neglect the precaution. Even as the boat grated along the
side, I stepped forth into the main cabin, and sat down to wait. To my
surprise and relief, it was Broussard who came down the companion
stairs, driving the steward before him.
"Vat for you loaf, hey!" he snapped fiercely. "By Gar, I teach you. I
work four--seek--hour an' nodding to eat. You say ze Capitaine send
you; bah! eet vas not so--nevaire! Vat you hav'--hey?"
The negro mumbled something through thick lips, and the irate mate
gripped him by the collar of his jacket, shaking the fellow as he might
a dog, and hurling him half across the deck.
"Sacre! I keel you for five cent. Queek now--jump! Put all on right
way, by Gar, or I show you. Here you--ze brandy furst."
The steward slunk into the passage leading to the pantry, and the
Creole, turning, saw me.
"Ah, M'sieur; I saw you not. Pardon ze roughness, but consider, no
dinare, an' I been on deck seek hour; no sleep, no eat, only work. I
lose ze tempair, M'sieur."
"That is not to be wondered at," I answered, affecting good humor.
"Has the first mate been ashore?"
"Oui, M'sieur; asleep in the sun, I bet you. Bah! any man could watch
the sea from the cliff. Dat job not need ze furst officer. Sacre! but
't is a dog's life at sea."
I nodded my head, too busily engaged with my own thoughts to give much
consideration to his troubles. Still, this situation, as revealed by
Broussard's complaints, would afford us a respite of at least four
hours. If this was the Creole's watch below, then Herman would keep
the deck. Even lying there at anchor those fellows would not leave the
crew alone. There was too much at stake, and besides there must still
remain a look-out ashore. However it was a relief to know that the
German had nothing of importance to communicate to Henley, no occasion
even to come below. Broussard sank back into a chair, watching the
frightened negro hurry back and forth. At last, satisfied that
everything available had been produced, the former strode across to the
table, jerked out a chair, and waved his hand toward me in invitation
to join him.
"The lazy dog! 'T is likely all you will get, M'sieur. Maybe you eat
with me--hey? Or would you wait for ze Capitaine?"
"I 'll take pot-lunch with you, Broussard," I agreed genially, speaking
loud enough so the negro would overhear. "I 've got to get accustomed
to camp fare, and am hungry enough to begin. Besides, Captain Henley
is laid up in his berth with a sick headache, and does n't wish to be
disturbed. He told me to tell you, Louis."
"Yes, sah! Shall Ah make you sum coffee, sah? Massa Broussard he
don't nebber drink none."
"Yes, and, by the way, Louis, take a lunch in to the lady; fix up
something neat if you can, and let me know when it is ready. All
right, Broussard, a nip of that brandy would help me."
He passed the bottle, and a clean glass across the table, watching me
pour out the liquor with a sarcastic smile.
"You know ze Capitaine before, maybe?" he asked.
"No," I answered, wondering what he could be aiming at, but willing to
give him a free rein. "Only since he tapped me on the head back in the
cellar. However, he has been square with me, and seems to be a pretty
good fellow."
"You think so--hey! Maybe so while he get you with heem. Den he ze
devil. I know, M'sieur. I see heem for long while on ze ocean; zat
whar' you fin' out."
I began eating slowly, exhibiting an indifference I was far from
feeling, yet swiftly determining that no matter how much antagonism
might exist between the two men, I would never trust the Creole. Still
I might use him to advantage; induce him to talk freely under the spur.
"What has he done to you?" I asked carelessly.
"By Gar!--what!" firing up at the recollection. "Get out o' here, yer
damn coon!" turning fiercely upon the steward, and then leaning across
the table, lowering his voice, which yet trembled with passion.
"Sacre, M'sieur, it was I do his dirty work five--seek--year. He no
sailor, but I sail ze sheep for him--see? Tree, four time I sail ze
sheep, an' he make ze money. Vat he geef me? Maybe one hundred ze
month--bah! eet was to laugh. Zen he fin' zat Dutch hog, Herman, an'
make of heem ze furst officer. He tell eet all me nice, fine, an' I
tink maybe eet all right. You know he promise beeg profit--hey! an' I
get ze monies. Oui, it sound good. But Herman big brute; he gif me ze
ordaire, and I not like eet. I tells ze Capitaine, an' by Gar! he keep
me tied up before ze port watch. You stan' zat, M'sieur?"
I shook my head, uncertain just what stand to take.
"Nevar!" he went on, barely pausing for breath. "I show ze damn
half-breed; you vait, I git heem."
"What do you mean by half-breed, Broussard?" I questioned, surprised.
He laughed, but not pleasantly.
"He vas ze mongrel--sure; you know not zat? Sacre, I tell you zen.
What you zink him, white man? Pah! you see hees mother--she mulatto.
Ze damn dog!"
"How do you know that?"
"How I know! I tell you I sail with heem long while. He nevar tell,
but I fin' eet out. I listen, I hear ze talk, but I say noddings,
M'sieur. Vat I care while he treat me right? But now I show heem vat
I know. He not lord eet over me ven ol' Sallie vas his mother--by Gar!
no!"
"Sallie! You cannot mean that mulatto woman back on the plantation?"
"Sure, the ol' rip."
"Then his name is not Henley?"
"Why not, M'sieur? The ol' Judge was his father."
The whole thing came to me in a flash, as I stared across at the mate,
who scarcely realized yet the revelation made. He was brooding over
his wrongs, and how he was to be avenged.
"Good God!" I breathed, "so that 's the way of it!"
Broussard looked up, a cunning smile on his face. "By Gar, I forget,"
he said softly. "You vas after ze monies too, hey! Bah! eet make no
difference vat you know. He haf you here all right, var' you keep
still or--" and he drew the back of a knife across his throat. "I
vonder he not keel you furst, M'sieur; maybe he use you, an' then, hav'
you shot in ze South. Oui, zat be ze easy vay. Why you ever cum down,
an' claim to be Philip Henley--hey?"
"That was all a mistake," I returned deliberately. "I came merely to
look after his interest?"
"Interest! Why a dead man hav' interest?"
"Do you mean Philip Henley is dead?"
"You pretend not know? By Gar, eet queer. Vell, I tell you, M'sieur.
Ze hole back ov ze picture; I lie there one night an' leesten, week,
ten days ago. Ze Capitaine talk with Sallie. He hav' letter from
North--one, two sheet paper--an' eet tell heem how eet all vas.
Someone write heem--I link maybe Pierre Vonique who went way long time.
No matter; vat he told was zat M'sieur Philip die--die queek frum
accident. Nevah speak, an' when zey pick heem up, zar was noddin' in
hees pocket. See, M'sieur! He vas robbed. Vonique he hear about eet,
an' fin' ze body. No one know who ze man is, but Vonique know. To
prove eet he send ze ring--ze signet ring--off ze finger. Zen he
write, 'Look out, someone has ze papers. Watch who comes.' Zat vas
true, M'sieur."
I hung on his words, fascinated, never doubting, the very thought of
her freedom obscuring all else. It was only as he stopped speaking,
and resumed his meal, that I gained control of my voice. The affair
was clear enough now, except for some few corroborative details.
"And someone did come, Broussard?"
"Oui, damn queek--a fellow with a letter from Philip; eet was sign hees
name, hees handwrite, appoint heem overseer."
"And what became of him?"
The Creole shrugged his shoulders.
"'T is not my business, M'sieur. He go way somewhere queek. Maybe he
not like ze place."
The dead face of the bearded man in the rear room rose before me. But
Broussard went on.
"Zen you came, M'sieur, 'long wiz ze girl. Ze Capitaine he laugh, eet
was so easy. Why ze girl, M'sieur?"
"Philip Henley was married."
"Non, non, impossible; eet cannot be shown. 'T is not of ze record.
Ze Capitaine not 'fraid any more; he just play wiz you like ze cat wiz
ze mouse. He know Philip dead; he has ze proof, an' now he breaks ze
will, an' gets ze monies. Ze damn dog rich now; zen he be more rich."
"Do you know an executor of the will named Neale--P. B. Neale?"
"Oui, M'sieur."
"Who is he? What does he look like?"
"He vas a planter two mile west Carrollton. I see heem maybe ten days
ago--leetle short man wif bald head."
He poured out another drink of brandy, and, downing it, pushed back his
chair.
"By Gar, I talk too mooch, maybe," he said, yawning. "But eet make no
dif. Ze Capitaine he cop ze monies just ze same, an' eet better you
know. Now I turn in an' sleep."
He crossed the cabin to his stateroom, and closed the door.