IN COMMAND
Austin was quite aware that he had his work cut out when he was left in
command of the _Cumbria_, with half her crew sick, and her skipper
raving deliriously. He knew very little about medicine, and certainly no
more about what he termed the astronomical side of navigation, and after
several attempts decided that it was beyond his ability to take an
accurate solar observation. There were, however, other, though not very
reliable, means of approximately ascertaining the ship's position which
he was acquainted with, and he nerved himself afresh for a grapple with
what most men would, under the circumstances, have considered
insuperable difficulties.
He had two Spaniards who could be trusted to keep the steamer more or
less on the course he gave them, while the _Cumbria_ steerd handily,
which is more than all steamers do. There was a large-scale chart,
considerably mildewed, but still legible, in the skipper's room, as well
as a pilot guide to the West African coast, while the patent log that
towed astern to record the distance run appeared to be working
accurately. He could thus, it was evident, depend in some degree upon
what is termed dead reckoning, which is comparatively reliable in the
case of short distances run in the vicinity of a high, well lighted
coast. The one the _Cumbria_ steamed along was, however, not lighted at
all, and most of it scarcely rose a foot above sea-level, while when he
had ruled the line she was presumed to be travelling on across the
chart, and pricked off the distance the patent log told him she had run,
there remained the question how far the tide and the Guinea stream had
deflected it, and whether the steering and her compasses could be
trusted.
It was also rather an important question; and when he had, on several
occasions, peered for an hour at a time through Jefferson's glasses in
search of a cape or island which the chart indicated should be met with,
and saw only a hazy line of beach, or a dingy smear on the horizon which
might be mangroves, or, quite as likely, a trail of mist, the
probability of his ever reaching the Canaries seemed very remote indeed.
There would, he fancied, be no great difficulty in obtaining a mate and
two or three seamen from one of the steamers he came across, but in that
case the strangers would expect half the value of the _Cumbria_'s hull
and cargo, and very likely make their claim to it good. He was also
aware that more experienced skippers than he was had put their ships
ashore upon that coast. But what troubled him most was the fact that if
he lost sight of it, or found no point that he could identify, he would
have nothing to start from when he must boldly head her out across the
open ocean.
She had rolled along at six to eight knots, with the big pump going, for
several days, when a trail of smoke crept out of the Western horizon.
Austin watched it anxiously, and when at last a strip of black hull and
a yellow funnel grew into shape beneath it, summoned the donkey-man, and
with his assistance, which was not especially reliable, worried over the
signal code painted on the flag rack in the wheel-house when he had
stopped the engines. It was almost obliterated, and most of the flags
themselves were missing; but between them they picked out sundry strips
of mildewed bunting and sent them up to the masthead. The little
West-coast mailboat was close alongside now, and flags also commenced to
flutter up between her masts, while her whistle screamed in long and
short blasts. Austin, anxious as he was, laughed a little.
"That is apparently the Morse code, and it's unfortunate that neither of
us understands it," he said. "I presume it means that they can make
nothing of our flags, and one could hardly blame them. Any way, we have
got to stop her."
Tom grinned as he pulled an armful of tattered ensigns out of a locker.
"This one should do the trick," he said. "I'd start the whistle."
Austin drew the lanyard, and when the ensign blew out on the hot air
Union down, the mailboat stopped, and, considering that they were
steamboat men, her crew had a white gig over in a very creditable time.
She came flying towards the _Cumbria_ with four negroes at the oars, and
when she slid alongside a young mate in trim white uniform came up a
rope.
"You might have slung me the ladder down," he said, gazing about him in
blank astonishment. "Paint is evidently scarce where you come from. I've
seen smarter craft in a wrecker's yard. Still, I can't stop here
talking. What do you want?"
"A doctor, for one thing," said Austin, to gain time.
"We have half the crew down in the forecastle."
The mate walked to the rails and shouted to his boat-boys, while, when
the gig slid away, he pointed up at the drooping flags as he turned to
Austin.
"I suppose it's artistic, the colouring, I mean," he said.
"Still, it's a trifle difficult to make out by either code." Austin
laughed. "Come into my room and have a drink. There are one or two
things I want to ask you."
Five minutes later he spread a mildewed chart on the table as they sat
with a bottle of Jacinta's wine before them.
"Now," he said, "if you will tell me exactly where we are, I'd be much
obliged to you."
"You don't know?" and the mate looked at him curiously.
"Since you can't undertake any salvage operations with the mails on
board, I don't mind admitting that I'm far from sure. You see, we have
only one navigator, and if you were forward just now you would hear him
raving. I've got to take her somehow--on dead reckoning--to the
Canaries."
The mate opened his mouth and gasped. "Well," he said simply, "may I be
----!"
"I suppose that's natural, but it isn't much use to me. I've been
creeping along the coast, so far, but it's evident that if I stick to it
I won't reach Las Palmas. I want a definite point from which to make a
start for the ocean run."
The mate pulled a pin out of the chart, and, measuring with the
dividers, stuck it in again. "You're not quite so much out as I expected
you would be," he said. "It's a straight run to the Isleta, Grand
Canary. Whether you'll ever get there with the compass and the patent
log is another matter, though, of course, if you go on long enough,
you'll fetch some part of America. I don't want to be unduly
inquisitive, but you will have lost, at least, an hour of our time
before I put Pills on board again, and I really think there is a little
you should tell me."
Austin briefly outlined his adventures, and when he had finished the
mate brought his fist down with a bang on the table.
"Well," he said, "you have evidently excellent nerves of your own, and
I'm not quite so sure as I was that you'll never get her home. I don't
mind admitting now that at first I thought you were crazy. It's evident
that your compass and patent log are all right, but you'll have to get
your latitude and longitude, at least, occasionally, and I'll bend on
some signals any skipper you come across would understand. If he's
particularly good-natured he might chalk it on a board."
He stopped a moment with a little sardonic smile. "As a matter of fact,
it's not quite so unusual a question as you might suppose."
Austin thanked him profusely, and felt a good deal easier when he and
the mailboat's doctor, who arrived presently and gave him good advice,
went away. Then, with a blast of her whistle, the _Cumbria_ steamed on
to the West again, and it was three or four days later, and she was
plunging along with dripping forecastle at a little over six knots
against the trades, when Austin had trouble with Jefferson. He was
asleep in his room, aft, and, awakening suddenly, wondered for a moment
or two what was wrong, until it dawned on him that it was the unusual
quietness which had roused him. Then he sprang from his berth and
hastened out on deck, for it was evident that the engines had stopped.
There was clear moonlight overhead, and the ship was rolling heavily,
while as he looked forward a clamour broke out beneath the bridge, where
grimy men came scrambling up from the stoke-hole gratings. It was light
enough for him to see their blackened faces and their excited gestures.
Other men were, he fancied, from the pattering on the iron deck, also
moving in that direction from the forecastle; but what most astonished
him was the sight of a gaunt white figure pacing up and down the bridge.
While he gazed at it, Wall-eye came running towards him breathlessly.
"The SeA+-or Jefferson has stopped the ship!" he said. "He has a pistol,
and Maccario, who is shut up in the wheel-house, shouts us that he will
go back to Africa again!"
Austin, who knew a little about malarial fever by this time, ran
forward, and met Tom at the foot of the bridge ladder. The latter laid a
grimy finger on his forehead significantly.
"Right off his dot! I don't know what's to be done," he said. "It would
be easier if he hadn't that pistol."
A gong clanged beneath them while they considered it, and Tom shook his
head. "He has been ringing all over the telegraph, from full speed to
hard astern," he said. "I don't know if he'd give you the pistol, but
when I got half way up the ladder he said he'd put a bullet into me. Any
way, if you went up and talked to him while I crawled up quiet by the
other ladder, I might get him by the foot or slip in behind him."
Austin was by no means anxious to face the pistol, but it was evident
that something must be done, and he went up the ladder as unconcernedly
as he could. When he reached the head of it Jefferson beat upon the
wheel-house window with his fist.
"What's her head to the westwards for?" he said. "Port, hard over! Can't
you hear inside there?"
The steering engine rattled, and it was evident that the helmsman was
badly afraid, but in another moment Jefferson had swung away from the
wheel-house, and was wrenching at the telegraph again.
"What's the matter with these engines?" he said. "I want her backed
while I swing her under a ported helm. I'll plug somebody certain if
this is a mutiny."
He opened the big revolver, and closed it with a suggestive click, while
it cost Austin an effort to walk quietly along the bridge. Jefferson's
eyes were glittering, his hair hung down on his face, which was grey and
drawn, dark with perspiration, and his hands and limbs were quivering.
His voice, however, although a trifle hoarser, was very like his usual
one, so much so, in fact, that Austin found it difficult to believe the
man's mind was unhinged by fever. He whirled round when he heard Austin,
without a trace of recognition in his eyes.
"Now," he said, "why can't I get what I want done?"
"You're very sick," said Austin quietly. "Hadn't you better go back to
bed?"
Jefferson laughed. "Yes," he said, "I guess I am, or these brutes
wouldn't try to take advantage of me. Still, in another minute you're
going to see me make a hole in somebody!"
He leaned heavily on the bridge rails, with the pistol glinting in his
hand, and Austin endeavoured to answer him soothingly.
"What do you want to go back to Africa for?" he said. "There wouldn't be
any difficulty about it if it was necessary."
"Funnel-paint's there. They brought me away when I was sick, or I'd have
killed him." He made a little gesture, and dropped his hoarse voice.
"You see, I had a partner who stood by me through everything, and
Funnel-paint sent down a ---- rotting nigger!"
"Your partner's all right," said Austin, who saw that Jefferson was as
far from recognising him as ever. "I've excellent reasons for being sure
of it."
Jefferson leaned towards him confidentially, with one hand on the rails.
"It hasn't come out, but it's bound to get him. The nigger had his arms
round him. Then he'll have to hide in a dark hole where nobody can see
him, while the flesh rots off him, until he dies."
Austin could not help a shiver. He knew the thing might happen, and he
realised now that it had also been in Jefferson's mind. Still, it was,
in the meanwhile, his business to get the pistol from the latter, and
then put him in his berth, by force, if necessary.
"The difficulty is that you can't kill a man twice," he said. "I seem to
have a notion that you hove a stick of dynamite into Funnel-paint's
canoe."
"I could have done, and I meant to, but my partner was with me. I had to
humour him. That man stood by me."
Austin stood still, looking at him, a little bewildered by it all. The
mailboat doctors and some of the traders he had met at Las Palmas had
more than once related curious examples of the mental aberration which
now and then results from malarial fever. Still, Jefferson, whom he had
left scarcely fit to raise his head in his bunk, was now apparently
almost sensible; and, what was more astonishing, able, at least, to walk
about. Then, when he wondered how he was to get his comrade down from
the bridge, the latter turned to him with a sudden change of mood.
"You're keeping me talking while they play some trick on me," he said.
"All right! In another moment you'll be sorry."
The pistol went up, and Austin set his lips while a little shiver of
dismay ran through him. The ladder he had come up by was some distance
away, the wheel-house, at least, as far, and he stood clear in the
moonlight, realising that the first move he made would probably lead to
Jefferson squeezing the trigger. Then, with sudden bitterness, he
remembered what, it seemed, was in his blood, and felt astonished that
he should be troubled by physical fear. It would be a swifter and
cleaner end if his comrade killed him there. That consideration,
however, only appealed to his reason, and the reflection came that
Jefferson would probably never shake off the recollection of what he had
done; and, knowing it was safest, he braced himself to stand motionless,
while the perspiration dripped from him, steadily eyeing the
fever-crazed man.
"If you will let me tell you why we are steaming west it would save a
good deal of trouble," he said, as soothingly as he could, though his
voice shook. "You see, you were too sick to understand, and you're not
very well yet."
Jefferson, somewhat to his astonishment, seemed willing to listen, but
he was, unfortunately, far from the side of the bridge below which
Austin surmised that Tom was crouching. He risked a glance round, but
the helmsman evidently dare not leave the wheel-house, for which Austin
could not blame him, and the Spaniards stood clustered together gazing
up at them from below. Austin decided that if he signed or called to
them Jefferson would use the pistol, though he fancied that one of them
was trying to make him understand something.
Then suddenly a shadowy form glided out from behind the wheel-house,
where Jefferson could not see it. There was a rush of feet, and a
spring, and Jefferson went down heavily with another man, who wound his
arms round him. They rolled against the bridge rails, and a breathless
voice called to Austin.
"Get hold of the pistol!" it said.
Austin wrenched it from his comrade; men came scrambling up the ladder,
and in another moment or two they had Jefferson helpless, and set about
carrying him to his room. When they laid him in his berth his strength
seemed to suddenly melt away, and he lay limp and still, only babbling
incoherently. Austin ventured to give him a sedative, and then, leaving
Wall-eye to watch him, went out on deck. Tom, who was waiting for him,
made a little deprecatory gesture.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Austin, but he never came near my side of the bridge,"
he said. "If I had got up he'd have dropped me with the pistol, and that
wouldn't have done much good to anybody."
"Of course not," said Austin. "I was uncommonly thankful when Bill got
hold of him. Send him along to my room, and then start your engines."
In another two or three minutes the _Cumbria_ was steaming west again,
and Bill, the fireman, stood, somewhat sheepishly, in the doorway of
Austin's room.
"I owe you a good deal, and when the time comes I'll endeavour to
remember it," said the latter. "Still, I don't want Mr. Jefferson ever
to know anything about the thing. You did it cleverly."
Bill grinned. "Well," he said, "I'm quite glad I did. I felt I had to do
something for my five pounds, any way."
It dawned upon Austin that once or twice, when he had somewhat risky
work to do, Bill had been near him.
"What five pounds?" he asked.
"The five pounds she shoved into my hand one night on board the
_Estremedura_--no--the fact is, I'm feeling a little shaky, and I don't
quite know what I'm saying. The getting hold of Mr. Jefferson has upset
me. When you think of it, it's only natural."
"Then it has come on very suddenly," said Austin. "You seemed all right
a moment or two ago. Am I to understand that somebody gave you five
pounds to look after me?"
It was evident to Bill that there was nothing to be gained by further
reticence, and he edged out of the doorway, grinning more broadly than
ever.
"Well," he said, "I guess she meant you, though she said it was both of
you. Still, you won't tell her, or I sha'n't get any more."
He had vanished before Austin could ask another question, but the matter
was quite clear to the latter, and his face grew hot while a little
thrill of satisfaction ran through him as he recognised that Jacinta had
felt it worth while to do what she could to ensure his safety. Then he
remembered something else, and his face grew hard as he pulled off his
jacket and glanced at his bare arm.
He had torn and abraded it heaving in oil and coal, and the gunboat's
surgeon had warned him that it was advisable to keep his skin unbroken.
There were several half-hardened scars upon it now, and another had been
torn away when he fell against the rail in a heavy lurch a day or two
earlier. He had worn no jacket at the time. He had since noticed a
curious tingling sensation in that part of his arm, and, holding it
nearer the lamp, he saw that the flesh was inflamed about the wound.
There was no doubt about the fact. When he pressed it with his thumb all
the lower arm was sore, and he let it fall limply to his side, and sat
down with a little groan. The horrible thing he shrank from had, it
seemed, come upon him. He sat very still for half an hour, grappling
with a numbing sense of dismay, and then, with a little shake of his
shoulders, went back to the bridge, for he had still a duty to his
comrades.