In the _Condor's_ forecastle.
It is her third night since leaving San Francisco, and the second watch
is on deck; the men on the first having gone down below. That on duty
is Padilla's; in it Gomez, Hernandez, Velarde, and the two sailors of
nationality unknown.
The off-watch consists of Striker, Davis, the Frenchman, who is called
La Crosse, with the Dutchman and Dane.
All these five are in the forepeak, the chief mate, as they suppose,
having retired to rest.
They have been below for some time, and it is now near eleven o'clock of
the night. All have finished their suppers, and are seated, some on the
sides of their bunks, some on sea-chests. A large one of the latter,
cleated in the centre of the floor, does service as a table. Upon it is
a black bottle containing rum--the sailor's orthodox drink. In his
hand, each holds his pannikin, while in every mouth there is a pipe, and
the forecastle is full of smoke. A pack of playing-cards lies on the
lid of the chest; greasy and begrimed, as if they had seen long service;
though not any on this particular night, are in the hands of those
sitting around, who show no inclination to touch them. They may have
been used by the men of the watch now on deck; this, probably enough,
since the cards are Spanish, as told by their picturing.
Those occupying the forecastle now have something on their minds more
important than card-playing: a question of money; but not money to be
made in that way. What they are thinking about, and talking of, is the
gold-dust in the cabin-lockers; not how it is to be got out of them, but
how it shall be distributed after it is out.
This is not the first time the subject has been before them. There has
been talk of it all that day; though only between them in twos, and
informally. Since finding out how things stood, and especially after
his confab with the first mate, Striker, as promised, has been sounding
his shipmates, one after another. He has communicated his purpose to
all, and had their approval of it--the four Spaniards excepted. These
he has not yet approached; but this night intends doing so--as the
others insist that an immediate understanding be arrived at, and the
thing definitely settled.
The five are now waiting till those on the watch, not required for
deck-duty, come below. All of them have had intimation they will be
wanted in the forecastle; and as the night is fine, with no occasion for
changing sails or other occupation, only the helmsman need absent
himself from a muster, whose summons to most of the second watch has
appeared a little strange.
They obey it, notwithstanding; and after a while the two sailors come
down--the nondescripts without name; though one goes by the sobriquet of
"Old Tarry," the other having had bestowed upon him the equally
distinctive, but less honourable, appellation of "Slush."
Shortly after, the second mate, Padilla, makes his appearance, along
with him Velarde; the former a man who has seen some forty winters,
rugged in frame, with bronzed complexion, and features forbidding, as
any that ever belonged to freebooters; the latter in this respect not so
unlike him, only younger, of a more slender frame, and less rude in
speech, as in manner.
Soon as setting foot on the forecastle's floor, Padilla, as an officer
of the ship, speaking in tone of authority, demands to know why they
have been summoned thither.
Striker, putting himself forward as the spokesman of the off-watch,
replies:
"Hadn't ye better sit down, master mate? The subjeck we're goin' to
discuss may take a start o' time an' it's as cheap sittin' as standin'.
Maybe ye won't mind joinin' us in a drink?"
Saying this, the ex-convict clutches at the bottle pours some rum into
his pannikin, and offers it to Padilla.
The Spaniard accepting, drinks; and passing the cup to Velarde, sits
down.
The latter imitating him as to the drink, takes seat by his side; Old
Tarry and Slush having already disposed of themselves.
"Now," pursues the second mate, "let's hear what it's all about."
"Theer be two not yit among us," says Striker. "In coorse, one's at the
wheel."
"Yes; Gomez is there," responds Padilla.
"Where be Hernandez?"
"I don't know. Likely, along with him."
"Don't much matter," puts in Davis. "I dar' say we can settle the thing
without either. You begin, Jack; tell Mr Padilla, and the rest, what
we've been talking about."
"'Twon't take a very long time to tell it," responds Striker. "Theer be
no great need for wastin' words. All I've got to say are, that the
_swag shud be eekilly divided_."
Padilla starts, Velarde doing the same.
"What do you mean?" asks the former, putting on an air of innocence.
"I means what I've saved--that the swag shud be eekilly divided."
"And yet I don't understand you."
"Yis, ye do. Come, Master Padilla, 'tain't no use shammin' ignorance--
not wi' Jack Striker, at all events. He be too old a bird to get
cheated wi' chaff. If ye want to throw dust into my eyes, it must be o'
the sort that's stowed aft in the cuddy. Now, d'ye understan' me?"
Padilla looks grave, so does Velarde. Old Tarry and Slush show no sign
of feeling; both being already prepared for the demand Striker intended
to make, and having given their promise to back it.
"Well," says the second mate, "you appear to be talking of some
gold-dust. And, I suppose, you know all about it!"
"That we do," responds Striker.
"Well, what then?" asks Padilla.
"Only what I've sayed," rejoins the Sydney Duck. "If you weesh, I can
say it over 'gain. That theer yellow stuff shud be measured out to the
crew o' this craft share and share alike, even hands all roun' without
respectin' o' parsons. An', by God! it shall be so deevided--shall,
will, an' must."
"Yes!" endorses Davis, with like emphatic affirmation.
"It shall, and it must!"
"_Pe gar_, most it!" adds the Frenchman; followed in the same strain by
Stronden the Dane, and Van Houton the Dutchman, chorused by Old Tarry
and Slush.
"It an't no use your stannin' out, masters," continues Striker,
addressing himself to the two Spaniards. "Ye see the majority's against
ye; an' in all cases o' the kind, wheresomever I've seed 'em, the
majority means the right. Besides, in this partickler case we're askin'
no moren' what's right--refarrin' to the job afore us. I'm willin' to
conceed, that you Spanish chaps hev hed most to do wi' the first
plannin' o' the thing; as alser, that ye brought the rest o' us into it.
But what signify the bringin' in compared wi' the gettin' out? In sich
scrapes, 'taint the beginnin' but the eend as is dangersome. An' we've
all got to unnergo that danger; the which I needn't particklarly speak
o', as every man o' ye must feel it 'bout the nape o' his neck, seein'
the risk he'll hev to run o' gettin' that streetched. It's eequil all
roun', and tharfor the reward for runnin' it shed be eequil too. So say
Jack Striker."
"So I, and I, and I," echo the others; all save Padilla and Velarde, who
remain silent and scowling.
"Yis," continues Striker, "an' theer be one who 'ant present among us,
as oughter have his share too. I don't mean either Mr Gomez or
Hernandez. Them two shud be contented, seein' as they're more after the
weemen than the money, an' nobody as I know o' carin' to cut 'em out
there. It's true him I refer to hez come into the thing at the 'leventh
hour, as ye may say--after 'twar all planned. But he mote a gied us
trouble by stannin' apart. Tharfore, I say, let's take him in on shares
wi' the rest."
"Whom are you speaking of?" demands Padilla.
"I needn't tell ye," responds the senior of the Sydney Ducks! "If I
an't mistook, that's him a comin' down, an' he can speak for hisself."
At the words, a footstep is heard upon the forecastle stair. A pair of
legs is seen descending; after them a body--the body of Harry Blew!
Padilla looks scared; Velarde the same. Both fancy their conspiracy
discovered, their scheme blown; and that Striker, with all his talk, has
been misleading them. They almost believe they are to be set upon and
put in irons; and that for this very purpose the first officer is
entering the forecastle.
They are soon undeceived, however, on hearing what he has to say.
Striker draws it out, repeating the conversation passed, and the demand
he has been making.
Thus Harry Blew gives rejoinder:
"I'm with ye, shipmates, to the end, be that sweet or bitter. Striker
talks straight, an' his seems the only fair way of settlin' the
question. The majority must decide. There's two not here, an' they've
got to be consulted. They're both by the wheel. Tharfore, let's go
aft, an' talk the thing there. There's no fear for our bein'
interrupted. The skipper's asleep, an' we've got the ship to
ourselves."
So saying, he leads up the ladder, the rest rising from their seats, and
crowding after.
Once on deck, they cluster around the forehatch, and there stop; the
first mate having something to say to them before proceeding farther.
The second does not take part in this conference; but stealing past
unseen, glides on towards the after-part of the ship.
Soon the others saunter in the same direction, in twos and threes,
straggling along the waist, but again gathering into a group around the
capstan. There the moonlight, falling full upon their faces, betrays
the expression of men in mutiny; but mutiny unopposed. For on the
quarterdeck no one meets them. The traitorous first officer has spoken
truly: the captain is asleep; they have the ship to themselves!