"FIFTEEN MEN ON THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST"
The two men who, with the young doctor, accompanied Johnny and Pant back
to the mine were old friends of other days, David Tower and Jarvis,
one-time skipper and engineer of the submarine in that remarkable race
beneath the ice and through the air told about in our second book, "Lost
in the Air." Like all worthy seamen, they had found that money "burned
holes in their pockets," and before six months had passed their share of
the prize money had dwindled to such a meager sum that the fitting out of
a private expedition to go north in search of the fabled City of Gold, the
gleam of whose domes they had glimpsed, was not to be thought of. When,
therefore, they had discovered that men were being signed for a trip to
Arctic Russia with the well-known feather-weight champion boxer, Johnny
Thompson, at its head, they hastened to put their names on the "dotted
line." And here they were, two of Johnny's most valued men.
Both worked hard at the labor entrusted to them. But ever and again, as he
straightened up to ease his cramped back, Jarvis would whisper to Dave:
"It's all right this 'ere Seven Mines, but, man, think how rich we'll be
when we git to that City of Gold. I 'ates to think how rich we'll be.
We'll buy reindeer or dogs from the bloody, bloomin' 'eathen and we'll
trim our sails for the nor'west when this hexpedition's blowed up and
gone."
Dave had always smiled and hoped.
But now, there lay before them a sad task. One of their comrades, a fine
young college fellow with all of life before him, had been "bumped off."
It was their duty to determine, if possible, who was responsible for this
tragedy, and, if occasion seemed to warrant, to avenge it.
With bowed heads, they stood beside the quiet form while the young doctor
went about his examination.
For fully ten minutes the mine was silent as a grave. Only the faint drip,
drip, drip of water from the warm spring and the almost inaudible
tremble-mumble of the throbbing earth disturbed the deathlike stillness.
At last the doctor straightened up with a sigh.
"Not a scratch on his body," he announced, "not a sign of anything."
"Heart disease?" suggested Johnny.
"Impossible. I was particularly careful to see that every man of the
expedition had a good strong heart. Low temperatures are hard on bad
hearts. Langlois was exceptionally well equipped in this matter. Indeed,
he told me that he had climbed Mount Evans in Colorado last summer,
fourteen thousand and two hundred feet, without a murmur from his heart.
Couldn't be that."
"Poison?" suggested Johnny.
"Not a sign of that either. Of course, to be sure of that, one must make a
post-mortem examination. Let's get him out of this damp, black hole."
They were soon moving out of the dark and forbidding interior of the mine
toward the welcome sunlight that flooded the entrance.
As they approached this entrance, the unreliable flashlight flickered out
for a second, and, in that second, Johnny experienced a distinct shock.
Again, it seemed to him that he caught the gleam of a round, yellow ball
of light, such as one sees when looking toward a cat in the dark. When the
light flashed on, Pant had moved, but Johnny concluded that he might
easily have been standing where the ball of light had shown.
As he prepared to leave the mine, Johnny paused for a moment, trying to
sense once more that strange earth shudder. It seemed to him that it was
less distinct here than it had been further back in the mine. But of this
he could not be sure. It might easily be that the slight sounds and the
sensations of light and air here dulled his sensibilities, making it
harder for him to catch the shudder.
The post-mortem revealed no signs of poison. They buried Langlois the next
day in the grave that had been picked and blasted out of the solidly
frozen earth of the hillside looking over the ice-blocked sea.
It was a solemn but picturesque scene that struck Johnny's eye as he
neared the grave. Before him stood his comrades with bowed and uncovered
heads. In the distance stretched the unmeasured expanse of the
ice-whitened sea. Beyond, on the other side, lay the equally unmeasured
expanse of snow-whitened land. Far in the distance stretched the endless
chain of mountains, which to-day seemed to smoke with the snow blown a
quarter mile above their summits. In the foreground, not a hundred yards
away, was a group of perhaps fifty people. These were Chukches, natives,
very like the Eskimos of Alaska. They had come to witness from afar the
strange scene of the "alongmeet's" (white man's) burial.
The scene filled Johnny with a strange sense of awe. Yet, as he came
nearer to the grave, he frowned. He had thought that all his men stood
with uncovered heads. One did not. The man who had been the first to
discover the dead man, Pant, stood with his fur hood tied tightly over his
ears.
Johnny was about to rebuke him, but the word died on his lips. "Pshaw!" he
whispered to himself, "there's trouble enough without starting a quarrel
beside an open grave."
Jarvis, who was the oldest man of the group and had been brought up in the
Church of England, read a Psalm and a prayer, then with husky voice
repeated:
"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust."
The hollow thump of frozen earth on the rude box coffin told that the
ceremony was over.
One by one the men moved away, leaving only two behind to fill the grave.
Johnny strode off up the hill alone. He felt a great need to think. There
was to be no more work that day. He would not be missed.
As he made his way slowly up the hill, his dark form stood out against the
white background. Short, but square-shouldered and muscular, he fairly
radiated his years of clean, vigorous living.
And Johnny Thompson was all that one might imagine him to be. A quiet,
unobtrusive fellow, he seldom spoke except when he had something worth
saying. Since childhood he had always been a leader among his fellows.
Johnny was a good example to others, but no prude. He had played a fast
quarter on the football team, and had won for himself early renown and
many medals as a light weight, champion boxer. He never sought a quarrel,
but, if occasion demanded it, Johnny went into action with a vim and rush
that few men of twice his weight could withstand.
Now, however, his thoughts were far from pugilistic. He was thinking of
the immediate past and the future. Every man in his crew was aware of the
fact that 35 per cent of the output of these mines went to the homeless
starving ones of the most hopelessly wrecked nation on the face of the
earth. And though for the most part they were rough men, they had all
worked with the cheerful persistence which only an unselfish motive can
inspire. Langlois had not been the least among these. Now he was gone. Who
would be next?
Every man in the crew knew the dangers they were facing. To the south were
the anti-Bolshevik Russians, who, not understanding Johnny's claims and
his motives, might, at any time, launch an expedition against them. To the
southwest were the radical Bolsheviki, who, obtaining knowledge of these
rich deposits of gold, might start a land force across country to secure
this much needed medium of exchange. Then there were the Chukches. Wild,
superstitious tribes of spirit-worshipping people, they might come down
from the north in thousands to wipe out this first white settlement
established on their shores.
Johnny's men had known of all these perils and yet they had freely and
gladly joined the expedition. His heart swelled with joy and pride at
thought of the trust they had put in him.
Yet here was a new and unknown peril. The death of Langlois could not be
fairly laid at the door of either Chukches or Russians. Could it be
charged to some treacherous member of their own group? Johnny hated to
think so, yet, how had it happened? Then, too, there was that strange
earth-tremble; what caused that?
Already his men were growing superstitious in this silent, frozen land. He
had heard them saying openly that they would not work in the mine where
Langlois died. Ah, well, there were six other mines, some of them probably
as rich. They could be worked. But was this peril to follow them into
these? Was his whole expedition to be thwarted in the carrying out of its
high purposes? Were the needy in great barren Russia to continue to freeze
and starve? He hoped not.
As he rose to go, he saw a small dark object scurry over the snow. At
first he thought it a raven. But at last, with a little circle, it
appeared to flop over and to lie still, a dark spot on the snow.
Johnny approached it cautiously. As he came close, his lips parted in an
exclamation:
"A phonographic record!"
He looked quickly up the hill, then to the right and left. Not a person
was in sight.
"Apparently from the sky," he murmured.
But at that instant he caught himself. They had a phonograph in their
outfit. This was doubtless one of their records. But how did it come out
here?
As he picked it up and examined it closely, he knew at once that it was
not one of their own, for it was a different size and had neither number
nor label on it.
"Ho, well," he sighed, "probably thrown away by some native. Take it down
and try it out anyway. Might be a good one."
At that, he began making his way down the hill.
He was nearly late to mess. Already the men were assembled around the long
table and were helping themselves to "goldfish" and hot biscuits.
"Boys," Johnny smiled, "I've been downtown and brought home a new record
for the phonograph. We'll hear it in the clubroom after mess."
"What's the name of it?" inquired Dave Tower, all interest at once, as,
indeed, they all were.
"Don't know," said Johnny, "but I bet it's a good one."
Mess over, they adjourned to the "clubroom," a large room, roughly but
comfortably furnished with homemade easy chairs, benches and tables, and
supplied with all the reading matter in camp.
Many pairs of curious eyes turned to the phonograph in the corner as
Johnny, after winding the machine, carefully placed the disk in position,
adjusted the needle, and with a loud "A-hem!" started the machine in
motion.
There followed the usual rattle and thump as the needle cleared its way to
the record.
Every man sat bolt upright, ears and eyes strained, when from the woody
throat came the notes of a clear voice:
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest,
Yo--ho--ho, and a bottle of rum.
Fifteen men and the dark and damp,
My men 'tis better to shun."
Again the machine appeared to clear its throat.
A smile played over the faces of the men. But again the voice sang:
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest,
Yo--ho--ho, and a bottle of rum.
Fifteen men and the dark and damp,
My men 'tis better to shun."
Again came a rattle. A puzzled expression passed over Johnny's face. The
same song was repeated over and over till the record was finished.
A hoarse laugh came from one corner. It died half finished. No one joined
in the laugh. There was something uncanny about this record which had
drifted in from nowhere with its song of pirate days and of death.
Especially did it appear so, coming at such a time as this.
"Well, what do you make of it?" Johnny smiled queerly.
"It's a spirit message!" exclaimed Jarvis, "I read as 'ow Sir Oliver Lodge
'as got messages from 'is departed ones through the medium of a slate.
'Oo's to say spirits can't talk on them wax records as well. It's a
message, a warnin' to us in this 'ere day of death."
Smiles followed but no laughing. In a land such as this, every man's
opinion is respected.
"More likely some whaler made a few private records of his own singing and
gave this one to the natives," suggested Dave Tower. "They'd take it for
something to eat, but, when they tried boiling it and had no success,
they'd throw it away. That's probably what's happened and here we have the
record."
"Anyway," said the doctor, "if he's a sailor, you'll have to admit he had
a very fine voice."
There the matter was dropped. But Johnny took it up again before he slept.
He could not help feeling that this was sent as a warning not from the
spirit world, but from some living person. Who that person might be, he
had no sort of notion. And the message gave no clue. He repeated it slowly
to himself.
"What could you make out of that?" he mumbled.
Then he turned over in his deer-skin bag and went to sleep.