THE SCUTTLED SHIP
When I went on deck next morning there was something great ado. We were
out of sight of land, sailing large, as the old phrase went, on a brisk
quarter breeze with top-sails atrip, and the sky a vast fine open blue.
The crew were gathered at the poop, the pump was clanking in the midst
of them, and I saw they were taking spells at the cruellest labour a
seaman knows.
At first I was noway troubled at the spectacle; a leak was to be
expected in old rotten-beams, and I went forward with the heart of me
not a pulse the faster.
Risk was leaning over the poop-rail, humped up and his beard on
his hands; Murchison, a little apart, swept the horizon with a
prospect-glass, and the pump sent a great spate of bilge-water upon the
deck. But for a man at the tiller who kept the ship from yawing in the
swell that swung below her counter the _Seven Sisters_ sailed at her
sweet will; all the interest of her company was in this stream of
stinking water that she retched into the scuppers. And yet I could not
but be struck by the half-hearted manner in which the seamen wrought;
they were visibly shirking; I saw it in the slack muscles, in the
heedless eyes.
Risk rose and looked sourly at me as I went up. “Are ye for a job?” said
he. “It's more in your line perhaps than clerkin'.”
“What, at the pumps? Is the old randy geyzing already?”
“Like a washing-boyne,” said he. “Bear a hand like a good lad! we maun
keep her afloat at least till some other vessel heaves in sight.”
In the tone and look of the man there was something extraordinary.
His words were meant to suggest imminent peril, and yet his voice was
shallow as that of a burgh bellman crying an auction sale, and his eyes
had more interest in the horizon that his mate still searched with the
prospect-glass than in the spate of bilge that gulped upon the deck.
Bilge did I say? Heavens! it was bilge no more, but the pure sea-green
that answered to the clanking pump. It was no time for idle wonder
at the complacence of the skipper; I flew to the break and threw
my strength into the seaman's task. “Clank-click, clank-click”--the
instrument worked reluctantly as if the sucker moved in slime, and in a
little the sweat poured from me.
“How is she now, Campbell?” asked Risk, as the carpenter came on deck.
“Three feet in the hold,” said Campbell airily, like one that had an
easy conscience.
“Good lord, a foot already!” cried Risk, and then in a tone of sarcasm,
“Hearty, lads, hearty there! A little more Renfrewshire beef into it,
Mr. Greig, if you please.”
At that I ceased my exertion, stood back straight and looked at the
faces about me. There was only one man in the company who did not seem
to be amused at me, and that was Horn, who stood with folded arms,
moodily eying the open sea.
“You seem mighty joco about it,” I said to Risk, and I wonder to this
day at my blindness that never read the whole tale in these hurried
events.
“I can afford to be,” he said quickly; “if I gang I gang wi' clean
hands,” and he spat into the seawater streaming from the pump where the
port-watch now were working with as much listlessness as the men they
superseded.
To the taunt I made no reply, but moved after Horn who had gone forward
with his hands in his pockets.
“What does this mean, Horn?” I asked him. “Is the vessel in great
danger?”
“I suppose she is,” said he bitterly, “but I have had nae experience o'
scuttled ships afore.”
“Scuttled!” cried I, astounded, only half grasping his meaning.
“Jist that,” said he. “The job's begun. It began last night in the run
of the vessel as I showed ye when ye put your ear to the beam. After I
left ye, I foun' half a dizen cords fastened to the pump stanchels; ane
of them I pulled and got a plug at the end of it; the ithers hae been
comin' oot since as it suited Dan Risk best, and the _Seven Ststers_ is
doomed to die o' a dropsy this very day. Wasn't I the cursed idiot that
ever lipped drink in Clerihew's coffin-room!”
“If it was that,” said I, “why did you not cut the cords and spoil the
plot?”
“Cut the cords! Ye mean cut my ain throat; that's what wad happen if the
skipper guessed my knowledge o' his deevilry. And dae ye think a gallows
job o' this kind depends a'thegither on twa or three bits o' twine?
Na, na, this is a very business-like transaction, Mr. Greig, and I'll
warrant there has been naethin' left to chance. I wondered at them bein'
sae pernicketty about the sma' boats afore we sailed when the timbers
o' the ship hersel' were fair ganting. That big new boat and sails frae
Kirkcaldy was a gey odd thing in itsel' if I had been sober enough to
think o't. I suppose ye paid your passage, Mr. Greig? I can fancy a
purser on the _Seven Sisters_ upon nae ither footin' and that made me
dubious o' ye when I first learned o' this hell's caper for Jamieson o'
the Grange. If ye hadna fought wi' the skipper I would hae coonted ye in
wi' the rest.”
“He has two pounds of my money,” I answered; “at least I've saved the
other two if we fail to reach Halifax.”
At that he laughed softly again.
“It might be as well wi' Risk as wi' the conger,” said he, meaningly.
“I'm no' sae sure that you and me's meant to come oot o' this; that's
what I might tak' frae their leaving only the twa o' us aft when they
were puttin' the cargo aff there back at Blackness.”
“The cargo!” I repeated.
“Of course,” said Horn. “Ye fancied they were goin' to get rid o' ye
there, did ye? I'll alloo I thought that but a pretence on your pairt,
and no' very neatly done at that. Well, the smallest pairt but the maist
valuable o' the cargo shipped at Borrowstouness is still in Scotland;
and the underwriters 'll be to pay through the nose for what has never
run sea risks.”
At that a great light came to me. This was the reason for the masked
cuddy skylights, the utter darkness of the _Seven Sisters_ while her
boats were plying to the shore; for this was I so closely kept at her
ridiculous manifest; the lists of lace and plate I had been fatuously
copying were lists of stuff no longer on the ship at all, but back in
the possession of the owner of the brigantine.
“You are an experienced seaman--?”
“I have had a vessel of my own,” broke in Horn, some vanity as well as
shame upon his countenance.
“Well, you are the more likely to know the best way out of this trap we
are in,” I went on. “For a certain reason I am not at all keen on it to
go back to Scotland, but I would sooner risk that than run in leash
with a scoundrel like this who's sinking his command, not to speak of
hazarding my unworthy life with a villainous gang. Is there any way out
of it, Horn?”
The seaman pondered, a dark frown upon his tanned forehead, where the
veins stood out in knots, betraying his perturbation. The wind whistled
faintly in the tops, the _Seven Sisters_ plainly went by the head; she
had a slow response to her helm, and moved sluggishly. Still the pump
was clanking and we could hear the water streaming through the scupper
holes. Risk had joined his mate and was casting anxious eyes over the
waters.
“If we play the safty here, Mr. Greig,” said Horn, “there's a chance o'
a thwart for us when the _Seven Ststers_ comes to her labour. That's oor
only prospect. At least they daurna murder us.”
“And what about the crew?” I asked. “Do you tell me there is not enough
honesty among them all to prevent a blackguardly scheme like this?”
“We're the only twa on this ship this morning wi' oor necks ootside tow,
for they're all men o' the free trade, and broken men at that,” said
Horn resolutely, and even in the midst of this looming disaster my
private horror rose within me.
“Ah!” said I, helpless to check the revelation, “speak for yourself, Mr.
Horn; it's the hangman I'm here fleeing from.”
He looked at me with quite a new countenance, clearly losing relish for
his company.
“Anything by-ordinar dirty?” he asked, and in my humility I did not have
the spirit to resent what that tone and query implied.
“Dirty enough,” said I, “the man's dead,” and Horn's face cleared.
“Oh, faith! is that all?” quo' he, “I was thinkin' it might be
coinin'--beggin' your pardon, Mr. Greig, or somethin' in the fancy way.
But a gentleman's quarrel ower the cartes or a wench--that's a different
tale. I hate homicide mysel' to tell the truth, but whiles I've had
it in my heart, and in a way o' speakin* Dan Risk this meenute has my
gully-knife in his ribs.”
As he spoke the vessel, mishandled, or a traitor to her helm, now that
she was all awash internally with water, yawed and staggered in the
wind. The sails shivered, the yards swung violently, appalling noises
came from the hold. At once the pumping ceased, and Risk's voice roared
in the confusion, ordering the launch of the Kirkcaldy boat.