The stricken ship staggered on through unknown waters, doomed to become
a derelict.
Lennie’s madness had left him, now that the worst was known; indeed, it
was in quite a subdued manner that he said:
“They’re fightin’ below.”
An uproar that might have meant mutiny or the simple devilry of
drunkenness broke suddenly at the stem, and we reached the hatch in
time to drag MacCaskill upon deck out of the invisible hands of the men.
The language arising from the darkness was terrific and inhuman, and I
heard also the drunkards scrambling and struggling to make their feet
secure upon the steps.
“Keep ’em down!” shouted MacCaskill, as he began to mop his bleeding
head.
“How does she go, Mac?”
“Sinkin’, I guess.”
A head loomed up, and two huge brown hands felt for the opening.
I lifted my foot, and drove it down upon this head, and the sailor
went falling among his companions, who, unable to distinguish ally from
enemy, received him with resounding blows.
Sandy ran up with the covering of the hatch, a grin of triumph on his
face, and we clamped it down, while the men battered hopelessly.
“The stern passage is open yet,” panted the little man.
“Fasten it,” growled Lennie, in the same subdued manner. “We’ll keep
’em below, be Jerusalem! an’ drown the crowd.”
“There’s Pete!”
“He shouldn’t let hisself be took,” snarled Lennie.
The men were tumbling about, making through the darkness for the stern
hatchway.
Sandy and I raced them, but as we passed the hot funnel, where the
smoke came beating down, a large figure sauntered quietly along to meet
us, and the soft voice which I had grown to hate and fear observed:
“So the wind has altogether blown itself out. It was a short storm, and
a cheerful one.”
The mate stopped and stared, struck dumb.
I shouted at him to come on, lest the men should escape and complicate
matters, and he did so, breathing quickly; while the badly-built figure
strolled towards the bows, gently stroking his chin, as was his custom.
We jammed down the hatch in time, secured it by padlocks, and raced
back, sweating in the dry air.
Redpath was standing in the centre of the deck, his legs apart to
maintain his balance, one hand behind him, the other wandering over his
flabby face. He greeted our coming with his amiable smile.
“Capital idea,” he said. “I was just remarking to Captain Lennie--a
capital idea! Your little plan, Petrie, I’ll wager. It is quite
necessary for our safety that the men should be fastened between decks.
In fact, I came up to suggest it.”
I awaited the outburst from Lennie, but only silence followed. There
was plenty of sound from the wind and the sea, from the poor ship
shivering under us, and from the drunkards fighting together like
trapped forest-cats, but not a word from the captain. Lennie’s face
looked small, and his figure dried up. He tried to stare Redpath in
the eyes, but failed. MacCaskill sat upon a skylight, a little spent
after his exertions, and from the manner in which his mouth twitched I
gathered he was trying to say something. Had Redpath been a man of our
own stamp, a man of our own “outside” land, we might have understood
him, and we should have certainly beaten him by mere numbers. His
superior manner and his calm cynicism frightened us; his powerful will
crushed ours; his well-turned sentences, with never an oath in them,
spoken so faultlessly, and his magnificent air, made it difficult for
any of us to oppose him either by word or deed. Had it been Olaffson,
Lennie would probably have gone mad, and given him what he deserved
with his iron bar. But Lennie stood mildly before Redpath like a
servant before a hard master.
I cannot imagine that Redpath would ever have shown that he was either
disconcerted or encouraged. When he tired of the silence which his
presence had imposed, he went on:
“It is my duty to report to you, Captain Lennie, that one of your
sailors, the half-breed, Leblanc, taken on by you at Gull, there
conceived the dastardly plan of capturing this ship, his fellows
aiding and abetting, and of sailing her, after the present company,
myself included, had been put ashore--marooned is the expression used
upon the salt seas, I believe--of sailing the _Carillon_, I repeat,
to a certain locality, where he believes gold is to be found. Before
putting away from Gull, he smuggled on board a quantity of liquor,
with which he intended to stimulate the courage of his men at the
critical moment. As you are aware, captain, these men cannot move far,
or indulge in the simplest mental process, without having recourse
to spirits. It was fortunate that I discovered Leblanc’s plot some
time back. I assumed the disguise of a priest, as I was determined to
frustrate this mutinous and piratical plan, and deceived not only the
sailors, but your far more acute selves. To my sorrow I found myself
outwitted, though I overcame the chief engineer when he was mad with
liquor, and have since done my best to run the ship into safety, until
the happening of the deplorable catastrophe which now threatens to sink
us. It was impossible to stop the ship, because the mechanism became
unworkable owing to an accident arising from my own ignorance.”
Redpath turned and fronted the factor.
“I have an apology to make to you, sir,” he went on. “By an unfortunate
and inexcusable error, I imagined that you were in league with the
mutineers.”
Redpath stopped as abruptly as he had commenced. He had spoken his
carefully-prepared sentences with the air of a man who has done much
good in his time, but who would scorn to seek after praise.
Akshelah pushed me aside impatiently, and stood out before us, small
and determined. A bright colour animated her face, and her eyes were
scornful.
“You stand and listen to him, and call yourselves men,” she said
angrily. “That man is a liar. He is laughing at you, because he knows
he is stronger than you all. You are cowards, but he is the greatest,
because he only dares to fight with his tongue.”
Then I saw Redpath’s face change, and a faint flush rose under his
loose skin. He gave one short laugh, and set his glance full upon the
girl; but his power did not help him there.
Akshelah stepped out firmly, and stopped when within reach, until I
went cold with dread lest he should put out his hand and suddenly shoot
her. But Akshelah had no such fear, because she understood the man.
“I will show them,” she said fiercely, showing her little teeth, this
strong young cat--“I will show them that you are not a man at all.”
She lifted her shapely brown hand, this Indian maid of mine, leant
gracefully forward, and punished the English gentleman in the manner I
have since seen described as boxing the ears. It was no light touch,
because she struck only once, and I have no doubt but that the man’s
cheek stung him.
Redpath made no motion of retaliation, but he laughed easily, took off
his hat to the girl, raised his big shoulders, and muttering something
about “mixing in savage company,” walked away, with an eye behind, and
leaned carelessly against the side to await the next turn of events.
Akshelah had beaten him before us all, had made a fool of him, as the
saying goes, and our nerve improved in consequence.
It was only when we set ourselves to think of action that we discovered
our helplessness. There was nothing to be done, except to wait and
drift until the land should stop us. Evidently the water was gaining
slowly. The pursuing steamer had slackened speed, perhaps because she
was sure of us, or perhaps, as Sandy suggested, she, too, had been
crippled.
Lennie, with all his spirit gone, mourned the loss of his ship and his
reputation. He was almost in tears, and I overheard him muttering to my
partner:
“Ben on the water all me time, an’ never made more’n a livin’. Never
lost any other boat, ’cept a steam-tug ten year ago, an’ she was
cranky. Now I’m gettin’ old, wi’ nothin’ saved. Never get ’nother job.
May as well go down wi’ the ole ship, an’ be bit by fishes.”
“Shake ’em off, Bob,” advised the factor. “Things ain’t so messed, if
ye come to watch. We ain’t a-going to sink. We’re a-going to run on
sand yonder, and the ole ship’ll be better than ever when they’ve fixed
a patch across her.”
A chill entered the wind, as the atmosphere shifted and the light
became stronger. Looking out, I beheld a fine sight. Across our bows
ran the land in a curving line, a bank of trees without a break, with
the water white below, and the aurora above. An island ran out to port;
here a narrow passage of smooth water led up to a broad silver beach.
Any idea of running the ship through this passage and beaching her upon
the sand was precluded by the sight of a shoal of rocks guarding the
entrance effectually against anything larger than a canoe.
The keel dragged once upon sand in passing, but there was not enough
to stop us. We passed so close to the rocks that I could see the green
slime dripping off the black jaws, and some great pines, hanging
forward at an angle that looked impossible, brushed upon the mast, and
rained bunches of spines and small cones upon deck.
The broken-down captain refused to make any effort; Sandy had taken the
wheel, and was doing his best to keep us off the visible dangers. When
I came up, he jerked his head back, with the question:
“How’s she comin’?”
Afar along the white haunt of shadows, I saw the ghostly object, riding
up and down, her single light twinkling, and a gust passed, bringing
the deep sound of her panting.
“She’s not gaining,” I said.
“I guess,” said the mate gravely--“I guess we’re the first steamer
what’s ever fooled over these waters, an’ she’s the second.”
“Where are we?” I asked, but the mate did not know. He gave his opinion
that we were coming to territory never before visited by white men.
When I looked upon the silent shape of Redpath, I doubted the
statement. Probably three men on board were visiting this mysterious
region not for the first time, and my dead father had probably been
here, with the old man, Joe Fagge, the gold-finder.
“She’s slowin’ all the time,” said the mate, with dreary triumph.
“Maybe the fire’s gone out. Say! Listen below.”
Shouting and blasphemy had turned into yells of terror, and the
battering upon the hatches became furious.
“The water’s worryin’ ’em,” muttered Sandy.
Then Redpath considered it his turn to play. A change had certainly
come over the strong-minded man; he was frightened, and he could not
altogether hide it; his hands worked uneasily, and he continually cast
side glances towards me, as I thought, but I came to realise that I was
standing on the line between his eye and the pursuing steamer. It was
astonishing that he had not noticed her before.
“Captain Lennie,” he said loudly, “I appeal to you, in the cause of
humanity, to unfasten the hatches.”
Lennie made no sign of hearing, but MacCaskill said gruffly:
“You was wantin’ ’em closed down yourself not such a while ago.”
“I considered the men might be dangerous,” said Redpath. “Now they are
too frightened to do us any harm.”
“There’s Pete below,” muttered Lennie remorsefully. “Pete was allus a
good pard.”
“And I guess you took him foul,” exclaimed MacCaskill boldly. “I guess
you knocked him down, and then came up to tell captain he’s drunk.”
“As a gentleman, it is impossible for me to reply,” said Redpath.
“You give the boys that liquor, you and Olaffson,” went on the factor.
“You set ’em around me, and started ’em to hustle me inter the cabin,
’cause you wanted me kept outer the racket.”
“Perhaps you believe these romantic charges?” suggested Redpath.
“I believe a pard,” muttered Lennie unhappily.
“You are the captain of this ship. I put myself in your hands. Release
the men, and charge me before them.”
“He’s got the men on his side,” I called, backing up my partner, yet
never daring to look towards my enemy.