I crouched behind a row of flour barrels, which stood on end handy to
the hatch, and peered through the chinks. The captain had hung his
lantern on a beam overhead, and its rays limned like a stage-setting an
open space some six feet square. Aye, a stage-setting, and the scene a
torture chamber. I bit my lips to restrain a cry of horror and rage
when I looked through the chinks between the barrels, and it was with
difficulty I kept myself from rushing forth and falling upon the fiend
who had contrived and was enjoying the scene.
Captain Swope was seated upon an upturned keg. He had placed the
lantern so its light fell full upon Newman (it illumined himself, for
my eyes, as well) and he was talking to the prisoner, mocking him.
And Newman! It was the sight of him that made me choke, that made me
finger my knife hilt. Newman--my friend!
He was at the far end of that open space, trussed up to the starboard
limbers. Trussed up--and in what way! You will remember, when they
placed him under arrest, the captain ordered his hands ironed behind
his back. The reason was now apparent. His hands were still behind
his back; aye, when they trussed him up, they drew up his hands until
they were on a level with his head, and secured him in that position.
His feet were also ironed, and the chain lashed to a limber. So he
stood, or rather hung--for he could not stand properly with his arms
wrenched back in that position--and the whole weight of his body
dragged upon his wrists and shoulder blades. So he had stood during
the hours that had passed since afternoon. Torture, agony--that is
what it meant to be trussed up in that position.
I thought I recognized Fitzgibbon's handiwork in this torture; though I
dare say it was originally Swope's invention. But we had seen
Fitzgibbon use this same method of inflicting pain and terror, we men
forward. One day, for an imagined insolence, he had trussed up Nigger
to the mainmast in this very fashion, and left him there for a short
half-hour. After five minutes Nigger was wild with pain. When he was
cut down, his arms seemed paralyzed, and it was a full day ere the ache
passed from them.
And Newman had been enduring this pain for hours. But now, I thought,
he must be mercifully unconscious, for his head hung upon his breast,
and he made no sign that he heard the captain's gibes.
It was sport to Swope's liking, and he was enjoying himself right
royally. Aye, I could tell. The words that slid between his full lips
were laden with the sensuous delight their utterance gave the speaker.
I lay in my retreat waiting for the hail that would draw the beast on
deck, and while I waited I listened to him, and observed his manner.
Oh, Swope was having a fine time, a happy time. If the lady had not
taken the revolver from me, I fear I should have shot the man despite
my promise. As it was my sheath knife lay bared in my hand, and I had
to fight myself to keep from leaping the barrier and confronting him.
Aye, to face him, and make him eat the steel out of my hand!
Yes, Swope was in a happy mood. A rollicking, loquacious mood. He
talked. Unconsciously he made me witness to his confession of black
treacheries, and deeds more loathsome than I could have imagined myself.
When I reached my position behind the barrels, and was able to
distinguish his words--he was boasting of and baring his secrets in a
voice not meant to carry beyond Newman's ears--he was taunting Newman.
"Well, why don't you call upon God to help you?" says he. "He has
helped you a lot in the past, hasn't he, Roy? And He has helped her a
lot, hasn't he? Helped her to stand me. Oh, that's a joke! The just
and merciful One--d'you remember how old Baintree used to rant? You
approved, didn't you. You agreed with old Baintree. So did I, Roy, to
his face.
"But you--why you were a damned Puritan, Roy. You wouldn't do this,
you wouldn't do that, you would be clean of vice--your very words,
Roy!--and you would be honest and just with men. That's the sort of
thing that paid, says you.
"And didn't it pay you, though! Ho, ho; it's too rich, Roy! You would
make yourself as good a man as old Baintree; you would make yourself
worthy of his daughter. Remember telling me that? And didn't you,
though--with my help! My help, Roy--not God's! It was Black Angus and
the Devil did it!
"Well, well, I thought I would surprise you with my little tale of how
I used the Twigg girl to spoil your chance with Mary. But Beasley
surprised you instead. Didn't he, now? A neat trick, eh, Roy? You
never guessed?
"You never guessed, either, all that I had planned for you that time.
If you hadn't been in such a hurry to leave town! But then--I was just
as well pleased. With Beulah out of the way as well as you--it was
plain sailing with Mary, Roy.
"No, I never wanted Mary. Not for herself. She's not my kind, Roy; a
damned, sniveling saint isn't my idea of a woman. But I wanted her
money. Old Baintree's money. And I got it.
"I got Baintree, too. It was necessary; I had to kill the old fool.
He knew too much about me, and if he told Mary--well, I was playing the
saint with her, just then. He would never have consented to her
marrying me; and also--the money, you know. So I eliminated him, Roy.
And God let you suffer for what I did! Ho, ho, that's rich, isn't it?
Come to think of it, it's sound theology--vicarious atonement, eh? You
got stripes, and I got Mary--and her money, which I have spent most
pleasurably.
"But you were always a fool, Roy--a stupid, trusting fool. You trusted
me, didn't you? I was your bosom friend, your boyhood chum, whose wild
ways grieved you. Fool, fool, if you had possessed the wit of a
jackass you would have known I hated you! Hate, hate, hate! I have
hated you all my life, Roy! I hated you when we were boys and you made
me take second place. I have hated you ever since; I hate you now--so
much it is almost love, Roy! Eh, but I never love. I hate. And when
I hate--I hurt!"
To all this tirade Newman returned no answer. He did not seem to hear.
He hung silent in his bonds, his head on his breast and his face
hidden. He might have been unconscious. I thought he was, for he did
not even look up when the captain was excitedly chanting his hate.
Swope was plainly piqued at this indifference; he got up from his keg
and stepped close to Newman.
"But you are not thinking of yourself, are you, Roy?" he says. "You
are thinking of her, I know. How sweet! Sentiment was always your
strong point. Well, think hard about her, Roy, think your fill; for
she is almost as near her end as you are near yours. But not quite so
near. I intend to break that haughty spirit before I--er--eliminate
her. Oh, yes, it will break. Trust me to know the sure way. Roy,
don't you want to know what I am going to do to Mary?"
He paused a moment, and, chuckling and smacking his lips, stood looking
at Newman's bowed figure. Then he said slowly and deliberately,
actually lingering over the words. "I am going to make a strumpet of
the wench for Fitzgibbon's pleasure!"
Newman stirred. "Ah, that wakes you up!" cried Swope. It did, indeed.
Newman was not unconscious. I could have wished he was, so he might
not have heard those words. He lifted his face to the light, and I
could see the sweat of agony upon it. He did not speak. He just
looked at the man in front of him. It was a look of unutterable
loathing; his expression was as though he were regarding something
indescribably obscene and revolting. And then he pursed his lips and
spat in Captain Swope's face.
The skipper stepped back, and swabbed his cheek with his sleeve. I
thought he would strike Newman, kick him, practice some devilish
cruelty upon him in payment. Aye, I was crouched for the spring, with
my sheath knife ready; if he had laid finger upon Newman I should have
had his life in an instant. I was all the barbarian that moment, my
new-found scruples forgotten. I was in a killing mood. What man would
not have been.
But Captain Swope did not attempt to repay the insult with any physical
cruelty. He knew he was already racking his enemy's body to the limit
of endurance, and his aim, I discovered, was to supplement this bodily
suffering with mental torture. Indeed, Swope seemed pleased at
Newman's act. He laughed as he wiped his face.
"That stings--eh, Roy? It's true--be certain of that, you soft-hearted
fool. I tell the truth sometimes, Roy--when it serves my purpose. And
I want you to imagine the details of what is going to happen to her.
Think of it, Roy--the Lady of the _Golden Bough_, the saintly Mrs.
Swope, the sweet Mary Baintree that was--lying in Fitzgibbon's arms!
Pretty thought!"
Chuckling, Swope resumed his seat. He leaned forward, and watched
Newman with hawklike intensity. But Newman gave him little cause to
chortle; his head dropped again upon his breast, and he gave no sound,
no movement.
"Why don't you call on God?" asked Swope. "Why don't you call on me?"
Newman lifted his head. "You degenerate beast!" he said. He said it
evenly, without passion, and immediately withdrew his features from the
other's scrutiny.
But the captain was satisfied. He slapped his thigh with delight.
"It stings, eh, Roy? It burns! It runs through your veins like fire!
Doesn't it? It's a hot thought. And here's another one to keep it
company-- You can do nothing to prevent it! To hairy old Fitz she'll
go--and you can't prevent it! Think of that, Roy!"
Newman gave no sign he heard, but the black-hearted villain on the keg
knew that the big fellow's ears were open and that his words were like
stabs in a raw wound. He talked on, and described villainies to come
and villainies accomplished; the tale of his misdeeds seemed to possess
him. He gloried in them, gloated over them. And as I listened, I
realized, ignorant young whelp though I was, that this man was
different from any man I had ever met or imagined. He wasn't human; he
was a freak, a human-looking thing with a tiger's nature.
Always he reminded me of a cat, from the very first moment I clapped
eyes upon him; never did he remind me more of a cat--or tiger--than
when he sat upon the keg and teased Newman. He seemed to purr his
content with the situation.
"I know what you are thinking, Roy," says he. "You are thinking that
my brave and upright second mate will prevent it happening to our dear
little Mary? Am I right, eh? Vain thought. Our friend, Lynch, will
not be here to interfere. I have seen to that. He grows dangerous,
does Jim Lynch, so--elimination. Ah, I could write a treatise upon the
Art of Elimination--couldn't I? Angus Swope, the great eliminator! It
is my specialty, Roy.
"Neatness, thoroughness, dispatch, everything shipshape, no loose ends
flying--that's my style, Roy. Now there was neatness and dispatch
about my running you out of Freeport when I found your presence there
inconvenient. Don't you think there was? Eh, you great fool? You
pulled my chestnuts out of the fire very nicely indeed. But I was not
as thorough as I should have been in that affair. A loose end, or two,
eh, Roy? Beasley--and yourself. Ah--but I improved with practice. I
left no loose end that night in Bellingham, did I? Unless the fact
that your neck didn't stretch, as I intended, could be called a loose
end. But then--you'll be tucked out of sight again very soon, and this
time for good and all. I never did believe in imprisonment for life,
Roy; it is such a cruel punishment. I'm a tender-hearted man, Roy--ho,
ho, that's rich, eh? I told that judge, after he sentenced you, that
he would have been acting more kindly had he disregarded the jury's
recommendation and hanged you out of hand. And do you know what he
told me, Roy? He said I was right, that you deserved hanging. Ho, ho,
deserved hanging! And he was a godly man, Roy.
"Oh, what a great fool you were! How easily I made you play my game!
That night you had me to dinner on board your ship, in Bellingham--you
never guessed why I fished for that invitation? Why I persuaded you to
send your mates ashore that night? Just another of Angus' scrapes,
thought you; he wants to confide in me, and ask my advice. Angus wants
my help, thought you. So I did, Roy, so I did.
"I needed your help badly. But not the kind or help you would have
offered; no, I needed your help in a different way. I needed a
catspaw, Roy.
"I was skating on pretty thin ice just about then, Roy, I needed old
Baintree's money. I needed Mary to get the money. But Mary was only
willing to take me because her father wished her to; and I was heartily
sick of playing the saint to stand well with him. Oh, well, I'll tell
you--why not? The old hypocrite had a Puritan's sharp eyes, and he had
caught me in a slip-up or two, and I knew he was about to tell Mary to
break the betrothal. And there was another thing, a little investment
I handled for him. He was bound to discover about it shortly, when the
payments were due, and--well, you know, Roy, what an absurd attitude he
had towards a little slip like that. I was in a rather desperate fix,
you see; yes, I really needed your help, Roy.
"Besides there was you, yourself, to be taken care of. You were one of
my worries, not a big worry, but still a worry. What if you forgot
your pride? What if Mary forgot her pride? Of course, you were in
Bellingham, and outward bound; and she was home in Freeport--but who
can tell what a woman will do where her heart is concerned? Besides, I
hated you, damn you! I was not going to overlook the luck that brought
the three of us into the same port at the same time. You had been my
catspaw once; why not again?
"So I had you invite me off to dinner. That cozy little dinner, in
your own cabin, just you and I, and Stord to wait on us. I bet you
never guessed until your trial that your steward was my man, if you
guessed it then. Aye, body and soul my man. When I crooked my finger,
Stord bent his body.
"Do you remember that dinner, Roy? I bet you do! I crucified you,
damn you! You would be brave, you would be gallant, eh? You would
congratulate me upon the coming marriage, toast the best man, who had
won the race. Oh, I enjoyed your hospitality that night! How you
wrenched out the words! You didn't want to talk about Mary, did you?
But I made you talk, I made you squirm, eh? And then, when I was sick
of your platitudes--just a nod to Stord, and three little drops of
chloral in your glass!
"Do you want to know what happened next? I'll lay that you've wondered
many a time just what happened after you had so strangely dropped
asleep, with your head in your plate. Well, I'll tell you what
happened. I sent Stord on the run to Baintree's hotel. He bore a
message from you. He told the dear captain that you were ill, on your
ship, and that you wished very much to see him. You can guess how the
old fool would act in a case like that. A chance to do a good deed,
store up treasures in heaven, all that, eh? You might have been a bad
man in Freeport, but, you were sick and needed him.
"He came in a hurry, all a-flutter like an old hen. Just as I knew he
would come. And as he leaned over you, in your own cabin,
I--er--separated him from his temporal worries with an iron belaying
pin from your own rail. Then I gave you the clout for luck (it has
left a fine scar, I note) and placed the pin on the table. And thus
your chief mate discovered you when he came on board, you and your
victim, and the weapon you used, just as I planned. And your steward's
testimony, and my reluctant admissions, finished you. You see,
Roy--neatness and thoroughness!
"I took Stord to sea with me, as my steward. But, unfortunately, he
went over the side one dark night, off the Horn. A loose end tucked
in, eh, Roy?
"And I'll tuck in other loose ends between now and dawn--you, for
instance, and our brave Mister Lynch. I have it already written down
for Fitz to copy into the logbook. 'During the fighting, James Lynch,
second mate, was stabbed by one of the mutineers; but owing to the
darkness and confusion his assailant was not recognized.' That's how
the log will read when we bowse into port. And--'During the fighting,
the sailor, Newman, attempted to escape from custody, and was shot by
the captain.' You see, Roy, everything shipshape! A line for each in
the log--and two loose ends tucked in--eliminated!
"You will have some time in which to think it over, before it happens,
Roy. You should thank me for that--for giving you something to think
about. It will take your mind off your pain, eh? Yes, you need
something to think about, for you'll hang there for four or five hours
yet. No danger of your sleeping, eh, Roy? Well, keep your ears open
and you'll be forewarned. There'll be some shooting on deck. I've
gone to a great deal of trouble to bring it about; your shipmates are a
gutless crew, Roy, and I had begun to think I could not get a fight out
of them. But the swabs are coming aft at the end of the mid-watch.
Eight bells in the mid-watch--count the bells, Roy. Eight
bells--elimination!
"Then there will be just one loose end left--and you know what I have
planned for her! Think about it, Roy--think about our darling little
Mary! At the mercy of the wolves, Roy! At the mercy of our dear,
gentle Fitzgibbon! At the mercy--yes, I do believe at the mercy, also,
of my new second mate.
"Oh, yes, he is already nominated for the office. Of course, he must
first remove the incumbent--but that, as I explained, is arranged for.
He is a greasy cockney, gutter-snipe--but useful. I wouldn't think of
having him at table with me, Roy--but I think I'll let him amuse
himself with Mary--after Fitz! Ah, that stings, eh, Roy!"
It did, indeed. Newman lifted the face of a madman to his torturer.
Aye, the creature's vile words, and viler threat, had stung him beyond
his power of self-control. All the pent-up fury in his soul burst
forth in one explosive oath.
"God blast you forever, Angus!" he cried.
Just that, and no more. Newman had his grip again. He was no man to
indulge in impotent ravings.
But the outburst was sufficient to delight Captain Swope. He threw
back his head and laughed that chuckling, demon's laugh of his.
Delighted--why, he could hardly control himself to keep his seat on the
keg, and as he laughed his feet beat a jig upon the deck.
"I told you to call upon God!" was his gleeful answer to Newman. "And
you have! Now, we'll see who wins--you and God, or Angus and the
Devil! Eh, Roy--who wins?
"We'll see, Roy--we'll see if God takes your advice. We'll see if He
helps you, or Lynch. Or Mary. Ah, the saintly Mary, the pure, the
unapproachable! We'll see if He protects her from Fitz's dirty arms,
or the greasy kisses of the Cockney! Eh, Roy? We'll see if He keeps
her from--eliminating herself!
"That's the way of it, Roy. Clever--yes? Neatness and thoroughness,
and everything shipshape and Bristol fashion--that's my style, Roy. I
know Mary (who should know her better than her legal spouse, eh, Roy?)
and I have arranged matters so she will tuck in her own end. Listen,
Roy, I have another item for the logbook which Fitzgibbon will copy.
It needs but a date-line to be complete. It will read like this:
'To-day, while suffering from an attack of temporary insanity, the
captain's wife destroyed herself. The captain is broken-hearted.'
With details added, Roy. And the yarn cabled home when we make port.
Suicide at sea--and I am broken-hearted! Artistic, eh? And she'll do
it--you know she'll do it!"
He sat there watching Newman, waiting. I suppose he expected and
desired a fresh outburst from the prisoner. But in this he was
disappointed; Newman gave no sign.
"Ah, well, I fear I've overstayed my welcome this visit," he said,
finally. He got to his feet, and stood before Newman with legs
spraddled and arms akimbo; drinking in lustfully the picture of the
other man's utter misery. "Interesting chat we've had--old times,
future, and all that--eh, Roy? But a sailor's work, you know--like a
woman's--never done. I have duties to attend to, Roy. But I will
return--ah, yes, you know I will return. You'll wait here for me, eh,
Roy? Anxiously awaiting my return, counting the bells against my
coming. Well--remember--eight bells in the middle watch."
He turned and stepped towards the ladder. With his foot raised to the
bottom step, he stopped, and stared aloft, mouth agape. I stared too,
and listened.
We heard a shot, a single pistol shot.
The captain wheeled upon Newman. His hand flew to his pistol pocket.
But he did not draw. He would have died then and there, if he had, for
I was tensed for the leap.
But he was uncertain. This was not the hour--and the other shots, the
volley, we both expected did not come. Instead, came the second mate's
voice bellowing orders, "Connolly--the wheel! Hard alee! Weather main
brace!" Then, clearer, as he shouted through the cabin skylights,
"Captain--on deck, quick!"
It was the hail for which I had waited so long and anxiously. But the
news that came with it was strange and startling.
"The man at the wheel," shouted Lynch, "has jumped overboard with the
mate!" Then his cry went forward, "Man overboard!"
Swope leaped for the ladder. I saw consternation in his face as he
scurried aloft.
So I knew that this was something he hadn't arranged.