FIRST BLOOD FOR CLEGGETT
As his feet struck the top of the rubbish heap in the hold of the
vessel, Cleggett stumbled and staggered forward. But he did not let go
of his revolver.
Perhaps he would not have fallen, but the Pomeranian, which had leaped
into the hold after him, yelping like a terrier at a rat hunt, ran
between his legs and tripped him.
"Damn the dog!" cried Cleggett, going down.
But the fall probably saved his life, for as he spoke two pistol shots
rang out simultaneously from the forward part of the hold. The bullets
passed over his head. Raising himself on his elbow, Cleggett fired
rapidly three times, aiming at the place where a spurt of flame had
come from.
A cry answered him, and he knew that at least one of his bullets had
taken effect. He rose to his feet and plunged forward, firing again,
and at the same instant another bullet grazed his temple.
The next few seconds were a wild confusion of yelping dog, shouts,
curses, shots that roared like the explosion of big guns in that
pent-up and restricted place, stinking powder, and streaks of fire that
laced themselves across the darkness. But only a single pistol replied
to Cleggett's now and he was confident that one of the men was out of
the fight.
But the other man, blindly or with intention, was stumbling nearer as
he fired. A bullet creased Cleggett's shoulder; it was fired so close
to him that he felt the heat of the exploding powder; and in the sudden
glow of light he got a swift and vivid glimpse of a white face framed
in long black hair, and of flashing white teeth beneath a lifted lip
that twitched. The face was almost within touching distance; as it
vanished Cleggett heard the sharp, whistling intake of the fellow's
breath--and then a click that told him the other's last cartridge was
gone. Cleggett clubbed his pistol and leaped forward, striking at the
place where the gleaming teeth had been. His blow missed; he spun
around with the force of it. As he steadied himself to shoot again he
heard a rush behind him and knew that his men had come to his
assistance.
"Collar him!" he cried. "Don't shoot, or----"
But he did not finish that sentence. A thousand lights danced before
his eyes, Niagara roared in his ears for an instant, and he knew no
more. His adversary had laid him out with the butt of a pistol.
Cleggett was not that inconsiderable sort of a man who is killed in any
trivial skirmish: There was a moment at the bridge of Arcole when
Napoleon, wounded and flung into a ditch, appeared to be lost. But
when Nature, often so stupid, really does take stock and become aware
that she has created an eagle she does not permit that eagle to be
killed before its wings are fledged. Napoleon was picked out of the
ditch. Cleggett was only stunned.
Both were saved for larger triumphs. The association of names is not
accidental. These two men were, in some respects, not dissimilar,
although Bonaparte lacked Cleggett's breeding.
When Cleggett regained consciousness he was on deck; George, Kuroki and
Cap'n Abernethy stood about him in a little semicircle of anxiety; Lady
Agatha was applying a cold compress to the bump upon his head. (He
made nothing of his other scratches.) As for Elmer, who had not
stirred from his seat on the oblong box, he moodily regarded, not
Cleggett, but a slight young fellow with long black hair, who lay
motionless upon the deck.
Cleggett struggled to his feet. "Is he dead?" he asked, pointing to
the figure of his recent assailant. Cap'n Abernethy, for the first
time since Cleggett had known him, gave a direct answer to a question.
"Mighty nigh it," he said, staring down at the young man. Then he
added: "Kind o' innocent lookin' young fellow, at that."
"But the other one? Was he killed?" asked Cleggett.
"The other?" George inquired. "But there was no other. When we got
down there you and this boy----" And George described the struggle
that had taken place after Cleggett had lost consciousness. The whole
affair, as far as it concerned Cleggett, had been a matter of seconds
rather than minutes; it was begun and over like a hundred yard dash on
the cinder track. When George and Kuroki and Cap'n Abernethy had
tumbled into the hold they had been afraid to shoot for fear of hitting
Cleggett; they had reached him, guided by his voice, just as he went
down under his assailant's pistol. They had not subdued the youth
until he had suffered severely from George's dagger. Later they learned
that one of Cleggett's bullets had also found him. Cleggett listened to
the end, and then he said:
"But there WERE two men in the hold. And one of them, dead or wounded,
must still be down there. Carry this fellow into the
forecastle--we'll look at him later. Then bring some lanterns. We are
going down into that hold again."
With their pistols in their right hands and lanterns in their left they
descended, Cleggett first. It was not impossible that the other
intruder might be lying, wounded, but revived enough by now to work a
pistol, behind one of the rubbish heaps.
But no shots greeted them. The hold of the Jasper B. was not divided
into compartments of any sort. If it had ever had them, they had been
torn away. Below deck, except for the rubbish heap and the steps for
the masts, she was empty as a soup tureen. The pile of debris was the
highest toward the waist of the vessel. There it formed a treacherous
hill of junk; this hill sloped downward towards the bow and towards the
stern; in both the fore and after parts, under the forecastle and the
cabin, there were comparatively clear spaces.
The four men forced their way back towards the stern and then came
slowly forward in a line that extended across the vessel, exploring
with their lanterns every inch of the precarious footing, and
overturning and looking behind, under, and into every box, cask, or
jumble of planking that might possibly offer a place of concealment.
They found no one. And, until they reached a clearer place, well
forward, on the starboard side of the ship, they found no trace of
anyone.
Cleggett, who was examining this place, suddenly uttered an exclamation
which brought the others to him. He pointed to stains of blood upon
the planking; near these stains were marks left by boots which had been
gaumed with a yellowish clay. A revolver lay on the floor. Cleggett
examined it and found that only one cartridge had been exploded. The
stains of blood and the stains of yellow clay made an easily followed
trail for some yards to a point about halfway between the bow and stern
on the starboard side.
There, in the waist of the vessel, they ceased; ceased abruptly,
mysteriously. Cleggett, not content, made his men go over the place
again, even more thoroughly than before. But there was no one there,
dead or wounded, unless he had succeeded in contracting himself to the
dimensions of a rat.
"There is nothing," said Cleggett, standing by the ladder that led up
to the deck. "Nothing," echoed George; and then as if with one
impulse, and moved by the same eerie thought, these four men suddenly
raised their lanterns head-high and gazed at one another.
A startled look spread from face to face. But no one spoke. There was
no need to. All recognized that they were in the presence of an
apparent impossibility. Yet this seemingly impossible thing was the
fact. There had been two men in the hold of the Jasper B. They had
entered as mysteriously and silently as disembodied spirits might have
done. One of them, wounded, had made his exit in the same baffling way.
Where? How?
Cleggett broke the silence.
"Let us go to the forecastle and have a look at that fellow," he said,
and led the way.
No one lagged as they left the hold. These were all brave men, but
there are times when the invisible, the incomprehensible, will send a
momentary chill to the heart of the most intrepid.
Cleggett found Lady Agatha, her own troubles for the time forgotten, in
the forecastle. She had lighted a lamp and was bending over the
wounded man, whose coat and waistcoat she had removed. His clothing was
a sop of blood. They cut his shirt and undershirt from him. Kuroki
brought water and the medicine chest and surgical outfit with which
Cleggett had provided the Jasper B. They examined his wounds, Lady
Agatha, with a fine seriousness and a deft touch which claimed
Cleggett's admiration, washing them herself and proceeding to stop the
flow of blood.
"Oh, I am not an altogether useless person," she said, with a momentary
smile, as she saw the look in Cleggett's face. And Cleggett remembered
with shame that he had not thanked her for her ministrations to himself.
A pistol bullet had gone quite through the young man's shoulder. There
was a deep cut on his head, and there were half a dozen other stab
wounds on his body. George had evidently worked with great rapidity in
the hold.
In the inside breast pocket of his coat he had carried a thin and
narrow little book. There was a dagger thrust clear through it; if the
book had not been there this terrible blow delivered by the son of
Leonidas must inevitably have penetrated the lung.
Cleggett opened the book. It was entitled "Songs of Liberty, by
Giuseppe Jones." The verse was written in the manner of Walt Whitman.
A glance at one of the sprawling poems showed Cleggett that in
sentiment it was of the most violent and incendiary character.
"Why, he is an anarchist!" said Cleggett in surprise.
"Oh, really!" Lady Agatha looked up from her work of mercy and spoke
with animation, and then gazed upon the youth's face again with a new
interest. "An anarchist! How interesting! I have ALWAYS wanted to
meet an anarchist."
"Poor boy, he don't look like nothin' bad," said Cap'n Abernethy, who
seemed to have taken a fancy to Giuseppe Jones.
"Listen," said Cleggett, and read:
"As for your flag, I spit upon your flag!
I spit upon your organized society anywhere and everywhere;
I spit upon your churches;
I spit upon your capitalistic institutions;
I spit upon your laws;
I spit upon the whole damned thing!
But, as I spit, I weep! I weep!"
"How silly!" said Lady Agatha. "What does it mean?"
"It means----" began Cleggett, and then stopped. The book of
revolutionary verse, taken in conjunction with the red flag that had
been displayed and then withdrawn, made him wonder if Morris's were the
headquarters of some band of anarchists.
But, if so, why should this band show such an interest in the Jasper
B.? An interest so hostile to her present owner and his men?
"If you was to ask me what it means," said Captain Abernethy, who had
taken the book and was fingering it, "I'd say it means young Jones here
has fell into bad company. That don't explain how he sneaked into the
hold of the Jasper B., nor what for. But he orter have a doctor."
"He shall have a physician," said Cleggett. "In fact, the Jasper B.
needs a ship's doctor."
"It looks to me," said Captain Abernethy, "as if she did. And if you
was to go further, Mr. Cleggett, and say that it looks as if she was
liable to need a couple o' trained nurses, too, I'd say to you that if
they's goin' to be many o' these kind o' goin's-on aboard of her she
DOES need a couple of trained nurses."
"Captain," said Cleggett, "you are a humane man--let me shake your
hand. You have voiced my very thought!"
Long ago Cleggett had resolved that if Chance or Providence should ever
gratify his secret wish to participate in stirring adventures, he would
see to it that all his wounded enemies, no matter how many there might
be of them, received adequate medical attention. He had often been
shocked at the callousness with which so many of the heroes of romance
dash blithely into the next adventure--though those whom they have
seriously injured lie on all sides of them as thick as autumn
leaves--with only the most perfunctory consideration of these victims;
sometimes, indeed, with no thought of them at all.
"Something tells me," said Cleggett seriously, "that this intrusion of
armed men is only a prelude. I have little doubt of the hostility of
Morris's; I am sure that the men who hid in the hold are spies from
Morris's. I do not yet know the motive for this hostility. But the
Jasper B. is in the midst of dangers and mysteries. There is before us
an affair of some magnitude. Ere the Jasper B. sets sail for the China
Seas, there may be many wounds."
And then he began to outline a plan that had flashed, full formed, into
his mind. It was to rent, or purchase, the buildings at Parker's
Beach, and fit them up as a field hospital, with three or four nurses
in charge. Lady Agatha, who had been listening intently, interrupted.
"But--the China Seas," she said. "Did I understand you to say that
you intend to set sail for the China Seas?"
"That is the ultimate destination of the Jasper B." said Cleggett.
"I have heard--it seems to me that I have heard--that it's a very
dangerous place," ventured Lady Agatha. "Pirates, you know, and all
that sort of thing."
"Pirates," said Cleggett, "abound."
"Well, then," persisted Lady Agatha, "you are going out to fight them?"
"I should not be surprised," said Cleggett, folding his arms, and
standing with his feet spread just a trifle wider than usual, "if the
Jasper B. had a brush or two with them. A brush or two!"
Lady Agatha regarded him speculatively. But admiringly, too.
"But those nurses----" she said. "If you're going to the China Seas
you can't very well take Parker's Beach along."
"I was coming to that," said Cleggett, bowing. "I contemplate a
hospital ship--a vessel supplied with nurses and lint and medicines,
that will accompany the Jasper B., and fly the Red Cross flag."
"But they are frightful people, really, those Chinese pirates, you
know," said Lady Agatha. "Do you think they'll quite appreciate a
hospital ship?"
"It is my duty," said Cleggett, simply. "Whether they appreciate it or
not, a hospital ship they shall have. This is the twentieth century.
And although the great spirits of other days had much to commend them,
it is not to be denied that they knew little of our modern
humanitarianism. It has remained for the twentieth century to develop
that. And one owes a duty to one's epoch as well as to one's
individuality."
"But," repeated Lady Agatha, with a meditative frown, "they are really
FRIGHTFUL people!"
"There is good in all men," said Cleggett, "even in those whom the
stern necessities of idealism sentence to death. And I have no doubt
that many a Chinese pirate would, under other circumstances, have
developed into a very contented and useful laundry-man."
Lady Agatha studied him intently for a moment. "Mr. Cleggett," she
said, "if you will permit me to say so, a great suffragist leader was
lost when fate made you a man."
"Thank you," said Cleggett, bowing again.
He dispatched George--a person of address as well as a fighter in whom
the blood of ancient Greece ran quick and strong--on a humanitarian
mission. George was to walk a mile to the trolley line, go to
Fairport, hire a taxicab, and make all possible speed into Manhattan.
There he was to communicate with a young physician of Cleggett's
acquaintance, Dr. Harry Farnsworth.
Dr. Farnsworth, as Cleggett knew, was just out of medical school. He
had his degree, but no patients. But he was bold and ready. He was, in
short, just the lad to welcome with enthusiasm such a chance for active
service as the cruise of the Jasper B. promised to afford.
It was something of a risk to weaken his little party by sending George
away for several hours. But Cleggett did not hesitate. He was not the
man to allow considerations of personal safety to outweigh his devotion
to an ideal.
"And now," said Cleggett, turning to Lady Agatha, who had hearkened to
his orders to George with a bright smile of approval, "we will dine,
and I will hear the rest of your story, which was so rudely
interrupted. It is possible that together we may be able to find some
solution of your problem."
"Dine!" exclaimed Lady Agatha, eagerly. "Yes, let us dine! It may
sound incredible to you, Mr. Cleggett, that the daughter of an English
peer and the widow of a baronet should confess that, except for your
tea, she has scarcely eaten for twenty-four hours--but it is so!"
Then she said, sadly, with a sigh and sidelong glance at the box of
Reginald Maltravers which stood near the cabin companionway dripping
coldly: "Until now, Mr. Cleggett--until your aid had given me fresh
hope and strength--I had, indeed, very little appetite."
Cleggett followed her gaze, and it must be admitted that he himself
experienced a momentary sense of depression at the sight of the box of
Reginald Maltravers. It looked so damp, it looked so chill, it looked
so starkly and patiently and malevolently watchful of himself and Lady
Agatha. In a flash his lively fancy furnished him with a picture of
the box of Reginald Maltravers suddenly springing upright and hopping
towards him on one end with a series of stiff jumps that would send
drops of moisture flying from the cracks and seams and make the ice
inside of it clink and tinkle. And the mournful Elmer, now drowsing
callously over his charge, was not an invitation to be blithe. If
Cleggett himself were so affected (he mused) what must be the effect of
the box of Reginald Maltravers upon sensibilities as fine and delicate
as those of a woman like Lady Agatha Fairhaven?
"Could I--if I might----" Lady Agatha hesitated, with a glance towards
the cabin. Cleggett instantly divined her thought; for brief as was
their acquaintance, there was an almost psychic accord between his mind
and hers, and he felt himself already answering to her unspoken wish as
a ship to its rudder.
"The cabin is at your service," said Cleggett, for he understood that
she wished to dress for dinner. He conducted her, with a touch of
formality, to his own room in the cabin, which he put at her disposal,
ordering her steamer trunks to be placed in it. Then, taking with him
some necessaries of his own, he withdrew to the forecastle to make a
careful toilet.
It might not have occurred to another man to dress for dinner, but
Cleggett's character was an unusual blend of delicacy and strength; he
perceived subtly that Lady Agatha was of the nature to appreciate this
compliment. At a moment when her fortunes were at a low ebb what could
more cheer a woman and hearten her than such a mark of consideration?
Already Cleggett found himself asking what would please Lady Agatha.