“Well,” said our Anglo-Jap as we all drew up our chairs round the
smoking-room fire, “it’s an old tale out yonder, and may have spilt over
into print for all I know. I don’t want to turn this club-room into a
chestnut stall, but it is a long way to the Yellow Sea, and it is just
as likely that none of you have ever heard of the yawl _Matilda_, and of
what happened to Henry Jelland and Willy McEvoy aboard of her.
“The middle of the sixties was a stirring time out in Japan. That was
just after the Simonosaki bombardment, and before the Daimio affair.
There was a Tory party and there was a Liberal party among the natives,
and the question that they were wrangling over was whether the throats
of the foreigners should be cut or not. I tell you all, politics have
been tame to me since then. If you lived in a treaty port, you were
bound to wake up and take an interest in them. And to make it better,
the outsider had no way of knowing how the game was going. If the
opposition won it would not be a newspaper paragraph that would tell him
of it, but a good old Tory in a suit of chain mail, with a sword in each
hand, would drop in and let him know all about it in a single upper cut.
“Of course it makes men reckless when they are living on the edge of a
volcano like that. Just at first they are very jumpy, and then there
comes a time when they learn to enjoy life while they have it. I tell
you, there’s nothing makes life so beautiful as when the shadow of death
begins to fall across it. Time is too precious to be dawdled away then,
and a man lives every minute of it. That was the way with us in
Yokohama. There were many European places of business which had to go on
running, and the men who worked them made the place lively for seven
nights in the week.
“One of the heads of the European colony was Randolph Moore, the big
export merchant. His offices were in Yokohama, but he spent a good deal
of his time at his house up in Jeddo, which had only just been opened to
the trade. In his absence he used to leave his affairs in the hands of
his head clerk, Jelland, whom he knew to be a man of great energy and
resolution. But energy and resolution are two-edged things, you know,
and when they are used against you you don’t appreciate them so much.
“It was gambling that set Jelland wrong. He was a little dark-eyed
fellow with black curly hair—more than three-quarters Celt, I should
imagine. Every night in the week you would see him in the same place, on
the left-hand side of the croupier at Matheson’s _rouge et noir_ table.
For a long time he won, and lived in better style than his employer. And
then came a turn of luck, and he began to lose so that at the end of a
single week his partner and he were stone broke, without a dollar to
their names.
“This partner was a clerk in the employ of the same firm—a tall,
straw-haired young Englishman called McEvoy. He was a good boy enough at
the start, but he was clay in the hands of Jelland, who fashioned him
into a kind of weak model of himself. They were for ever on the prowl
together, but it was Jelland who led and McEvoy who followed. Lynch and
I and one or two others tried to show the youngster that he could come
to no good along that line, and when we were talking to him we could win
him round easily enough, but five minutes of Jelland would swing him
back again. It may have been animal magnetism or what you like, but the
little man could pull the big one along like a sixty-foot tug in front
of a full-rigged ship. Even when they had lost all their money they
would still take their places at the table and look on with shining eyes
when any one else was raking in the stamps.
“But one evening they could keep out of it no longer. Red had turned up
sixteen times running, and it was more than Jelland could bear. He
whispered to McEvoy, and then said a word to the croupier.
“‘Certainly, Mr. Jelland; your cheque is as good as notes,’ said he.
“Jelland scribbled a cheque and threw it on the black. The card was the
king of hearts, and the croupier raked in the little bit of paper.
Jelland grew angry, and McEvoy white. Another and a heavier cheque was
written and thrown on the table. The card was the nine of diamonds.
McEvoy leaned his head upon his hands and looked as if he would faint.
‘By God!’ growled Jelland, ‘I won’t be beat,’ and he threw on a cheque
that covered the other two. The card was the deuce of hearts. A few
minutes later they were walking down the Bund, with the cool night-air
playing upon their fevered faces.
“‘Of course you know what this means,’ said Jelland, lighting a cheroot;
‘we’ll have to transfer some of the office money to our current account.
There’s no occasion to make a fuss over it. Old Moore won’t look over
the books before Easter. If we have any luck, we can easily replace it
before then.’
“‘But if we have no luck?’ faltered McEvoy.
“‘Tut, man, we must take things as they come. You stick to me, and I’ll
stick to you, and we’ll pull through together. You shall sign the
cheques to-morrow night, and we shall see if your luck is better than
mine.’
“But if anything it was worse. When the pair rose from the table on the
following evening, they had spent over £5,000 of their employer’s money.
But the resolute Jelland was as sanguine as ever.
“‘We have a good nine weeks before us before the books will be
examined,’ said he. ‘We must play the game out, and it will all come
straight.’
“McEvoy returned to his rooms that night in an agony of shame and
remorse. When he was with Jelland he borrowed strength from him; but
alone he recognized the full danger of his position, and the vision of
his old white-capped mother in England, who had been so proud when he
had received his appointment, rose up before him to fill him with
loathing and madness. He was still tossing upon his sleepless couch when
his Japanese servant entered the bedroom. For an instant McEvoy thought
that the long-expected outbreak had come, and plunged for his revolver.
Then, with his heart in his mouth, he listened to the message which the
servant had brought.
“Jelland was downstairs, and wanted to see him.
“What on earth could he want at that hour of night? McEvoy dressed
hurriedly and rushed downstairs. His companion, with a set smile upon
his lips, which was belied by the ghastly pallor of his face, was
sitting in the dim light of a solitary candle, with a slip of paper in
his hands.
“‘Sorry to knock you up, Willy,’ said he. ‘No eavesdroppers, I suppose?’
“McEvoy shook his head. He could not trust himself to speak.
“‘Well, then, our little game is played out. This note was waiting for
me at home. It is from Moore, and says that he will be down on Monday
morning for an examination of the books. It leaves us in a tight place.’
“‘Monday!’ gasped McEvoy; ‘to-day is Friday.’
“‘Saturday, my son, and 3 a.m. We have not much time to turn round in.’
“‘We are lost!’ screamed McEvoy.
“‘We soon will be, if you make such an infernal row,’ said Jelland
harshly. ‘Now do what I tell you, Willy, and we’ll pull through yet.’
“‘I will do anything—anything.’
“‘That’s better. Where’s your whisky? It’s a beastly time of the day to
have to get your back stiff, but there must be no softness with us, or
we are gone. First of all, I think there is something due to our
relations, don’t you?’
“McEvoy stared.
“‘We must stand or fall together, you know. Now I, for one, don’t intend
to set my foot inside a felon’s dock under any circumstances. D’ye see?
I’m ready to swear to that. Are you?’
“‘What d’you mean?’ asked McEvoy, shrinking back.
“‘Why, man, we all have to die, and it’s only the pressing of a trigger.
I swear that I shall never be taken alive. Will you? If you don’t, I
leave you to your fate.’
“‘All right. I’ll do whatever you think best.’
“‘You swear it?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Well, mind, you must be as good as your word. Now we have two clear
days to get off in. The yawl _Matilda_ is on sale, and she has all her
fixings and plenty of tinned stuff aboard. We’ll buy the lot to-morrow
morning, and whatever we want, and get away in her. But, first, we’ll
clear all that is left in the office. There are 5,000 sovereigns in the
safe. After dark we’ll get them aboard the yawl, and take our chance of
reaching California. There’s no use hesitating, my son, for we have no
ghost of a look-in in any other direction. It’s that or nothing.’
“‘I’ll do what you advise.’
“‘All right; and mind you get a bright face on you to-morrow, for if
Moore gets the tip and comes before Monday, then——’ He tapped the
side-pocket of his coat and looked across at his partner with eyes that
were full of a sinister meaning.
“All went well with their plans next day. The _Matilda_ was bought
without difficulty; and, though she was a tiny craft for so long a
voyage, had she been larger two men could not have hoped to manage her.
She was stocked with water during the day, and after dark the two clerks
brought down the money from the office and stowed it in the hold. Before
midnight they had collected all their own possessions without exciting
suspicion, and at two in the morning they left their moorings and stole
quietly out from among the shipping. They were seen, of course, and were
set down as keen yachtsmen who were on for a good long Sunday cruise;
but there was no one who dreamed that that cruise would only end either
on the American coast or at the bottom of the North Pacific Ocean.
Straining and hauling, they got their mainsail up and set their foresail
and jib. There was a slight breeze from the south-east, and the little
craft went dipping along upon her way. Seven miles from land, however,
the wind fell away and they lay becalmed, rising and falling on the long
swell of a glassy sea. All Sunday they did not make a mile, and in the
evening Yokohama still lay along the horizon.
“On Monday morning down came Randolph Moore from Jeddo, and made
straight for the offices. He had had the tip from some one that his
clerks had been spreading themselves a bit, and that had made him come
down out of his usual routine; but when he reached his place and found
the three juniors waiting in the street with their hands in their
pockets he knew that the matter was serious.
“‘What’s this?’ he asked. He was a man of action, and a nasty chap to
deal with when he had his topmasts lowered.
“‘We can’t get in,’ said the clerks.
“‘Where is Mr. Jelland?’
“‘He has not come to-day.’
“‘And Mr. McEvoy?’
“‘He has not come either.’
“Randolph Moore looked serious. ‘We must have the door down,’ said he.
“They don’t build houses very solid in that land of earthquakes, and in
a brace of shakes they were all in the office. Of course the thing told
its own story. The safe was open, the money gone, and the clerks fled.
Their employer lost no time in talk.
“‘Where were they seen last?’
“‘On Saturday they bought the _Matilda_ and started for a cruise.’
“Saturday! The matter seemed hopeless if they had got two days’ start.
But there was still the shadow of a chance. He rushed to the beach and
swept the ocean with his glasses.
“‘My God!’ he cried. ‘There’s the _Matilda_ out yonder. I know her by
the rake of her mast. I have my hand upon the villains after all!’
“But there was a hitch even then. No boat had steam up, and the eager
merchant had not patience to wait. Clouds were banking up along the
haunch of the hills, and there was every sign of an approaching change
of weather. A police boat was ready with ten armed men in her, and
Randolph Moore himself took the tiller as she shot out in pursuit of the
becalmed yawl.
“Jelland and McEvoy, waiting wearily for the breeze which never came,
saw the dark speck which sprang out from the shadow of the land and grew
larger with every swish of the oars. As she drew nearer, they could see
also that she was packed with men, and the gleam of weapons told what
manner of men they were. Jelland stood leaning against the tiller, and
he looked at the threatening sky, the limp sails, and the approaching
boat.
“‘It’s a case with us, Willy,’ said he. ‘By the Lord, we are two most
unlucky devils, for there’s wind in that sky, and another hour would
have brought it to us.’
“McEvoy groaned.
“‘There’s no good softening over it, my lad,’ said Jelland. ‘It’s the
police boat right enough, and there’s old Moore driving them to row like
hell. It’ll be a ten-dollar job for every man of them.’
“Willy McEvoy crouched against the side with his knees on the deck. ‘My
mother! my poor old mother!’ he sobbed.
“‘She’ll never hear that you have been in the dock anyway,’ said
Jelland. ‘My people never did much for me, but I will do that much for
them. It’s no good, Mac. We can chuck our hands. God bless you, old man!
Here’s the pistol!’
“He cocked the revolver, and held the butt towards the youngster. But
the other shrunk away from it with little gasps and cries. Jelland
glanced at the approaching boat. It was not more than a few hundred
yards away.
“‘There’s no time for nonsense,’ said he. ‘Damn it! man, what’s the use
of flinching? You swore it!’
“‘No, no, Jelland!’
“‘Well, anyhow, I swore that neither of us should be taken. Will you do
it?’
“‘I can’t! I can’t!’
“‘Then I will for you.’
“The rowers in the boat saw him lean forwards, they heard two pistol
shots, they saw him double himself across the tiller, and then, before
the smoke had lifted, they found that they had something else to think
of.
“For at that instant the storm broke—one of those short sudden squalls
which are common in these seas. The _Matilda_ heeled over, her sails
bellied out, she plunged her lee-rail into a wave, and was off like a
frightened deer. Jelland’s body had jammed the helm, and she kept a
course right before the wind, and fluttered away over the rising sea
like a blown piece of paper. The rowers worked frantically, but the yawl
still drew ahead, and in five minutes it had plunged into the storm
wrack never to be seen again by mortal eye. The boat put back, and
reached Yokohama with the water washing half-way up to the thwarts.
“And that was how it came that the yawl _Matilda_, with a cargo of five
thousand pounds and a crew of two dead young men, set sail across the
Pacific Ocean. What the end of Jelland’s voyage may have been no man
knows. He may have foundered in that gale, or he may have been picked up
by some canny merchantman, who stuck to the bullion and kept his mouth
shut, or he may still be cruising in that vast waste of waters, blown
north to the Behring Sea, or south to the Malay Islands. It’s better to
leave it unfinished than to spoil a true story by inventing a tag to
it.”