At seven bells, that is, half an hour before eight, I heard the
carpenter's voice shouting down the companion for the steward. I
instantly opened the cabin door to tell the man to go at once, as I
believed that Stevens merely called to give him orders about the men's
breakfast.
This proved to be the case, as I presently learnt on going on deck,
whither I repaired (although it was my watch below) in order to see
what the carpenter was about.
I found him lying upon one of the skylights, with a signal-flag under
his head, smoking a pipe, whilst three or four of the men sat round
him smoking also. All plain sail had been made, as I had directed, and
the ship heading west-south-west under a glorious sky, and all around a
brilliantly clear horizon and an azure sea.
Away on our lee quarter was a large steamer steering south,
brig-rigged, bound, I took it, to the west coast of Africa. The men
about the carpenter made a movement when they saw me, as though they
would leave the poop, but one of them made some remark in a low voice,
which kept them all still. The carpenter, seeing me watching the
steamer, called out--
"She wouldn't take long to catch us, would she? I hope there's no man
on board this wessel as 'ud like to see her alongside, or would do
anything to bring her near. I wouldn't like to be the man as 'ud do
it--would you, Joe?"
"Well, I'd rather ha' made my vill fust than forgot it, if so it were
that I was that man," responded the fellow questioned.
"We're glad you've come up," continued the carpenter, addressing me,
though without shifting his posture, "for blowed if I know what to do
if she _should_ get askin' us any questions. What 'll _you_ do, Mr.
Royle?"
"Let her signal us first," I replied, quite alive to the sinister
suggestiveness of these questions.
"Put the helm up and go astern of her--that's what my advice is," said
one of the men.
"You'll provoke suspicion if you do that," I exclaimed. "However, you
can act as you please."
"Mr. Royle's quite right," said the man addressed as Joe. "Why can't
you leave him alone? He knows more about it than us, mates."
"She's going twelve knots," I said, "and will cross our bows soon
enough. Let her signal, we're not bound to answer."
The men, in spite of themselves, watched her anxiously, and so did
others on the forecastle, such cowards does conscience make of men.
As for myself, I gazed at her with bitter indifference. The help that
I stood in need of was not likely to come from such as she, or indeed
from any vessel short of an inquisitive Government ship. Moreover, the
part I was playing was too difficult to permit me to allow any impulse
to inspire. The smallest distrust that I should occasion might cost me
my life. My _rôle_ then surely was to seem one with the men, heart and
soul.
"Let her go off a point," I exclaimed to the man steering. "They'll not
notice that, and she'll be across us the sooner for it."
We were slipping through the water quickly, and by the time she was on
our weather bow the steamer was near enough to enable us to see the
awning stretched over her after-deck, and a crowd of persons watching
us. She was a great ocean steamer, and went magnificently through the
water. In a few minutes she was dead on end, dwindling the people
watching us, but leaving such a long wake astern of her that we went
over it.
What would I have given to be on board of her!
"Let her come to again!" I sang out.
The carpenter now got off the skylight.
"I've told the steward to turn to and get the men's breakfast,"
said he. "Ourn's to be ready by eight; and I reckon I'll show that
snivelling cockney what it is to be hungry. You don't call this a
mutiny, do yer, Mr. Royle? Why, the men are like lambs."
"Yes, so they are," I answered. "All the same, I shall be glad to feel
dry land under me. The law always hangs the skipper of a mutiny, you
know; and I'm skipper by your appointment. So the sooner we all get out
of this mess the better, eh, Mr. Stevens?"
"That's right enough," said he; "and we look to you to get us out of
it."
"I'll do what you ask me--I won't do more," I answered.
"We don't want more. Enough's what we want. You'll let us see your
reckonings every day--not because we doubt you--but it'll ease the
minds of the men to know that we aren't like to foul the Bermudas."
"The Bermudas are well to the nor'rard of our course," I answered
promptly.
"All right, Mr. Royle, we look to you," he said, with a face on him and
in a tone that meant a good deal more than met the ear. "Now, mates,"
addressing the others, "cut for'ard and get your breakfasts, my lads.
It's eight bells. Mr. Royle, I'll go below and call the boatswain; and
shall him and me have our breakfast and you arterwards, or you fust?
Say the word. I'm agreeable vichever way it goes."
"I'll stop on deck till you've done," I replied, wishing to have the
table to myself.
Down he went, and I advanced to the poop-rail and leaned over it to
watch the men come aft to receive their share of the cuddy stores.
I will do them the justice to say they were quiet enough. Whether the
perception that they no longer recognized any superiors would not
presently prevail; whether quarrels, deeds of violence, and all the
consequences which generally attend the rebellion of ignorant men
would not follow, was another matter. They were decent enough in their
behaviour now; congregating on the main-deck and entering the cuddy
one by one to receive the stores which the steward was serving out.
These stores, so far as I could judge by the contents of the tin dishes
which the men took forward, consisted of butter, white biscuit, a
rasher of ham to each man, and tea or cocoa; excellent fare for men
who had been starved on rotten provisions. I also found that every man
had been served with a glass of rum. They did not seem to begrudge
the privilege assumed by the carpenter and boatswain of occupying the
cuddy and eating at the table there. The impression conveyed to me on
the whole by their aspect and demeanour was that of men subdued and
to a certain extent alarmed by the position in which they had placed
themselves. But for the carpenter, I believe that I at that time and
working upon their then state of mind, could have won them over to
submission and made them willing to bring the ship into port and face
an inquiry into the circumstances of the revolt. But though I believe
this _now_, I conceived the attempt too full of peril to undertake,
seeing that my failure must not only jeopardize my own, but the lives
of poor old Mr. Robertson and his daughter, in the safety of whom I
was so concerned, that I do not say that my profound anxiety did not
paralyse the energy with which I should have attempted my own rescue
had I been alone.
How the men treated the steward I could not tell; but I noticed that
Master Cook was very quiet in his manner. This was a sure sign of the
efficacy of the fright he had received, and it pleased me greatly, as I
had feared he would prove a dangerous and bloodthirsty mutineer and a
terrible influence in the councils of the men.
The carpenter was the first to come on deck. I had seen him (through
the skylight) eating like a cormorant, his arms squared, his brown
tattooed hand busy with his mouth, making atonement for his long fast
in the forecastle. He kept his cap on, but the boatswain had better
manners, and looked, as he faced his mate, a quite superior and
different order of man altogether.
I went below as soon as Stevens appeared, and the boatswain had the
grace to rise, as though he would leave the table, when he saw me. I
begged him to keep his seat, and, calling to the steward, asked to know
how the men had treated him.
"Pretty middling, sir, thank you, sir," he replied, with a trifle more
spirit in his manner. "They're not brutal, sir. The cook never spoke,
sir. Mr. Stevens is rather unkind, but I daresay it's only a way he
has."
The boatswain laughed, and asked him if he had breakfasted.
"No, sir--not yet. I can wait, sir."
"There's plenty to eat and drink," said the boatswain, pointing to the
table.
"Yes, sir, plenty," responded the steward, who, looking on the
boatswain as one of the ringleaders, was as much afraid of him as of
the carpenter.
"Well, then," continued the boatswain, "why don't you tuck in? Mr.
Royle won't mind. Sit there, or take what you want into the pantry."
The steward turned pale, remembering the threats that had been used
towards him if he touched the cuddy stores, and looked upon the
boatswain's civility as a trick to get him hanged.
"Thank you, sir," he stammered; "I've no happetite. I'd rather not eat
anything at present, sir. I'll take a ship's biscuit shortly, sir, with
your leave."
Saying which, and with a ghastly face, he shuffled into the pantry, no
doubt to escape from what he would consider highly murderous attentions.
"Rum customer, that steward, Mr. Royle," said the boatswain, rubbing
his mouth on the back of his hand.
"So should I be had I undergone his sensations," I replied.
"Well, I don't know about that. You see there ain't nothing regular
about a steward. He isn't a sailor and he isn't a landsman; and when
you come to them kind o' mongrels, you can't expect much sperrit. It
isn't fair to expect it. It's like fallin' foul of a marmozeet, because
he isn't as big as a monkey. What about them passengers o' yours, sir?
They've not been sarved with breakfast since I've been here?"
"I have seen to them," I answered. "What has Stevens been talking
about?" As I said this I cast my eyes on the open skylight to see that
our friend was not within hearing.
He shook his head, and after a short pause exclaimed--
"He's a bad 'un! he's a bad 'un! he's an out-and-outer!"
"Do you know which of them struck the captain down?"
"He did," he answered at once.
"I could have sworn it by the way in which he excused the murderer."
"Stevens," continued the boatswain, "is at the bottom of all this
here business--him and the cook. I suppose he didn't want the cook
for a chum, and so knocked him over when he was going to operate
on Duckling's body. But Duckling was a bad 'un too, and so was the
skipper. They've got to thank theirselves for what they got. The crew
never would ha' turned had they been properly fed."
"I believe that," I said. "But I'll tell you what's troubling me,
boatswain. The carpenter has some design behind all this, which he is
concealing. Does he really mean that I should navigate the ship to
within fifty miles of New Orleans?"
"Yes, sir, he do," answered the boatswain, regarding me stedfastly.
"And he means then to heave the ship to, lower away the boats, and make
for one of the mouths of the Mississippi, or land upon some part of the
coast, and represent himself and his companions as castaway sailors?"
"Quite right," said the boatswain, watching me fixedly.
"If that is really his intention," I proceeded, "I cannot believe that
he will allow me to land with the others. He distrusts me. He is as
suspicious as all murderers are."
The boatswain continued eyeing me intently, as a man might who strives
to form a resolution from the expression in another's face.
"He means to scuttle the ship," he said, in a low voice.
"Ah!" I exclaimed, starting. "I should have foreseen this."
"He means to scuttle her just before he puts off in the boats," he
added in a whisper.
I watched him anxiously, for I saw that he had more to tell me. He
looked up at both skylights, then towards the cuddy door, then towards
the companion ladder, bent over to me, and said--
"Mr. Royle, he don't mean to let you leave this vessel."
"He means to scuttle her, leaving me on board?"
He nodded.
"Did he tell you this?"
He nodded again.
"When?"
"Just now."
"And them?" I exclaimed, pointing towards the cabin in which were Mr.
Robertson and his daughter.
"They'll be left too," he replied.
I took a deep breath, and closed the knife and fork on my plate.
"Now then, mate!" bawled the carpenter's voice, down the companion;
"how long are you goin' to be?"
"Coming," answered the boatswain.
A thought had flashed upon me.
"There must be others in this ship whom Stevens distrusts as well
as me," I whispered. "Who are they? Give me but two other men and
yourself, and I'll engage that the ship will be ours! See! if these
men whom he distrusts could be told that, at the last moment, they will
be left to sink in a scuttled ship, they would come over on my side to
save their lives. How are they to be got at?"
He shook his head without speaking, and left the table; but turned to
say, "Don't be in a hurry. I've got two hours afore me, and I'll turn
it over." He then went on deck.
I remained at the cuddy table, buried in thought. The boatswain's
communication had utterly taken me by surprise. That Stevens, after
the promise he had made me that there should be no more bloodshed,
after the sympathy I had shown the men from the beginning, should be
base enough to determine upon murdering me and the inoffensive persons
we had rescued, at the moment when we might think our escape from our
heavy misfortunes certain, was so shocking that the thought of it made
me feel as one stunned. An emotion of deep despair was bred in me, and
then this, in its turn, begot a wild fit of fury. I could scarcely
restrain myself from rushing on deck and shooting the ruffian as he
stood there.
To escape from my own insanity, I ran into the captain's cabin, and
locked the door, and plunged into deep and bitter reflection.
It was idle for me to think of resistance in my then condition. Upon
whom could I count? The boatswain? I could not be sure that he would
aid me single-handed, nor hope that he would try to save my life at the
risk of his own. The steward? Such a feeble-hearted creature would only
hamper me, would be of less use even than old Mr. Robertson. Many among
the crew, if not all of them indeed, must obviously be acquainted with
Stevens' murderous intentions, and would make a strong and desperate
gang to oppose me; and though I should discover the men who were not
in the carpenter's confidence, how could I depend on them at the last
moment?
The feeling of helplessness induced in me by these considerations was
profound and annihilating. I witnessed the whole murderous process as
though it were happening: the ship hove to, the boats shoving away,
one, perhaps, remaining to watch the vessel sink, that they might be in
no doubt of our having perished. All this would happen in the dark too,
for the departure of the men from the ship would only be safe at night,
that no passing vessel might espy them.
An idea that will sound barbarous, though I should not have hesitated
to carry it out could I have seen my way to it, occurred to me. This
was to watch an opportunity when the carpenter was alone, to hurl him
overboard. But here, again, the chances against me were fifty to one.
To destroy the villain without risk of detection, without the act being
witnessed, without suspicion attaching to me on his being missed, would
imply such a host of favouring conditions as the kindliest fortune
could scarcely assemble together.
What then was to be done?
I had already pointed out the course the ship was to steer, and could
not alter it. But though I should plausibly alter her course a point
or two, what could follow? The moment land was sighted, let it be what
coast it would, they would know I had deceived them; or, giving me the
credit of having mistaken my reckonings, they would heave the ship
to themselves, and then would come the dastardly crime. I dared not
signal any passing vessel. Let my imagination devise what it would,
it could invent nothing that my judgment would adopt; since, being
single-handed in this ship, no effort I could make to save the lives of
the persons it was my determination to stand by, but must end in our
destruction.
By such confessions I show myself no hero; but then I do not want
to be thought one. I was, and am, a plain man, placed in one of the
most formidable situations that any one could find himself in. In the
darkness and horror of that time I saw no means of escape, and so I
admit my blindness. A few strokes of the pen would easily show me other
than I was, but then I should not be telling the truth, and should
be falsely taking glory to myself, instead of truly showing it to be
God's, by whose mercy I am alive to tell the story.
My clothes and other things belonging to me being in the cabin now
occupied by Stevens, I opened the door and desired the steward to bring
them to me. My voice was heard by Miss Robertson, who came round the
table to where I stood, and thanked me for my kindness to her and her
father.
She had made good use of the few conveniences I had been able to send
her. Her hair was brushed, and most prettily looped over the comb, and
she wore a collar that became her mightily, which she had found in the
steward's box. She looked a sweet and true English girl; her deathlike
pallor gradually yielding to a healthy white with a tinge of colour on
the cheeks.
"Papa seems better," she said, "and is constantly asking for you; but I
told him," (with the prettiest smile,) "that you require rest as well
as others, and that you have plenty to occupy you."
Then looking earnestly at me for some moments, while her face grew
wonderfully grave, she exclaimed--
"What is wrong, Mr. Royle? What makes you look so anxious and worried?"
"There is plenty to trouble me," I answered, not carelessly, but not
putting too much significance into my tone, for at that moment I
did not think I ought to tell her the truth. "You know the men have
mutinied, and that my position is a difficult one. I have to be careful
how I act, both for my sake and yours."
"Yes, I know that," she said, keeping her clear and thoughtful eyes on
me. "But then you said you did not fear that the men would be violent
again, and that they would leave us on board this ship when we were
near New Orleans."
I watched her face some time without speaking, asking myself if
I should take her into my confidence, if I ought to impart the
diabolical scheme of Stevens, as told me by the boatswain. Certainly
I should have put her off without telling her the truth had not the
courageous expression in her eyes, her firm and beautiful mouth, her
resolute voice and manner, told me she would know how to bear it.
"I will not conceal that I have heard something just now which has
affected me very much," I said to her. "Will you step into my cabin? We
can talk there without being seen," I added, having observed Stevens
walk along the main-deck, and expecting that he would return in a few
moments to his cabin, it being his watch below.
She followed me in silence, and I closed the door.
"I will tell you in a few words," I at once began, "what I heard just
now. I told the boatswain that I questioned whether the men would let
me land with them for fear of the evidence I could give. He replied
that he had gathered from the carpenter, while at breakfast, that the
men intended to scuttle the ship when they quitted her, and to leave us
on board."
"To drown?"
"That is their idea."
She pursed up her mouth tightly, and pressed her hand to her forehead.
That was all. Whatever emotion my statement inspired was hidden. She
said in a low voice--
"They are fiends! I did not think them so cruel--my poor father!"
"This is what I am told they mean to do; and I know Stevens to be a
ruffian, and that he will carry out his project if he can. I have spent
some time alone here, in trying to think how we can save ourselves; as
yet I see no remedy. But wait," I said; "it will take us three weeks,
sailing well every day, to reach the Gulf of Mexico. I have this time
before me; and in that time not only something must, but something
shall be done."
She did not answer.
"I will hazard nothing. I will venture no risks; what I resolve to do
must be effectual," I went on, "because my life is dearer to me now
than it was three days ago, for your and your father's sake. You must
be saved from these ruffians, but no risk must attend your deliverance.
That is why I see no escape before us as _yet_; but it will come--it
will come! Despair is very fruitful in expedients, and I am not beaten
because I find myself flung like a dog in a hole!"
She looked up at this, and said, "What is to be done?"
"I must think."
"I will think, too. We need not tell papa?" she added, toning her voice
to a question, with an appealing look in her eyes.
"No, certainly not. Remember, we are not supposed to question the men's
honest intentions towards us. We must appear utterly ignorant."
"Are they armed?" she inquired.
"No."
She cast her eyes round the cabin and said, "Have you no guns?"
"Nothing but a pistol. But though we had twenty guns we have no hands
to use them. So far as I know as yet, there is no man who would stand
with me--not even the boatswain, unless he were sure we should conquer
the ruffians."
"Could I not use a pistol? Ah, I remember, you have only one."
She sank her chin on her hand and looked downwards, lost in thought.
"Why would you not steer the ship for some near port?" she asked
presently.
"I could not alter the course without being challenged. Remember that
my policy is not to excite suspicion of my honesty."
"If a gale would rise like that which wrecked the _Cecilia_, it might
drive us near the land, where we could get help."
"No, we shall have to depend upon ourselves. I do not want to pin my
faith on chance."
I began to pace to and fro, torn by the blind and useless labours of my
mind.
Just then a step sounded along the cuddy. The cabin door was pushed
open roughly, and Stevens walked in. He stared at Miss Robertson, and
cried--
"Sorry to interrupt. Didn't know you was here, mam, I'm sure. I
thought," addressing me, "I should find you turned in. I've come to
have a look at that chart o' yours. How long d'ye make it to New
Orleans?"
"About three weeks."
"Well, there's live stock enough for three weeks, any ways. I've just
told the cook to stick one of them porkers. All hands has a fancy for
roast pork to-day. Sarvant, miss. You was pretty nigh drownded, I
think."
"My father and I owe our lives to the noble fellows in this ship. They
must be brave and good men to risk their lives to save ours," she
answered, with a smile of touching sweetness, looking frankly into the
face of the miscreant who stood, cap on head, before her.
"Lor' bless yer!" he exclaimed; "there wasn't no risk. I'd ha' swum the
distance in such a sea for five shilling."
She shook her head with another smile (I judged the effort this piece
of acting cost her), as she said--
"I know that English sailors always undervalue their good deeds. But
happily my father is a rich man, and when you land us he will take care
that no man on board this ship shall complain of his gratitude."
"Oh, he's rich!" exclaimed the carpenter, as though struck with a new
idea.
"Very rich."
"How rich might he be, mam?"
"Well, he owned the ship that you saved us from--cargo and ship."
She could not have offered a better illustration of her father's wealth
to the man, for he would appreciate the value of a vessel of that size.
"And what do you think he'll give the men--them as saved him, I
suppose?"
"Oh, he won't make any difference. He is indebted to you all, for I
have heard that the captain would not have stopped for us had he not
been obliged to do so by the crew."
"That's true enough," rejoined the carpenter with an oath, looking at
me.
"Perfectly true," I made haste to say.
"My father would not certainly offer less than one hundred pounds to
each man," she said quite simply.
He pulled off his cap at this and twirled it and let it drop; picked it
up so slowly that I thought he would never bend his body sufficiently
to enable him to recover it; looked at her sideways as he put it on his
head again, and then said to me with offensive abruptness--
"Come, master, let's have a look at that blooming chart."
I opened the door to let Miss Robertson pass out, exchanging one glance
with her as she left, and addressed myself to the carpenter.
He pored over the chart with his dirty forefinger upon it.
"Whereabouts are we now?" he inquired.
I pointed to the spot as near as I could judge from yesterday's
reckonings.
"What's this here line?" he asked.
"That's the longitude."
He ran his eye to the bottom of the chart and exclaimed--
"Thirty. Is that it?"
"Call it thirty."
"But what do _you_ call it?"
"Thirty, I tell you--thirty degrees west longitude."
"And this here line's the latitude, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"That's forty."
"Call it forty-four."
"Will that make it right?"
"Pretty nearly."
"What are all these here dots and streaks?" said he, after squinting
with his nose close to the chart. "Blowed if ever I could read them
small words."
"They are the Azores."
"Oh, we're to the norrards o' them, aren't we?" he inquired sharply.
"You can see for yourself," I answered, putting my finger on the chart.
"Where's this blessed Gulf of Mexico?" he inquired, after casting his
eyes all over the chart.
"There."
He ran his dirty thumbnail in a line to the the Gulf, and asked me what
that blot was.
"Bermuda."
"You'll keep south o' that, will yer?"
"If I can, certainly."
"It's a man-o'-war station, I've heerd."
"I believe it is."
"All right," he said, and looking at the boat's compass on the table,
asked if it were true.
I told him it was; whereupon he set it on the chart and compared its
indications with the line he had run down the chart, and was going
away, when I said--
"What do you think of the young lady's idea? I should like to earn a
hundred pounds."
"So should I," he answered gruffly, pausing.
"It would pretty well pay me for what I have had to put up with from
Coxon."
He gave me an indescribable look, full of fierceness, suspicion, and
cunning.
"I dessay it would, if you got it," he said, and walked out, banging
the door after him.