THE CARIBAS UNDER STEAM.
To the final council with the boatswain Fidette was admitted. That
afternoon I had turned the engine over by hand, and knew that every
piece of its mechanism was in place. I realized the danger of further
delay, and decided that the break for liberty should be made on the
following night.
In the mean time it was necessary to obtain possession of all the
arms carried by the ship’s company, although a demand to that effect
would certainly arouse suspicion. All the cutlasses that had been
placed about the ship for emergencies were quietly gathered up and
put under lock in the main cabin. We had no firearms. The only other
weapons to be feared were the large knives carried by the members
of the crew, which, unfortunately, they knew only too well how to
use. We deliberated for an hour or more as to the means of obtaining
these, when Fidette offered a suggestion that made it very easy.
“Among the crew,” she began, “is a little old man who was once a
scissors grinder. He often sings to himself about the days when he
tramped the streets and roads of his native land, bell in hand, in
search of knives and scissors to grind. There are several grindstones
in the hold. Now, I propose to rig up one of these for him on the
main deck, and send word to all members of the crew that they can
have their knives ground. Each sailor can be told to put a mark upon
his knife so that it can be returned to him. In this way we shall get
all these weapons into our possession.”
The idea was so feasible that I adopted it at once.
I confess that I was very anxious about our voyage on the Grand
Canal, en route to the open sea. The Caribas would have to pass in
plain sight of several hundred Sargasson derelicts. You may say
that I knew that the vessels were without armament, that solid shot
would not be fired across our bow, and that we ought to have known
that we could keep off boarders when well under headway? And yet I
was tempted to give up the venture, and to end my days among the
Sargassons.
Deep down in my heart I felt shame and mortification at the thought
of what my brother Kantoons in Sargasso would think and say of me.
Among them the taking away of my own ship would undoubtedly be
regarded as theft! My treachery would be looked upon as of the most
infamous kind. My name would be posted on the blacklist in the cabin
of the Chief Kantoon, and forever held up to universal execration.
With my infamy, poor Fidette’s name would be linked. She was a
Sargasson by birth, and to her the forswearing of her people meant
much, in sentiment and in fact. She was of the Water Worshipers, and
nowhere else on the face of the earth would she find people of her
faith! She was deeply religious, and her willingness to follow me
into an unknown part of the world, where people dwelt upon solid land
(incomprehensible as that appeared to her) was an undeniable proof of
her affection.
I was deeply affected by all these thoughts. It was only a few months
since the Sargassons had loaded me with honors. The ceremonial by
which I had been created Kantoon of the Caribas was one of the most
imposing and splendid that had ever been known in Sargasso. These
facts only emphasized my ingratitude.
I cannot expect any of my readers to understand the feelings that
welled up in my heart, because they have not dwelt among the
Sargasson people, and cannot appreciate the high and peculiar sense
of honor that there obtains.
In addition to all these pretty sentiments, I was afraid to give up
the scheme, having once undertaken it. I feared the treachery of the
boatswain! His first overindulgence in rainwater might loosen his
tongue and he might divulge my secret. My punishment would be swift.
The most merciful end I could expect would be death by drowning; but
I have since learned from Fidette that the only treacherous Kantoon
she recalls was strapped upon a heavy water butt, which was then
rolled about the deck until the body of the condemned was crushed
into pulp.
It was too late for me to retreat; I must escape or die in an
ignominious manner.
On the morning following our final conference the boatswain found a
small grindstone, already mounted, brought it to the deck and set the
grinder to work. The old man was delighted. He trod the pedal with
all the glee of youth, and as the sparks flew he laughed and sang.
THE KNIFE-GRINDER’S SONG.
The dogfish needs no grinder stout,
His teeth are in his head;
The whale he takes his molars out,
And puts ’em ’side his bed.
But the swordfish, he
Engages me--
His dentist, don’t you see.
“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra-loo”--
The wheel sings when I sing.
“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo ra loo;
Too-ra-loo-ra-bur-r-r-r!”
The air was a quaint one, and recalled the first six bars in “The
Boatswain’s Story,” by Malloy. The words, however, were Sargasson,
and the above translation is very liberal.
The men hardly had to be asked to surrender their knives. They gave
them up voluntarily, so anxious were they to have their blades bright
and sharp. The weapons were placed in a box that I had prepared for
them. In order to delay matters I gave the grinder half a dozen
cutlasses from my own cabin that were to be finished before the
knives were ground. All day long, almost without a moment’s rest, the
old knife-grinder tramped and sang as the rusty steel struck prickly
stars from the whirring wheel.
That night the men occupied their new apartments for the first time.
They were delighted at the comforts I had prepared for them. They
readily divided themselves up into watches and associated themselves
together in groups of eight. New bedding had been prepared for all
the men. The bunks were filled with the driest and softest sea grass
obtainable, thus forming a bed as soft as a hair mattress. I wanted
them to sleep well this first night. I had so divided the men that
the first watch was composed of thoroughly tractable members of the
crew.
The moment night fell the boatswain and I repaired to the boiler
room. He soon struck a light with flint and steel, and in a few
moments we had the fires aglow. Leaving him in charge for the moment,
after seeing that he was thoroughly armed, I returned to the deck
and saw that all the ship’s company had retired to their new and
sumptuous sleeping apartments.
The ideal existence of the Sargasson sailor is to have plenty of
time to sleep and all the food he wants to eat. As I had supposed,
everybody had gone to bed except the eight men on watch. I quietly
closed the doors of all the compartments and secured them with the
heavy padlocks.
I then mustered the watch, and marched them directly to the furnace
room. There I found the boatswain working like a demon to keep the
furnaces full of wood and seaweed. The sailors regarded the open
mouth of the flaming furnaces with reverential awe. How natural
is man’s worship of the elements. As it happened, they were all
Sargassons born and bred. They could not possibly understand the
purpose for which the fire was burning, but at my command they fell
lustily to work under the direction of the boatswain. Carefully
fastening the heavy iron door behind me, I ascended to the engine
room to watch the steam gauge.
Hours must elapse before I could hope to move the engine, and in the
mean time I sought out Fidette, who was sitting at her cabin window,
gazing thoughtfully out upon the night.
Only then had she begun to realize the seriousness of the change
about to come over her life. She knew also that we had gone so
far that in the event of failure, exposure and punishment would
be certain. I tried to reassure her. I told her that, if under
a sufficient head of steam, the engine did not work, not a man,
including the boatswain, would be allowed to escape from the furnace
room. I would descend and slaughter every one of them with my own
hand rather than expose myself, and especially her, to the punishment
that certainly would await us. This was a dreadful thing to say, but
I had calmly resolved upon the extinction of these nine members of
the crew in case of failure. No questions were ever asked in Sargasso
regarding the disappearance of men on ship board, and I could not be
expected to account for the missing members of the crew.
As I should have explained, I had filled the boilers with sea water
by opening the valves connected with the pumps outside the ship.
Careful measurement had shown me that the boilers were all below the
water line. After steam was once generated, I knew that the pumps
could be utilized to keep the boilers filled.
You can imagine, therefore, with what anxiety I stood in the engine
room and watched the slow but sure rising of the steam gauge. I
believed a pressure of eighty pounds to the square inch would be
required to get under way. The engines were of the most modern triple
expansion type. I did not aim at high speed, for I believed that
attack would be impossible if I could obtain a headway of ten or
twelve miles an hour.
Fidette soon joined me in the engine room. The register now showed
twenty-one pounds! I softly rang the bell connecting with the
boatswain, and called down through the tube, telling him to redouble
the efforts of the men, and acquainting him with the fact that steam
was already forming. He replied at once that the men were stuffing
the furnaces with wood and pulpy seaweed. But the influence of my
words upon him produced immediate results, as shown by the steam
gauge. It began slowly to turn upon the disk.
Forty pounds were soon indicated! In another quarter of an hour the
pressure had risen to forty-seven! Soon it was fifty, and I felt that
in another hour I would be able to make the supreme test.
What would be the result? Would the piston, after having remained for
two years stationary in the cylinder, move when the steam pressure
was admitted? My life itself depended upon the answer to that
question--if not the lives of Fidette and myself, certainly those of
the nine men in the bowels of the ship!