_Of Powder and Bullets_
Day after day of the long voyage passed without incident. Danbury and
Wilson in the close relationship necessary aboard ship grew to be warm
friends. And yet the latter still remained silent concerning that part
of his quest relating to the hidden treasure. This was not so much due
to any remaining suspicion of Danbury as to the fact that the latter
seemed so occupied with his own interests. In fact, he was tempted far
more to confide in Stubbs. The latter would be an ideal partner on
such a search. As the days passed he became more and more convinced
that it would be to his advantage to enlist the services of Stubbs
even upon as big a basis as share and share alike.
Danbury trod the decks each day with a light step, and at night
relieved his buoyant heart of its dreams to Wilson and of its plans to
Stubbs. The latter had spoken once or twice of the necessity of
finding something for the men below to do, but Danbury had waved aside
the suggestion with a good-natured "Let 'em loaf." But finally their
grumblings and complainings grew so loud that Stubbs was forced to
take some notice of it, and so, upon his own responsibility, had them
up on deck where he put them through a form of drill. But they
rebelled at this and at last reached a condition which threatened to
become serious.
"We've jus' got to find something for them to do," Stubbs informed
him.
"They ought certainly to be kept in trim. Don't want them to get
flabby."
"'Nother thing, they are livin' too high," said Stubbs. "Salt pork and
hardtack is what they needs,--not beefsteak."
"Nonsense, Stubbs. This isn't a slave-ship. Nothing like good fodder
to keep 'em in trim. They are getting just what you get at a training
table, and I know what that does,--keeps you fit as a king."
"Mebbe so. I'll tell you what it'ull do for them,--it'll inspire 'em
to cut our bonny throats some day. The ale alone 'ud do it. Think of
servin' ale to sech as them with nothin' to do but sit in the sun.
Darned if they ain't gettin' to look as chubby as them babies you see
in the advertisements. An' their tempers is growin' likewise."
"Good fightin' spirit, eh?"
"Yes," drawled Stubbs, "an' a hell of a bad thing to have on the high
seas."
"Well," said Danbury, after a moment's thought, "you have them up on
deck to-morrow and I'll have a talk with them."
It was Danbury's first opportunity to look over his mercenaries as a
whole and he gave a gasp of surprise at the row after row of
villainous faces raised with sneering grins to his. Well in the front
squatted "Bum" Jocelin, known to the water-front police for fifteen
years,--six feet of threatening insolence; "Black" Morrison with two
penitentiary sentences back of him; and "Splinter" Mallory, thin,
leering, shifty. And yet Danbury, after he had recovered himself a
bit, saw in their very ugliness the fighting spirit of the bulldog. He
had not hired them for ornament but for the very lawlessness which led
them rather to fight for what they wished than to work for it.
Doubtless below their flannel shirts they all had hearts which beat
warmly. So he met their gaze frankly and, raising one foot to a
capstan, he bent forward with a smile and began. Stubbs stood by with
the strained expression of a father who stands helpless watching a son
do a foolish thing. On the other hand, Wilson, though he would not
have done it himself, rather admired the spirit that prompted the
act.
"Men," began Danbury,--and Stubbs choked back an exclamation at his
gentleness,--"men, I haven't told you much about the errand upon which
you are bound, but I feel now that you ought to know. You signed for
two months and agreed to accept your orders from me. You were told
there would be some scrapping----"
"The hell we were," broke in Splinter. Danbury, ignoring the
interruption, blandly continued:
"And you were all picked out as men who wouldn't balk at a bit of a
mix-up. But you weren't told what it is all about.
"Well, then, this is the game: down there in Carlina where we are
going there is a one-horse republic where they used to have a dinky
little kingdom. A republic is all right when it's an honest republic,
but this one isn't. It was stolen, and stolen from the finest woman in
the world. I'm going to give you all a chance to see her some day, and
I know you'll throw up your hats then and say the game is worth it, if
you don't before."
Their faces were as stolid as though they could not understand a word
of what he was saying. But he had lost sight of them and saw only the
eyes of the girl of whom he was speaking.
"Once, when she was a little girl, they put her in prison. And it
wasn't a man's prison either, but a mangy, low-down, dog kennel. Think
of it! Put her down there in the dark among the rats. But that was too
much for the decent ones of even that crowd, and they had to let her
go. So now she lives in a little house in her kingdom, like a beggar
outside her own door."
Danbury had worked himself up to a fever pitch. His words came
hoarsely and he stepped nearer in his excitement. But as he paused
once more, he realized that he was facing a pack of dummies. For a
moment he stared at them in amazement. Then he burst out,
"Are you with us, men? Haven't we something worth fighting for--something
worth fighting hard for?"
He heard a rough guffaw from a few men in the rear; then a voice:
"It's the dough we're out fer--no damned princess."
Danbury whitened. He leaped forward as though to throw himself into
the midst of them all, and reached for the throat of the man who had
spoken. But Stubbs who had been watching, drew his revolver, and
followed close behind. With the aid of Wilson he separated the two and
drew off Danbury, while keeping the others at bay.
"Go below," he commanded. "Let me talk to 'em a minute."
"But--but the damned jellyfish--the----"
Wilson seized his arm and managed to drag him away and down to his
cabin. Then Stubbs, with feet wide apart, faced the gang. His voice
was low, but they did not miss a word.
"Th' cap'n," he began, "has talked to ye as though ye was white men
'cause he's young and clean an' doesn't know the likes of ye. He
hain't had so much to do with a bunch of white-livered, swill-tub jail
birds as I have. But don't you go further an' make th' mistake thet
'cause he's young he ain't a man yet. 'Cause if ye do, ye'll wake up
sudden with a jolt. Even if he did mistake a pack of yaller dogs fer
men, don't ye think he doesn't know how to handle yaller dogs. But I
s'pose ye are jus' as good to shoot at as better. Now I gut ye aboard
this craft--me, Stubbs," he pointed to his breast with a thick
forefinger, "an' ye're goneter earn yer grub afore ye're done."
"Shanghaied--we was shanghaied," ventured Splinter.
"You was, was ye? D' ye think ye could make anyone b'lieve a man in
his sober senses would shanghai the likes of you? But howsomever
that may be, here you is and here you stays till ye git ashore.
Then you has yer chi'ce er gittin' shot in front er gittin' shot
behind,--gittin' shot like white men er gittin' shot like niggers.
'Cause I tells you right now thet in all the shootin', I'll be
hangin' round where I can spot the first man who goes the wrong way.
An'," he drew his weapon from his pocket, "I can shoot."
He placed a bullet within two inches of the hand of a man who was
leaning against the rail. The group huddled more closely together like
frightened sheep.
"Now," he concluded, "ye're goneter git more exercise an' less grub
arter this. Tuck it away fer future ref'rence thet th' next time yer
cap'n talks to yer ye'd better show a little life. Now, jus' ter prove
ye appreciate what he said, cheer. An' cheer good, ye dogs."
They let out a howl.
"Now back to yer kennels!"
They slunk away, crowding one another in their effort to get from the
range of the weapon which Stubbs still carelessly held pointed at
their heels.
It was several days after this that Wilson was pacing the deck alone
one night rather later than usual. The sky was filled with big,
top-heavy clouds which rolled across the purple, blotting out every
now and then the half moon which sprinkled the sea with silver
butterflies. The yacht quivered as though straining every timber, but
it looked to Wilson a hopeless task ever to run out from under the
dark cup and unchanging circumference. It seemed as though one might
go on this path through eternity with the silver butterflies ever
fluttering ahead into the boundless dark.
He lounged up to Martin at the wheel. The latter, a sturdy, somewhat
reserved man, appeared glad to see him and showed evidence of being
disturbed about something. He frequently glanced up from the lighted
compass before the wheel as though on the point of speaking, but
turned back to his task each time, reconsidering his impulse. Finally
he cleared his throat and remarked with a fine show of indifference,
"Everything been all quiet below, to-day?"
"So far as I know."
"Been down there lately?"
"No; but the men seemed this morning in unusually good form. More
cheerful than they've been at all."
"So?"
For a few moments he appeared engrossed in his work, turning the
creaking wheel to the right, the left, and finally steadying it on its
true course. Wilson waited. The man had said enough to excite his
interest and he knew the best way to induce him to talk more freely
was to keep silent.
"Happened to go for'ard afore my shift to-night an' I heard some of
'em talkin'. Didn't sound to me like th' sorter talk that's good
aboard ship."
"So? What were they saying?"
"Nothin' much," he answered, frightened back into stubborn silence.
"They talk pretty free at all times," returned Wilson. "They haven't
learned much about ship discipline."
"I hopes they don't act as free as they talk."
"No fear of that, I guess."
Another long silence. Then Martin asked:
"Where's the ammunition stowed?"
"We had it moved the other day to the vacant cabins just beyond our
quarters."
"All of it?"
"Every cartridge. Why do you ask that, Martin?"
"I happened to go for'ard afore my shift," he repeated.
Wilson arose and stepped to his side.
"See here, if you heard anything unusual, I'd like to know it before I
turn in."
"My business is a-workin' of this wheel, an' what I says is we've gut
a damned bad cargo."
Wilson smiled. After all, it was probably only the constitutional
jealousy that always exists between a seaman and a landsman.
"All right, Martin, only we're all in the same kettle. Keep your ears
open, and if you hear anything definite let me know."
"Then I says I puts my chest agin my door afore I sleeps an' I watches
out for shadows when I'm at the wheel."
"And have you seen any to-night?"
"No, an' I hopes I won't."
"All right. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
Wilson stepped out of the pilot-house and made a short round of the
ship. He even ventured down to the forward hold, but all was as quiet
there as ever. He turned towards his own cabin. Danbury's light was
out. Beyond he saw the form of the first mate who had been posted
there to guard the ammunition. He spoke to him and received a cordial
reply.
"All quiet?"
"All quiet, sir."
The door of Stubbs' cabin was closed, and he heard within his heavy
snoring. He entered his own cabin and closed the door. But he felt
uneasy and restless. Instead of undressing he threw himself down on
the bunk, after placing his pistol underneath his pillow. Martin's
talk had been just suggestive enough to start his brain to working,
disturbed as he was by so many other things. He had an impulse to
rouse Stubbs. He wanted someone with whom to talk. He would also have
been more comfortable if he had been able to make sure that those bits
of parchment were still safe in his comrade's chest, where he had
locked them. If the crew once got even a suspicion that there was on
board such a golden chance as these offered, it would be a temptation
difficult for even better men to resist. He realized that if they were
able sufficiently to surrender each his own selfish individual
desires and organize compactly under a single leader, they would form
an almost irresistible force. But of course the key to the whole
situation lay in the ammunition. Without this they were helpless.
Knives and clubs could not resist powder and bullet. He became drowsy
finally and his thoughts wandered once more to the treasure and then
to Jo until his eyes closed and, though his lips still remained tense,
he slept.
He was awakened by the sound of a muffled fall in the next cabin. He
sprang to his feet, seizing his weapon. The electric light wire had
been cut so that the cabin was in suffocating darkness. By some
instinct he forced himself flat against the wall by the door. The next
second the door was flung open and two forms hurled themselves with a
grunt upon the bunk. He fired twice and darted out into the
passageway. Here all was confusion, but all was dark. Man fell against
man with oaths and wild threshing of the arms, but they all knew one
another for friends. He was for the moment safe. The doors to the
cabins of Stubbs and Danbury were wide open. He knew that either they
had escaped by some such miracle as his, or that they were beyond
help. It seemed to him that there was but one thing to do, make the
deck and collect whatever honest men were left. The mutineers were
still fighting with one another and had grown so panic-stricken that
they were making little progress towards their goal. Quick action
might even now save the ship. He heard a voice raised in a vain
endeavor to control them.
"Steady, boys, steady! Wait till we get a light."
At the head of the stairs leading to the deck he found a sentinel. He
struck at him and then grappled. The two rolled on the deck, but the
struggle was brief. Wilson soon had him pinned to the deck. He raised
the fellow's head and threw him with all his strength backwards. The
man lay very still after this.
When he rose to his feet the deck was as deserted as though nothing at
all unusual were going on below. He rushed to the pilot-house. The
ship swerved tipsily and then the engines ceased their throbbing.
Martin lay limply over his wheel. The cutthroats had got below to the
engines.
For a moment his head whirled with twenty impossible plans. Then he
steadied himself. There was but one thing to do; the gang was
evidently so far in control of the ship as to prevent aid from the
crew; Danbury and Stubbs were doubtless unconscious, if not dead, and
he was left, the one man still free to act. Once the rifles were
loaded a hundred men could not control this crowd, but before
then--one man with a loaded weapon and with his wits about him, might
make himself master.
He groped his way down the stairs and into the midst of the tumult. No
one had as yet obtained a light. The leader had succeeded in partly
controlling his gang, but one man had only to brush the shoulder of
another to start a fight. David elbowed through them, striking right
and left in the endeavor to stir up anew the panic. He succeeded
instantly. In two minutes pandemonium reigned. Then a man scrambled
in with a lantern and was greeted with a cheer. Wilson turned, shot
twice, and ducked. The cabin was once more in darkness and confusion.
"Wha' th' hell?" roared Splinter.
Wilson plunged on until he stood facing the door which still barred
the way to the cartridges. It was intact. At this point someone
reached his side with an axe. Snatching it from the fellow's hand he
himself swung it against the lock. He had two things in mind; the act
would turn away suspicion, and once within the small room, with his
back to the cartridges, he could take the men one by one as they
pressed through the narrow door. He had on his cartridge belt and
ought to be able, not only to keep them at bay until possible aid
arrived from the crew's quarters, but might even be able to start
sufficient panic to drive them out altogether. Wilson swung a couple
of times until the lock weakened. Splinter shouted:
"Fer Gawd's sake, don't act like frightened rats! Keep cool now an' we
have 'em."
One more blow and the door fell. With a jump Wilson scrambled in and,
turning, fired four times in rapid succession. In the pause which
ensued he refilled his weapon. There was a chorus of ugly growls and a
concerted movement towards the door. He shot again, aiming low and
relying as much on the flash and noise to frighten them as on actual
killing. To those without it sounded as though there might be several
men. No one knew but what the man next to him had turned traitor. They
groped for one another's throats and finally, as though by one
impulse, crowded for the exit. They fought and pounded and kicked at
each other. It was every man for himself and the Devil take the
hindmost. Wilson helped them along by continued shooting--aiming high
and low. In five minutes the cabin was cleared save for the wounded,
who managed, however, to drag themselves out of sight.
As Wilson fell back exhausted and half choked from the smoke with
which the room was filled, he heard the bark of pistols above and knew
that the crew had reached the deck. He waited only long enough to
recover strength to walk, and then moved cautiously forward. He was
undisturbed. The mutineers had gone, to the last man able to stand. He
groped his way to Danbury's cabin and his hand fell upon a limp form
in the bunk. But even as he recoiled the man moved and muttered feeble
queries.
"Are you safe, Danbury?" gasped Wilson.
"What--what's the trouble? Give me a drink--brandy."
Wilson turned to the wine closet just beyond the bunk and drew out the
first bottle his fingers touched. He placed it to Danbury's lips, and
the latter took several deep swallows of it, spitting indignantly as
he thrust it away.
"Darned stuff--Martini cocktails. But--but----"
Wilson found himself laughing. Nothing Danbury could have said would
so prove the inconsequence of his injuries. It relieved his strained
nerves until, in reaction, he became almost hysterical.
"What's the joke?" demanded Danbury, rising to a sitting posture and
feeling at the cut in the back of his head. "Where's the lights? What
has happened?"
"A bit of a fight. Can you make your feet?"
Danbury groped for the side of the bunk, and with the help of Wilson
stood up. He was at first dizzy, but he soon came to himself.
"If you can walk, come on. I want to look for Stubbs."
Wilson groped his way into the smoke-filled passageway and across to
the other cabin. They found Stubbs lying on the floor unconscious. A
superficial examination revealed no serious wound and so, urged on by
the increasing noise above, they left him and hurried to the deck.
They found the second mate pushing the stubborn group nearer and
nearer their own quarters. He was backed by only two men armed with
knives and clubs. The gang was hesitating, evidently tempted to turn
upon the tiny group, but with the appearance of Wilson and Danbury
they pressed at once for the narrow opening.
At sight of them Danbury completely lost his head. It was as though he
then first realized what had actually been attempted. He raised his
weapon and was upon the point of shooting into their midst when Wilson
knocked up his hand and sent the revolver spinning across the deck.
But Danbury scarcely looked around to see who had foiled him. He
rushed headlong into the group as though he were the center of a
football team. He struck right and left with his naked fists and
finally by chance fell upon Splinter. The two rolled upon the deck
until the mate stooped and picked up Splinter bodily and, raising him
above his head, fairly hurled him like a bag of grain down the ladder
after the last of the mutineers.
Danbury, in spite of his loss of blood, held himself together
wonderfully. For the next hour all were busy, and between them placed
Splinter in irons, and crowded the mutineers, a cowed lot, into the
forward hold. They found Stubbs still unconscious, but he came around
after a good swig of brandy. He rose to his elbow and blinked dazedly
at Danbury.
"What's the trouble?" he demanded.
"Mutiny," answered Danbury, briefly.
"And me laid up, an' outer it. Jus' my pizen luck," he growled.