All that day the three boats made excellent progress, for though the
wind was but light, the sea was very smooth, and a strong northerly
current helped them materially.
As night approached heavy white clouds appeared on the eastern
horizon--the precursors of a series of heavy rain squalls, which in
those latitudes, and at that season of the year--November to March--are
met with almost nightly, especially in the vicinity of the low-lying
islands of the Marshall and Caroline Groups.
Then, as the sun set, the plan of murder that was in the hearts of
the captain and supercargo began to work. During the day they had
been unable to converse freely, for fear of being overheard by the two
firemen, but now the time had come for them to act.
In all the boats' lockers Harvey and Latour had placed a two gallon
wicker-covered jar of rum, and presently Hendry hailed Oliver, whose
boat was still towing astern. It was the first time that he had taken
any notice of the occupants of the other boats since the morning.
“You can give your men some grog if you like, Mr. Oliver,” he said, “and
you might as well hail the second mate, and tell him to do the same. I
shall have to cast you off presently, as the first rain squall will
be down on us, and each boat will have to take care of herself. We
are bound to part company until the morning, but I rely on you and the
second mate to keep head to wind during the squalls, and stick to the
course I have given you between times.”
“Very well, sir.”
Chard took out the rum and filled a half-pint pannikin to the brim.
“Here you are, boys,” said he pleasantly to the two firemen, who looked
gloatingly at the liquor; “this will warm you up for the drenching you
will get presently.”
The unsuspecting, unfortunate men drank it off eagerly without troubling
to add water, and then Chard, who feared that Hendry sober would be too
great a coward for the murderous work that was to follow, poured out
a stiff dose into another pannikin, and passed it to him. Then he took
some himself.
“Pass along that pannikin, boys,” he said; “you might as well have a
skinful while you are about it.”
The men obeyed the treacherous scoundrel with alacrity. Like their
shipmates who had perished the previous night, they were thoroughly
intemperate men, and were only too delighted to be able to get drunk so
quickly.
Filling their pannikin, which held a pint, to the brim, Chard poured
half of it into his own empty tin, and then passed them both to the men.
They sat down together on the bottom boards amidships, and then raised
the pannikins.
“Here's good luck to you, Mr. Chard, and you, skipper.”
“Good luck, men,” replied Hendry, watching them keenly as they swallowed
mouthful after mouthful of the fiery stuff, which from its strength
was known to the crew of the _Motutapu_ as “hell boiled down to a small
half-pint.”
Ten minutes passed, and then as the darkness encompassed the three
boats, a sudden puff of wind came from the eastward. Hendry hailed the
mate.
“Here's a squall coming, Mr. Oliver; haul in your painter.”
He cast off the tow line, and Chard lowered the mainsail and jib, the
two firemen taking not the slightest notice as they continued to swallow
the rum.
In another five minutes the white wall of the hissing rain squall was
upon them, and everything was hidden from view. Hendry swung his boat's
head round, and let her drive before it. The other boats, he knew, would
keep head on to the squall, and in half an hour he would be a couple of
miles away from them.
The captain's boat drove steadily before the rushing wind, and the
stinging, torrential rain soon covered the bottom boards with half a
foot of water. Chard took the bailer, and began to bail out, taking no
heed of the firemen, who were lying in the water in a drunken stupor,
overcome by the rum.
At last the rain ceased, and the sky cleared as if by magic, though but
few stars were visible. Chard went on bailing steadily. Presently he
rose, came aft, took a seat beside Hendry and looked stealthily into his
face.
“Well?” muttered the captain inquiringly, as if he were afraid that
the two poor wretches who but a few feet away lay like dead men might
awaken.
For the moment Chard made no answer, but putting out his hand he gripped
Hendry by the arm.
“Did you hear what Carr and Atkins said?” he asked in a fierce whisper.
Hendry's sullen eyes gleamed vindictively as he nodded assent.
“Well, they mean it--if we are fools enough to give them the chance of
doing it. And by God, Louis, I tell you that it means hanging for us
both; if not hanging, imprisonment for life in Darlinghurst Gaol.
We shot the niggers, right enough, and every man of the crew of the
_Motutapu_, from Oliver down to Carr's servant, will go dead against
us.”
He paused a moment. “This has happened at a bad time for us, Louis. Two
years ago Thorne, the skipper of the _Trustful_, labour schooner, his
mate, second mate, boatswain and four hands were cast for death for
firing into native canoes in the New Hebrides. And although none of them
were hanged they are rotting in prison now, and will die in prison.”
“I know,” answered the captain in a whisper. “Thorne was reprieved and
got a life-sentence, the other chaps got twenty-one years.”
“And I tell you, Louis, that if you and I face a jury we shall stand a
worse chance than Jim Thorne and his crowd did. The whole crew will go
dead against us, and swear there was no attempt to mutiny--that girl and
her servant too, and Jessop as well. Jessop would give us away in any
case over the cause of the fire, if he said nothing else. It's their
lives or ours.”
“What is it to be?” muttered Hendry, drawing the steer oar inboard, and
putting his eager, cruel eyes close to Chard's face.
“This is what it must be. You and I, Louis, will be _'the only survivors
of the “Motutapu” which took fire at sea. All hands escaped in the
three boats, but only the captain's boat, containing himself and the
supercargo, succeeded in reaching Ponapé after terrible hardships.
The mate's and second mate's boats, with all their occupants, have
undoubtedly been lost._' That is what the newspapers will say, Louis,
and it will be quite true, as all those in the other boats will perish.
By sunrise tomorrow none of the ship's company but you and I must be
alive.”
“How are we going to do it?”
“Wait till nearly daylight, and then we can get within range of them,
and pick them off one by one, if there is a good breeze. If there is no
wind and we cannot keep going, we must put it off for the time.
There's two hundred and thirty Winchester and Snider cartridges in that
handkerchief--I've counted them--and we can make short work of them.”
“What about these fellows?” said Hendry, inclining his head towards the
drunken firemen.
“They go first. They must go overboard in the next squall, which will be
upon us in a few minutes. Take another drink, Louis, and don't shake
so, or--” and Chard grasped Hendry by the collar and spoke with sudden
fury--“or by God, I'll settle _you_ first, and do the whole thing
myself!”
“I'll do it, Sam; I'll do it.”
Again the hissing rain and the hum of the squall was upon them as the
ocean was blotted out from view.
“Now,” said Chard--“quick.” They sprang forward together, lifted the
unconscious men one by one, and threw them over the side.
“Run up the jib,” said Hendry hoarsely; “let us get further away.”
“You rotten-hearted Dutch cur,” and Chard seized the captain by the
beard with his left hand and clenched his right threateningly, “brace
yourself up, or I'll ring your neck like a fowl's, and send you
overboard after them. Think of your wife and family--and of the
hangman's noose dangling between you and them.”
*****
Throughout the night the rain squalls swept the ocean at almost hourly
intervals, with more or less violence, but were never of long enough
duration to raise more than a short, lumpy sea, which quickly subsided.
About an hour before dawn, however, a more than usually heavy bank
formed to windward, and Harvey, with Huka and the other natives, could
see that there was more wind in it than would be safe for the mate's
boat, which was deep in the water, owing to the number of people in her.
Oliver agreed with them that they should tranship three or four of their
number into the second mate's boat.
“Better be sure than sorry, Carr,” he said; “can any one of you see Mr.
Atkin's boat?”
Nothing could be seen or heard of her until a boat lantern was hoisted
on an oar by Oliver, and a few seconds after was responded to by Atkins
soaking a piece of woollen cloth in rum, wrapping it round the point of
a boathook, and setting it alight. Its flash revealed him half a mile
away to leeward. Hendry and Chard, who by this time were quite three
miles distant, saw the blazing light, and the latter wondered what it
meant.
“They have parted company, I think,” said Hendry, “and as the mate's
boat is too deep I daresay he wants Atkins to take some of his people
before this big squall comes down. It's going to be an ugly fellow
this, and we'll have to drive again. I wish it would swamp 'em both. The
sharks would save us a lot of trouble then.”
As quickly as possible Oliver paddled down to Atkins, and Harvey,
Latour, Huka, and another native got into the second mate's boat.
“We'll have to run before this, Atkins,” said the mate, alluding to the
approaching squall; “it will last a couple of hours or more by the look
of it. Are you very wet, Miss Remington?”
“Very, Mr. Oliver,” answered the girl, with a laugh; “but I don't mind
it a bit, as the rain is not cold. I am too old a 'sailor man' to mind
a wetting. Are you all quite well? I can't see your face, Mr. Studdert,
nor yours, Mr. Morrison, it is so dark. Oh, Mr. Studdert, I wish I had
one of your cigarettes to smoke.”
“I wish I had one to give you, miss,” answered the pale-faced young
engineer. “A pipe is no to my liking, but I fear me I'll have to tackle
one in the morning.”
Alas, poor Studdert, little did he know that the morning, now so near,
was to be his last.
“Goodbye for the present, Miss Remington,” called out Oliver as the
boats again separated. “Take good care of her, Harvey, and of yoursels
too. He'll be getting an attack of the shakes in the morning, miss,
after all this wetting. Give him plenty of rum, my dear, whether he
likes it or not. You're a plucky little lady, and next to having you in
my own boat I am glad to see you with Atkins. Cheer up, lads, one and
all; we'll have the sun out in another hour.”
Half an hour later both boats were driving before the fury of the
squall, and the crews had to keep constantly bailing, for this time the
violence of the wind was such that, despite the most careful steering
of the two officers, large bodies of water came over amidships, and
threatened to swamp the boats.
When dawn came the sky was again as clear as it had been on the previous
morning, and Atkins stood up and looked for the captain's and mate's
boats.
“There they are, Harvey,” and he pointed to the westward; “the skipper
is under sail, and making back towards Oliver. Well, that's one thing
about him, dog as he is--he's a thorough sailor man, and is standing
back to take Oliver in tow again.”
At this time the captain's boat was about three miles distant from that
of the second mate, and Oliver's between the two, but much nearer to
Hendry and Chard's than to Atkins's. She was under both mainsail and
jib, and as the sea was again very smooth was slipping through the water
very quickly under a now steady breeze, as she stood towards the mate's
boat.
As the red sun burst from the ocean Atkins told the crew to cease
pulling for a few minutes and get something to eat. The men were all in
good humour, though they yet meant to wreak their vengeance on Chard and
Hendry for the murder of their shipmates. The wounded man who had been
put in Oliver's boat they knew had also died, and this had still further
inflamed them. But for the present they said nothing, but ate their
biscuit and tinned beef in cheerful silence, after waiting for Tessa
and Maoni to begin. Huka, their recognised leader, and Malua, Harvey's
servant, had both assured them that the captain and Chard would be
brought to punishment, but this assurance was not satisfactory to the
majority of them. One of them, the big Manhikian who had helped Latour
to rescue Tessa and Maoni from their cabin, was a brother of the man who
had just died from his wounds in Oliver's boat, and he had, during the
night, promised his shipmates to take his own and give them their _utu_
(revenge) before the boats reached Ponapé.
“Turn to again, boys,” said Atkins presently, as soon as the men had
satisfied their hunger; “we must catch up to the others now.”
The natives bent to their oars again, and sent the boat along at a great
rate, when suddenly Harvey heard the sound of firearms. He stood up and
looked ahead.
“Good God!” he cried, “look there, Atkins! The captain and Chard are
firing into Oliver's boat!”
Even as he spoke the repeated crackling of Winchester rifles could be
heard, and the mate's boat seemed to be in great confusion, and her
occupants were paddling away from their assailants, who, however, were
following them up closely at a distance of about fifty yards.
“Pull, men, pull! For God's sake, lay into it! The captain and firemen
are murdering Mr. Oliver and his party.”
The seamen uttered a shout of rage, and made the boat leap through the
water as now, in addition to the sharp crackle of the Winchesters, they
heard the heavier report of a Snider, and Harvey, jumping up on the
after whaleback, and steadying himself with one hand on Atkins's
shoulder, saw that only two or three of Oliver's crew were now
paddling--the rest had been shot down.
“We'll never get there in time, Atkins,” he cried, “unless we can hit
those who are firing. It's Chard and the skipper! Let Huka steer.”
In a few seconds the change was effected. Huka took the steer-oar,
two of the after-oars were double-banked, and Atkins and Harvey sprang
forward with their Sniders, and began firing at the captain's boat,
though at a range which gave them little chance of hitting her. Every
moment, however, the distance was decreasing, and the two men fired
steadily and carefully. But the Winchesters still cracked for another
five minutes. Then the fire from the captain's boat ceased as a shot
from Atkins's rifle smashed into her amidships. She was suddenly put
before the wind, and then Chard came aft, and began firing at the
approaching boat with his Snider, in the hope of disabling her, so that
he and his fellow-murderer (now that their plan of utterly destroying
all the occupants of both boats had been so unexpectedly frustrated)
might escape.
But the work of slaughter in which he had just been engaged and the
rolling of the boat, together with the continuous hum of bullets
overhead, made his aim wild, and neither the second mate's boat nor any
of its people were hit, and she swept along to the rescue.