THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD
The Japanese gentleman might ramble at length in his speech, but he
proved himself to be direct and speedy enough in action. Martin found
that Dr. Ichi was disposed to hurry. No sooner had Ruth disappeared
within the captain’s room than he commenced to act upon Carew’s orders.
A volley of staccato Japanese relieved the grim Moto of his sinister
attendance upon Martin and sent him scurrying forward to the deck, to
Martin’s vast satisfaction.
Next, he held a low-voiced consultation with Carew, who had stretched
himself out upon the divan at the after end of the room. This talk was
inaudible to Martin, but at its conclusion Carew said:
“Very well. If you find you need assistance, signal off and I’ll send
another boat. And if you are going to take Moto with you, have Asoki
send a hand aft to stand guard in the cabin while I sleep. Best to keep
an eye on the girl.”
Ichi turned to Martin.
“So we have made prepare,” he stated.
He drew a revolver from his hip-pocket, examined it ostentatiously, and
placed it carefully in a side coat-pocket. Martin, regarding the weapon
with covetous eyes, recognized it as one of the ship’s arms.
“Now, my dear Mr. Blake, you will be of such kindness to go before me
to the deck? Yes, please?”
Martin arose promptly and started for the alley-way leading to the main
deck. In his mind mingled triumph and trepidation—triumph because he
knew that Ichi’s expedition to the shore would lessen the number of the
crew holding the ship and thereby aid the boatswain’s plan for delivery
which he was sure was maturing in the darkness of the hold; trepidation
because despite his resolution to fortitude he was more than a little
uneasy concerning his own future. If he went ashore with Ichi, would
he live to return? Had Carew given orders as to his disposition? He
had intercepted glances filled with a smoldering hate, during that
whispered conversation a moment since.
Martin had a feeling that he was the object of that discussion, there
at the other end of the cabin. Was Carew whispering murderous orders
into Ichi’s ready ear? The man was smarting under Ruth’s scorn. What
more natural to Carew’s pitiless nature than to sop his mad jealousy
with his rival’s death?
The Japanese gentleman, cruel and vindictive beneath his surface
suavity, would, Martin felt, be pleased to put a period to his
existence. Was it merely to cow him that Ichi so carefully examined his
gun? Or was it to have cruel sport with him, as Ichi had attempted to
have with the boatswain?
“Whatever way,” ran Martin’s thought, “my job is to get as many of
these yellow imps ashore as is possible, and hold them there as long as
I can, so that the bosun, leading his outbreak, will have a chance of
success. What if Ichi does let daylight through me? It is for Ruth!”
Closely followed by Ichi, Martin traversed the passage and stepped out
on deck, and found himself bathed with the sunlight of a bright, calm
morning. At Ichi’s word, he paused outside the door.
Ichi continued across the deck and spoke to a man who was shouting over
the rail to a boat crew overside. Martin recognized the man; he was
the same bow-legged, muscular little Jap who had acted as his guide
that night in the Black Cruiser. He wore an air of authority; Martin
concluded he was the mate of Carew’s yellow following, perhaps the
fellow, Asoki, Wild Bob had mentioned.
The mate turned from Ichi and hallooed forward. A man who was sitting
on the sunny deck, abaft the galley, arose and came aft in obedience to
the hail. Martin saw the fellow carried one of the _Cohasset’s_ rifles.
He paused while Ichi gave him some terse directions, then he passed
Martin and entered the cabin. Ichi and Asoki then proceeded to inspect
the boat overside.
Martin’s eager eyes ranged about the decks. What he saw did not
encourage his hopes. For just before him, on the main hatch, sat
two impassive yellow men, one with a rifle across his knees, the
other holding a shotgun. Forward, the galley blocked his view of the
fore-hatch; but an armed man leaned against the rail at the break of
the forecastle. So he knew that both hatches were well guarded from the
deck.
The two men on the main hatch were of alert and efficient appearance;
and Martin knew that Carew’s men, being seal-hunters, must be
experienced and expert shots. Martin regarded them gloomily. What
chance for a successful rising in the face of these armed watch-dogs?
The lads would be slaughtered, even though their numbers were even.
The Japs before him were dressed in clothes he recognized as belonging
to his shipmates. He concluded that the invaders were already domiciled
in the forecastle; probably a half of them were even then occupying the
imprisoned men’s bunks. Even so, the few armed men on deck would be
more than a match for the boatswain.
If he only knew what time the boatswain would make his attempt! It was
ten in the morning now—he had noticed the cabin clock—and the boatswain
might wait till night, not knowing of the shore expedition. How long
could he manage to hold the party ashore? If there only was some other,
safer plan! Plan! What was it Ruth tried to tell him? Had she also a
plan?
Such were Martin’s troubled thoughts during the moment of his leisure.
They were black bodings, and they almost killed the cheerful spark that
had been born in his heart during the tilt of wits in the cabin. The
menacing peace of the deck occupied all his mind. He barely noticed the
mountain looming blackly beyond the ship’s bows, and on either side.
Smoke was pouring out of the galley smoke-stack. The rattle of pots
against iron came to his ears. Yip was preparing another meal; the
Japs, Martin reflected, were not denying their stomachs. Probably
making up for the enforced starvation they had lately suffered.
He wondered if the men imprisoned in the hold had been given food, or
whether they were being starved, like the boatswain, because of Dr.
Ichi’s whim. Beneath the Japanese gentleman’s velvet exterior existed
a merciless humor. He delighted in cruelty, and Martin sensed that,
for some reason, he bore a sly and implacable hatred toward the entire
company of the _Cohasset_.
Martin wondered just what position Ichi filled in Carew’s following.
In the cabin, his manner toward Carew had been of a man toward an
equal, rather than a subordinate to a leader. Martin wondered if the
yellow crew were at bottom Carew’s men or Ichi’s. They jumped to Ichi’s
orders; there, at the rail, Carew’s mate was actually fawning upon
Ichi’s words. Ichi was plainly the owners’ man.
Yip stuck his head out of the galley door, looked aft, and then
withdrew from sight. Immediately after there issued from the galley the
shrill caterwauling of a Chinese song, and a renewed rattle of pots.
Martin listened resentfully. Charley Bo Yip’s cheerful acceptance of
change of masters angered him. He had been quite friendly with Yip
during the passage, and he knew the Chinaman was a veteran of the
Chinese revolution and a professed enemy of all Japanese. Yet here he
was working for these same Japanese, apparently content with events,
and serenely indifferent to the fate of his shipmates. During the scene
in the cabin, Martin had divined from Ichi’s bearing toward Yip that
the thugs from the _Dawn_ regarded the Chinaman—or rather, disregarded
him—contemptuously, as one of a despised and slavish race, born to
serve obediently and menially. Which he was, thought Martin disgustedly.
During this short period of his musing, Martin’s eyes were not idle. He
suddenly was aware of the cause for Ichi’s delay.
From the recesses forward appeared Moto and another man, coming aft.
Moto carried a lantern in each hand, and the fellow who followed him
bore a watch-tackle on his shoulder. As they passed the galley, Yip’s
song ceased, and the Chinaman also stepped out on deck and ambled aft.
Martin wasted no glance on the cook. He watched with interest the Japs.
The burdens they bore were to aid in the exploration of the caves,
he knew. At the sight of the lanterns, a dim plan for future action
germinated in his mind.
The two Japs reached the spot where Ichi and Asoki stood waiting. They
handed their loads over the rail to the waiting hands below. Then they
followed, by way of a Jacob’s ladder.
Charley Bo Yip approached, bound for the cabin entrance. He passed
close behind Martin, almost brushing against Martin’s handcuffed hands.
He stepped on into the alleyway without slackening his stride, but
Martin marked the silent passage with a suddenly thumping heart—for
Yip had pressed a piece of paper into one of his manacled hands. Ichi
turned to him and motioned—
“Come, we are of readiness, Mr. Blake!”
Martin twisted his hand around and thrust the paper into his hip
pocket. Then he stepped forward to the rail.
A couple of moments later, Martin sat in the stern-sheets of a
whaleboat. He was much shaken and somewhat bruised from his attempt
to negotiate a Jacob’s ladder with his hands behind him, but his
swift descent had not dimmed his mind. His first thought, even as he
clambered over the brig’s rail, was to count the men in the shore
party. His fall hardly interrupted him.
There were four men at the oars, he saw. And beside him stood Moto,
manning the steering oar. On the opposite gunwale perched Ichi. Six of
them!
“That will leave nine of them aboard,” ran Martin’s mind. “Ichi said
only three were killed last night. They would be Rimoa and Oomak and
MacLean. Then there are eight forecastle hands, and Chips, and the
bosun, down below. Numbers are even, more than even! But odds! Oh, if
only a couple of those rifles were in the bosun’s hands! If only Ichi
would take them ashore!”
Martin searched the boat with his eyes, but no firearms were visible.
If the boatswain and the lads reached the deck, they would have those
armed watchers to reckon with. Hopeless!
At a sharp order from the steersman, the four oarsmen gave way smartly,
and the boat left the ship’s side, headed beachward. It was not one of
the _Cohasset’s_ boats, Martin noted. The dingey, in which Little Billy
had sounded to anchorage yesterday, still rode to its painter under the
counter. The rest of their own boats were still snug on the skids. The
whale-boat was Carew’s boat in which he had boarded them.
Little Billy! The sight of the dingey brought the hunchback into
Martin’s racing thoughts. Where was Little Billy? The paper Yip had
slipped him, fairly burned in his pocket. But, of course, he dare not
attempt to read it here in the midst of his enemies. For he had not
the slightest doubt the paper was a note written by Little Billy, and
conveyed by Yip’s friendly hand.
Good old Yip! Martin felt shame of his recent low estimate of the
Chinaman. Yip was fooling the Japs—perhaps coached by the safely hidden
hunchback!
Martin’s hopes leaped again. Why, thought he, with Little Billy’s
fertile mind on the job, and Yip free and friendly, their chance of
success in an outbreak was greatly increased. Likely enough Little
Billy was in communication with the men in the hold. A well-timed
surprise might overcome the terrible handicap of the guns. If he only
knew what that paper in his pocket contained! Well, perhaps he would
know soon, if things went right.
Ichi’s right side was toward him. Martin carefully noted the
revolver-butt peeping from the coat-pocket. That revolver occupied
an important place in the plan that was forming in Martin’s mind. He
carefully scanned the other occupants of the boat. So far as he could
see their only weapons were sheath-knives.
The tide was ebbing swiftly and the _Cohasset_ tugged at her cable,
bow on to the beach. The breach between the ship and the whale-boat
widened; the panoramic view of the mountain and the little bay
interrupted Martin’s thoughts. He twisted about in his seat, and sent
his gaze about the cove in an encircling sweep, thus gaining his first
clear idea of the actual geography of the place.
Nature had formed the bay, he saw, by pinching a small chunk out of the
huge cone of the volcano. The bay was a watery wedge cutting into the
mountain to a depth of about twelve hundred yards, a half-mile wide at
the entrance, and narrowing down to a bare half hundred yards of narrow
beach at the point of the wedge.
The _Cohasset_ was anchored about five hundred yards from the beach,
and at a like distance on either side of her the flanking cliffs rose
sheer from the water. The waters of the bay were quiet, but, at the
mouth, Martin saw the seas beating fiercely upon the girdling reef,
smashing thunderously upon jutting, jagged rocks, and sending the white
spray cascading into the sunshine. But he searched in vain for signs of
a wreck. He interrupted Ichi’s reverie with a question.
“Where did the _Dawn_ strike?”
To his surprise, the Japanese answered promptly.
“On the opposite side of the island—on the reef. Ah, that was a
happening of much terribleness, Mr. Blake. It was night and fog—the
same utterly darkness that was of such disaster to you honorable
gentlemen last night. Honorable Carew did not suspect the nearness of
land. The rock pierced our bottom and we sank with immediateness. Ah—it
was of much sadness! We saved not food or clothes and but half our
number. We rowed away.
“After while, there came to us a morning of much niceness, like the
present one, and we found that the schooner had been altogether taken,
as honorable Carew remarked by one god of the sea, named David Jones.
So we rowed around the volcano and came in this bay, and I knew the
place from the memory I had of hearing the reading, so long ago, in
Honolulu.
“Ah, but the days we spent here before the worthy _Cohasset_ was
sighted were days of much badness! We thought you had come and
departed, for we did not find the ambergris. We thought we would all
have to go out from hunger and exposure. We thought it would be of
much sadness to go out in this place of blackness; the spirits of our
honorable ancestors would regard us with much unkindness if we came
from this evil place.” The man suddenly leered upon Martin. “How would
you like to go out in this place of bleakness? Ah—what a sadness!”
He turned and stared at the fantastic, brooding face of the rapidly
nearing rock.
“I will with frankness say I do not like this place,” he concluded. “I
shall be of gladness when I see the last of that smoke, up there, and
feel no more the shakes of awfulness.”
They were within a few yards of the beach. Martin stared upward. The
mountain tapered steeply to the crater thousands of feet above him.
The yellow-brown smoke poured upward lazily, and he was sensible, as
on the day before, of an acrid, unpleasant taste in the air. Also, as
when he had obtained his first fog-obscured view of the mountain from
the topgallantyard, he felt oppressed as he looked at that desolate
wilderness of crazily jumbled rock towering above him; the sunlight,
which sparkled upon the water, failed to brighten the mountain’s somber
tone, and the nightmare architecture looming above him shivered him
with dread.
The openings of numberless caves gaped blackly, like blind eyes. The
myriad-voiced screeching of the sea-birds added to the bleakness of the
aspect. As Moto swept the boat through the gentle surf that laved the
little beach, the Fire Mountain was invested, in Martin’s excited mind,
with personality, with a malignant, evil personality.
In truth, Martin looked upon himself as doomed. “How would you like
to go out?” Ichi had queried; and his manner had made the question a
promise. Well, he would try not to go out alone. His work was cut out
for him, and it was desperate work. There was slim chance, he knew, of
surviving the execution of his plan, but he contemplated his probable
death with the high courage of self-sacrifice.
His life, he felt, was a small price to pay for the recovery of the
ship and the freeing of his sweetheart. For he was convinced that the
boatswain’s success was dependent upon his keeping these six Japs on
shore. He felt sure his comrades, warned by Yip and Little Billy, would
seize the opportunity presented by Carew’s divided forces. He meant to
fight to keep the Japs separated.
As the boat grounded, and he stood up to leap ashore, he wriggled his
wrists in the cuffs, making sure he could free himself with a jerk. He
might die, but he vowed he would take some of these yellow devils with
him on his passage out.
Also, he reflected, it would make little difference to him, even if he
remained docile. The issue would be the same. He was certain Ichi would
murder him, so soon as the treasure was uncovered. He was certain Carew
had commanded that very ending.
So, it was with a mind made up to grasp any desperate chance, with a
courage utterly reckless, that Martin disembarked on the volcanic sand
of Fire Mountain beach.
They had landed at one end of the beach. The first object Martin’s
curious eyes encountered was the “Elephant Head.” John Winters’
directions ran in his mind—“south end beach, in elephant head.” That
curiously fashioned jutting rock was the elephant head; cleanly
sculptured were the rounded head, slab ears, arched trunk, all
gigantic. Beneath the rock-snout was a narrow slit about six feet high
by half as wide. It was, Martin knew, the entrance the whaleman had
written of.
But Martin had little time to inspect the beach. Ichi commanded
dispatch. Martin noticed with surprise that as soon as Ichi touched
foot on the sand, his accustomed phlegm was replaced by visible
nervousness.
Ichi ordered, and the four sailors ran the boat up on the beach. Then,
Moto leading the way, carrying the two lanterns, they all trooped
toward the cave entrance.
Martin used his eyes as he walked. There were, he saw, many cave
openings on a level with the beach. One in particular was a gaping
cavern. Ichi, by his side, and talkative, indicated this place.
“Where we lived,” he informed. “Very nasty place—damp, and of coldness.
But our torches were poor, and driftwood of much scarceness, so we dare
not investigate greatly the interior for better place. Our wood was all
gone, and we feared muchly we must break up the boat, when Fate with so
great a kindness sent the honorable Dabney to rescue us.”
“A queer rescue, you murderous little wretch!” thought Martin. But
aloud, he said, “What did you live on?”
They had fallen behind the others. Martin considered swiftly whether
or not to fall upon his companion now. He was certain he could get the
gun, and commence shooting, before the others assailed him. But he
decided promptly that it would not do. They would witness the affair
from the ship.
“Oh—we eat the gulls,” replied Ichi. “And the shell-fish, and a seal
that was dead—ah, he was long dead and of great nastiness! But mostly
it was the shell-fish. See the many shells on the sand?”
Martin looked. He gulped a swift, deep breath to keep from crying out,
and stopped dead in his tracks. He stared into the yawning mouth of
the cave Ichi was speaking about, his heart thumping furiously. Good
Heaven! Had he seen a ghost? Was it a crazy trick of his overwrought
mind? Or had he actually beheld, for a fraction of a second, a white
face framed in the dense gloom of the cave’s interior? But that face!
“Ah—but do not pause, my dear Mr. Blake,” said Ichi with a hint of
sarcasm. “It is of great interest, I know, but the view that awaits you
as we seek the ambergris inside, is of much more interestness. Come!
See, our dear Moto has the lanterns lighted!”
Martin with difficulty maintained a disinterested expression.
He recovered his stride, and they joined the others beneath the
overhanging elephant rock. Moto and Ichi held for a moment a chattering
interchange of their native speech.
Martin peered into this other opening, his agitated mind half-expecting
to see the startling vision again, flashing white in the interior
blackness. But beyond a few feet of sand floor and black lava walls,
he saw nothing. The opening in the elephant head led into a narrow
gallery, a hallway into the mountain.
A blast of hot, sulfur-tainted air swirled out of the opening. It made
his eyes smart. Coincidentally, his ears were assailed by strange
sound. It came out of the black hole, and it was like the wailing of
souls in torment. It was a dolorous whistling that increased to a
shrill screeching, then died away sobbingly.
Martin listened to that weird grief all a-prickle with shivery
sensations. It was unnerving.
Nor were his companions indifferent to the sound. The four sailors
huddled quickly together and gazed fearfully into the dark opening.
Moto chopped off short the word he was saying, and Martin saw his body
stiffen and his eyes dilate. Even Ichi betrayed agitation, and Martin
saw a violent but quickly mastered emotion flit across his yellow
features.
The eery wail died quite away, and Martin’s scalp stopped crawling.
Ichi turned to him with a somewhat shaken smile; Martin saw that the
Japanese gentleman’s nostrils were twitching nervously, and that his
voluble speech was really an effort to regain composure.
“Have no afraid. The sound of much strangeness is from the cave of the
wind,” said Ichi. “It is from the deep place. Now will come the shake,
perhaps.”
The shake came on the tail of Ichi’s words. A heavy, ominous rumbling
came out of the black depths. Martin recalled hearing the same sound
the day before, when he was on the topgallant-yard. And suddenly the
hard, packed sand began to crawl beneath his feet, things swayed
dizzily before his eyes, and a sharp nausea attacked the pit of his
stomach.
It was but a baby temblor, and it lasted but an instant.
Martin was not much disturbed—a lifetime in San Francisco had made
quakes a commonplace experience—but he had the sudden thought that
there were safer journeys in the world than the one he was about to
take into the heart of a half-extinct volcano. Not that the probable
danger of the trip impressed him sharply—he was too much occupied with
his plight, and desperate plan—but it was evident the Japs did not
relish the undertaking.
The four sailors and Moto were plainly terrified, and, as the trembling
and rumbling ceased, they exclaimed with awe and fear. Ichi held
himself in hand, but his mouth sagged.
“Always comes the strange noise, and then the shake,” he said to
Martin. There was the hint of a quiver in his voice. “Out of the deep
place, they come—like the struggles of Evil Ones!”
He broke off to speak sharply to his men, bracing them with words.
“They are of much ignorance,” he continued to Martin. “They have much
fear. They know a silly story their mothers have told them, about the
Evil Ones calling from the deep pit; it is a—what you say?—a folk
story of the Japanese. These men are of ignorance. But we gentlemen
know it is of absurdness, and most untrue. It is a story of great
unscientificness.”
Ichi rolled the last word off his tongue with difficult triumph.
“Unscientificness,” was evidently the club his Western education gave
him, with which to combat the inbred superstition of centuries. But
Martin saw it was a straw club.
But if Ichi were frightened, he mastered his fear.
“It will, perhaps, be some time till the next shake,” he told Martin.
“We must haste. You shall follow me, please? And recall, as we walk,
that Moto is but a pace behind you, and in fine readiness.”
He chattered peremptory words to his followers. One of the sailors
picked up a lantern, Moto stepped behind Martin, and Ichi lifted the
other lantern and stepped toward the cave mouth.
“You might look well at the sky, dear Mr. Blake,” he leered over his
shoulder at Martin. “Who may say when you will see it again?”
But Martin was in no mood to be frightened. Indeed, if he had put his
hot thoughts into words, he would have replied to the sinister hint by
inviting Ichi to take _his_ last look at daylight. He did look at the
sky, but it was for another purpose than bidding farewell to sunlight.
He brought his gaze down to the waters of the bay.
The _Cohasset_ was quiet, lying peacefully on the easy water. Figures
on her deck were plainly visible. Martin saw the bow-legged lieutenant
standing on the poop, staring at the group on the beach. He saw more.
The tide had swung the vessel around during the past few moments. She
now lay broadside on to the beach. From a cabin port, he saw a bit of
fluttering white. A lump rose in his throat. It was Ruth, he knew,
waving him good-by. Dear Ruth! Yes, it was farewell! Farewell to life,
perhaps, and to love, to this wonderful love that made him almost happy
in his misery. The thought of his sweetheart cooped up in that little
room with the stricken blind man, with only her resourceful wit and
high courage to combat the leaguering terrors, steeled his resolve. He
would play his part, he vowed to himself, no matter what the price he
payed. God grant that his shipmates be enabled to play their part!
“Ah—we wait, Mr. Blake!” came Ichi’s voice, and he was suddenly
conscious that Moto’s hand was pressing his shoulder.
Ichi was already inside, lantern held high. As Martin stepped for the
opening, he cast a swift, sidelong glance down the beach, toward the
big-mouthed cave. He saw nothing—which was what he expected.
“I must have been mistaken,” he thought. “It must have been a trick of
imagination.”
He brushed past the man who had the watch-tackle coiled over a
shoulder, and fell in behind Ichi. The last sound he heard from the
outer world was the clear, vibrant sound of the ship’s bell. Five bells!