DECOY
“If we could only get on board to help,” complained Little Billy. “If
it were only dark. That whaleboat down there.”
“But we can’t,” was Martin’s prompt rejoinder. “You said yourself we
dare not venture on the beach. They would only knock us over with their
rifles—and besides, Carew would learn that something had happened to
his landing party.”
They were sitting on either side of the opening, watchfully regarding
the ship. Martin, in response to the hunchback’s importuning, had just
briefly related the details of the previous night’s misfortune, and he
now summarized the situation on board as he knew or guessed it.
“The foc’sle crowd is locked in the hold—you see the guards, one at the
fore hatch, and two amidships,” said Martin. “The bosun has undoubtedly
broken through from the lazaret and joined the boys by this time.
Captain Dabney is laid up in his room, suffering from the blow Carew
gave him, and Ruth is nursing him. But her note said he has regained
his sight—what does that mean, Billy?”
“I don’t know,” said Little Billy. “It was a shock that blinded him;
perhaps another shock has cured him. But the Chink’s plan, Martin! What
is it? ‘The noon meal.’ What does that mean?”
Martin shook his head. “I wish I knew. I shouldn’t think eight bells
would be a good time for the boys in the hold to attempt to break
out. Now, would be a good time. There are only three of the gang on
guard—or four, if you count the mate, there on the poop. Another one
is in the cabin with Carew. The rest must be asleep in the foc’sle.
There are only nine of them left, Billy. We have accounted for six, you
and I—and that hole. There are ten of our fellows in the hold. If only
they were armed! I am afraid to try my scheme just yet; it might upset
their plans, it might spoil everything. Her note is explicit, ‘The noon
meal.’”
“Your plan? We can help?” exclaimed Little Billy.
Martin inclined his head towards the bound form of their captive, lying
beyond earshot. “Decoy,” he said.
Understanding lighted the hunchback’s face. “I see. Draw them off—some
of them. Just before eight bells. Oh, I am dopey, not to have thought
of that. But I can’t think straight. Nerves snapping. I’ve worried
a lot since last night. You know how it is—I didn’t know what had
happened, and Ruth—-”
Yes, Martin knew how it was. He smiled his understanding and sympathy,
and leaned over and patted Billy’s shoulder. Yes, he knew. His own
nerves were snapping, when he thought of Ruth. He knew that his, and
Wild Bob’s, were not the only hearts enslaved by the maid of the
_Cohasset_. And he, the accepted lover, could regard without disquiet
the light that shone in Billy’s eyes whenever the latter spoke of Ruth.
“I know how it is between you two,” continued Little Billy. “And you—I
think you know how it is with me. I—why, I’d die for her gladly. Oh,
Martin, in my mind I think I died a thousand times last night.”
“What happened to you last night?” inquired Martin. “How did you escape
them, and get ashore?”
“I suppose they murdered Rimoa and Oomak while Sails was in the cabin,
calling you. Poor Sails—so it was his concern for me that caused him to
awaken you. He thought feydom had me.”
“But he was wrong,” said Martin, quickly.
“I don’t know; I have had a feeling—oh, well, no matter,” rejoined
Little Billy. “I guess they would have finished me, as well as the
others, had I been on board.”
“Had you been on board?” echoed Martin.
“I was already on my way to the beach when they boarded. Passed them
on the way. It was just an accident, a simple mishap,” explained the
other. “It happened just after I roused MacLean from his snooze in the
galley. You recall how dark it was last night. I felt my way aft, and
paused by the capstan, where you found my tobacco pouch. I placed it
there preparatory to filling my pipe. My pipe wasn’t in my pocket, and
I remembered that it was lying on the thwart of the dingey, where I
left when I came on board after sounding to anchor in the afternoon.
“Well, you may remember what state I was in. The booze craving made me
jumpy and unreasonable. I decided I must have that pipe, no other pipe
would do. So I crossed to the side and felt around until I grasped the
boat’s painter; and then I overhauled until the dingey was beneath me.
I had climbed up on the rail, and was perched there on my knees, and as
I twisted around to make the painter fast, I over-balanced and fell.
“I guess I struck the boat’s gunwale a glancing blow with my head.
Anyway, I bounced off into the water. When I came to the surface I was
at first too stunned to cry out. I needed all my breath, anyway, to
keep afloat. The tide was flooding like a millrace, and sweeping me
with it. I couldn’t see the ship; I was isolated in the black fog.
“The water was icy cold and my clothes dragged me under. You remember
how chilly it was last night; I had on sea boots and reefer coat. I
struggled desperately, under water half the time, and managed to slip
off the boots; then I wriggled out of my coat and guernsey. By this
time I knew I was near the beach, and I was almost spent.
“Then, a boat passed me. I could not see it—but I heard oars, or
fancied I did. I tried to call out. But I was too far gone; every
time I opened my mouth it filled with water, and I only spluttered.
Anyway, I wasn’t sure it was oars; it was more likely surf on a rock, I
thought. A little later, I felt the ground under my feet, and staggered
up on the beach.
“I was lying on the sand, waiting for strength that would enable me to
hail the ship, when they rushed you. I heard a shriek coming out of
the darkness. It must have been MacLean. Then shouts, and a shot, and
Ruth’s scream, and—silence. Oh, I knew then what had happened, and that
I had really passed a boat, Carew’s boat!
“I don’t like to think about the time that followed. I think I was
crazy for a time; I know I ranged up and down the beach like a madman.
But I retained enough sense to know I couldn’t swim against the tide.
It was a miracle I kept afloat with the tide in that Arctic water, and
me a lubberly swimmer. Then, after a long while—how long a time I don’t
know; each moment seemed an age—I stumbled upon MacLean’s body. Poor
Sails, he could not foretell his own finish!
“He—he couldn’t have been quite dead when they threw him over, or he
wouldn’t have made the beach so quickly. But he was quite dead then.
I took his knife from his hip—this is it I have here—because I felt I
might have a chance to use it. God, how I longed for a chance to use
it! Finding MacLean sort of steadied me; it shocked me sane, so to
speak. The fog began to thin out, and I slipped into a cave.
“Pretty soon the fog lifted altogether, and it was a bright calm
morning. Through the cave mouth, I could see the Japs parading the
deck. But I didn’t see them making preparations to get the ship under
way, so I reasoned the ambergris was still ashore, and that they would
come for it. So I just waited.
“You see, I thought it was all ended for the Happy Family. I knew
Carew, and these yellow devils; I was sure you had all been killed, and
that Ruth—oh, well, I was going to meet them when they came ashore, and
do a little work with Sails’ knife before they finished me.
“At last their whaleboat started for the beach. I was ready to show
myself, when I noticed you in the party—you, alive. I thought if you
were alive, some of the others might also be alive, and there might be
something to hope for. So I lurked in the cave, and watched.”
“I saw you!” interjected Martin. “Lord, what a start the glimpse of
your face gave me! I knew you were alive, but I was convinced you were
on board. I thought I was seeing ghosts.”
“You went in through the Elephant Head, and I went after you,”
continued Little Billy. “The cave I was in (the one those fellows
lived in, by the reek of the place) communicated with the passage you
traveled, so I could fall in behind without going out on the beach. I
trailed your party to the big cave, stopped just back of the light, and
watched you cross the ledge. Then came that awful blast (did you notice
it was steam, Martin?) and I saw you struggling with one of them, and
you knocked another one over the edge, and I thought it was time for me
to lend a hand. But the sight of me was too much for that fellow who
held the line.
“Well, they are gone, poor devils. I suppose I should feel a bit
sorry for them. But I don’t. I know just what brutes they were. What
surprises me, is that they didn’t make a thorough job of it and
slaughter all hands, instead of only three. What do they want of
prisoners? Except—Ruth?”
“I am sure Carew prevented that,” said Martin. He rehearsed the scene
in the cabin. “Carew is wild about Ruth, and she has him bluffed,
actually bluffed. If it had been left to Ichi, there, I am sure we all
would have been killed, and the directions for finding the treasure
tortured out of Ruth. But Carew protected her—and us. He hopes to gain
her favor, to compel her to love him, or—at least accept him. He even
hinted he would place all the rest of us safely ashore. I think he was
lying.”
“Depend on it, he was,” asserted Little Billy. “Place you safely ashore
on this island, I suppose, And conduct you to the edge of that hole,
and personally chuck you in. That’s Carew’s style! My God, that is an
awful hole, Martin! It got on my nerves. Listen, she’s blowing again!”
They regarded each other silently, listening to the roaring down there
in the depths. It grew and grew, became for a moment a harsh menacing,
overwhelming screech, and then slowly subsided to the murmurous moaning
that never ceased.
“It happens continuously,” commented Little Billy. “Every hour or so,
since I’ve been ashore. Blow the roof off some day. Here comes the rest
of it.”
“The rest of it” was the rumble and the little quake. It brought
vividly before Martin’s eyes the horrid picture of the ghostly
lighted chasm, and the yellow men falling to their death. It brought
disquietude to another mind, also. Ichi emitted a wail of pure terror.
“This place has got him,” said Little Billy. “By Jove, it has nearly
got me, too. One could swear those were human voices in torment, down
there. Eh, Ichi,” he added in louder tones, “don’t you hear your
shipmates calling to you to join them? Down yonder in the hole?”
Ichi chattered in his native tongue. He may have been answering Little
Billy; it sounded as though he were cursing him. Whatever it was, it
was frightened and forceless talk; and when presently Ichi lapsed into
English, it was the fear-stricken coolie who entreated, and not the
swagger Japanese gentleman who commanded.
“Oh, Mr. Blake, you are gentleman. Mr. Billy is not speak truthfulness,
yis? Mr. Blake, please, you will not give me to the ‘Deep Place.’ Not
to the ‘Evil Ones.’ Mr. Blake, I help you, I be of much usefulness. You
promise—Mr. Billy spoke with jokefulness. Yis, prease?”
“He’s forgetting his English. What do you know about that?” said Little
Billy.
“He thinks you meant what you said about his shipmates calling,”
replied Martin, in a low voice. “He thinks you meant that you were
going to drop him into the hole, after his gang. Threaten him some
more. The more frightened he is, the more eagerly he’ll do what we
wish. There goes seven bells on the ship—we’ll have to use him in a few
minutes.”
“So you don’t like the thought of being chucked into the hole, eh, my
yellow snake?” drawled Little Billy, strolling over to Ichi’s resting
place. Despite his knowledge that the hunchback was acting, Martin
shuddered at his tones; his voice was vibrant with bitter hate. “But it
is not what you like this time, Ichi. It is what we like, what I like,
eh? You see this knife; you feel it when I prick your throat—so? Well,
it is old Sails’ knife, Ichi, poor old Sails’ knife. Why not slit your
lying throat with Sails’ knife, like you slit Sails’ throat—if I like,
eh? But I don’t like, Ichi. That’s too sweet a finish for you. No, when
we get ready we are going to cart you down to the edge of that hole,
and—over the edge you go!”
“Oh, please, please—oh, _prease_ Mr. Brake!” chattered Ichi. “You come
take him away. You not let him do it? Oh, Mr. Blake, a long time I
your friend; you helpful me I helpful you, I be your man. Not the Deep
Place, not the—_aiee-ee_,” and his voice trailed off in a dolorous howl
as some freak of the draught caused the voice of the pit to momentarily
shriek.
“All right, Billy, on watch here. Let me talk to him now,” said Martin.
He dragged Ichi closer to the window, so that daylight fell upon the
man’s face. Then he sat down in front of him, and regarded him narrowly.
Ichi was in a frenzy of mingled hope and fear. He gabbled half
incoherently his allegiance to his captor, his love for him,
his willingness to do this, that, anything—only, not the Deep
Place—_prease_! He was a pitiable object, could Martin have found pity
for him in his heart. He was no longer the suave, dapper Japanese
gentleman. His boasted gentility was gone with his courage; and
superstitious terror had quite overcome his Western skepticism. He was
just a yellow coolie, terror-stricken, cringing before and begging of
his master.
“Wild Bob has just come up on the poop. He’s talking to the mate,”
called Little Billy.
“Good,” said Martin. He unbuckled the strap from around Ichi’s ankles,
and hoisted the man erect.
“Now, Ichi, you do what I say, and I promise you it won’t be the Deep
Place. Indeed, I promise you your life, so far as I hold it—though you
don’t deserve it. But if you don’t do what I say——”
“Yis—oh, yes, please, I helpful you muchly,” he promised, eagerly.
“Carew is at the taffrail,” said Little Billy. “He’s hailing the
beach—hailing Ichi.”
Martin had finished looping the strap about the chain of the handcuffs.
Now he thrust the man forward, into the window; he, himself, retaining
a grasp on the leather, and remaining beyond the window edge, by the
hunchback’s side.
Captain Carew stood at the taffrail and searched the face of the
mountain. Presently he cupped his hands, and sent a second stentorian
hail across the water—“Ahoy-y-y! Ahoy, the beach! Ichi!”
“So he’s a bit worried about his partner,” whispered Little Billy.
“That’s good.”
Martin commanded Ichi. “Answer him.”
Ichi hesitated. But a jerk on the strap opened his mouth. He sent a
piercing “Aiee-e-e!” out of the window.
Carew looked eagerly for the sender of the hail. But it was Asoki, the
mate, who located the figure framed in the opening. He clutched Carew’s
arm, and pointed. And Martin noted that not only the pirate captain was
interested. Charley Bo Yip’s head popped out of the galley door; and
the guards all stared shorewards.
“Are you all right?” hailed Carew. “Have you found the stuff?” The
voice came very clearly over the water; the cliffs making a sounding
board that accented, then echoed, every syllable.
“Tell him,” Martin commanded Ichi, “tell him, ‘Come ashore!’ Come, sing
it out. Remember the Deep Place!”
“Come ashore!” howled Ichi.
“Anything wrong?” demanded Carew.
“Tell him, ‘Yes,’” commanded Martin. On the spur of the moment he
added, “Tell him I have been lost. That’s it. An accident. And you need
him. Out with it.”
“Yes! Accident! Mr. Blake lost! You come and helpful, Captain!” Ichi
called, obediently.
“What’s that—the cub lost—gone?” shouted Carew. He seemed not overcome
by the news. He laughed, and slapped Asoki on the back. “D’ye want me
to help locate the stuff?” he hailed back to Ichi. “Shall I bring the
girl?”
“My God!” breathed Little Billy.
Martin jerked viciously on the strap. “Tell him yes, damn you, tell him
yes!” he cried.
“Yes—the girl!” called Ichi.
Carew waved his arm. “Coming!” he replied. “Meet me on the beach!”