THE LAST
"What's all this social chatter between you two?" demanded Thirkle from
the entrance to the crevice. I did not know how much he had overheard,
but I determined to make one more effort to get the pistol.
"Quick," I whispered to Petrak. "Hand me the gun and free my hands!"
"It ain't me," whined Petrak. "It's the writin' chap here. Get along
out," and he struck me over the head and I knew I had lost, although
there was a doubt that Petrak would ever have given me the pistol.
"What's he up to now, Reddy? What's the nice young man trying to do?"
"Wanted to do for ye, that's what, Thirkle. Wanted a gun, but he got no
gun from me. Said you wouldn't play fair with me, Thirkle, but I said
ye would."
"So ye want to take a hand in things here, do you, Mr. Trenholm?" said
Thirkle as I came out. "Still got an idea you can beat old Thirkle at his
own game. Learning new tricks, I see. Before long ye'd be ready to boss
the job. Didn't take ye long to forget what I told ye of the other smart
chap who wanted to settle me and take command himself, did it?"
"You stick to your pen and typewriter, Mr. Trenholm, and let me run my
own crew--nice pirate ye'd make, with silk underwear and a typewriter,"
and he and Petrak laughed loudly at the joke,
"I told him you would kill him, and so you will," I said, mustering as
much defiance as I could under the circumstances.
"Kill Mr. Petrak here! Ha, ha, ha! Why, he's my partner, Mr. Petrak is,
and we're going to share this gold together, share and share alike, as
gentlemen do."
"He wanted to do for ye, Thirkle," said Petrak, flattered by his master
and unable to see the sly sarcasm of Thirkle in his joy at being assured
of his position, and of getting his share of the gold. "I never give him
the chance, Thirkle. Now if it was some--say Buckrow or Long Jim, they
might give him a gun, but not Petrak. Ye know I ain't the kind to turn on
a pal, Thirkle, and I say you stick to me and I'll stick to you, come
what do. Ain't that right, Thirkle?"
"Reddy, yer true blue," and he took Petrak's hand and shook it
vigorously, and patted the little rat on the back. "Stick to Thirkle and
Thirkle will stick to you like a Dutch uncle, and never mind what Mr.
Trenholm has to say. He's not in this, or won't be long, and it won't be
many days before we are counting out the gold between us.
"I've got enough five-pound notes here to buy the little yacht, and I'll
take some of the gold, but not much. We'll be back here before the month
is out, all slick and snug, and then away for London."
"I'll stick like paint, Thirkle; lay to that," said Petrak, grinning at
me. "I knew he was on the wrong course when he come that gun talk to me,
and I told him Thirkle was all right, and that I knowed ye better than
him, and so I do--hey, Thirkle?"
"You had better give me your pistols until you are done, Reddy. Ye can't
trust these gentlemen who write--they have too much imagination, and
they are too foxy for men like you and me, Reddy. There's no telling what
he might do in there if you have guns and knives on ye. Pass 'em over,
Reddy, or he'll do for us yet."
Petrak gave up his weapons joyfully, not realizing that he was being
disarmed for the very purpose I had warned him about--Thirkle was getting
ready to finish his job in earnest.
"Now get along and dump the last of it in there, and move navy style or
we'll be here at dark. No more soldiering, Petrak: and see that ye keep
yer jaw battened down, Mr. Trenholm, or I'll take a hand in this that ye
won't relish and attend to ye in a way ye won't fancy."
"Ye'll play fair with me, won't ye, Thirkle?" asked Petrak.
"Fair as ye deserve. Move along with that cargo."
Petrak began to whine to himself, and I said nothing more until we went
in with the last sack.
"You fool, he'll kill you as I told you he would, but you are too late
now."
"Oh, Thirkle's all right," he grumbled; but he seemed worried since he
had given up the pistols, and he saw plainly enough that Thirkle's manner
had changed in no undecided way since Petrak had surrendered his weapons.
"All clear," said Thirkle, as we came out. He was measuring rope, and had
his jacket on and a bundle rolled up, and all the camp litter was removed
and dead leaves scattered over our tracks.
"Can I have my guns now, Thirkle? I don't like to go down the trail
without a gun--no knowin' what might happen."
"Never would do yet, Reddy. Take this knife and cut the lines away from
Mr. Trenholm's feet, and we'll fix him so he can navigate back to the
boats. You take the lead back, Reddy, because you know the way better
than I do, and I'll make Mr. Trenholm fast to ye, and follow on. We'll
need to look sharp to make the beach before dark."
"But I want my guns, Thirkle. Fair play's fair play, and I want my guns."
"Never mind the guns, I say. Mr. Trenholm will be right at your back all
the way down, and we can't take any chances now, Reddy. I'll settle him
when the boats are off, and then you won't have anything to worry about.
Cut his feet loose."
"What style of a funeral would suit him?" asked Petrak, busy with the
cords at my feet.
"We'll have to select something special for Mr. Trenholm. How about the
same go-off we gave Caldish? Remember Caldish? Wanted to say his prayers.
Quick and neat it was, and no mess."
"If he helps with the boats, how about a tow out at the end of a painter,
Thirkle? He'll make good shark bait, only some skinny."
"That would do for him nicely, Reddy. We'll let him push the boat well
out, and, when he has her clear, pull away and give him plenty of line.
That's a capital idea, Reddy, and we'll use it."
They bound my arms to my sides, and put the end of the rope round
Petrak's waist, so that I was about five feet behind him when it was
taut. In this way we set out for the beach, with Petrak in the lead and
Thirkle, carrying his bundle and smoking a cigar, treading on my heels,
to make me keep close up.
The sun was not quite down, but the jungle was filling with shadows, and,
once the sun got below the horizon, night would close down on us with the
tropical swiftness that knows no twilight, and the day would go out like
a candle under a snuffer.
Thirkle had been drinking of the brandy, and was in a jolly mood, and he
had given Petrak a good swig of it to lighten the little rascal's feet,
but I refused the bottle when it was offered to me, for, low as my
spirits were, and racked as my body was, I could not come to accept their
ghastly hospitality.
If I let the rope tighten between me and Petrak, Thirkle prodded me with
the point of a knife, and, as I was faint with hunger and thirst, and
utterly worn out, I frequently stumbled and fell, when they both set upon
me and beat me to my feet. Petrak pulling me up with the rope, while
Thirkle scourged me with a leather thong.
We had been on the road about half an hour when I recognized the spot
where Captain Riggs had crawled into the brush to rest, and I began to
complain loudly and made as much noise as possible, hoping that the
captain and Rajah might still be concealed near by.
"Keep close!" yelled Petrak, as I let the rope tighten and hung back.
"Get along or I'll flay ye alive!" thundered Thirkle, which was what I
wanted him to do.
"Then don't let those low limbs fly back on me," I cried as loudly as I
dared without exciting their suspicion of my purpose. "They knock me off
my feet, and that's why I can't keep close up."
"Shut yer jaw," said Thirkle, and I stumbled along again, wondering what
had become of Captain Riggs, and wondering if he had been lured into the
jungle by the shots I had exchanged with Long Jim, and was lost.
I kept straining at the cords about me, but although I hurt the wounds on
my wrists until I was weak from pain, I could not free myself. If nothing
better offered, I was determined to make a dash at Thirkle if he freed my
hands to work at the boat. If I could not surprise him in the dark and
get hold of a knife or pistol, I could at least give him a fight even if
I died in a last attempt to save myself. I much preferred to die fighting
than at the end of a rope in the water, as Petrak had suggested.
I knew they would have to find the oars before they could get a boat
away, and the missing plugs might cause them a deal of trouble if they
launched the boats without noticing their loss. I hoped that I might find
a chance of escape in the darkness if the boat filled with them after
they got it into the water.
Finally we came to level ground, and I knew we were close to the beach,
for we could hear the rollers. The brush was thicker in the marsh, and we
got off the trail, but we could see patches of the moonlight on the water
ahead, and caught the white flash of the waves tumbling on the shingle.
Petrak left the bed of the brook and pushed his way straight ahead
through the dense foliage which shut us off from the beach. I fell and
made a great racket, setting up a wail about my leg and swearing that I
had broken it, and begging Thirkle to help me.
He struck at me with his thong, and, although he missed, I screamed at
the top of my voice, as a warning to Captain Riggs, in case he should be
lurking about. Besides, I hoped my play that I had been badly crippled
would give me a better opportunity to escape or to attack them, as they
would be more careless if they thought I was perfectly helpless.
"I'll give ye something to yell about soon," said Thirkle. "Just wait a
while and I'll give ye something to make a real fuss about. Maybe ye
think there's a ship near--maybe there is; but it won't do ye much good,
so let's not have any more of this bawling. I thought ye was gamer than
that, my fine Mr. Trenholm."
"Here we are, Thirkle!" cried Petrak, pushing the wall and bushes aside
and showing us the moonlit sea and the loom of the mainland shouldering
up into the stars. "It can't be far to the boats, Thirkle."
We went out into the still warm sand. The moon, lean in its first
quarter, hung over the top of the island, silvering the sand and playing
with the gaunt shadows of the palm-trees, distorting them into queer
shapes and making grotesque patterns under our feet. The breeze, the
snoring of the waves, the sense of freedom after the hot, reeking jungle,
refreshed me, and I almost forgot the doom that threatened. Thirkle stood
a minute and scanned the channel, muttering to himself.
"Looks all clear, sir," said Petrak.
"All clear, Reddy. Push on, lad; the boats are right ahead."
"Here we are, sir, all snug," called Petrak, and I saw the indistinct
pile in the shadow of the brush which marked the cache of boats.
"No matches, Reddy. Mind ye don't make a flash or we'll have some craft
on the prowl along here. We can't take any chances."
"Cut me loose from this cussed line, Thirkle. We can take a turn on a
tree and hold the writin' chap until we have need for him."
Thirkle cut him free from me, and they bound me to a broken palm-stump. I
pleaded to be put on the ground, complaining about my leg, and Petrak
finally wrapped the rope about my legs and threw me to the ground, more
to keep me quiet than to ease my supposed suffering. They left me laying
helpless in a thicket of young bamboo shoots, with my head and shoulders
in the sand. I managed to wriggle on my side so that I had view of the
boats, and, what was better, I got my teeth into the rope on my hands and
began gnawing it desperately.
"Which boat has the stores, Reddy? I'm twisted all around."
"The nighest, Thirkle. The nighest has the stores, and the other the
tackle."
"You go round the other side for the block, Reddy. We better take the
spare boat with us and set it adrift after we clear the channel, or load
it with stones and let it go down after we are clear of the island. Then
we'll get the wind and slip down the coast to the first native town.
That's better than waiting to be picked up and having to answer questions
that wouldn't carry by. No Manila-bound boat for us, to land about the
time the _Kut Sang_ was reported overdue."
"Right ye are, Thirkle," said Petrak, stumbling about in the dark. "It's
black as a Kroo boy in here," and presently he began to drag the block
through the dead leaves and brambles.
"'No need for the tackle, sir, once we get clear of the sand, in my mind.
We can skid 'em with oars, and lighten the stowed one--hey, Thirkle? I
ain't for leavin' no marks hereabouts, and we can drag some bushes over
the wake we leave in the sand, so--"
"We'll see about that when we get clear," said Thirkle gruffly. "Hold yer
lip now."
Thirkle was busy pulling the palm-leaves from the boats and clearing the
litter with which they had covered their cache. I could hear him tugging
at the sail which they had spread over the outer boat. The moonlight was
getting brighter, and more stars were coming out, and the jungle was
beginning to awaken. A lizard set up a monotonous croak in the branches
overhead, and insects and unseen things began to stir in the foliage.
"Blast this mess of halyards and gear Bucky strewed alongside--"
I heard Thirkle draw his breath sharply as he left the sentence
unfinished. He drew away from the boat in a quick, involuntary movement,
and I managed to twist my neck so that I could observe him. He stood
motionless for a minute, his figure a queer fretwork of light and shadow
from the creepers and palms.
"Reddy!" he called cautiously. "Oh, Petrak!" Something in his tones--a
suggestion of suspicion that everything was not right--thrilled me.
Petrak did not hear him as he was fumbling with the block in the sand and
muttered about a jammed rope.
"Petrak!"
"Aye," said Petrak. "I'll give ye a hand next minute, sir."
"Come here," commanded Thirkle with a hand on a pistol.
"What's up?" demanded Petrak, getting to his feet. "Can't ye start
it--what's wrong, Thirkle?"
"Come up here and haul out some of the gear in this boat--move navy
style, lad--we can't be wasting the whole night! Reach in there and
clear that mess of halyard."
But Petrak did not move. He knew something was wrong; but whether it was
Thirkle he feared, or what Thirkle seemed afraid of, I did not know. I
thought he suspected treachery.
"What's wrong, Thirkle?" he demanded.
"Come on up here, can't ye?"
"What ye want, Thirkle? No funny business for me. Speak out what ye want.
Ye ain't goin' to do me dirt, be ye, Thirkle--not Reddy?"
He was whining now, and he was in terror of Thirkle.
"Oh, shut up!" growled Thirkle. "It's nothing, but it give me a turn."
"What was it, Thirkle? What frightened ye?"
"I thought I put my hand into a mess of hair and--"
"Oh, ho!" laughed Petrak. "That's a ball of spun yarn Bucky left. It's
naught but spun yarn, Thirkle. I minded it myself," and Petrak turned
to the block again.
Thirkle moved toward the boat, saying something about how he was getting
old and nervous, and I saw him bend over the gunwale. I watched him
closely, for a hope had sprung up in my withered heart--a hope which I
hardly dared tell myself might possibly be true, after the train of
disasters which had overtaken me since I went aboard the _Kut Sang_.
I saw a form spurt up out of the boat, and, as it arose, like the
fountain that pops out of the sea after a shell strikes, there came a
heavy blow and a deep-throated grunt, followed by a hiss that was
merged with a shrill death-cry.
"Black devil! Black devil!" said Thirkle in a quiet, matter-of-fact way,
and then he began to sob and squirm; but the figure that had come up like
a jack-in-the-box held him pinned across the gunwale, with his shoulders
and arms inside the boat, and his legs writhing and thrashing in the dead
palm-leaves.
"What's wrong, Thirkle? What's wrong?" wailed Petrak.
He stood a second waiting for an answer, and then he started for the
boat, but stopped at the edge of the shadows.
"What's wrong, Thirkle? Sing out, can't ye? What's gone amiss?"
Thirkle's legs were quiet now, but I could hear his heavy breathing, and
it reminded me of the steam exhaust from an ice-factory.
In spite of the mystery about me, I set my brain to work trying to
remember what particular ice-factory sounded just like Thirkle's
breathing.
"I'll hold him, Rajah," said Captain Riggs. "Go get the other," and the
figure of the Malay boy sprang from the boat and leaped toward Petrak.
The little red-headed man gave an incoherent gurgle, and he took to his
heels down the beach. Rajah let him go, and ran to me, where I was
tossing about like a dying fish. He hissed to me and swiftly cut me free,
and I rushed to the boats, with a tangle of rope still clinging to my
feet.
"Captain Riggs," I cried, "it is I, Trenholm!" and he lifted his hand
from the shoulder of the dying Thirkle and took mine.
"All's well," he said calmly. "Glad to see ye alive, Mr. Trenholm. I gave
ye up, and we came back here and went to sleep in the boat, but Rajah was
on watch when he heard ye coming back, and I guess he's made an end of
this beauty. Here, strike a match and let's look at him."
I held the flame down to Thirkle's face, and his clenched teeth grinned
at me through snarling, open lips, but his eyes were glazed with death.
We stripped him of his arms and lay him down in the palm-leaves, quite
dead.
"Did that other rascal get away?" asked Riggs. "We'll have to wait a bit
and see if we can't find him. But probably we better get to sea. Ye know
where ye left the plugs and oars? That little red-headed chap can't do
much harm, and if he gets away we'll find him some day. We'll be back
here in the shake of a lamb's tail, anyhow."
We rigged the tackle and hauled the boat into the sand with little
trouble, and, while Rajah held her on an even keel, we tugged at the
painter and soon had the water lapping at her bows. The stock of
provisions and water was restowed, and then we smashed the extra boat and
took the oars. We covered Thirkle with sand, but Riggs said he would
carry him back to Manila with the gold.
Rajah was in the boat, and we were prying it off the shingle and waiting
for a favouring wave when we were startled with a hail from the jungle.
"Cap'n Riggs! Oh, Cap'n Riggs!"
"Who's there?" I shouted, although I knew.
"Petrak--don't leave me here, cap'n! Take me away from this cussed
place--please, sir, please. I'll be good, only don't leave me on the
beach--I'll die afore mornin', sir."
We took him. He came creeping out of the jungle, sniffling and wailing,
and begging not to be hanged, and saying Thirkle and the others had done
it all. We bundled him into the bows, telling him he was a dead man if he
made a suspicious move; but the little cur never had enough courage to
fight unless he could stab a man in the back.
Once in the channel we filled away to the south, scooting past the black
upper-works of the _Kut Sang_, as we caught a stiff breeze from the
north. Then Captain Riggs made me sleep.
It was long after daylight when the captain shook me, and right over us
was a square-rigged ship. She was hanging in stays, and a boat was coming
to us from her when I looked over the gunwale. She was an oil-carrier
from Kobe to Manila.
"Four men out of the _Kut Sang_, ashore on a reef," said Captain Riggs,
as we went over her side. "You may put the red-headed gentleman in irons,
if you please, sir. Thank you."
And so we went back to Manila, where Petrak was hanged, and the only men
who ever sailed with the Devil's Admiral and lived to tell of it were
Captain Riggs, and Rajah, and myself, and the story was not written until
after Captain Riggs had fallen asleep under the poplars of his Maine home
and forgot to awaken. As I write the last of the tale, the wind howls in
the chimney, and the fleecy fog is coming over Russian Hill from the
Pacific, and hiding the ships in San Francisco Bay, and the last sheets
from my pen are gathered up by Rajah, wearing in his girdle the kris that
killed Thirkle.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Devil's Admiral, by Frederick Ferdinand Moore