ANOTHER STOWAWAY
Southward ho! Before the trade winds we scudded day after day, past
Catalina Island and San Diego, past Santa Margarita lying like a fog
bank on the offing, out into the warm sunshine of the tropical Pacific.
We promised ourselves that after the treasure had been lifted and we
were headed again for the Golden Gate, our sails should have a chance to
show what they could do alone, but now Blythe was using all his power to
drive the _Argos_ forward.
What plans Bothwell might have we did not know, but we were taking no
chances of reaching Doubloon Spit too late. If we succeeded in getting
what we had come after there would be plenty of time to dawdle.
No days in my life stand out as full of enjoyment as those first ones
off the coast of Lower California and Mexico. Under a perfect sky we
sailed serenely. Our fears of Bothwell had vanished. We had shaken him
off and held the winning hand in the game we had played with him. The
tang of the sea spume, of the salt-laden spray was on our lips; the
songs of youth were in our hearts.
Every hour that I was not on duty, except those given to necessary
sleep, I spent in the company of Evelyn Wallace. Usually her aunt was
also present, and either Blythe or Yeager. That did not matter in the
least, so long as my golden-brown beauty was near, so long as I could
watch the dimples flash in her cheeks and the little nose crinkle to
sudden mirth, or could wait for the sweep of the long lashes that would
bring round to mine the lovely eyes, tender and merry and mocking by
turns.
Faith, I'll make a clean breast of it. I was already fathoms deep in
love, and my lady did not in the least particularly seem to favor me.
There were moments when hope was strong in me. I magnified a look, a
word, the eager life in her, to the significance my heart desired, but
reason told me that she gave the same friendly comradeship to Blythe and
Yeager.
It is possible that the absorption in this new interest dulled my
perception of external matters. So at least Sam hinted to me one night
after the ladies had retired. Mott was at the wheel, a game of solitaire
in the smoking room claimed Yeager. Blythe and I were tramping the deck
while we smoked.
"Notice anything peculiar about the men to-day and yesterday, Jack?" he
asked in a low voice.
We were for the moment leaning against the rail, our eyes on the
phosphorescent light that gleamed on the waves.
"No-o. Can't say that I have. Why?"
He smiled.
"Thought perhaps you hadn't. When man's engaged----"
"What!" I interrupted.
"---- engaged in teaching a pretty girl how to steer, he doesn't notice
little things he otherwise might."
"Such as----" I suggested.
He looked around to make sure we were alone.
"There's something in the wind. I don't know what it is."
"Something to do with the crew?"
"Yes. They know something about the reason why we're making this trip.
You haven't talked, of course?"
"No."
"Nor Miss Wallace? Perhaps her aunt----"
"It doesn't seem likely. Whom would she talk to?"
"Some of the men may have overheard a sentence or two. The point is that
they are talking treasure in the f'c'sle. Morgan got it from Higgins."
"From the cook?"
"Yes. Afterward the man was sorry he had spoken. He's the type that
can't keep a secret. Some of it is bound to leak out in his talk."
"Couldn't Morgan find out where Higgins learned what he knows?"
"No. I had him try. The man was frightened about what he had already
said. He wouldn't say another word. That doesn't look well."
After a moment of reflection I spoke.
"Perhaps Bothwell may have told some of the men before we started. I saw
him talking to a man that looked like our chief engineer."
"When was that?"
I told in detail about my meeting with Bothwell on the wharf. Of course
I had mentioned the occurrence at the time, but without referring to
Fleming.
"Yes, he may have told Fleming about it, but----"
The uncompleted sentence suggested his doubt.
"You think he isn't the man to give away anything without a good
reason?"
"You've said it."
"Of course it's really no business of the crew what we are going after."
"True enough, but we agreed among ourselves to tell them at the last
moment and in such a way as to enlist them as partners with us. Unless I
guess wrong, their feeling is sullenness. They think we're after booty
in which they have no share."
"They'll feel all the kinder to us when we let them know that a
percentage of our profits is to go to the crew."
"Will they? I wonder."
He was plainly disturbed, more so than I could find any justification
for in the meager facts and surmises he had just confided to me.
"What is troubling you? What are you afraid of?"
"I can't put a name to my feeling, but I jolly well wish they didn't
know. Seamen are a rough lot and they get queer ideas."
"You don't imagine for an instant that they'll maroon us and hoist the
Jolly Roger, do you?" I asked with a laugh.
He did not echo my laugh.
"No, but I don't like it. I thought we had the game in our own hands,
and now I find the crew has notions, too."
"Don't you think you're rather overemphasizing the matter, Sam?"
"Perhaps I am." He appeared to shake off his doubts. "In fact, I'm
pretty sure I am. But I thought it best to mention the thing to you."
"Glad you did. We'll keep an eye open and, if there's any trouble, nip
it in the bud."
This was easy enough to say, but the event proved far otherwise. Within
twenty-four hours we were to learn that serious trouble was afoot.
It was midday of a Saturday, and the sky was clear and cloudless as
those which had gone before. During the forenoon we had been doing a
steady fifteen knots, but there had been some slight trouble with the
engines and we were now making way with the sails alone while the
engineers overhauled the machinery.
Yeager and I were standing near the cook's scuppers fishing for shark
with fat pork for bait. More than once I had caught the flash of a
white-bellied monster, but Mr. Shark was wary about taking chances.
Dugan, our carpenter, stopped as he was passing, apparently to watch us.
Glancing at him I noticed something in his face that held my eyes.
"There's trouble afoot, Mr. Sedgwick," he broke out in a low, jerky
voice. "For God's sake, make a chance for me to talk to you or Captain
Blythe!"
The cook came out of his galley at that moment. My wooden face told no
tales.
"No chance. The beggar's too shy. I've had enough. How about you,
Yeager?"
"Me to," the Arizonian laughed easily, and he hauled up the line.
I strolled forward to the pilot house, stopping to chat for an instant
with Miss Berry, who lay in a steamer chair under the awning. For I had
no intention of letting the men suspect that Dugan had told me anything
of importance.
Blythe was at the wheel. I told him what Dugan had said. Our captain did
not turn a hair.
"There's a shingle loose on the edge of the roof. Call Dugan to nail it
tight."
The carpenter brought a hammer and nails. Tom Yeager meanwhile was
sitting on a coil of rope talking to Caine. His laughter rippled up to
us care-free as that of a schoolboy. He never even glanced our way, but
I knew he would be ready when we needed him.
The captain turned the wheel over to me and stepped outside of the
wheelhouse. Three or four of the men were lounging about the deck. So
far as they could see, Blythe was directing the carpenter about the
work and the latter was explaining how it could be best done.
"Keep cool, my man. Don't let them guess what you are saying," the
Englishman advised, lighting a cigar.
"What have you to tell me?"
"Mutiny, sir. That's what it is. We're after treasure. That's the story
I've heard, and the men mean to take the ship."
I thought of Evelyn and her aunt, and my heart sank.
Sam stretched his arms and yawned.
"When?"
"Don't know, sir. I've picked up only a little here and there. Caine
came to me this morning and asked me if I would go in with them."
Dugan drove two nails into the shingle.
"Do you know which of the men are stanch?"
"No, sir. Can't say as I do, outside of Alderson. Tom's all right."
"What about arms?"
"They have plenty. They've been packed in a bulkhead, but Fleming and
Caine gave them out to the men this morning."
"The deuce! That looks ugly. They must be getting ready for business
soon. If Caine approaches you again, fall in with his plans. Find out
all you can, especially what men we can rely on. That will do."
"Yes, sir."
As soon as the man had gone the captain turned to me with a fighting
gleam in his quiet eyes.
"Well, Jack, it's worse by a devilish lot than I had thought. We're in
for mutiny. I wouldn't ask for anything better than a turn with these
wharf rats if it weren't for the ladies. But with them aboard it's
different. Wish I knew when Mr. Caine intends to set the match to the
powder."
"What's the matter with my going down into the men's quarters and having
a look around? I might stumble on some information worth while."
He shook his head.
"No, thanks. I need my second officer. If he went down there an accident
might happen to him--due to a fall down the stairway or something of the
sort."
"Then let me send Jimmie. Nobody would pay any attention to him. He
could go into their quarters without suspicion."
"It would be safe enough for him at present. Why not? Don't tell him too
much, Jack."
"Trust me."
Jimmie jumped at the chance to go sleuthing again. I had told him a
yarn about suspecting some of the men had whisky concealed in the ship.
He was away less than half an hour, but when he came back it was with a
piece of news most alarming.
"Mr. Sedgwick," he gasped, "you remember that big, black-faced guy you
set me trailing in 'Frisco--Captain what's-his-name--well, he's on this
ship sure as I'm a foot high!"
My heart lost a beat. "Certain of that, Jimmie?"
"Yep, it's a lead-pipe cinch. Saw him in the engine room talking to Mr.
Fleming. When he seen me Mr. Fleming called me to come down. But not for
Jimmie. He took a swift hike up the stairs."
The boy was all excitement. For that matter so was I, though I concealed
it better. If Bothwell were on board the ship as a stowaway the aspect
of affairs was more serious even than we had thought.
"You're sure it was Captain Bothwell, Jimmie?"
"Say, would I know me own mother? Would I know Jim Jeffries or Battling
Nelson if I got an eyeful of them walking down Market Street? Would I be
sure of the Chronicle Building if I set my peepers on it? Betcherlife."
"How was he dressed?"
"In sailors' slops. Didn't have on any coat. Wasn't right sure of him at
first, 'cause he's run a lawn mower over them whiskers of his. But this
guy's the original Bothwell all right, all right."
"Jimmie, listen to me. Don't whisper a word of this. Do you hear?"
"I'm a clam."
"And don't go exploring in that end of the ship again. Captain Bothwell
would as soon wring your neck as a chicken's, my boy. Keep away from the
forecastle."
Immediately I joined Blythe on the bridge and told him what Jimmie had
discovered.
The captain nodded.
"That explains what was puzzling us. Bothwell has been too shrewd for
us. He must have arranged it to throw his men in our way when we were
selecting a crew. The scoundrel is laughing in his sleeve at us because
we're taking him and his men at our expense to the treasure."
"He's diddled us beautifully," I admitted with a sour grin.
"I grant him one round. The man is dangerous as a wild beast that has
escaped from its cage. But we're warned now. If he bests us it's our own
fault."
"It will be a finish fight, no surrender and no quarter."
My friend nodded, his jaw gripped tight.
"You've said it."
"We've one advantage. All of us will stand together. He can't hold his
riffraff long. They will quarrel among themselves. Every day that passes
works in our favor."
"Right enough, but Bothwell knows this as well as we do. He'll move
soon. We've forced his hand by discovering his presence. Now he can't
let us get into port because he knows we would get help against him."
"That's true."
"Unless I guess wrong we'll hear from him inside of twenty-four hours."
"Since it has to be, the sooner the better."
Blythe shrugged his broad, lean shoulders coolly.
"What must be must. As for Captain Bothwell, I don't think he'll have an
easy time of it. If he doesn't like the treatment he's going to get
he'll have nobody to blame but himself. Nobody asked him on board."
"We must lose no time in making preparations to meet an attack."
"You're right. Tell Mr. Mott I wish to see him. Have Yeager look our
weapons over and make sure that they are loaded. Tell him to guard the
armory until further notice. Better give Morgan a revolver at once and
slip Dugan one if you can."
The flinty resolution in his eye warmed my heart. Man for man, I was
ready to back Blythe against Bothwell.
The Scotch-Russian had more of the devil in him, a starker cruelty, a
more blazing passion, and perhaps greater cunning; but if I read the
Englishman aright there was in him that same quiet force which carried
Captain Scott to the south pole and afterward gave to the world that
immortal letter, written in a bleak Antarctic waste of icy death.
Sam Blythe would play the game out steadily to a fighting finish.