THE BAD SHIP “PEABODY”
Daniel Sweetland had decided on his course of action before he bade
his wife farewell. Now he rode back to Furnum Regis, found the King’s
Oven empty as he expected, and turned his horse’s head to the south.
He crossed the main road, struck down a saddle path, and presently
approached Vitifer Mine. Here the land was cut and broken into wild chaos
of old-time excavations and deep natural gulleys and fissures. The place
was dangerous, for terrific disused shafts opened here, and a network of
rails and posts marked the more perilous tracts and kept the cattle out.
Sweetland knew this region well, and now, dismounting, he led his horse
to a wide pit known as Wall Shaft Gully, and tethered it firmly where
miners, going to their work, must see it on the following morning. An
ancient adit lined with granite yawned below, and local report said that
it was unfathomable. Two years before a man had accidentally destroyed
himself by falling into it, and though the fact was known, the nature of
the place made it impossible to recover his corpse.
Now Daniel took a pencil and paper from his pocket. Then, under the
waning moon, he wrote the words “Good-bye, all. Let Sim break it to my
wife--D. Sweetland.” Next he took a stick, stuck it up, and set his
message in a cleft of it; and lastly he kicked and broke the soil at
the edge of the shaft, so that it should seem he had cast himself in
with reluctance. That done, he set out for Plymouth at his best pace,
consulted his watch, and saw that if all went well he might reach the
shelter of the streets by four o’clock in the morning.
That information respecting his escape must be there before him, he knew.
As soon as the police reached Princetown, telegrams would fly to Exeter
and Plymouth and elsewhere. But Daniel trusted that early news would
come from the Moor. Then, if once it was supposed that he had committed
suicide, the severity of the search was certain to relax.
His estimate of the distance to be travelled proved incorrect, and the
runaway found himself surprised by the first grey of morning long before
he had reached the skirts of the town. He turned, therefore, into the
deep woods that lie among those outlying fortresses which surround the
great seaport, and near the neighbourhood of Marsh Mills, where the
river Plym runs by long, shining reaches to the sea, Daniel hid close
under an overhanging bank beside the water. Here he was safe enough,
and saw no sign of life but the trout that rose beneath him. The food
that Minnie made him carry was soon gone, and another nightfall found
Sweetland ravenous. At dusk he lowered himself to the river and drank his
fill, but not until midnight was past did he leave his snug holt and set
forth again.
By three o’clock on the following morning he was in Plymouth, and turned
his steps straightway to the Barbican. For Daniel sought a ship. He had
debated of all possibilities, and even thought of hiding upon the Moor
and letting Minnie feed him by night, until the truth of Thorpe’s murder
came to be known; but the futility of such a course was manifest. To
intervene actively must be impossible for him without discovery; he felt
it wiser, therefore, to escape beyond reach of danger for the present.
Then, once safe, he hoped to communicate with his friends and hear from
them concerning their efforts to prove his innocence.
The Barbican grew out of dawn gradually, and its picturesqueness and
venerable details stood clear cut in the light of morning. It woke
early, and Daniel hastened where a coffee-stall on wheels crept down to
the quay from an alley-way that opened there. He was the first customer,
and he made a mighty breakfast, to the satisfaction of the merchant.
Daniel was cooling his third cup when other wayfarers joined him. Some
were fishermen about to sail on the tide; some were Spanish boys, just
setting out on their rounds with ropes of onions; some were sailors from
the ships.
A thin, hatchet-faced man in jack-boots and a blue jersey attracted
Daniel. He wore his hair quite long in oily ringlets; gold gleamed in his
ears; his jaws were clean-shaven, and his teeth were yellow.
“Have any of you chaps seen a Judas-coloured man this morning?” he asked
of the company. “His name’s Jordan, and he carries a great red beard
afore him, and the Lord knows where he’s got to. Went off his ship last
night and never came back.”
A fisherman was able to give information.
“I seed the very man last night. He was drinking along with some pals and
females at the ‘Master Mariner’--that publichouse at the corner. He’s got
into trouble, mister.”
“Of course, of course; I might have knowed it. He’s a man so fiery as his
colour. Have they locked him up?”
“That I couldn’t tell you. There was a regular upstore an’ pewter mugs
flying like birds. First a woman scratched the man’s face; then three
chaps went for him all at once. The police took him away, but whether
he’s to the lock-up or the hospital I couldn’t tell ’e. One or t’other
for sartain.”
The sailor with the earrings showed no great regret.
“Let him stop there, the cranky, spit-firing varmint. But we sail after
midday on the tide, and the question is where am I going to pick up a
carpenter’s mate between now and then?”
“What’s your ship?” asked Daniel Sweetland.
“The _Peabody_, bound for the West Indies, and maybe South America after.”
“How long will you be away from England?”
“Can’t say to a month. Might be twelve weeks, might be twenty; but most
like we shall be home by end of February.”
“I’ll come,” said Daniel. “I want a ship, an’ I want it quick.”
“D’you know your job?”
“Ess, fay; an’ what I don’t know I’ll larn afore we’m off the Eddystone
light-house.”
“Come on then,” answered the other. “I’m in luck seemingly. You’re all
right--eh? Ban’t running away from anybody?”
“I’m running away from my wife,” answered Daniel, frankly.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, well, that’s a home affair--your business, not mine. Sometimes
there’s nought better than a bit of widowhood for females. You’ll make
friends when you go back, no doubt.”
“Very likely we shall.”
“There was one man shipped with me who told that story, and I thought no
more of it at the time. But afterwards I found that the chap had murdered
his missis afore he ran away from her. You haven’t done that, I hope?”
“No, no--just left her for her good for the present,” explained Daniel.
“And who be you, if I may ax?”
“My name is James Bradley, and I’m mate of the _Peabody_,” answered his
companion. “I’ll not deceive you. I’m offering you nothing very well
worth having. The _Peabody’s_ an old tank steamer, and rotten as an
over-ripe pear. Sometimes I think the rats will put their paws through
her bottom afore long. A bad, under-engined, under-manned ship.”
“Why do you sail in her then?”
“That’s not here or there. I’m mate, and men will risk a lot for power.
Besides, I’m a philosopher, if you know what that is, and I’ve got a
notion, picked up in the East, that what will happen will happen. If I’m
going to be drowned, I shall be drowned. Therefore, by law an’ logic, I’m
as safe in the _Peabody_ as I should be in a battleship. But perhaps your
mind is not used to logic?”
“Never heard of it,” said Daniel.
“I’ll larn you,” answered Mr Bradley. “There’s the ship alongside that
quay. I’ll lay you never saw a uglier.”
The _Peabody_ was not an attractive craft, but Daniel had no eye for a
ship and merely regarded the steamer as an ark of refuge until better
days might dawn. She lay low in the water, had three naked, raking masts,
and bluff bows. Her engines were placed right aft. The well of the ship
was not five feet above the water-line.
Mr Bradley, ignorant of the fact that the new carpenter’s mate had seldom
seen a ship in his life, and never been upon one, supposed that Daniel
was taking in the steamer with a sailor’s eye.
“A better weather boat than you’d think, for all she’s so low. Ten knots
with a fair wind. We’re taking out a mixed cargo and we shall bring back
all sorts and probably cruise around on the South American coast till we
can fill up somehow.”
“What sort of a captain have you got?”
“A very good old man. Too good for most of us. A psalm-smiter, in fact.”
“I’ll come an’ see the captain, an’ have a bit more breakfast, if you’ve
no objection,” said Daniel.
“He won’t be there. He’s along with his wife and family at Devonport.
He’ll only come aboard an hour afore we sail. But I’m in command now.
We’ll sign you on right away. What sort of a sailor are you?”
“Never knowed what it was to be sea-sick in my life,” said Daniel,
laughing to himself at the joke.
“Lucky for you. The _Peabody_ finds the weak spots in a man’s system when
she’s in a beam sea--that I promise you. I’m always ill for a week after
I’ve been ashore a fortnight. Here’s Chips.”
The man addressed as “Chips” was standing at the entrance of the
forecastle as Bradley and Daniel crossed a gangway and arrived on the
deck of the ship.
He came forward to the mate.
“Have ’e heard or seen aught of Jordan?” he asked.
“Seen nought; heard all I want to hear. He’s either in hospital or
police-station. There won’t be time for him to come back now, even if
he wants to. Tell the boy to pack his kit-bag and send it ashore to the
‘Master Mariner.’ They’ll know where he’s been taken. And this man has
come in his place. What’s your name, my son?”
“Bob Bates.”
“Come and eat your breakfast, Bob Bates,” said the carpenter. “Then I’ll
find you plenty to do afore we sail.”
“I’m a thought out of practice, but I’ll soon get handy,” answered Daniel.
“Where’s your papers?” asked the mate.
“Haven’t got none,” answered the other.
“Old man will never take you without papers.”
The carpenter, who liked the look of his new mate, intervened. “Leave
that, Bradley. Cap’n will listen to me, if not to you. Seeing this man
ships in such a hell of a hurry, ’twill be all right. Then, if he’s the
proper sort, old man will soon forget.”
“You can pretend I’m a stowaway an’ not find me till we’re out to sea,”
suggested Daniel.
“No need, no need; ’twill be all right,” answered the other.
Time proved that the carpenter of the _Peabody_ was correct. His injured
mate did not reappear, and in the hurry of sailing no questions were
asked. That night, in a weak ship rolling gunwales under, Sweetland made
acquaintance with the ailment he had never known, and Mr Bradley, who
found him under the light of an oil lamp in an alley-way, regarded the
prostrate wreck of Daniel with gloomy triumph.
“I told you as this ship would twist your innards about a bit. I’m awful
bad myself. Drink a pint of sea-water; ’tis the only thing to do. If it
don’t kill you, it cures you.”
The landsman grunted inarticulately. He was thinking that to perish
ashore, even with infamy, would be better than the dreadful death that
now prepared to overtake him.
But after twenty-four hours the _Peabody_ was ship-shape and panting
solidly along on an even keel. Daniel quickly recovered, and what he
lacked in knowledge he made up in power to learn and power to please.
Chips, of course, discovered that his new mate was no carpenter, and
Bradley also perceived that Daniel had never been to sea before. But your
land-lubber, if he be made of the right stuff, will often get on with
a ship’s company better than a seasoned salt. Sweetland was unselfish,
hard-working, and civil. The men liked him, and the captain liked him. He
prospered and kept his own dark cares hidden.
To detail at length the life on shipboard is not necessary, since no
events of importance occurred to be chronicled, and within a few weeks
of sailing, accident withdrew Sweetland from the _Peabody_ for ever. The
usual experience befell him; the wonders of the deep revealed themselves
to him for the first time; but only one thing that the sea gave up
interested Sweetland, and that chanced to be an English newspaper. It
happened thus. When off the Azores on the Sunday after sailing, a big
steamer overhauled the _Peabody_, went past her as if she was standing
still, and in two hours was hull down again on the horizon.
“’Tis the _Don_,” said Bradley. “One of the Royal Mail boats from
Southampton for Barbados and Jamaica.”
Sweetland frowned to himself and wondered how it came about that the
vessel’s name should be familiar to him. Then he remembered that it had
entered his ear before the tragedy. Henry Vivian intended to sail by this
ship. Doubtless he was on her now.
The liner passed within two hundred yards of the tramp. Then, just as
she drew ahead, somebody pitched a newspaper over her taffrail into the
water. It was crumpled up, and the sea being smooth, the journal floated,
and a current drifted it across the bows of the _Peabody_. A man forward
saw it, guessed that it contained later news than any on the ship, and
prepared to fish it up. Three sailors with lines were ready for the
floating paper as it passed the side of the steamer, and the second
angler secured it. It proved to be _The Times_ of a date one day later
than the sailing of the _Peabody_.
The journal was carefully dried and then, in turn, each man who cared to
do so studied it at leisure.
For Daniel Sweetland it contained one highly interesting paragraph, and
he smiled to see how successful his crude deception had proved.
The item of news may be reproduced, for it defines the supposed situation
left behind by Sweetland, and fittingly closes this chapter of his life’s
story.
“THE TRAGEDY ON DARTMOOR
“A sensational sequel is reported to the arrest of the man
Daniel Sweetland on his wedding day. It will be remembered
that Sweetland, a notorious poacher, was suspected--on the
evidence of his own gun--to have murdered a gamekeeper in
the woods of Middlecott Court estate near the little town
of Moretonhampstead, Devon. Three officers arrested him and
started to convey him to Plymouth. But accident detained the
party in the lonely central region of the Moor, and their horse
falling lame, they spent some time at a solitary publichouse
known as the Warren Inn. Here Sweetland, taking the police into
his confidence, confessed to being an accomplice in the recent
famous burglary at Westcombe--the seat of the Giffards not far
distant from Middlecott Court.…”
The journal, after giving a very accurate account of all that had
happened at Furnum Regis, proceeded--
“The hoodwinked officers lost no time in reaching Princetown,
and from the convict establishment at that village, telegraphic
communication was set up with the neighbouring districts. But
early morning brought the sequel to the incident, for at dawn
certain labourers proceeding to their work in Vitifer Mine,
some few miles from the King’s Oven, discovered the horse on
which Sweetland had ridden off. It was tethered in the midst
of a wild and savage region full of old workings, where lie
some tremendous and unfathomable shafts, sunk in past years
but long deserted. Here the unfortunate poacher appears to
have deliberately taken his own life, for at the head of the
Wall Shaft Gully--a famous chasm which has already claimed
human victims in the past--a stake was discovered with a letter
fastened to the top of it. The words inscribed thereon ran as
follows:--‘_Good-bye all. Let Sim break news to my wife.--D.
Sweetland._’ The writing bears traces of great agitation, but
those familiar with Sweetland’s penmanship are prepared to
swear that these pathetic syllables were actually written by
him. Absolute proof, however, is impossible, since the profound
depths of the Wall Shaft Gully cannot be entered. In the case
of an accident during 1883, when a shepherd was seen to fall
in, all efforts to recover his body proved fruitless, owing
to the fact that foul air is encountered at a depth of about
one hundred yards beneath the surface of the ground. The man
‘Sim’ alluded to in the poacher’s last message is a footman
at Middlecott Court, and appears to have been Sweetland’s
only friend. We understand that he has carried out the trust
imparted to him by his ill-fated companion. Search at the
King’s Oven has proved unavailing. It is clear that no treasure
of any kind was secreted there.”
“That’s all right,” said Daniel. “Now the sooner I get back to help ’em
find out who killed Thorpe, the better. If I’d known that ’twould all
work out so suent an’ easy, I’d not have gone at all. If it weren’t for
the thought of Minnie an’ mother, I could laugh.”