“Well, young man, I guess you won’t be sorry to get those ropes
off.”
Jack looked up from the uneasy slumber into which he had fallen to
find Chief Officer Mulliner looking down rather quizzically at him.
His ankles and wrists felt as if they had been seared by hot irons.
With the tide of his returning memory he recalled dropping off to
sleep soon after the mysterious shot had been fired. And now here
was Mulliner, knife in hand, and looking quite amiable, ready to set
him free.
“You can cut the ropes as soon as you like Mr. Mulliner,” he said
with alacrity, “but what has happened?”
“The captain has come to his senses again,” was the rejoinder in a
rather uneasy tone, as Mr. Mulliner cut at the ropes, keeping at the
work till Jack was free.
“I thought--that is I am sure I heard a shot in the night,” pursued
Jack.
The officer’s reticence increased.
“That was nothing,” he said. “I wouldn’t be too curious. Just be
glad that the captain has ordered you set at liberty.”
“He had no right to ever order me confined,” cried Jack hotly.
“That’s as it may be. On the high seas whatever he says goes.
However, my advice is to keep quiet about this incident. I’m sure
the skipper will.”
“I’ll not keep quiet about it,” protested Jack vigorously, “it was
an outrage. I shall report it to the owners.”
“If you do you’ll only get a reputation as a trouble-maker, and that
is a bad thing for a young man to have,” was the reply. “Captain
Briggs is not regularly employed by the Jukes’ concern, and he would
care little about anything you might say. He was just picked up, as
you may say, to run the _Cambodian_ to Rotterdam and back till one
of their own captains gets off the sick list.”
This put things in a new light. Jack thought deeply as he sat on the
edge of his bunk chafing his burning wrists to restore circulation.
After delivering his advice, Mr. Mulliner had taken his departure.
“This is surely a strange ship and a strange voyage,” thought the
boy, “and I’ve got a notion that the end isn’t yet, by a long way.
There’s some mystery about that shot in the night too. I mean to
find out what it was. Anyhow, I’m at liberty again and I suppose
that, as Mulliner said, my best plan is not to cross the captain
more than I can help, and wait my opportunity to get back at him for
all he has made me suffer.”
Then came the thought of Raynor. Jack, although he was famished for
food, sat down at the wireless key and sent out broadcast inquiries.
But although he talked to a dozen ships, passenger vessels and
freighters like the _Cambodian_, none reported picking up a
castaway. It was with a heavy heart indeed that Jack turned away
from his instruments.
His appetite was gone, but he told himself that he must eat. He made
his way below. Breakfast was over but the German steward made him
some hot coffee and got some rolls. While Jack ate, the man, who was
a garrulous fellow, talked.
“Dot vos fine diddings vot vee haf py der nightdt ain’d idt?” he
began.
“How do you mean?” asked Jack.
“Vot, you ain’t heard alretty. Vale der captain’s be py his bunk mit
a bullet in his shoulder. He haf fights midt der man vot vos in der
grows nest. Der captain say he haf him pudt in irons for not
sighding der iceberg more quivicker. Der man get madt undt der
captain try to shoodt him. In der struggle der pisdol goes off and
hits der captain. Der man is a prisoner. He goes by chail ven ve
gedt to Rotterdam.”
“How do the crew take it?” asked Jack, recollecting what the man
Andrews had said in the night.
“Dey is very quiedt.”
“Nobody saying anything?”
“Nodt a vurd. Budt dey visper among demselves. Dot badt sign. Vunce
pefore I vos on a ship vere der crew visper. Dere vos murder done
pefore vee made port.”
“Oh, well, there’s nothing like that here,” said Jack with a breezy
confidence he was far from feeling. “It’s true our crew is a mixed
lot, but I don’t think there’ll be any serious trouble.”
He returned to the wireless room and spent the rest of the forenoon
talking to various ships. The ice-patrol reports showed that the
bergs had been left behind. The young operator carried his reports
to Mr. Mulliner. Captain Briggs did not appear on the bridge till
the next day. Then he carried his arm in a sling. From his friend,
the steward, Jack learned that the wound was only a flesh one, the
bullet having passed right through without lodging.
The remainder of the voyage to Rotterdam was without incident. The
crew went about their tasks dutifully but without a word. A sullen
silence was over them. Jack felt that, despite the apparent air of
peace, a volcano was smoldering under their feet that was ready to
break at any moment. He was glad when they tied up at Rotterdam and
he was free for a run ashore. But the sight of the country saddened
him. It reminded him of the time he and Raynor had spent such a
happy time sight-seeing when on his first voyage the _Ajax_ had
docked at Antwerp.
Where was Raynor now? Curiously enough Jack could not bring himself
to the belief that his shipmate and chum was dead. But he thought of
him almost constantly. He bought lots of postcards and mailed them
home and received some mail, too. Among the latter, which had come
by fast mail steamer and reached port three days ahead of the
_Cambodian_, was a letter from Uncle Toby that puzzled Jack
considerably.
“Deer buoy”--it read,--“here’s hopping yew will sune be hoam.
Strainge things have been hapning. Capun Walters has gone to glory
but--lef me die-and-gram and much infumachun erbout sum berried
trezer. Leastwayz itz not berried but hidun. If I kan find it we
will be rich, so hurry back, your affeckshonite unkil Toby.”
“Now, what wonderful scheme is this?” said Jack to himself, with a
half smile, and speedily forgot the matter, for Uncle Toby was
prolific of fortune making plans and usually had a fresh one to
broach to Jack after every voyage. Jack would have liked to go to
Antwerp to visit the good friends that he and Raynor had made there
as a sequel to a surprising night adventure, the details of which
were related in the first volume of this series. But he felt that he
could not face them with the story of the young engineer’s loss; for
even Jack was beginning to lose hope by this time.
There was little to do while the ship was in port, and Jack devoted
a good deal of time to putting the finishing touches on his portable
wireless set. Captain Briggs was ashore most of the time, coming
back to the ship usually late at night and walking none too
steadily. His wound had long since healed and the man who had
inflicted it had been tried. But owing to some peculiarity of
foreign law, he was acquitted. Jack was not sorry when he heard
this, for he had come to regard the captain as a coarse, brutal
bully, whose excesses only made him the more truculent. As to Jack’s
imprisonment, it had not been referred to by the captain and Jack
felt inclined to take the chief officer’s advice when his wrath
cooled and let “sleeping dogs lie.”
Thus matters stood one evening when Jack, who had been into the town
to a moving picture show, was making his way back to the ship. The
docks were dark, forbidding places at night. Here and there a
sputtering arc light hung from a gloomy warehouse. But these lights
only made little islands of light, outside which the shadows lay
blacker and thicker than ever.
Brawls were of frequent occurrence among the foreign sailors, and
altogether the place bore a bad reputation. As Jack came out of a
narrow alley between two warehouses he became aware of a figure
skulking along ahead of him.
There was something indescribably furtive and suspicious in the way
in which this man crept along, hugging the wall and gazing straight
ahead of him. A filtering ray of light struck his head for an
instant and Jack saw that in the man’s ears were earrings such as
Spanish sailors wear.
The next instant he saw another figure still further in advance. As
it passed under a light he recognized the stocky form and unsteady
gait of Captain Briggs. At the same instant it flashed across him
that the man with the earrings was Baden Alvarez, the sailor who had
had the tussle with the captain in which the latter was shot.
“Is he after revenge or what?” Jack wondered as he drew into a
slight recess in the wall as Alvarez turned a corner and still
skulked on like some wild beast stalking its prey.
“It sure looks as if there was going to be trouble,” the boy said to
himself. “Guess I’ll just follow along and be handy in case of
mischief. Confound it, I wish I’d brought a gun, as this Alvarez is
said to be an ugly customer.”
But, after all, like most healthy American boys, Jack had no love
for firearms. He preferred to use his fists when the occasion arose
and he knew that at the end of each of his stout arms he had a
formidable weapon.
Along the dark docks the strange trio strung their way. In the lead
Captain Briggs rolled along, sometimes bawling out snatches of sea
songs, behind him, and creeping closer all the time, came Alvarez
and, last of all, Jack, his every muscle and sense tensed for the
climax that he felt must come now at almost any instant.
Suddenly, like a wild cat, the Spaniard darted forward. He flung his
lithe form on the stout captain, taking him utterly by surprise.
Jack, in the little light there was, caught the gleam of an upraised
knife as he dashed toward the spot where Captain Briggs was
struggling with his foe.
“Help!” roared the captain, but the cry was choked back in his
windpipe as the Spaniard’s long, muscular fingers closed on the
seaman’s throat.
“There ees no help for you,” snarled Alvarez, “for put me in preeson
I keel you. I am Catalonian; we never for-geeve or forget.”
He raised his knife high, but the next instant a violent blow caught
him under the chin and gave him the impression he had been struck by
a pile driver. The knife went whirling out of his hand and fell,
with a metallic ring, on a cement string piece some distance away.
“Caramba!” howled the Spaniard, holding his jaw.
Captain Briggs still lay sprawling on the dock. He was still only
half aware of what was going on.
“Come, get up, captain,” said Jack, extending a hand. As he did so
Alvarez made a rush for the young operator who had put his plans of
revenge to rout. But again Jack was prepared for him. In his pocket
he had a small nickel plated wrench. He held this like a pistol and
pointed it straight at Alvarez, who had produced another knife.
“Stand where you are!” exclaimed the boy, “or take the
consequences.”
The Spaniard stopped.
“Now, then, hands up,” ordered Jack, and then turned to the captain.
“Captain, I see some rope over there. Will you borrow it and tie
that rascal up while I keep him covered.”
The captain rose to his feet blinking, but he managed to get through
his muddled intellect what Jack wanted him to do. In five minutes
Alvarez was tied securely.
“Now, then, quick march,” said Jack, getting behind him.
“Where you teek me?” sputtered the Spaniard.
“To the ship. In the morning you will be lodged in jail, I hope.”
As they advanced to the ship, which lay two piers away, Jack
explained to the captain the narrow escape he had had. The captain
thanked him with maudlin tears, which rather disgusted Jack. When
the ship was reached the captain reeled off to bed while Jack placed
Alvarez forward under the guard of two men.
“He’ll be all right till morning,” he said to himself, but when
morning came, Alvarez was gone.
The ropes that had bound him had been cut. They lay on the deck with
cleanly severed ends.
Jack cross-examined the two sailors, set to guard him, severely.
Both protested vigorously they had not taken their eyes off him all
night. But Jack, of course, knew better. He knew, too, that among
the superstitious sailors Alvarez, on account of certain claims he
made to being a wizard, had much influence. It was certain he had
escaped with the connivance of the crew.
“Well, good riddance of bad rubbish,” commented Jack to himself,
little dreaming that he was destined to encounter Alvarez again.