A narrow canal that pierces an out-of-the-way corner of old Rotterdam.
Mediaeval houses--narrow, lofty, terminating in quaint, pointed
gables--overhang the sluggish waters. It is only frequented by the
picturesque native canal boats, with their lofty masts and varnished oak
sides, so marvellously clean, for all their dirty work. In this quiet
spot, with its old-world, decaying look, it is difficult to realise that
close at hand are the busy quays of the Boompjees, crowded with vessels
from all parts of the world, noisy with the haste of modern commerce.
It is a bit of Rotterdam that does not change. The British tourist,
unless he has lost himself, never explores the narrow alleys that lead
down to the slimy water--a gloomy, dead quarter of the city, pervaded by
a smell that is ancient and fish-like and something worse.
It was a sultry August midday. No breath of air stirred the water of the
canal, which seemed to be fermenting under the fierce sunshine, and foul
gases bubbled up on its surface.
Only one of the many vessels moored along the quay flew a foreign flag.
The blue ensign of Great Britain hung motionless from the mizzen of the
yacht _Petrel_.
On the deck was a sturdy little man in baggy trousers, who, despite the
languid influence of the day, was employed in polishing the brass-work
on the vessel with an extraordinary energy. This was Willem, the pilot's
cousin, who had entered into Carew's service, and who had, with Dutch
diligence, set himself the task of scrubbing the yacht up to his high
standard of Dutch smartness as quickly as possible.
The owner--by right of undisputed possession--was below, looking over
some charts of the South Atlantic, which he had just purchased. The
solicitor had been making all his preparations as rapidly but as quietly
as possible. But little now remained to be done. So far, honest Willem
was the only hand he had engaged; but he knew that he could easily ship
as many men as he needed at a moment's notice in so large a seaport as
Rotterdam. He told no one of his projected voyage across the Atlantic,
knowing that to do so would at once attract attention to him; and he
naturally dreaded that publicity should be given to his doings.
He showed himself in the streets as little as possible, and he always
went forth to make his purchases in the early morning before English
tourists were likely to be out of their beds. He had only been in port
two days, but he was almost ready for sea. He had some tanks fitted into
the cabin, so that he could carry sufficient water for a long voyage; he
had filled all the lockers and bunks with a large quantity of tinned
meats, biscuits, and other necessary stores; he had procured his charts;
and all this had been done in the least conspicuous manner possible.
Though he had never before undertaken an ocean cruise of this magnitude,
he knew what was requisite, and forgot nothing. There was no chronometer
on board the yacht, and he could not afford to buy one; so, as his watch
was not to be depended upon, he saw that he would have to navigate his
vessel after the fashion of the good old days before chronometers were
known. The ancient navigators carried with them their astrolabes--rough
instruments, long since superseded by quadrants and sextants--which
enabled them to find their latitude accurately enough. But having no
timepieces, they were unable to ascertain their longitude by observation
of the heavenly bodies, and had to rely on dead reckoning alone. So the
mariner of old, after a long voyage across ocean currents of unknown
speed and direction, was possibly many hundreds of miles out of his
reckoning as regards longitude, though he knew his latitude to within a
few miles.
Thus, supposing, for instance, he was bound for Barbadoes, he would
sail boldly on until, according to his calculations, he was some few
days' journey to the eastward of his port. Then he would steer for the
exact latitude in which it lay, and follow that line of latitude till he
reached his destination; which he was, of course, bound to do sooner or
later. Moreover, it was his invariable custom to heave his vessel to
every night while running down the latitude; as otherwise he might pass
by the island without seeing it in the darkness, and lose himself
entirely.
It was a slow method of navigation--not to say a risky one. But Carew
would not have to encounter so many difficulties as the sailors of old;
for ocean currents are better understood in these days, and the
opportunities of speaking vessels at sea and ascertaining the exact
longitude from them are very frequent.
Carew had spent all the money he had found on board the yacht, and there
were still some necessary purchases to be made. The most expensive of
the articles yet to be bought was a dinghy, to replace the one that had
been lost. This very morning he had found his way to the Mont de Piete
and pawned everything he could well spare: Allen's watch and chain, the
rifle, and one of the two binocular glasses. With that easy
forgetfulness which was an attribute of his conscience, he had by this
time almost come to believe that the barrister's yacht and fortune were
rightfully his. The sum he thus raised was not a large one; but he
calculated that it would enable him to meet every expense, though he
would have to put to sea almost penniless, if not quite so.
While Willem was still busy on deck a tall, good-looking gentleman, with
an honest but shrewd eye and tawny beard, came along the quay and stood
in front of the yacht, inspecting her critically for a few moments.
"Is the owner on board?" he inquired of the sailor in Dutch.
"The English captain is in his cabin, sir," replied the little man in a
solemn, nasal drawl.
"I should like to see him. Will you give him my card?"
Willem, taking the card, descended to the cabin. "Von man here for see
you, captain," he said in his broken English.
Carew started. "A man to see me? What sort of man?" he asked.
"Him a gentleman man, for him has von tall black hat. Here was his
paper," and he handed Carew the card.
The solicitor felt the blood forsake his heart. Some English
acquaintance had found him out. He looked at the card with dread; then a
sigh of relief escaped him; the name was certainly Dutch--Hoogendyk.
Carew went on deck and politely invited his visitor to come on board.
Mynheer Hoogendyk stepped down from the quay, and introduced himself in
excellent English.
"I am a resident of Rotterdam," he said, "and I am a leading member of
our Yacht Club. I have come to inform you that, with your permission, we
shall be highly delighted to make our English _confrere_ an honorary
member of the club during his stay in our city."
"I am very grateful to the club for the honour they confer upon me, and
shall gladly avail myself of the privilege," replied the lawyer, who, as
he spoke, made a resolve never to put his foot inside the club premises,
but to ship his crew and sail from Rotterdam without delay. It was
dangerous for him to stay longer, now that his retreat had been
discovered.
"I only heard of you by accident yesterday," said the visitor, who,
unlike most of his countrymen, was garrulous and inquisitive, though a
good fellow. "Why have you picked up a berth in this dirty,
out-of-the-way hole?"
"It is picturesque and quiet."
"And filthy and unhealthy. We must move you to a better spot. There is a
capital berth just in front of the English church. You'll see lots of
your countrymen there. How many hands have you on board? I see you have
shipped one Dutchman."
"My two men were drunken ruffians, and I discharged them."
"I will undertake to get you a good crew of my countrymen if you like. I
suppose you are going to cruise about our coasts. Where are you going to
from here?"
"To Amsterdam," replied Carew, who was on tenterhooks of impatience. He
felt how dangerous this man would be with his gossiping habits.
"And now, sir," said Mynheer Hoogendyk, drawing out a pocket-book and
pencil, "I will take your name and enter it on the club books."
"Here is my card." Carew handed to him one of the barrister's cards.
"'Mr. Arthur Allen, Fountain Court, Temple!'" read the visitor. "Ah, you
live in the Temple! I know it well. Are you a lawyer by chance?"
"I am a barrister."
"Ah! How delightful! We are chips of the same block, Mr. Allen. I, too,
am a barrister, in practice in Rotterdam. Both yachtsmen, both
advocates, what a bond of friendship there should be between us! You
must come and see my yacht--such a pretty little schuyt--and also our
law courts."
They sat together in the _Petrel's_ cabin, and the Dutch advocate
commenced to question the solicitor on English law, comparing it with
that in force in his own country. Carew was hugely bored and weary of
his visitor's chatter, but did his best to be civil.
"And, by the way," cried the Dutchman at last, "there is a trial now
proceeding which I am sure would be of the greatest interest to you; for
you say that the criminal law is your particular line."
"What is it about?" asked the solicitor indifferently.
"Piracy: the seizure of a vessel and the murder of her officers by the
crew."
All Carew's indifference vanished now. He let the cigar he was smoking
drop from his fingers, and, turning his head, he looked at his visitor's
face with a steady, fierce look, as of some wild beast that awaits the
attack of another, and has strung all its nerves to resist its foe to
the death. The Dutchman, whose eyes were directed downwards at that
moment, did not observe that look.
The slumbering conscience had been awakened again with a rude start by
those words. For a moment Carew lost his head and fancied that this
garrulous man was a police detective who knew everything and had been
playing with his prisoner all this while. Then he looked at his
visitor's face again, and felt reassured, realising the absurdity of
such a supposition.
The advocate, quite unconscious of the perturbation he had caused,
continued--
"Yes, it was a terrible story. Perhaps you remember reading in the
papers some months ago of an act of piracy in the Spanish Main. A vessel
trading from Curacoa under the Dutch flag was seized by her crew--a lot
of Spanish and Mulatto cut-throats. They murdered the captain, the mate,
and a few honest Dutch sailors who stood by their officers. Then the
mutineers sailed for Puerto Cabello, where, as usual, there was a civil
war, with the intention of selling the vessel to the revolutionary
party, which was in need of transports. When they arrived there the
revolution was over; the Government seized the vessel, but the ruffians
contrived to escape up country."
"I remember all that well," said Carew. "The story made a great noise at
the time."
"Now it happens," said the advocate, "that three of these ruffians
shipped as sailors in a South American port on board of a vessel bound
for Rotterdam. One day a Dutch sailor from Curacoa enters a drinking
shop on the Boompjees, and sees, sitting down at a table over a bottle
of schiedam, three men whom he recognises as part of the crew of the
ill-fated _Vrouw Elisa_. He calls in the police, and now these gentlemen
are being tried for their lives."
"To be hanged if found guilty, I suppose?"
"I hope so; but I am afraid that they will be acquitted. Everyone is
morally sure of their guilt; but, unfortunately, the evidence for the
prosecution has been so confused and contradictory that their identity
has not been satisfactorily settled. The counsel for the defence is a
very able fellow too."
"What countrymen are they?" inquired Carew.
"Two are Spaniards and one is a Frenchman. I think the Frenchman was the
ringleader of the mutineers, for he looks a clever rascal. And now, Mr.
Allen, the trial will probably conclude this afternoon. The court is
very crowded, but I can get you in. Come along, and you will be able to
compare the Dutch and English criminal procedure."
Carew would have preferred to decline the invitation, but in ordinary
politeness found it difficult to do so; and he accompanied the native
lawyer--who undoubtedly possessed the gift of the gab, if no other
qualifications for his profession--to the law courts.
Carew felt anything but easy in his mind as he walked through the main
streets of the town, at this hour of the day crowded with a motley
throng, including not a few of his own countrymen, bent on pleasure or
business. Pretending to listen to his companion's unceasing gossip, the
solicitor looked anxiously about him as he went, fearing at each step to
see some well-known face from Fleet Street. The glaring sunshine had
rejoiced his soul when he was out on the lonely seas, but in the hives
of his fellow-men he shrank from the all-searching light, and
experienced guilt's instinct for safe obscurity.
But he saw no one he knew on his way, and was much relieved when Mr.
Hoogendyk procured for him, after some difficulty, a seat in a remote
and dark corner of the court, where he could see and hear, himself
unseen.
Carew soon became so interested in watching the faces of the three men
who were being tried for their lives that, in spite of the advocate's
whispered suggestions on the subject, he paid no attention to the
procedure, and did not endeavour to compare the Dutch and English legal
systems. He took no interest in law now; he was indeed heartily sick of
it, and hoped that he had washed his hands of it for ever.
Of the three men only one had a really unprepossessing and murderous
countenance. A murderer looks much like any other man, though people who
take their ideas from waxwork shows think otherwise. That this should be
so is obvious enough. A few only of murderers have homicidal
proclivities as a part of their nature, and these indeed may betray
their character in their physiognomy. All the other passions and vices
of disposition can, under certain circumstances, compel the man who has
the greatest horror of bloodshed to kill a fellow-being. In the large
majority of cases, murder is not a tendency but the result of other
tendencies.
But one of the three prisoners had indeed a villainous appearance. He
was a big, clumsily built Spaniard from the Basque countries, with a
heavy, animal face and an evil mouth, indicative of the stupid cruelty
of some savage beast.
The other Spaniard was a short, stout man, with a jovial face and an
enormous black moustache, which he twirled occasionally with a complete
_nonchalance_. There was nothing of the murderer in his appearance.
Neither of these two men exhibited any signs of fear. The first faced
death with the dogged pluck of an animal, the second with a somewhat
higher sort of courage.
The third man alone, the Frenchman, showed that he was suffering the
agonies of acute terror. The little Spaniard, observing this, nodded to
him now and then, smiling maliciously, and the big man scowled at him
with surly contempt. The Frenchman's face was quite white, and the
perspiration poured down it in streams; his lips quivered, and, holding
on to the rail of the dock with hands tightly clenched, he listened with
intense attention to every word of judge or advocate.
The features of this man, though distorted with fear, were delicate and
refined. His handsome face was more like that of a Provencal gentleman
than of a rough sailor. He was a well-knit man of about thirty, with the
blue-black hair of the South. Over his fine and expressive eyes were
bushy black brows, which almost met on his forehead, giving him a
somewhat sinister appearance.
Carew found himself taking a strange, morbid interest in watching these
three faces. In some way he identified himself with the prisoners. Had
not they committed a crime only in degree differing from his own? The
day might come when he too would be tried for his life. He wondered
whether he would then look like the dogged Basque, the cowardly
Frenchman, or the other. He had always flattered himself that he did not
fear death; but how difficult to know how he would face it until his
time came!
At last, amid complete silence, judgment was given. Carew could not
understand the words, but he knew their import--
"Not guilty!"
The spectators groaned and hissed when they heard this decision. The
Frenchman fell back fainting. The big Spaniard glanced boldly round the
court with a ferocious scowl, and he made an involuntary motion with his
right hand, as if he held his knife in it and was longing to rip up a
few of his enemies. The little man smiled, and bowed pleasantly to the
court, after the manner of an actor who is acknowledging his tribute of
applause.