We know already that Crouch went on board that night, shortly before ten
o'clock, and took over the command of the "Harlech" from Mr. Dawes, the
Chief Officer--a blunt, plain-spoken Yorkshireman, who had run away to
sea at the age of fourteen, and who, like Crouch himself, had worked his
way from the forecastle to the bridge.
Now, Captain Crouch encircled by the atrocious perfume of his famous
Bull's Eye Shag, holding forth upon the subject of his experiences in
various parts of the world, and Captain Crouch upon the bridge or in the
chart-room of the ship that he commanded, were two very different men.
Once he set foot upon the main deck--even the very moment he grasped the
gangway hand-rope--Crouch took upon himself the character of a martinet.
In the very tones of his voice, one was led to understand that his word
was law.
In most things--and in the art of seamanship most of all--Crouch relied
upon no one but himself. He knew his job, and expected others to know
theirs. He maintained an iron discipline, exacting the maximum of work
from every ship's officer and member of the crew, from the cook's mate
(who was not sufficiently intelligent to be trusted with anything else
but the peeling of potatoes) to Mr. Dawes himself.
The first signs of daybreak were faintly visible in the east when the
"Harlech" struck the ocean, where the great billows came rolling
westward across three thousand miles of water, to break in clouds of
foam upon the low-lying shore that extends for miles to the south of
Sandy Hook. Immediately, she took on that well-known corkscrew
motion--which is part roll, part pitch--that finds out the land-lubber
soon enough, and often tests the sea legs of even an old, weather-beaten
sailor.
Now, when a ship does this, he who has ever known the true and inward
meaning of _mal de mer_--which is a polite word for sea-sickness--will
be well advised to keep himself amidships and on deck. And Jimmy Burke
was neither one nor the other.
With the hatchway closed and the engine-room adjacent, the hold had
become quite hot and stuffy. When the bows dipped in the waves and the
white spray flew wide above the forecastle-peak, the poop rose like a
hunter at a five-bar gate, to fall again quite suddenly, as if
descending to the nether regions. Moreover, when the stern part of the
ship was clear of the water, even for a moment, the screw raced as if
demented, shaking the old tramp so violently that it seemed as if every
bolt and bar and rivet must sooner or later be jangled out of place.
Three hours of this, and poor Jimmy Burke believed, indeed, that his
last hour had come. He had long since consumed his loaf of bread; and
no doubt the pangs of hunger, added to the constant darkness and the
stifling atmosphere in which he was forced to remain, did much to
augment the symptoms of an illness from which surely the grandson of
"Swiftsure Burke" should never have suffered. However, we record plain
facts, and the whole truth must out: the boy was incontestably sea-sick.
For all that, he would not accept defeat. Though he yearned for a
breath of fresh air, though he felt that he could stand no longer this
intolerable, impenetrable darkness, he would not climb the iron ladder
leading to the hatch and cry out for help. As he knew well enough, the
ship was not yet so far away from the coast; and Crouch might put about
and set the stowaway ashore at some forsaken port where the boy would be
stranded and even further from his goal than on the day he left New
York.
In this life, there is a maxim above all others to remember: that
Providence helps only those that help themselves. Each man works out
his own position. God has given to all of us, to some freely, to others
sparingly, talents and attainments. It is for us to be always true to
ourselves, to make the best use of what abilities we have, and
continually to strive. And then, often, when a fainter heart would have
ceased to hope, we find ourselves on a sudden face to face with the
realization of our dreams.
So was it now with Jimmy Burke, sea-sick and disconsolate. He was
resolute by nature. Right or wrong, he had made up his mind; he had
chosen his own course after due deliberation. He was sorely tried--as,
no doubt, he deserved to be--but he meant to go through with it, cost
him what it might. As we shall see, all that follows hangs upon the
fact that he remained until that night in the silence and darkness of
the after-hold. Had he become faint-hearted, had he made known his
presence on the ship, the fate of a certain German submarine--the
U93--would never have been sealed in such a manner as it was. And thus,
we see how in this world all happenings are strung together in what may
be called a "chain of circumstance," wherein each link, or separate
component part, is quite unlike its fellows.
When night fell, the ship was far out at sea. And this was the third
night that Jimmy had spent on board. He had no way of telling the hour,
except that during the night-time he could hear neither footsteps on the
well-deck above nor the moving of chains and hawsers. The ship's bell
was forward, and could not be heard in the hold so long as the hatch was
closed.
The ship still rolled considerably. The storm showed no sign of
abating. There is nothing more exhausting than sea-sickness; and during
these three interminable days the boy experienced little difficulty
either in falling asleep or remaining asleep for hours.
How long he slept in the earlier part of the night he was never
afterwards able to say. He was conscious of waking with a start, and
sat bolt upright, listening, not knowing what he expected to hear.
Suddenly, with alarming clearness, three strokes of a bell smote upon
the silence of the night.
Jimmy was more than a little surprised. He had heard nothing during the
whole term of his self-imposed imprisonment but the constant creaking of
the ship, the throbbing of the engines, the persistent gnawing sound of
rats, and the periodical groaning of the steam steering-gear. Never
before had the ship's bell been audible in the depths of the after-hold.
The conclusion was obvious: one of the after-hatchways had been opened.
Also, it was three bells of the middle watch, or--in other
words--half-past one in the morning.
The boy got stealthily to his feet, and peered over an enormous
packing-case, behind which he had been sleeping. Immediately, it was as
if he was blinded by the bright light of a lantern, not ten yards from
where he stood.
It took some time for his eyes to become accustomed to the glare; and
then he was able to perceive the figure of a man who, holding the
lantern in his hand, was slowly descending the iron ladder into the
hold.
Jimmy felt his heart thumping against his ribs. He was in danger of
being discovered. He even feared that in some way or other his presence
on the ship had already become known, and this man had been sent to fish
him out, as a salmon is landed in a net. Though he knew that the time
was bound to come when he would find himself face to face with Captain
Crouch, and would have to explain who he was, he dreaded it, none the
less.
At the foot of the ladder the man paused and looked up, remaining for as
long as a minute in an attentive attitude, as if he were listening. Then
he placed the lantern on the top of a pile of boxes, and thrusting a
hand into his coat pocket, produced a large chisel and a hammer.
With these, to Jimmy's infinite alarm, he approached the very
packing-case behind which the boy was hiding, and without waste of time
set to work in a manner that was at once business-like and guilty. With
a series of smart taps of the hammer, he drove in the chisel in several
places under the lid, which he then proceeded to prise open. It took him
five minutes or more to complete his task. He seemed anxious to do the
job as silently as he could; but he appeared in no hurry, for he paused
frequently to listen, and did not continue with his work until he was
assured that no one was on deck.
All this time Jimmy was crouching low behind the packing-case, which the
man was opening from the other side. Though they were hidden from view
of one another, they could not have been more than two yards apart. It
was a situation which might have been comical, had it not been fraught
with danger.
The lid of the box opened with that peculiar squeaking noise which
invariably accompanies the drawing of nails from out of soft, new wood.
Apparently the man removed from the top of the box a certain amount of
brown paper and waterproof sheeting; and then, on seeing its contents,
he gave vent to a loud exclamation, which might have been anything from
an expression of satisfaction to an oath.
A moment after, he turned upon his heel, and went back for his lantern;
and then it was that Jimmy seized the opportunity to gratify the
curiosity which by now had taken the place of alarm in his somewhat
heated brain. There was a wide crack in the lid of the box through
which it was possible to see; and placing his eye to this, he found
himself looking down into a box that was filled with, at least, two
dozen Lee-Metford rifles.
He crouched down again, as the man drew near once more. He had still no
desire to be caught. He had not yet had time to think matters out; it
was all too much of a mystery. He could not associate three facts: his
own presence in the hold, the box full of rifles, and the man who had
come like a thief, who now closed the lid, hammering in the nails as
quietly as he could, and who then, without the slightest warning,
swinging his lantern in his hand, stepped round the box--and came face
to face with Jimmy.
The boy jumped to his feet. He had no thought of escape; and even had
that been so, his case was hopeless, for he was seized immediately by
the lapel of his coat.
"By James!" let out the sailor. "And who are you?"
Jimmy Burke was altogether speechless; for, looking up, in the bright
light of the lantern, he found himself confronted by the seamed and
heavy features of Rudolf Stork.