He turned with the others to examine the contents of the sacks dropped
by the vanquished ones and lying amongst the rocks. They were old
gunny bags and they were stuffed with all sorts of rubbish and
valuables, musical instruments, bits of old metal, cabin curtains, and
even cans of bully beef--there was no sign of dollars.
"The fools were so busy picking up everything they could find lying
about, they hadn't time to search for the real stuff," said Blood.
"Didn't know of it."
"Well," said Ginnell, "stick the ould truck back in the bags with the
insthruments; we'll sort it out when we get aboard and fling the
rubbish over and keep what's worth keepin'."
Helped by the coolies, they refilled the bags and left them in position
for carrying off, and then, led by Ginnell, they made round the stern
of the wreck to the port side.
Now, on the sea side the _Yan-Shan_ presented a bad enough picture of
desolation and destruction, but here on the land side the sight was
terrific.
The great yellow funnel had crashed over on to the rocks and lay with
lengths of the guys still adhering to it; a quarter boat with bottom
half out had gone the way of the funnel; crabs were crawling over all
sorts of raffle, broken spars, canvas from the bridge screen and
woodwork of the chart-house, whilst all forward of amidships the
plates, beaten and twisted and ripped apart, showed cargo, held, or in
the act of escaping. One big packing case, free of the ship, had
resolved itself into staves round its once contents, a piano that
appeared perfectly uninjured.
A rope ladder hung from the bulwarks amidships, and up it Ginnell went,
followed by the others, reaching a roofless passage that had once been
the part alley-way.
Here on the slanting deck one got a full picture of the ruin that had
come on the ship; the masts were gone, as well as the funnel; boats,
ventilators--with the exception of the twisted cowl looking
seaward--bridge, chart-house, all had vanished wholly or in part, a
picture made more impressive by the calm blue sky overhead and the
brilliancy of the sunlight.
The locking bars had been removed from the cover of the fore hatch and
the hatch opened, evidently by the Chinese in search of plunder.
Ginnell scarcely turned an eye on it before he made aft, followed by
the others, he reached the saloon companion-way and dived down it.
If the confusion on deck was bad, it was worse below. The cabin doors
on either side were either open or off their hinges, bunk bedding,
mattresses, an open and rifled valise, some women's clothes, an empty
cigar-box and a cage with a dead canary in it lay on the floor.
The place looked as if an army of pillagers had been at work for days,
and the sight struck a chill to the hearts of the beholders.
"We're dished," said Ginnell. "Quick, boys, if the stuff's anywhere
it'll be in the old man's cabin, there's no mail room in a packet like
this. If it's not there, we're done."
They found the captain's cabin, they found his papers tossed about, his
cash-box open and empty, and a strong box clamped to the deck by the
bunk in the same condition. They found, to complete the business, an
English sovereign on the floor in a corner.
Ginnell sat down on the edge of the bunk.
"They've got the dollars," said he. "That's why they legged it so
quick and--we let them go. Twenty thousand dollars in gold coin and we
let them go. Tear an' ages! Afther them!" He sprang from the bunk
and dashed through the saloon, followed by the others. On deck they
strained their eyes seaward towards a brown spot on the blue far, far
away to the sou'-west. It was the junk making a soldier's wind of it,
every inch of sail spread. Judging by the distance she had covered,
she must have been making at least eight knots, and the Heart of
Ireland under similar wind conditions was incapable of more than seven.
"No good chasing her," said Blood.
"Not a happorth," replied Ginnell. Then the quarrel began.
"If you hadn't held us pokin' over them old sacks on the rocks there
we'd maybe have had a chance of over-haulin' her," said Ginnell.
"Sacks," cried Blood, "what are you talking about; it was you who let
them go, shouting good day to them and telling them we'd got the
boodle!"
"Boodle, b'g-d!" cried Ginnell. "You're a nice chap to talk about
boodle. You did me in an' collared me boat, and now you're let down
proper, and serve you right."
Blood was about to reply in kind, when the dispute was cut short by a
loud yell from the engine-room hatch.
Harman, having satisfied himself with a glance that all was up with the
junk, had gone poking about and entered the engine-room hatchway. He
now appeared, shouting like a maniac.
"The dollars," he cried, "two dead Chinkies an' the dollars."
He vanished again with a shout, they rushed to the hatch, and there, on
the steel grating leading to the ladder, curled together like two cats
that had died in battle, lay the Chinamen, Harman kneeling beside them,
his hands at work on the neck of a tied sack that chinked as he shook
it with the glorious rich, mellow sound that gold in bulk and gold in
specie alone can give.
The lanyard came away, and Harman, plunging his big hand in, produced
it filled with British sovereigns.
Not one of them moved or said a word for a moment, then Ginnell
suddenly squatted down on the grating beside Harman, and, taking a
sovereign between finger and thumb gingerly, as though he feared it
might burn him, examined it with a laugh. Then he bit it, spun it in
the air, caught it in his left hand and brought his great right palm
down on it with a bang.
"Hids or tails!" cried Ginnell. "Hids I win, tails you lose." He gave
a coarse laugh as he opened his palm, where the coin lay tail up.
"Hids it is," he cried, then he tossed it back into the bag and rose to
his feet.
"Come on, boys," said he, "let's bring the stuff down to the saloon and
count it."
"Better get it aboard," said Blood.
Harman looked up. The grin on his face stamped by the finding of the
gold was still there, and in the light coming through the hatch his
forehead showed beaded with sweat.
"I'm with Ginnell," said he, "let's get down to the saloon for an
overhaul. I can't wait whiles we row off to the schooner. I wants to
feel the stuff and I wants to divide it, b'g-d, right off and now.
Boys, we're rich, we sure are. It's the stroke of my life, and I can't
wait for no rowin' on board no schooners before we divide up."
"Come on, then," said Blood.
The sack was much bigger than its contents, so there was plenty of grip
for him as he seized one corner. Then, Harman grasping it by the neck,
they lugged it out and along the deck and down the saloon companionway,
Ginnell following.
The Chinese had opened nearly all the cabin port-holes for the sake of
light to assist them in their plundering, and now as Blood and Harman
placed the sack on the slanting saloon table, the crying of gulls came
clearly and derisively from the cliffs outside, mixed with the hush of
the sea and the boost of the swell as it broke creaming and squattering
among the rocks. The lackadaisical ventilator cowl, which took an
occasional movement from stray puffs of air, added its voice now and
then, whining and complaining like some lost yet inconsiderable soul.
No other sound could be heard as the three men ranged themselves,
Ginnell on the starboard, and Blood and Harman on the port side of the
table.
The swivel seats, though all aslant, were practicable, and Harman was
in the act of taking his place in the seat he had chosen when Ginnell
interposed.
"One moment, Mr. Harman," said the owner of the _Heart of Ireland_.
"I've a word to say to you and Mr. Blood--sure, I beg your pardon--I
mane Capt'in Blood."
"Well," said Blood, grasping a chair-back. "What have you to say?"
"Only this," replied Ginnell with a grin. "I've got back me revolver."
Blood clapped his hand to his pocket. It was empty.
"I picked your pocket of it," said Ginnell, producing the weapon, "two
minits back; you fired three shots over the heads of them chows and
there's three ca'tridges left in her. I can hit a dollar at twinty
long paces. Move an inch either the one or other of you, and I'll lay
your brains on the table fornint you."
They did not move, for they knew that he was in earnest. They knew
that if they moved he would begin to shoot, and if he began to shoot he
would finish the job, leave their corpses on the floor, and sail off
with the dollars and his Chinese crew in perfect safety. There were no
witnesses.
"Now," said Ginnell, "what the pair of you have to do is this. Misther
Harman, you'll go into that cabin behind you, climb on the upper bunk,
stick your head through the port-hole and shout to the coolies down
below there with the boat to come up. It'll take two men to get them
dollars on deck and down to the wather side. When you've done that,
the pair of you will walk into the ould man's cabin an' say your
prayers, thanking the saints you've got off so easy, whiles I puts the
bolt on you till the dollars are away. And remimber this, one word or
kick from you and I shoot--the Chinamen will never tell."
"See here," said Harman.
"One word!" shouted Ginnell, suddenly dropping the mask of urbanity and
levelling the pistol.
It was as though the tiger-cat in his grimy soul had suddenly burst
bonds and mastered him. His finger pressed on the trigger and the next
moment Harman's brains, or what he had of them, might have been
literally forenint him on the table, when suddenly, tremendous as the
last trumpet, paralysing as the inrush of a body of armed men, booing
and bellowing back from the cliffs in a hundred echoes came a
voice--the blast of a ship's syren.
"Huroop, Hirrip, Hurop, Haar--Haar--Haar!"
Ginnell's arm fell. Harman, forgetting everything, turned, dashed into
the cabin behind him, climbed on the upper bunk, and stuck his head
through the port-hole.
Then he dashed back into the saloon.
"It's the _Port of Amsterdam_," cried Harman, "It's the salvage ship,
she's there droppin' her anchor; we're done, we're dished--and we
foolin' like this and they crawlin' up on us."
"And you said she'd only do eight knots!" cried Blood.
Ginnell flung the revolver on the floor. Every trace of the recent
occurrence had vanished, and the three men thought no more of one
another than a man thinks of petty matters in the face of dissolution.
Gunderman was outside, that was enough for them.
"Boys," said Ginnell, "ain't there no way out with them dollars?
S'pose we howk them ashore?"
"Cliffs two hundred foot high," said Harman, "not a chanst. We're
dished."
Said Blood: "There's only one thing left. We'll walk the dollars down
to the boat and row off with them. Of course we'll be stopped; still,
there's the chance that Gunderman may be drunk or something. It's one
chance in a hundred billion--it's the only one."
But Gunderman was not drunk, nor were his boat party; and the
court-martial he held on the beach in broken English and with the sack
of coin beside him as chief witness would form a bright page of
literature had one time to record it.
Ginnell, as owner of the _Heart of Ireland_, received the whole brunt
of the storm; there was no hearing for him when, true to himself, he
tried to cast the onus of the business on Blood and Harman. He was
told to get out and be thankful he was not brought back to 'Frisco in
irons, and he obeyed instructions, rowing off to the schooner, he and
Harman and Blood, a melancholy party with the exception of Blood, who
was talking to Harman with extreme animation on the subject of beam
engines.
On deck it was Blood who gave orders for hauling up the anchor and
setting sail. He had recaptured the revolver.