CHECK TO THE KING, AND A NEW MOVE
As on a previous and never-to-be-forgotten occasion, in the midst of
the multifarious activities prevailing on the deck of the _Grampus_
there was a sense of profound peace. And now there was also a feeling
of fierce delight that their tyrant was tasting in his own body some
of the pains he had so joyously inflicted upon others. All the white
men’s faces wore a pleasant expression, not at all mitigated by the
presence of the Portuguese jealously noting the satisfaction and fully
aware of its cause. And, human nature being what it is, there is no
doubt whatever that had Captain Da Silva died, his Portuguese henchmen
would have been compelled to eat the humblest of humble-pie, or commit
themselves to a fearful mutiny with all its consequences.
Mr. Court moved majestically among the toilers with the air of a man
from whom an awful incubus has been removed, and to whom has come a
veritable inspiration. He did not shout; all his orders were issued
quietly, but how wise and far-seeing were all his arrangements! And,
first of all, he told off Mr. Pease to watch Rube, who was fighting
with all the splendid reserve of force in his clean, healthy body
against the encroaching Angel of Death. Mr. Court’s reasons for this
were two-fold. First, he needed badly to show his detestation of the
malice which had placed this fine officer in the position of a seaman,
and next he had noticed that in Rube’s delirium one name continually
fell from his lips like a peal of dactyls, ‘Priscilla, Priscilla,
Priscilla.’ And Mr. Court knew that Priscilla was the name of his
skipper’s wife. Therefore, although he fully believed poor Rube’s
chanting of that name to be a mere coincidence, he knew how essential
it was that the skipper should not hear of it. For he was sure that in
that case Rube’s days would be few and evil, supposing the skipper to
live. So calling Mr. Pease to him, after being exceedingly careful to
see that none of the Dagoes was within earshot, he explained the matter
to him carefully, winding up by saying that at least until the devil
was unchained again, he (Mr. Court) would see that a brother officer
was, as far as possible, saved from the degradation deliberately
prepared for him.
All this, of course, was seen, noted, and commented upon by the
Portuguese, secure in the general utter ignorance of their language by
the white men, and consequently not needing to get away in private for
consultation. But all they could do under present circumstances was to
‘bide their time, doing their duty meanwhile as before, for they knew
quite enough of their skipper to be sure that no amount of favouritism
would be held to excuse slackness of work when money-making was to the
fore. And as the Americans worked now with a hearty good will because
of the absence of the skipper, it was truly marvellous to see how the
tremendous task of cutting-in and trying-out was tackled. A spirit of
emulation was abroad, manifesting itself in extraordinary ways. For
instance, a lean American from Connecticut, who had somehow learned
to swim splendidly, was down on the back of a whale for the purpose
of hooking a mighty iron hook into what is called the ‘rising,’ or
eye-piece. He sprang there at the word, alighting in the foul pool
of grease and blood and salt water at the same moment as a gigantic
Portuguese, but just as they both reached out for the hook a big swell
came along, the ship gave a heave, and a vast volume of water swept
over the carcass, washing both the men into the sea alongside, which
as usual was alive with sharks. They disappeared for a moment among
the shovel heads and dorsal fins crowding round; then, springing to
the surface, Nat, the American, snatched at a strip of blubber, and by
sheer agility flung himself back to his former position, grabbing at
the dangling hook as he reached it, and yelling in a half-strangled
voice, ‘Heave away!’ Then, with a contemptuous look at the Dago
struggling to climb back, he seized the already rising parts of the
tackle and swung himself on deck. The Dago’s friends had flung him
a rope, and he mounted easily enough by its aid, but their remarks
to him, aided by the satisfied chuckles of the white men, seemed to
depress him very much. He was about to slouch off to the foc’s’le to
change, when Mr. Court’s voice rang out clearly:
‘Whar you goin’?’
‘Changea me close,’ was the sullen answer.
‘You git right on with the work,’ said Mr. Court, and, taken by
surprise, the man obeyed. He and his countrymen felt that it was
only another item in the account to be paid off presently when their
champion returned to his command.
Below, however, that champion was in evil case. In his previous
mishap, although his bruises were many and severe, there had been no
bones broken, but now his injuries were of so extensive a character
that he could hardly find energy enough to curse his wife and the
steward, his only attendants. In fact, the conditions of things were
entirely altered. Mr. Court, in full vigour, was in charge, and came
in to report to him twice a day in the most formal manner how matters
were progressing on deck. The mate never asked him how he was, never
attempted any conversation, and, after the report had been made,
only answered questions, and that in the curtest manner possible. At
certain intervals, being responsible for his commanders welfare, he
made careful examination of the injuries, and saw that they were doing
as well as possible under the circumstances. Also he gave the steward
secret orders that all the ventilation possible should be secured in
the cabin for the Captain’s wife’s sake, who throughout this trying
time, as before, scarcely ever left her husband’s side.
On deck Rube progressed most favourably. His splendid constitution won
in the great fight, and when at last he opened his eyes sanely on his
devoted nurse, that much-tried man made up his mind at once that Rube
would live. No matter that he was worn to a shadow, that he looked even
worse than when rescued from the boat, he had evidently got a grip
on life which he had no idea of relinquishing just yet. He wanted to
live, and, as all doctors know, that is the great factor in the problem
of recovery from any illness. But Mr. Pease was mightily puzzled as
Rube grew stronger to find him so constantly referring to the early
incidents occurring during the cruise of the _Xiphias_. He seemed to
have no knowledge whatever of the stirring events which had happened
since. Also Mr. Pease noticed that his eyes had an anxious careworn
look in them as of a man who feels that the threads of his life are all
entangled, and that he has no ability to clear them. He had, besides, a
habit of muttering to himself and of mentioning names all unfamiliar to
Mr. Pease, as if by some freak of memory a certain portion of his life,
utterly forgotten until now, had just been recalled, while another
portion, much more recent in its incidence upon his brain, had become
completely obliterated. There was as well an utter absence of that
cheery, wide-eyed outlook which he used to wear, the true expression of
the Biblical injunction to take no thought for the morrow. Moreover, he
was so anxious to get well. He did not know where he was, except that
he was at sea and ill, and his helplessness worried him much. It took
all Mr. Pease’s power of persuasion to convince him that by worrying he
was retarding his own recovery, and that, as matters were, it really
did not matter a pin whether he was fit again in a week or a month. But
it was a difficult job to explain things to a man who knew absolutely
nothing about the necessary details, who remembered nothing at all of
the happenings of the last eleven months. At last Mr. Pease sought an
audience of the mate, taking care that there should be a white man at
the wheel, and that all the rest of the hands should be busy forward.
To him Mr. Pease told all that he knew about Rube, of his joining the
ship, of his terrible accident and recovery therefrom, how since then
he had always behaved more like an angel than a man, and how every man
on board had grown from deriding him to loving him--in fact, the story
which the reader knows. During the recital Mr. Court glanced from time
to time most curiously at Mr. Pease, as if wondering whether the latter
were crazed or not. Nor could this be wondered at, remembering the life
Mr. Court had been leading in the _Grampus_. What wonder that he had
come to disbelieve in the existence of a God at all?--having always
been indifferent in his acceptance of the existence of a Supreme Being
as a matter of course, and since he had been mate of the _Grampus_
having grown certain that whether there was a God or not there must
be a devil, and that this devil was apparently permitted to have
everything his own way for the present. Now he was interested in spite
of himself at the idea of one greenie having been permitted to alter
the character of everybody on board his ship. Also he told Mr. Pease
how Rube’s present condition was entirely due to his interference on
behalf of his former officer. At this news, now first made known to
him, Mr. Pease bowed his head, saying:
‘Wall, I alwuz thought he wuz a sure-’nough angel, but I never
calculated on him so nearly coming to his death for me. Anyway, my
life’s his frum this eout, ef he wants it--there’s no question ’bout
that.’
Now, whether it was the intensity of devotion manifested towards Rube
thenceforward by Mr. Pease, or his own innate vigour asserting itself,
is no doubt a moot point, but certainly from that day Rube’s recovery
was exceedingly rapid. But he was puzzled beyond expression at his
former mate’s dog-like affection for him, also at the want of deference
shown to Mr. Pease by all hands. And as it was entirely useless trying
to remember anything about recent events or to understand what he
was told about them, he resigned himself to the mystery. Long before
the skipper was able to move sufficiently to come on deck he had
resumed his place among the crew, and was doing his work, but with a
hesitation, awkwardness, and want of spring that made Mr. Pease tremble
for his welfare when once the skipper had again taken command of the
ship.
With that consummate ability for navigating difficult seas that seems
inherent in American whaling officers, Mr. Court had, despite his
limitation of access to the means of navigation, due to the Captain’s
behaviour, brought the _Grampus_ through the intricacies of those
waters south of Celebes, and had steered her safely past the western
end of New Guinea out to the southward of the Pelew Islands before
Captain Da Silva came on deck. I have purposely avoided all mention of
his behaviour while thus laid helpless a second time, for the subject
is such a painful one that it is difficult to do more than hint at it.
A wounded tiger would certainly have been far more docile, and have
repaid his nurses with much more gratitude than this man, from whom
every one of the Divine qualities of our nature seemed to have been
withheld. Doubtless this vile temper did much to delay his recovery,
but that he could not see; and hard as his language was to bear, the
mate felt that it was infinitely better to listen to it occasionally
below than to have his presence on deck again. And as the news of his
approaching recovery crept about the ship, every white man, except
Rube, kept repeating to himself most fervently, ‘Oh, if he would only
die!’--‘he,’ of course, being the common enemy. As for Priscilla, the
long confinement and constant strain of nursing this terrible man had
worn her to a shadow. He did not abuse her so much now, but she had
to listen constantly to his abuse of others, listen to his furious
conversations with his Portuguese harpooners, who were daily summoned
below to his bedside to report to him their observations of how the
Yankee unmentionables were handling the ship. But this latter affected
her as little as the former, which she could understand. The abominable
phrases in her own language fell upon utterly unheeding ears, and left
no more impression than did the imprecations in an unknown tongue.
What she was suffering from was purely physical, as it had been before
reaching the Cosmoledos.
At last one lovely morning, with the ship’s head pointed towards the
Bonins under his instructions, the skipper gave orders that Pedro and
Manuel should attend him and assist him on deck. He needed help. He
was worn to a shadow, his face was like a hatchet for sharpness of
outline, and many threads of white appeared in his hair and whiskers.
But from out the caverns whither his eyes had retreated gleamed the
same infernal fires: the indomitable will had not been subdued in the
slightest degree. Upon reaching the deck, he cast a comprehensive
glance around the vessel. She was like a new pin for cleanliness, not a
rope yarn was awry, and most of the watch were busy scraping the spare
spars, always a favourite device with him when nothing else could be
found for them to do.
From forward came the clink, clink of iron where the remainder of the
men were beating iron-rust off the anchors and cables. Everything was
going, in fact, as goes a good watch after it has been wound by the
master’s hand. There was absolutely nothing to find fault with, yet the
mate surely knew that fault would be found. So he stood near, offering
no salutation nor expecting any, but awaiting the contemptuous burning
words he knew would soon be flung at him. Suddenly the skipper said,
without looking at the mate:
‘Wall, seems yew’ve mistook th’ ship fur a pleasure boat. Wut in
thunder yew ben doin’ all the way up hyar from Borneo?’
‘Doin’ wut hed t’ be done, ’n’ doin’ it well too,’ growled Mr. Court.
‘Wat d’ye expect I’d be doin’, ef I mout be askin’?’
‘Ha, _thet’s_ wut ye ben doin’, is it--gittin’ things ripe fur a
mut’ny a’gin’ me. All right. I’m layin’ fur ye. Y’ mout hev made sure
while I ben lyin’ thar he’pless ef yew hed th’ grit ov a purp, but
yew haint, yew ----’ There is no need to suggest the remainder of
the vile sentence. But Mr. Court had found time not only to recover
his self-control and respect, but to gauge the capacity of Captain
Da Silva’s supporters to overcome the white portion of the crew.
Moreover he had, with commendable forethought, drawn the stings of the
harpooners and as many of the foremost Portuguese hands as he could
convict of possessing them--that is, he had taken away their revolvers
and ammunition, and by perfect equality of treatment had re-established
a proper order of things in the foc’s’le. All of these things Captain
Da Silva, with his almost superhuman grasp of matters only faintly
shadowed forth to his senses, had already seen except the disarming of
his gang. He was not likely to mistake the import of the change in Mr.
Court’s tone and bearing towards him. It was a heavy blow, but he was
wily as a snake, and immediately changing his tone slightly, he resumed:
‘Thar, I s’pose it’s no use makin’ more trouble than thar’s any need
fur. P’r’aps I’m a bit frazzled eout with lyin’ below like a gutted
herrin’. Anyhaow, I guess I’ll be all right time we git on the Jappan
groun’, an’ then we’ll hev some fun. Hyar! Manuel, Pedro, come an’ git
me b’low ’gen. I ain’t feelin’ good a bit.’
As the two scowling dark men passed him and placed each an arm
carefully behind the skipper’s back to assist him down into the cuddy,
Mr. Court viewed them with clear eyes, saying nothing, but pondering
a great deal. He was not in the least deceived by the change in his
skipper’s tone. He knew full well that no stone would be left unturned
to do him a mischief, and he determined to treble his vigilance and
that of his compatriot officers in order to guard against any sudden
surprise, and, satisfied that he was doing all that in him lay both
for duty and self-preservation, he turned away and resumed his daily
business of supervision.
What he did not, could not, know was that by his resolute bearing
and brave words he had saved one of his countrymen from being put to
the torture. It had been the skipper’s determination when he came on
deck to see his cruel intention towards Rube carried out, and, as
we know, he was not easily turned away from his purpose. Ever since
he had regained consciousness the idea of wreaking his will upon
Rube--first as being one of the rescued boat’s crew he had been, as
it were, driven to save; and, secondly, as the successful opponent of
that will--had been fermenting in his busy brain, and at the earliest
possible opportunity he had appeared on deck for the purpose of putting
it into practice. But for the first time that voyage he had found
himself successfully thwarted by one of the hated Americans, and he
needed all his marvellous powers of self-control and dissimulation not
to indulge in some frantic outburst that would certainly have resulted
in his being disabled from doing any more harm that cruise. His cup
of humiliation was not yet full either. As they went slowly down the
companion-way, Manuel whispered to him in Portuguese:
‘Do you know that the mate has taken away our weapons?’
‘What!’ he hissed, and wrenching himself free from Pedro on the other
side, he struck at Manuel with all his might, and missed him, falling
down four stairs upon his injured side, and lying there foaming with
pain and fury. Manuel, his face green with rage, turned upon his heel
and remounted the cabin stairs. What black thoughts filled his heart
we cannot tell, but certainly the cost of that injudicious outburst to
Captain Da Silva was an exceedingly heavy one. He reckoned too much
upon the perfect subjugation of his countrymen to his will, forgetting
the obvious fact that if you give your subordinates too much power over
you they are apt to use it at inconvenient times, to the complete
upheaval and reversal of some of your most cherished plans.
Pedro, alarmed at the Captain’s condition, for the latter was quite
beside himself with agony, called in that subdued voice common to
sailors when they are in the cabin, ‘Madem, senhora, Missis, Capena
very too mucha bad; pleasea come!’ But there was no answer. Nor could
be, for Priscilla, completely worn out, was lying in a dead faint
upon the settee in their little state-room. The mate was away forward
conducting the work, the steward was busy washing clothes on deck,
and poor Pedro, looking upon his skipper’s horribly distorted face,
listening to the gnashing of his teeth and watching the writhings
of his body, forgot everything but the need for instant aid, and
shouted, ‘On deck, dere, somebody, anybody, comea down here quick!’
At that moment Rube was on his way to relieve the wheel, being now
fully recovered as far as physical strength went. With one glance at
the sphinx-like face of the helmsman, Rube sprang down the companion,
finding the skipper in convulsions, and Pedro at his wits’ end to know
what to do. Together they raised the twisting body and carried it into
the state-room, where the first object which met Rube’s eyes was the
apparently lifeless form of his loved and lost Priscilla.
[Illustration: THE APPARENTLY LIFELESS FORM OF HIS LOVED AND LOST
PRISCILLA.
_P. 322._]
For a moment all things reeled with him, and then, quietly laying the
skipper on the deck, and controlling himself by a Titanic effort, he
said, ‘Pedro, some water--quick!’ Even as he did so and Pedro started
off, Priscilla gave a deep, deep sigh, opened her eyes, and seeing a
strange man before her, made an effort to rise, while a faint tinge
of pink came into her face. But with a mingled pang of regret and
thankfulness Rube saw that there was no recognition in the look--he was
just one of the crew to her, and nothing more. And then, to his intense
relief, came hurrying the steward and the mate, called frantically by
Pedro. Rube stole away, leaving the new-comers to render such aid as
was possible, and wearily crept to the wheel, taking absolutely no heed
of the bitter words with which he was greeted by the waiting helmsman.
A trick at the wheel by a good steersman is a splendid place for
meditation. For while the mechanical section of the brain is busy
with the primal duty of keeping the particular point of the course
given as near the ‘lubber’s point,’ or line drawn on the inner rim of
the compass-bowl, corresponding to the midship line of the ship, as
circumstances will allow, the lobes devoted to thought may be fully
occupied with the most recondite speculations. May be, but are not
often, for your ordinary sailor is a most unimaginative human animal.
Reuben, however, for the first half-hour of the present ‘trick’ found
the meditative side of his brain one seething whirlpool surging
around its vortex. ‘Priscilla is aboard this ship.’ True, she had
not recognised him, and that was, so far, a gain; but how could he
control himself? His speech, his looks? Moreover, she was unhappy. How
much so he did not, could not, know, for the reasons that have before
been fully given; but that wan face, those thin hands, those deeply
shadowed eyes, what a tale of misery they had to tell to a loving
heart like Rube’s! Yet even had he not been powerless to do anything,
loyalty, honour, truth demanded that he should be silent, cost what
it might, unless he saw danger to that dear life. Then the problem
of her being here at all suddenly came back with awful force. And
utterly confounded, he lifted his heart again to God, not blithely or
hopefully, but in a sort of mechanical way, or instinctively, if it be
better put so. Instantly a great peace fell upon him. A merciful veil
stole down between him and his mental troubles, and the utter blankness
of want of thought enwrapped his mind.
In the cabin the mate and the steward had laboured manfully at their
task, although much hampered by the want of knowledge of how this
condition of things had been brought about. Priscilla had fully
recovered consciousness, but was still too weak to help. Still she was
no hindrance. She was just watching, and claiming no attention. Mr.
Court found several of his bandages displaced, much of the laceration
re-opened, and altogether the patient in a bad way. With native skill
and judgment he did his best to make his tyrant comfortable, and then
having instructed the steward to devote his whole time to the Captain
and his wife, returned on deck and sent for the two Portuguese.
‘Now,’ said Mr. Court sternly, when they appeared, ‘I got to know wut
yew two ben a-doin’ t’ th’ Captain. Yew wuzn’t thar, Manuel, when I
kem an’ Pedro wuz. Wut d’ ye go ’way fur?’ Volubly Pedro began, but
the mate in a roar bade him ‘shet erp,’ and turning to Manuel, said
quietly, ‘Heave ahead.’
‘Well, sah,’ said Manuel savagely, ‘we’s a-he’pin’ ole man daown
companyon, an’ ole man le’s go my arm an’ hits me. Then he fall daown
steps. I don’ care if he break his neck, so I don’ go daown ’n’ look. I
kem on deck. Dat’s all, sah.’ And this lucid explanation he followed up
with asseverations unprintable--indeed, untranslatable.