TO SCUTTLE HIS SHIP
"I DON'T understand, sir," stammered Captain Josiah Quelch, fumbling
with the peak of his cap.
"You don't understand," repeated Mr. Fiandersole, head of the
shipping firm that bore his name. "You don't understand, eh? Do you
want me to put the proposition any plainer? I don't think there's
need for that, Captain Quelch."
There was silence for a few moments. Through the heavily curtained
door of Mr. Fiandersole's private office came the clicking of half a
dozen typewriters.
"It's no use trying to hedge," continued the head director crisply.
"You've got to do and do it promptly--this voyage, in fact. I
needn't recall to your mind a certain incident----"
"No, sir, you needn't," rejoined the agitated captain. "You've got
me fairly on my knees."
"And I jolly well mean to keep you there!" snarled Mr. Fiandersole.
"After all's said and done, you benefit. Play me false and you'll
get seven years on that other count. And you can't round on me,
Captain Quelch. What passes between us is without witnesses, and my
word is as good as yours--better, if it comes to a court of law."
"But my certificate, sir," protested the other.
"Your certificate will be safe, provided you don't bungle. And
there's a cool three thousand pounds, although I presume some of
that will have to be shared out. That's your affair. I don't want to
know anything about that. If you fail you're sacked--understand
that. And if you open your mouth, my man, remember what I threatened
just now. But it's no use beating about the bush--do it."
"Very good, sir," agreed Captain Quelch.
"That's much better, Captain!" exclaimed Mr. Fiandersole cordially.
"In deep water, mind--and no loss of life."
* * * * * * * *
Twenty-four hours later Captain Josiah Quelch, having dropped the
pilot off the Forelands, was well on his way down Channel.
He was far from being in a happy state of mind. For one thing, the
s.s. _Getalong_ was in a thick fog. For another, the old tramp was in
a decidedly unseaworthy condition. It was a mystery how the Board of
Trade ever passed her on the last survey, or how the underwriters
had been persuaded to insure her for sixty thousand pounds. But what
weighed most heavily upon the captain's mind was the knowledge that
by some means or other the _Getalong_ must not reach port again.
"What's the matter with the Old Man, Bill?" inquired the
quartermaster, as for the tenth time in half an hour Captain Quelch
walked to the weather-side of the bridge and leant over the rails.
"Wot 'e expects to see alongside licks me."
A long-drawn wail from the distant shore was borne faintly to the
ears of the men on the bridge.
"That's Oldbury Head, Mr. Stevens," remarked Captain Quelch,
addressing the second officer. "Ease her off a point. We can't run
risks in a fog like this."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the second officer, although he could not
account for his superior's excess of caution. Already on the course
set, the _Getalong_ would be well clear of all headlands until abreast
of St. Catherine's.
With her syren going at frequent intervals, the old tramp wallowed
through the mirk of grey, oily sea and grey, clammy fog. Once or
twice a foghorn was heard bleating feebly, but not sufficiently near
to be considered dangerous.
Again the skipper approached the charthouse, peered at the clock and
shuffled to the weather-side of the bridge.
Suddenly the old tramp quivered and appeared to come to a dead stop.
Then with an equally abrupt jerk she forged ahead again.
"What's that, Mr. Stevens?" shouted the captain. "Don't say we've
run something down?"
"Fo'c'sle there!" hailed the second officer. "Anything under our
bows?"
"Nothing, sir," came a husky voice from the invisible fo'c'sle.
"Bit of wreckage, perhaps, sir," suggested Stevens. "Hope she hasn't
started a plate--they're none too sound."
"Tell the carpenter to try the well," ordered Captain Quelch.
"No--better go yourself, Mr. Stevens. Look alive."
The second officer descended the bridge ladder and went below. In a
couple of minutes he was back again.
"She's sprung a leak, sir," he reported breathlessly. "It's pouring
in like a sluice."
Before the skipper could make any observation concerning a
circumstance that had occasioned him not the slightest surprise, the
chief engineer appeared.
"We've done it this time, Cap'n Quelch," he bawled. "Water's over
the engine beds. I'll have to shut off steam."
"No chance of plugging the hole?" inquired the Old Man.
"Not the slightest," replied the chief. "Even if we could get at it.
It's my belief the bottom's knocked clean out of her."
"Clear away the boats," shouted the Old Man. "Look alive, there."
By this time the firemen were on deck; apparently the engine-room
and the boiler-rooms were no longer tenable.
But the chief engineer went back to his post leisurely enough when
out of sight. He rather prided himself upon the success of his part
of the scheme, which consisted of opening one of the underwater
valves and then reversing the engines so suddenly that the terrific
strain had created the impression that the old tramp had bumped into
something pretty hard and substantial.
Anyway, the chief engineer had done his bit in the dirty piece of
work, and salved the remaining rags of an easy conscience by the
fact that he would soon be the richer to the tune of a couple of
hundred pounds.
Having shut off steam, the chief picked up a small leather handbag,
packed with considerable care and forethought a few hours
previously, and returned on deck. Already most of the crew were in
the boats.
Captain Quelch, likewise equipped with a handbag, and with the
ship's papers under his arm, was acting up to the time-honoured
traditions of the British Mercantile Marine--to be the last to quit
the sinking ship.
"She's not going very fast," he said in an undertone to the chief
engineer.
"Man, she'll not last five minutes," was the reassuring reply, as
the chief threw one leg over the rail and dropped into a boat
alongside.
The Old Man, giving a final glance around, followed his example.
"Give way, lads, smartly!" he exclaimed. "Se's going."
The boat pushed off, the Old Man steering her towards the others,
which were barely discernible in the fog.
"Keep together," he ordered. "Got a compass in your boat, Mr.
Baldock?"
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the chief officer.
"Then course N. by E.," ordered the captain. "We'll make for
Aberstour. 'Tis but a couple of hours' pulling at most."