On reaching the forward cabin, I turned to the table to see if there
happened to be a bite of anything to eat upon it. There always had been
in days past. In the darkness I could not tell, and I opened the door
leading aft to see if I could get a little light from the captain’s
room. The creaking of the straining bulkheads blended with the noise
from the deck and in the semi-darkness made by Benson’s lamplight
streaming through a door well aft, I seemed to hear the voices of the
murdered as the shadows moved upon the deck. A figure flitted past me
toward the door on the other side, and for a moment I believed I saw a
ghost. The next instant I sprang across the deck and seized it.
“Let me go, Mr. Gore. Don’t stop me,” said Miss Waters.
“Good God, are you still alive?” I asked, more for something to say than
anything else.
She raised her hand to her head and leaned against the bulkhead,
sobbing.
“Yes, I’m alive,” she said, controlling herself, “I was not taught the
trade of murder.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I said, hastily, and I drew her to me. As I did so
I felt a bandage upon her wrist.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. “Has he injured you by trying to cut you?”
“No, I did it myself. It was the only way I had--I used his knife on
both arteries. But why torture me with it--”
I said nothing for a moment. The anguish she suffered was clear to me.
She continued in a low, strained voice which wrenched me the more.
“He only insists that I belong to him, him alone--that is all--and he
keeps me with him nearly all the time. I am his wife without any form of
ceremony. Otherwise I’m well enough.”
“Yes, it’s either that, or worse,” I spoke haltingly, yet with an effort
at comforting her.
“You might have killed me,” she sobbed, “you said you cared for me, and
how did you show it--by letting me live like this?”
“It isn’t easy to kill the woman you love.”
“And, oh, I can’t go over the side. I can’t go down into that black void
beneath. It seems so horrible to think of it, the endless blackness, the
vastness of it, the loneliness of this great ocean. No, I must go on, I
must live. I could have killed myself with the knife, but he found me
and tied up the cuts--No, it’s no use--let me go--”
“I’ll let you go,” I said, “but you needn’t hurry away. There’s no one
coming below for some time and you might as well talk with me while we
have the opportunity. I intend to get you out of the ship in a short
time.”
She listened and grasped the edge of the bulkhead.
“How can you? Can you get me into a small boat? They would certainly
get us before we could row away.”
“I haven’t decided upon the manner yet,” I said, “but the time will be
here shortly, and you must help me. There are many ways of getting clear
when we get close to the beach.”
“But you are not to get ashore. You are to die with the rest. I heard
him tell Johnson so the other night after the poisoning among the men.
They are going to get rid of nearly everybody by leaving them upon the
ship when she is set on fire. I’m sorry for you, as sorry as I can feel
with my own trouble upon me, and I’m glad to be able to tell you, Mr.
Gore.”
“You are telling me what I long suspected,” I answered, “but Benson is
not a great sailor. He knows very little indeed of the ways of ships,
although he seems to be informed very well upon matters of rascality. I
think he’ll make a little mistake before he finishes. I suppose you are
to go with him?”
“Yes, he will take me along until he tires of me, I suppose. Then I’ll
find the same fate as the rest.”
“Has he told anything of his future plans?” I asked.
“Only that when you get them within thirty or forty miles of the coast,
they will take to the small boats. They will get all the boats overboard
and alongside, with what plunder they can carry. Then the half-dozen or
more who are to get away will get into the small boats and get clear of
the ship while Benson sets her on fire. He is to jump overboard and be
picked up at once, and then they will row off so the rest can’t get to
them.”
“It’s an excellent scheme, and does its developer great credit,” I said;
“but how about the arms? Won’t the convicts fire on the boats when they
find they are left aboard a burning ship?”
“I really don’t know about those details,” said Miss Waters. “I’m only
telling what I overheard. If you think you can do something to stop
them, I’ll do anything to help you. Don’t spare me in any way, and
don’t mind what risk I have to take. Nothing could be any worse for
me.”
“It’s a pretty bad business,” I agreed. “Brown is the only man left
aboard I can trust to help us if anything turns up. Has Benson told you
anything about himself?”
“Only that he has no money to get away with, nothing to pay his expenses
to some foreign country, where he hopes to live quietly until the affair
is forgotten. He is going to take the first vessel we meet to loot her
and get what he may.”
“I see,” I said; “perhaps he will have a chance very soon. We are in the
lanes of ocean travel, and it’s likely we’ll overhaul a vessel before
many days pass. Maybe we will have a chance. I’m to do my share, I
suppose he told you?”
“If I thought you would, I would not be talking to you. You may be
afraid to die, as I am, but I don’t think you’ll turn pirate.”
Afraid to die? The sound of the words rang clear. Was I afraid to die?
Good God! I who had faced some pretty hard happenings. I certainly
didn’t want to die, but I had never thought of it in the way she put it.
I didn’t rightly know whether I was afraid to die or not. It was so
different for a man. I could go into a fight with a joyful heart,
without a thought of dying; the possibility of death never occupied
space in my thoughts. But to sit down in cold blood and kill myself to
avoid some wrong thrust upon me by some one else? That was a different
matter. I thought of O’Toole. He certainly was not afraid of anything in
any form.
“No, I don’t know whether I’m afraid or not,” I said, slowly. “Certainly
I don’t blame you for hesitating. You tried once when your courage was
high, and now you admit you are afraid. I know I’m no braver than you.”
“You are good and kind, anyhow,” she answered. “I feel that you are
sorry for me, that you will be my friend--”
“I shall certainly be your friend. I am your devoted friend, if you will
have me for one,” I said, “and as for yourself, you have done the only
thing you could do. As you say, you have not been schooled in the murder
line.”
She held out her hand and I took it, holding it for some moments.
“Whatever has happened to you will make no difference in my feelings,” I
said. “We must forget the past and deal with the present. You have done
as much as any woman could, and that is all you could do. Stand by while
I cast about for some means to get rid of the villains.”
“No, no--you must forget me--only as a friend,” she panted, trying hard
to hold back the sobs. “I must live my life alone--and I must go now
before he suspects me. If he knew I talked with you, he would kill you.”
I drew her to me and kissed her.
The next moment she had disappeared, going through the cabin and into
the stateroom of the villain who even now stood on deck just overhead. I
was tempted again to go on deck and stand near him, close to the rail.
In the darkness a sudden rush and thrust from my knife, and no one
might see the outcome. But, no, it would only make matters worse. The
daylight would show the leader missing, and I could not hold the gang in
check. I finally made my way to my room and turned in.