Denman saw the boat for a moment or two as it came alongside, and
noticed the still form of the woman in the stern sheets, her face hidden
by a black silk neckerchief. Then he could only know by the voices that
they were lifting her aboard and aft to the captain's quarters. But he
was somewhat surprised to see the door that led to these quarters opened
by Jenkins, who beckoned him.
"We've picked up a poor woman, sir," he said, "and put her in here. Now,
we're too busy on deck to 'tend to her, Mr. Denman, and then--we don't
know how; but--well, you're an educated man, and a gentleman. Would you
mind? I've chased the bunch out, and I won't let 'em bother you. It's
just an extension of your cruising radius."
"Certainly," said Denman. "I'll do what I can for her."
"All right, sir. I'll leave this door open, but I must lock the after
companion."
He went on deck by the wardroom stairs, while Denman passed through to
the woman. She lay on a transom, dripping water from her clothing to the
carpet, and with the black cloth still over her face; but, on hearing
his footsteps, she removed it, showing a countenance puffed and crimson
from the scalding of the live steam that had blown her overboard. Then,
groaning pitifully, she sat up, and looked at him through swollen
eyelids.
"What is it?" she exclaimed, weakly. "What has happened? Where is
father?"
"Madam," said Denman, gently, "you have been picked up from a steam
yacht which exploded her boilers. Are you in pain? What can I do for
you?"
"I don't know. Yes, I am in pain. My face."
"Wait, and I will get you what I can from the medicine-chest."
Denman explored the surgeon's quarters, and returned with bandages and a
mixture of linseed oil and lime water. He gently laved and bound the
poor woman's face, and then led her to the captain's berth.
"Go in," he said. "Take off your wet clothes, and put on his pajamas.
Here they are"--he produced them from a locker--"and then turn in. I
will be here, and will take care of you."
He departed, and when he saw the wet garments flung out, he gathered
them and hung them up to dry. It was all he could do, except to look
through the surgeon's quarters for stimulants, which he found. He
poured out a strong dose of brandy, which he gave to the woman, and had
the satisfaction of seeing her sink into profound slumber; then,
returning to the wardroom, he found Jenkins waiting for him.
"I am after a sextant, Mr. Denman," he said, "an almanac--a nautical
almanac. Forsythe wants them."
"You must find them yourself, then," answered Denman. "Neither under
parole nor confinement will I aid you in any way unless you surrender."
"Nonsense," said Jenkins, impatiently, as he stepped past Denman, and
approached a bookcase. "When we're through with the boat you can have
her."
He had incautiously turned his back. Denman saw the protruding butt of
his pistol in Jenkins' pocket, and, without any formulated plan for the
future, only seeing a momentary advantage in the possession of the
weapon, pounced on his shoulders, and endeavored to secure it.
But he was not able to; he could only hold on, his arms around Jenkins'
neck, while the big sailor hove his huge body from side to side, and,
gripping his legs, endeavored to shake him off.
No word was spoken--only their deep breathing attested to their
earnestness, and they thrashed around the wardroom like a dog and a cat,
Denman, in the latter similitude, in the air most of the time. But he
was getting the worst of it, and at last essayed a trick he knew of,
taught him in Japan, and to be used as a last resort.
Gripping his legs tightly around the body of Jenkins, he sagged down and
pressed the tips of his forefingers into two vulnerable parts of the
thick neck, where certain important nerves approach the surface--parts
as vulnerable as the heel of Achilles. Still clinging, he mercilessly
continued the pressure, while Jenkins swayed back and forth, and finally
fell backward to the floor.
Denman immediately secured the pistol; then, panting hard, he examined
his victim. Jenkins was breathing with the greatest difficulty, but
could not speak or move, and his big eyes glared piteously up at his
conqueror. The latter would have ironed him at once, but the irons were
forward in the armroom, so he temporarily bound him hand and foot with
neckties replevined from his fellow officers' staterooms.
Then, relieving Jenkins of his keys, he went through the forward door to
the armroom, from which he removed, not only wrist and leg arms, but
every cutlass and service revolver that the boat was stocked with, and a
plentiful supply of ammunition.
First properly securing the still inert and helpless Jenkins, he dragged
him to a corner, and then stowed the paraphernalia of war in his room,
loading as many as a dozen of the heavy revolvers.
He was still without a plan, working under intense excitement, and could
only follow impulses, the next of which was to lock the wardroom
companion down which Jenkins had come, and to see that the forward door
and the after companion were secured. This done, he sat down abreast of
his prisoner to watch him, and think it out. There was no change in
Jenkins; he still breathed hard, and endeavored unsuccessfully to speak,
while his eyes--the angry glare gone from them--looked up inquiringly.
"Oh, you're all right, Captain Jenkins," said Denman. "You'll breathe
easier to-morrow, and in a week, perhaps, you may speak in a whisper;
but you are practically deprived from command. So make the best of it."
Jenkins seemed willing to, but this did not solve the problem; there
were twelve other recalcitrants on deck who might not be so easily
jujutsued into weakness and dumbness.
As the situation cleared, he saw two ways of solving it, one, to remain
below, and from the shelter of his room to pot them one by one as they
came down; the other, to take the initiative, assert himself on deck
behind the menace of cocked revolvers, and overawe them into submission.
The first plan involved hunger, for he could eat nothing not provided by
them; the other, a quick and certain ending of the false position he was
in--a plan very appealing to his temperament.
He rose to his feet with a final inspection of Jenkins' bonds, and,
going to his room, belted and armed himself with three heavy revolvers,
then opened the wardroom companion door, and stepped to the deck. No one
was in sight, except the man at the wheel, not now steering in the
close, armored conning tower, but at the upper wheel on the bridge.
He looked aft, and, spying Denman, gave a shout of warning.
But no one responded, and Denman, with a clear field, advanced forward,
looking to the right and left, until he reached the engine-room hatch,
down which he peered. Riley's anxious face looked up at him, and farther
down was the cringing form of King, his mate of the starboard watch.
Denman did not know their names, but he sternly commanded them to come
up.
"We can't leave the engines, sir," said Riley, shrinking under the cold
argument of two cold, blue tubes pointed at them.
"Shut off your gas, and never mind your engines," commanded Denman.
"Come up on deck quietly, or I'll put holes in you."
King shut off the gas, Riley turned a valve that eased off the making
steam, and the two appeared before Denman.
"Lie down on deck, the two of you," said Denman, sharply. "Take off your
neckerchiefs, and give them to me."
They obeyed him. He took the two squares of black silk--similar to that
which had covered the face of the rescued woman, and with them he bound
their hands tightly behind their backs.
"Lie still, now," he said, "until I settle matters."
They could rise and move, but could not thwart him immediately. He went
forward, and mounted to the bridge.
"How are you heading?" he demanded, with a pistol pointed toward the
helmsman.
"South--due south, sir," answered the man--it was Davis, of the
starboard watch.
"Leave the wheel. The engine is stopped. Down on deck with you, and take
off your neckerchief."
Davis descended meekly, gave him his neckerchief, and was bound as were
the others. Then Denman looked for the rest.
So far--good. He had three prisoners on deck and one in the wardroom;
the rest were below, on duty or asleep. They were in the forecastle--the
crew's quarters--in the wireless room below the bridge, in the galley
just forward of the wardroom. Denman had his choice, and decided on the
forecastle as the place containing the greatest number. Down the
fore-hatch he went, and entered the apartment. A man rolled out of a
bunk, and faced him.
"Up with your hands," said Denman, softly. "Up, quickly."
The man's hands went up. "All right, sir," he answered, sleepily and
somewhat weakly. "My name's Hawkes, and I haven't yet disobeyed an order
from an officer."
"Don't," warned Denman, sharply. "Take off your neckerchief."
Off came the black silk square.
"Wake up the man nearest you. Tie his hands behind his back, and take
off his necktie."
It was a machinist named Sampson who was wakened and bound, with the
cold, blue tube of Denman's pistol looking at him; and then it was
Dwyer, his watch mate, and Munson, the wireless man off duty, ending
with old Kelly, the gunner's mate--each tied with the neckerchief of the
last man wakened, and Hawkes, the first to surrender, with the
neckerchief of Kelly.
"On deck with you all," commanded Denman, and he drove them up the steps
to the deck, where they lay down beside Riley, King, and Davis. None
spoke or protested. Each felt the inhibition of the presence of a
commissioned officer, and Denman might have won--might have secured the
rest and brought them under control--had not a bullet sped from the
after companion, which, besides knocking his cap from his head,
inflicted a glancing wound on his scalp and sent him headlong to the
deck.