THE VISIT TO THE HOLD.
"I don't attend any meeting with those fellows," said the prudent Hyde,
as the rebels began to gather at the place indicated.
"There is no harm in hearing what they have to say," replied Lindsley.
"I don't care what they have to say. I won't have anything to do with
them. In my opinion they are trying to get us all into a scrape."
"You are in one now, and you may as well be hung for an old sheep as a
lamb."
"I would rather be hung for a lamb," answered Hyde, turning on his
heel, and walking as far from the foremast as the limits of the
steerage would permit.
About a dozen others followed his example, for the meeting was
understood to be called by the runaways, who represented the most
virulent type of rebellion. They had already lost all their privileges
for the season, which could be restored only by the grace of the
principal, and they had nothing to sacrifice. It was not prudent to
enter into their counsels, and the mildest rebels, like Hyde and
Johnson, avoided them.
"We are not making much on this tack," said Howe, when the rebels, who
chose to take part in the meeting, had assembled.
"That's so!" exclaimed Lindsley.
"Well, what's to be done? That's the next question."
"Nothing," added Raymond, who dreaded any extreme measures, and did not
mean that Howe's party should obtain control of the movement. "As I
understand the matter, all is going on right. We have only to hold out,
and everything will end well for us."
"But we are shut up in the steerage. We are prisoners. The tables are
turned upon us," replied Howe.
"Not at all. We have carried our point so far. We refused to do duty,
and we haven't done any. I am in favor of fighting it out in this
manner to the end."
"It is a milk-and-water affair as it is now, and won't amount to
anything."
"What's the reason it won't?" demanded the champion of the mild party.
"Suppose the main hatch were opened, and the boatswain should call all
hands--how many of us do you suppose would be left? There are a dozen
of your chickens that would back down so quick it would make your eyes
smart," added the champion of the intense party, pointing to the group
which had collected around Hyde, who appeared to be forming a party of
his own. "And the next time the call was made, a lot more would slump.
Before long we should be so reduced in numbers that the brig would hold
us all, and a few of us would have to stand the punishment for the sins
of the crowd. You led us into the scrape; now you must help us out of
it."
"Who led you into it?" asked Raymond, indignantly.
"You and your fellows, of course," retorted the heavy champion.
"I don't see it."
"Don't you? Then you are as green as a tame pigeon," continued Howe,
smartly. "Our fellows--of course you know I mean those who ran away in
the Josephine--are under the ban already. Did you suppose we were going
into an affair like this alone? Not much! We went in because you did;
to back up your movement. Now we are in it, you want to back out, and
let your fellows show the white feather."
"I don't mean to back out," protested Raymond.
"But those fellows out there do," added the wily rogue.
"Well, there are thirty of us here, who will stick to the end. What do
you say, fellows?"
"Of course we will," replied several, very mildly.
"Will you agree, upon your word and honor, to stick as long as any one
does?"
"That depends upon circumstances," interposed Lindsley.
"I suppose it does," sneered Howe. "It isn't fair to leave us to bear
the brunt of the whole."
"All we ever proposed to do was simply to refuse to do duty till we had
explained our position to the principal," added Raymond.
"And kiss the rod, whether you get fair play or not," replied Howe.
"We can't do anything more than that. When the principal understands
that over forty of us are dissatisfied, we have gained our point."
"Have you indeed!" flouted Howe. "Then I fancy you have already gained
it, for he has found out that you are dissatisfied by this time."
"Well, what do you want to do?" demanded Raymond.
"It's no use to mince the matter. We have made a failure of it so far.
The lambs on deck are having a good time, laughing, cheering, and
carrying on--making game of us, no doubt, while we are shut up here as
prisoners," replied Howe, rolling up his sleeves, as though he intended
to do something savage. "We ought to make ourselves felt, which we
haven't done yet, for the rest of the ship's company seem to regard our
movement as a good joke, and to think we are having the worst of it.
Well, I think we are; and we must make ourselves felt."
"Do you call it making yourselves felt when you are pounded on the head
with belaying pins, as you were in the Josephine?" inquired Lindsley,
dryly.
"We raised a breeze there, and we are bound to do it here."
"A breeze that first knocks you down yourself. I would rather have the
wind blow another way," added Raymond.
"I don't mean to get up a fight, or anything of that sort."
"Well, what do you mean?" asked Raymond, impatiently.
"We have plans of our own; but we are not going to disclose them till
we have some assurance that the other fellows will stand by us,"
answered the cautious leader of the intense party. "We are going to
make ourselves felt."
"We are not going to agree to anything without knowing what it is,"
said Lindsley.
"And we are not going to let on to fellows that may go to the
principal, and blow the whole thing. I will say this: If your fellows
will pledge themselves, word and honor, to stand by us to the end, I
will agree that the ship shall return to Havre, or some other port in
France, within twenty-four hours, and that the tables shall be turned
in our favor."
"How are you going to do it?" asked Lindsley.
"Leave that to me. I have a plan which cannot fail. Do the fair thing
by us, and we will get you out of the scrape."
"I will agree to this, and nothing more: I will stand out till we have
a chance to be heard," replied Raymond, who began to have some hope of
the mysterious movements of Howe. "I will do nothing but stand out."
"We don't ask you to do anything else. We will do the rest, if you back
us up."
"We don't back you up, for we don't even know what you are going to
do."
"We will tell you what we are going to do."
"Hold on! Perhaps we had better not know anything about it," interposed
Raymond.
"No, you don't!" exclaimed Howe. "We will tell those who will take the
oath."
"The oath!" ejaculated Lindsley. "Are we joining the Knights of the
Golden Fleece?"
"No, no! I mean the promise," answered Howe, impatiently. "Word and
honor--that's all I want."
The runaway portion of the rebels were doubtless already familiar with
the extraordinary means which was to turn the ship back to the ports of
France. The others, who attended the meeting, were largely influenced
by curiosity. They were intensely mortified at the defeat, which they
were unwilling to acknowledge. It would afford them immense
satisfaction to have the tables turned in their favor; but they were
utterly unable to imagine what powerful machinery Howe and his
associates could bring to bear upon the obdurate principal; how they
were to compel him to put the ship about, and return to France.
The mild party retired to consider whether it would be prudent for them
to enter into a compact of this description with such dangerous
characters as the runaways. They were prejudiced against the measure,
but victory in the undertaking, in which they had engaged, was so
earnestly coveted, that they were tempted to join hands even with Howe,
Little, Wilton, and other desperate fellows. When a person has once
gone astray, the inducements to go farther increase. But Raymond and
his friends were not quite willing to pledge themselves in advance to
measures which they were not allowed to understand; and they finally
agreed to bind themselves to secrecy, in regard to the nature of the
scheme, if Howe would explain it on these terms, and then engage in it
if it were not too wicked. The party returned to the foremast, and
Raymond stated their position.
"That won't go down," promptly replied Howe, with his bullying,
self-sufficient air. "We are to tell you what our plan is, and let you
adopt it or not, as you please! No, sir!"
"We pledge ourselves beforehand to keep your secret, whether we join
with you or not."
"We won't trust you."
"Very well," added Raymond, decidedly. "Nothing more need be said.
Come, fellows."
The leader of the mild party turned on his heel, and moved aft,
followed by his adherents.
"What do you suppose they mean to do?" asked Lindsley, as they halted
under the skylight, near the middle of the steerage.
"I don't know; but it must be something desperate to compel the
principal to put back," replied Raymond. "It may be to make a few
auger-holes in the bottom of the ship."
"I wouldn't do anything of that sort," added Lindsley, shaking his
head.
"No matter what it is; we offered to do the fair thing."
"Suppose you had agreed to keep still, and they had proposed to bore
holes in the bottom of the ship; would you have kept your promise, and
said nothing about it?" asked Lindsley.
"I would not have let them do it; and then there would have been
nothing to conceal," answered Raymond.
"Precisely so! That's a good idea. Why not agree to their proposition,
and then, if they mean to do anything which endangers the ship, we can
easily prevent them from doing it," said Lindsley, who was exceedingly
curious to know what the runaways wished to do.
Others were affected with the same desire, and their curiosity was
rapidly overcoming their prudence. While they were discussing the
question, Hyde and his party, seeing that Raymond and his associates
had withdrawn from the runaways, came to the spot, and disturbed the
conference with irrelevant questions. If all the mild mutineers could
be induced to cling together, they could easily overrule Howe and his
party. Just then, there was not that unity which alone insures success.
There were actually three parties in the steerage, and it was necessary
to reconcile them, or the rebellion would end in an ignominious
failure. But this was found to be quite impossible, so far as Hyde and
his party were concerned; for if the boatswain's call had sounded at
that moment, they would have returned to their duty, if permitted to do
so. Raymond would not consent to make terms with Howe, without the
concurrence of all the others, including Hyde.
Howe was quite as much disgusted with the situation as any of the
milder rebels. He had hoped and expected to drag them into any
desperate scheme which might be adopted, and after Raymond and his
party retired, he looked rather blankly at his friends.
"They are nothing but babies--little spoonies!" said he,
contemptuously. "It isn't safe to do anything with them."
"Nor without them," suggested Spencer.
"I don't believe that," added Little. "They are in for it already. They
will be held responsible for anything done below, as well as we. Let's
go on with the job, just as we intended."
After considerable discussion, the suggestion of the little villain was
adopted, with a modification, however, proposed by himself, by which
the whole party were to be implicated in the mischief. No time was to
be lost, for a portion of the faithful, who appeared still to be having
a good time on deck, would soon come below to turn in. Howe and Little
went to the main scuttle, which opened into the hold, and raised it.
"What are you going to do?" asked Raymond.
"We are going to hide in the hold, just for the fun of the thing,"
replied Little. "Won't you come down with us?"
"That's not a bad idea," suggested Lindsley. "When they come down to
look for us, they won't find us. That will make a sensation, at least,
and then we shall not be entirely ignored."
"Are you going to stay there all night?" inquired Raymond.
"Yes--why not?" answered Lindsley. "It is not quite so comfortable a
place to sleep as the mess-rooms; but we can stand it for one night."
Even the mild rebels, Hyde and Johnson, were pleased with the plan, for
it looked like an adventure. The persuasions of Lindsley induced them
to yield whatever scruples they had. It would be a rich thing to have
the principal or the officers come down into the steerage, and find it
empty. There was still a chance to make the principal do something,
even if it were only to call them up for punishment; for anything
seemed better than being entirely ignored.
Little and Howe, each with a lantern in his hand, which he had taken
from the lamp-room forward, led the way into the hold. All the members
of the three parties followed; the mild rebels regarding the movement
rather as a piece of fun than as anything which added to the guilt they
had already incurred. When the last one had descended the ladder, Howe
put on the scuttle, and the steerage was "like some banquet hall
deserted," for the stewards were either on deck or in the kitchen,
where they spent their leisure hours.
As soon as the rebels were all in the hold, they separated into three
parties again, as they had been in the steerage. Little, with his
lantern, went forward, where he was soon joined by the rest of the
runaways; Hyde and his companions went aft; and Raymond's party
remained near the main scuttle. The hold was divided into store-rooms,
forward and aft, while the space amidships was devoted to the stowage
of boxes, barrels, water casks, and other articles. The water tanks
were near the heel of the foremast, where Howe and his party had
located themselves. They contained the entire supply of the ship, while
she was going from port to port, or lying in harbor. They had been
fitted up under the direction of Mr. Lowington. The water was drawn
from them by means of a pump in the kitchen, the pipe of which could be
adjusted to either of them with screw connections.
"We must do the job quick, and get out of this place, or we may be
fastened down here, as we were in the steerage," said Little, in a low
tone, though he need not have troubled himself to use this precaution,
for the dashing of the sea against the side of the vessel made so much
noise, that those who were twenty feet distance could not have heard
him.
"Are you sure we are not burning our own fingers?" asked Ibbotson. "My
experience in the Josephine, when we were short of water, taught me
what it was to be without it, especially when you have to feed on salt
horse and hard bread."
"That's so," added Spencer.
"Can't we save some for ourselves?" inquired Wilton.
"What's the use? We shall return to Havre as soon as the officers find
that the water tanks are empty," added Little.
"But why not save some?" persisted Wilton. "There are lots of bottles
on the ballast, and a tunnel on the vinegar barrel. Hurry up, and fill
a bottle for each fellow."
A dozen of the rebels rushed aft, and procured the bottles, while
Little started the faucets which were used in drawing off the water,
when it was necessary to clean out the tanks, or for use when the pump
above was out of order. This was the precious scheme by which the
intense rebels intended to compel the principal to return to port
immediately. There could be no doubt that it would be an effectual one,
for with no fresh water the ship could not remain a single day at sea
without causing great discomfort, if not actual suffering, to those on
board. This happy expedient had been devised by Little, and it was
diabolical enough to be the invention of his fertile genius.
The bottles were brought up, and with the aid of the tunnel, a dozen
and a half of them were filled--just enough for the Howe party, for
they did not intend to look out for the comfort of those who would not
fully join them in their plans. The water rushed from the tanks, and
flowed away into the ballast underneath. The faucets were large, and in
a short time the tanks were empty. As the ship rolled each way, almost
the last drop in them was poured out.
"Now let us get out of here before we are fastened in," said Little,
after he had adjusted the faucets.
"There will be a sweet row when they find out the tanks are empty,"
added Howe, fully believing that the party had now done something to
make themselves felt.
"It will please me to hear them howl," continued Wilton.
"Keep your bottles out of sight," said Howe. "Don't let those fellows
see them, or they will smell a mice."
"Don't you suppose they know what we have been doing?" inquired Monroe.
"How should they? The swashing of the sea made so much noise they
couldn't hear the water running out," answered Little.
"Don't let on."
The party concealed their bottles under their clothing, and moved
towards the ladder by which they had descended.
"What were you doing with all those bottles?" asked Raymond.
"What bottles?" demanded Little.
"We saw you take a lot of bottles from the ballast there," replied
Raymond, whose party had been discussing the probable use to which they
were to be applied, though they reached no satisfactory conclusion.
"Well, I'll tell you what they were for," answered Little. "We were
going to have some fun, pelting them with stones, just as we used to
play duck on shore, you know; but we concluded not to do so, lest the
stewards in the kitchen should hear the noise, and make a row about
it--that's all."
"Where are you going now?" inquired Lindsley, who was not quite
satisfied with this lucid explanation--as though fellows engaged in a
mutiny would care to amuse themselves pelting bottles!
"We have just made up our minds that it is not quite safe to stay down
here any longer."
"Why not?"
"Suppose they should fasten us in?"
"Suppose they should? I thought you intended to stay down here," said
Raymond, who concluded that the runaways were very fickle in their
purposes.
"We did intend to do so; but we hadn't looked over all the ground. It
has just occurred to us that the thirty lambs, who kiss the rod that
smites them, would not come into the steerage to-night. It will take
about the whole of them to stand watch, and if any of them go below,
they will sleep on the floor of the main and after cabins, where they
cannot be corrupted by such wicked fellows as you and I, Raymond. So,
you see, if we can't get up any sensation by sleeping on the ballast,
what's the use of making yourself uncomfortable for nothing. That's the
idea. Let us go into the steerage, and turn in for the night."
"I don't believe in backing out," said Raymond, not very well pleased
to hear Little class him with himself.
"Don't back out, then, my dear fellow. Stay here all night, and have a
good time," added the little villain, as he ascended the ladder, and
opened the scuttle.
"I'm not going to stay here if the rest don't," interposed Lindsley;
and all the Howe party followed the runaways.
Hyde's party, seeing that all the others were retreating, came to the
ladder, and asked for an explanation. Howe replied that the runaways
were sick of the game, and had returned to the steerage; and the third
squad followed the example of the other two. The hold was left as empty
of human beings as the tanks were of water.
By this time the watch on deck had been stationed, and the rest of the
crew were permitted to retire. As there was no danger that the
mutineers would escape from the ship, the grating was removed from the
main hatch; but a portion of the watch, including Peaks and the head
steward, were posted near it, to prevent any seaman not wearing the
white ribbon of the Order of the Faithful from coming on deck. Fifteen
of the thirty who had done their duty came below to turn in. Their
appearance created a sensation among the disaffected. Now they would
ascertain what had been said on deck about their refusal to answer the
call. Now they could hear, second-handed, the sermon which the
principal had preached, and which they had heard the faithful applaud.
Now, they could learn what terrible fate had been marked out for the
rebels.
When the faithful came into the steerage, the first thing the rebels
noticed was the white ribbons which adorned their breasts. Of course
they wanted to know what it meant; but they felt a little embarrassed
under the circumstances, and did not like to ask direct questions at
first. They wished and expected the faithful to open the subject by
telling them what a mistake they had made in not being "good." But the
lambs did not say a word to them; did not appear to notice them, or to
indicate by their actions that any unusual event was in progress on
board. There was a great deal of silent skirmishing in the steerage.
Raymond, who had always been pretty intimate with Tremere, as they both
berthed in the same mess-room, continually threw himself in the way of
the latter, in order to tempt him to speak of the evening's
occurrences. Tremere was as silent as a marble statue, though he looked
as composed and good-natured as ever; indeed, rather more so than
usual.
"How's the weather on deck, Tremere?" finally asked Raymond, when no
hint would induce the faithful one to speak first.
"It looks like a change. I shouldn't wonder if all hands were called to
furl top-gallant sails and reef topsails before eight bells," answered
Tremere.
"How did you get along working ship?"
"For further particulars, inquire of the principal," replied he.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Speech is silver, silence is golden."
"Humph!" sneered Raymond, puzzled by the singular replies of his
friend.
"Yours truly," laughed Tremere.
"Why don't you speak?"
"I haven't learned my piece."
"You have learned a piece of impudence."
"'He that hath but impudence
To all things has a fair pretence.'"
"Are you mad, Tremere?"
"'Though this be madness, yet there's method in it.'"
"Quit your quotations! What's that on your coat?"
"A coat-ation."
"If you are mad with me, Tremere, say so."
"'I am not mad! no, no, I am not mad!'" shouted the member of the Order
of the Faithful, with appropriate gestures and expression.
"Come, quit fooling! Can't you talk sense?"
"I can and will; for
"'Want of decency is want of sense.'
"'In college halls, in ancient times, there dwelt
A sage called Discipline.'"
"But you didn't go to school to the old fellow, Raymond."
"I believe you have lost your wits! Now, be reasonable, and talk like a
sensible fellow. What is this?" asked Raymond, putting his finger on
the white ribbon.
"A ribbon."
"What is it for?"
"For me."
"Who gave it to you?"
"The person who had it next before I did."
"Humph! How silly you are! Where did you get it?"
"On deck."
"But who gave it to you."
"The donor thereof."
"Who is the donor thereof."
"The one who gave it to me."
"If you won't answer me, say so. Don't try to make a fool of me."
"I usurp not nature's kindly office."
"Do you mean to insult me?"
"No; I mean to turn in, for I may be called before I have had my snooze
out;" and Tremere, yawning as if he were bored and very indifferent,
walked into the mess-room which contained his berth.
Those who had listened to the conversation were very much amused by it,
and the rest of the Faithful took their cue from Tremere. Not one of
them would answer a question or give a particle of information in
regard to what had transpired on deck. All of them appeared to be
astonishingly good-natured, and no one seemed to be disconcerted by the
rebellion, except the rebels.