TRAGEDY
As Calamity sat in his cabin reading the secret document which had so
unexpectedly fallen into his hands, he chuckled grimly. It proved,
beyond any vestige of a doubt, that Mr. Isaac Solomon was playing an
extremely profitable, but also extremely hazardous game. It was not
simply a case of blockade-running, it was a matter of trading with the
enemy--in effect, treason. He was, by devious tricks and dodges,
supplying the enemy with war material, and, it went without saying,
making a gigantic profit on each rascally transaction. His method was
wonderfully ingenious, for, by providing German and English clearance
papers for his ships, he was reasonably sure of their getting through,
whether stopped by British vessels or those of the enemy. Moreover, the
cargoes were shipped to neutral ports and their real nature disguised,
to lessen further the risk of discovery. But how the astute Solomon had
managed to get these papers Calamity could not imagine; still, he had
done so.
This remarkable document also shed a light on the character and variety
of some of Mr. Solomon's numerous business activities, and seemed to
show that he was even wealthier than rumour had alleged. Until now,
Calamity himself had never guessed that his partner possessed any
ships, and certainly Singapore knew nothing of it.
"Inscrutable are the ways of Solomon," he murmured with a smile.
He would not have parted with the incriminating document for a fortune
because it meant that, henceforward, Solomon would be in his power. In
all his transactions with the wily ship-chandler, he had always been
made to feel that it was the latter who held the whip-hand. He had been
conscious of it when he left Singapore on this privateering expedition
and had more than suspected that Solomon's motives for financing him had
been only partly concerned with the making of a profit out of possible
prizes. He felt even more sure of it now, but it only increased his
sense of grim satisfaction. The tables had been turned, and it was he
who held the whip-hand, for it was in his power not only to ruin his
partner financially, but to have him sent to prison for what, in all
probability, would be the term of his natural life.
While Calamity was gloating over these matters, and while Jasper Skelt
was doing his best to incite the crew to mutiny, Mr. Dykes was
ventilating a grievance to the chief engineer. What puzzled and
irritated him, as it did nearly everyone else on the _Hawk_, was the
Captain's seeming folly in letting the _Ann_, admittedly an enemy ship,
get away. Even if she carried no cargo of any value, she could have been
escorted into Singapore and claimed as a prize. The Admiralty award
would surely have been generous, and well worth all the trouble.
This view he explained at some length to McPhulach, who was absorbing a
fearful concoction of gin and rum. The engineer was not a very
sympathetic listener at any time, but as both the second-mate and the
second-engineer were on watch, there was no one else to whom Mr. Dykes
could unburden himself with anything like freedom.
"I ain't saying but what he mayn't have his reasons, and very good
ones," said the mate; "but, if he has, he ought to tell us. The crew are
startin' to look nasty again, and who's to blame 'em? Three times
already we've had a chance to rope in a prize and he's let every one
breeze away. It gets by me, and that's a fact."
McPhulach, who had been dozing between drinks, opened his eyes as the
speaker paused.
"He's a michty quare mon; a verra michty--hic--quare mon," he murmured,
and closed his eyes again.
"Mind you," went on the mate, "I ain't grouchin', but, all the same, I'd
like to know where this dance is going to end. Is he goin' to tote us
all over the Pacific for the fun of stoppin' ships and letting 'em go
again? And where's the prize-money that we were goin' to get such
lashings of?"
A stentorian snore was the only reply, and Mr. Dykes, realising that the
engineer was fast asleep, suppressed a desire to administer him a hearty
kick, and left the cabin. Outside he came upon Miss Fletcher sitting on
a camp-stool at the door of the cabin that had once been his.
"What's the matter? You're looking very serious," she said.
Mr. Dykes paused, and, leaning his back against the opposite bulkhead,
stuck both hands in his pockets and assumed an air of weary resignation.
"I was jest tryin' to figger out whether we're on a yachtin' trip or
whether the old man is jest dodgin' about for the sake of his health,"
he answered.
The girl looked puzzled.
"I don't understand," she said.
The mate heaved a sigh and sat down on the cabin step beside her. In
spite of that past episode when he had forgotten himself, they were on
very friendly terms. She did not appear to resent or even to remember
the incident, probably because she knew that Mr. Dykes had learnt his
lesson and would be more discreet in future. Certainly she had not
reported the matter to Calamity, as he had at first feared she would,
and this fact raised her in his esteem as much as the blow between the
eyes had done. In fact, he had a very healthy respect for this
self-possessed young woman.
"I don't understand what you mean," she reiterated.
Whereupon Mr. Dykes repeated more or less what he had said to the
engineer concerning the Captain's apparent want of enterprise.
"You may be sure he knows what he's about," she said, when the mate had
finished.
"I'm willin' to allow that," he answered; "but it don't help us any. We
didn't sign on this packet for a pleasure cruise, and good intentions
don't cut no ice."
"Then you don't trust the Captain?" she inquired, with a touch of scorn
in her voice.
"Now you're gettin' a hitch on the wrong cow. I didn't say anything of
the sort. What I want to know is, when are we goin' to start biz, the
real biz? I ain't out to study the beauties of the deep; none of us are;
we've seen 'em too often, and they ain't none too beautiful neither."
"Why don't you ask the Captain?"
"That ain't all," went on Mr. Dykes, ignoring the question, "it won't do
to bank too much on this here crew. They're gettin' ugly, and when they
do stampede it won't be like last time. There'll be real, genuine
trouble accompanied by corpses--you can put your shirt on that."
"But you told me he quelled a mutiny single-handed when you were only a
few days out."
"Yes; but this is different. Then the men were unprepared, they didn't
know what to expect, and so the old man was able to raise Cain before
they'd got their bearin's. This time it'll be different; it'll be a
real, genuine, bloody mutiny, with hell to pay."
"Personally, I have no fear. I would back your Captain against any
number of such scum," answered the girl a little contemptuously.
Mr. Dykes shook his head gloomily.
"This ain't the sort of ship for a woman to be on," he remarked.
"I am quite capable of taking care of myself."
The mate made no answer, and, realising that his forebodings were not
meeting with any sympathy, rose slowly from the step and yawned.
"Guess I'll turn in for a spell," he said; "mine's the middle watch."
She made no attempt to detain him, and he lounged away towards the
second-mate's cabin to get some sleep before going on duty.
The brief twilight of the tropics had given place to night, and, though
there was no moon, the sky was ablaze with myriads of brilliant stars,
some in clusters like groups of sparkling gems, others strewn, as it
were, promiscuously over the translucent blue dome and a few isolated
and outstanding by reason of their wonderful brilliance. The cool
night-air was filled with a subtle, intoxicating perfume, and the sea
was like a vast steel mirror save for the expanding streak of bubbling,
foam-flecked water in the steamer's wake. And the only sounds to be
heard were the steady, rhythmic beat of the engines and the gurgling
swish of the water as it swept past the ship's sides, clear, cool, and
enticing. The mast-head light shone out steady and bright like a star of
enormous magnitude and on either beam the navigating lights cast red or
green reflections on the placid sea.
Dora Fletcher retired to her cabin, where she sat watching, through an
open port, the beauty and wonder of the starlit night. She had
extinguished the lamp the better to enjoy this and the sense of peace
which the darkness induced. Presently, however, she turned away with a
sigh to prepare for bed, and, as she did so, glanced carelessly out of
the port which looked across the deck towards the foc'sle. The door of
the latter was shut, but through the chinks a yellow ray of light
penetrated, and, listening intently, she caught the murmur of voices.
For a moment she forgot all about the beauty and peacefulness of the
night, and her thoughts turned to the lugubrious forebodings of the
mate. On such a night, and under such conditions, it was almost
impossible to imagine a scene such as he had hinted; impossible to
picture the silent and deserted decks aswarm with savage, bloodthirsty
men, intent upon murder and destruction. Yet she, who had been afloat
before most children have left the nursery, knew that it was possible,
just as she knew that it was only the iron mastery of one man which kept
this horde of ruffians in check. Since babyhood, almost, she had
listened to tales of mutiny and crime on the high seas; had sailed with
men who had witnessed such things, and some who even boasted of the
parts they had played therein.
Suddenly she was roused from the vague, waking dream into which she had
fallen by the sound of a man's voice raised almost to a shout. It
dropped abruptly as though the speaker had suddenly recollected himself
and was conscious of having committed an indiscretion. It was evident,
however, that something unusual was going on in the foc'sle which,
ordinarily, should have been silent till the relief watch was routed out
and the off-going watch tumbled in. After a while she again heard
voices, and then sounds that seemed to suggest subdued quarrelling.
These sounds again died down, all was silent, and soon afterwards the
light in the foc'sle was extinguished.
For some moments the girl lingered at the port, wondering what the
commotion for'ad portended, wondering also whether the officer on the
bridge had noticed it. The chances were that he had not, for the noise
of the engines coming through the gratings would probably have drowned
the sounds in the foc'sle, and the fact that it had been lighted up was
not in itself suspicious; a dim light was always kept burning there.
She was just about to move away and turn in, when she saw the foc'sle
door open and a man creep stealthily out. Had he stepped out boldly she
would have thought nothing of it, but his furtive movements at once
roused her curiosity. Keeping well in the shadow of the bulwarks, he
crept forward till at last he reached the alleyway between the cabins
amidships and disappeared. Next moment the girl heard soft footsteps
approach her cabin, pass the door, and die away.
She kept quite still for a few seconds in order to let the man pass,
then softly opened her door and peered out. At the other end of the
alleyway, giving upon the after-deck, she caught sight of the shadowy
figure making its way aft, and still keeping well in the shadows.
Stepping noiselessly out of the cabin, she followed him in obedience to
an insistent desire to find out what he was about to do. On reaching the
deck-house aft which led to the Captain's quarters, the man stopped and
the girl had barely time to sink behind a steam-winch before he turned
round and gazed furtively about him.
Then, apparently satisfied that he was not being watched, the man did an
extraordinary thing. Climbing over the taffrail, he began to lower
himself gently towards the water. A wild fear that he intended to commit
suicide took possession of the girl, and she was about to cry out, when
his next action arrested her. With his feet on the iron wind-shoot that
projected from the scuttle of the Captain's cabin, he lowered himself
still farther and then, grasping the shoot with his hands, let himself
down till he was nearly up to the waist in water.
Then, and not till then, the girl guessed what his intention was. The
Captain's bunk was situated immediately beneath the porthole, a fact she
had noticed during her first and, so far, last interview with Calamity.
From his present insecure position, the man could, by putting his arm
through the open port, reach the Captain as he lay asleep, and,
providing he had a weapon, a knife for instance, stab him before he
could utter a cry for help or defend himself.
And, even as she looked, Dora Fletcher saw the gleam of a knife in the
man's hand; saw it raised for the murderous blow. Involuntarily she
closed her eyes and was about to shriek for help when she felt herself
seized from behind and a hand pressed tightly over her mouth.