THE CAPTAIN'S "APPEAL"
"Not a word," whispered a harsh voice which, to her astonishment, she
recognised as belonging to Captain Calamity.
He removed his hand from her mouth.
"Go back to your bunk," he said in a low tone. "And not a whisper of
what you have seen to a soul. Understand?"
She nodded.
He jerked his head in a manner signifying that she was to go, and the
girl crept back to her cabin, feeling very much like a school-boy who
has been discovered breaking bounds. What she had thought to be a
horrible tragedy had, so far as she was concerned, turned out to be a
farce. Yet, with feminine inconsistency, her secret admiration for
Calamity was increased a hundredfold. His extraordinary preparedness,
his calm, unshakable self-reliance, his independence of everyone else,
fascinated her. There was nothing picturesque or heroic in his manner or
appearance, yet he had proved himself a match, and more than a match,
for the desperadoes who surrounded him. There was not a man on board his
equal in resourcefulness, watchfulness, or strength of purpose; he was
master of them all.
Even while she felt deeply humiliated at his treatment of her, she
realised the absurdity of such a feeling. To him she was of less
consequence even than the most inefficient fireman or sailor on board;
for all she knew to the contrary, he had, until this brief and
unexpected encounter, forgotten her very existence. She felt that to
nourish resentment on this account would be childish; a wave might as
well nourish resentment against the rock on which it ineffectually
dashed itself. For the first time in her life Dora Fletcher had met a
man who was as indifferent to her feelings as he was to her sex, and,
curiously enough, she was not altogether displeased by this.
Calamity, meanwhile, was playing his own game in his own way.
Withdrawing into the shadows, he awaited the return of Skelt from his
murderous errand. He had not long to wait. A moment or two after Dora
Fletcher had been so curtly ordered back to her cabin, the head of the
ex-boatswain appeared over the taffrail. He cast a hurried glance right
and left, then cautiously clambered over the rail and lowered himself on
to the deck. As he did so a hand shot out from the darkness and clutched
his throat with a grip of steel. Not until he was on the verge of being
suffocated did the choking grip relax, and then a hand fastened upon his
shoulder.
"Silence. Come with me," said a voice which sent a thrill of terror
through him.
Skelt had no alternative but to obey, and so, with the Captain's heavy
hand still upon his shoulder, accompanied him into the cabin.
"Now," said Calamity as he seated himself and surveyed his prisoner, "be
good enough to explain this disobedience to orders."
The fellow looked at him in astonishment. It was disconcerting enough to
find himself a prisoner in the hands of the man he had intended to
murder, but it was amazing to be accused by him of what sounded like a
minor offence.
"I don't understand," he answered sullenly.
"Is that how you have been in the habit of addressing your Captain?"
"Sir," growled the man.
"Remember that the next time you speak. Now then, what is your excuse
for being on the after-deck when, as you know, no men are allowed there
after sunset unless by express command?"
Something akin to hope arose in the ex-bos'n's breast. Could it be
possible, he thought, that the Captain was unaware of his real intention
and thought that he had merely disobeyed one of the ship's regulations?
And, being wholly ignorant of the extraordinary methods of the terrible
skipper of the _Hawk_, Jasper Skelt permitted himself the luxury of a
little secret contempt.
"I didn't know anything about the orders, sir," he answered.
"Indeed? Do you know the penalty for disobedience on board a privateer?"
"No, sir."
"Death."
The man started nervously and turned a shade paler. Things were not
going quite so well as he had thought, after all.
"I've never been aboard a privateer before, sir," he replied humbly.
"So I presume. What's more, I don't think you're likely ever to be
aboard another."
Again the ex-boatswain glanced nervously at the skipper. The last remark
struck him as being unpleasantly ominous. The question which followed
confirmed his worst fears.
"Did the men know why you came aft to-night?"
"I--I can't say, sir," faltered Skelt.
"You mean to say that you told none of them what you intended to do?"
The man's knees were trembling. He made an attempt to speak, but seemed
to choke before he could get the words out.
"Answer me!" rapped out the Captain, and Skelt started as if at the
sound of a pistol-shot.
"N--no, sir," he faltered, hardly realising what he said.
"Then I am to understand that they didn't know you intended to murder
me?"
Skelt's last hope deserted him. His face turned an ashen grey. He tried
to speak, but only a dry sob of abject terror escaped him.
"If you don't answer my question, you die inside two minutes," said
Calamity quietly.
"Not all of them, sir," replied the wretched man.
"You admit that you meant to kill me, then?"
"God forgive me, sir, I----"
"Never mind about God," interrupted the Captain grimly. "It's me you're
up against at the moment. Answer me, did all the men know of this?"
"Yes, sir."
"And they were all quite willing you should do it."
"Only two objected, sir."
"Who were they?"
"Li Chang and Brunton, sir."
"But they made no effort to warn me."
"The others said they'd kill them if they did."
"I see."
Calamity leant back in his chair and surveyed his prisoner with the
calm, questioning scrutiny of a scientist surveying some new and
interesting specimen.
"So," he remarked at length, "it never occurred to any of you that I
might be acquainted with everything that went on in the foc'sle; you
even felt sure that I knew nothing of the little indignation meeting you
held last Sunday. You were actually such fools as to suppose that,
having shipped the worst gang of port vermin that ever soiled a ship's
decks, I should remain quietly in my cabin in the hope that they were
behaving themselves like decent men. I never thought that rascality and
faith went hand in hand."
Skelt made no answer, and the Captain rang a little hand-bell on the
table. Next moment the steward, a huge Chinaman called Sing-hi, entered
the cabin.
"You lingee?" he inquired.
"Yes." Calamity turned to the prisoner. "Have you anything to say?" he
asked.
"For God's sake don't be hard on me," implored the would-be murderer
with abject piteousness. "Give me a chance, sir, and I'll do anything
for you. Only one chance, sir, only one, and, before Christ, I'll be
your slave."
A queer smile came over Calamity's face as he regarded the cringing
servility of the ruffian.
"You would, would you?" he observed. "If I asked you to kill a certain
man fora'd while he was asleep, would you do it?"
"Yes, sir, if you'll spare my life. I'll do anything, sir!" cried the
man, with grovelling eagerness.
"You'd swear to do it?"
"I'll take my oath on the Bible, sir."
"I thought you would," answered the Captain grimly. "Steward, lock the
man up in your room and don't hesitate to kill him if he tries to
escape. Savee?"
"Savee plenty muchee," answered the huge Chinaman with a grin, whereupon
he caught hold of the ex-boatswain's collar, swung him round, and
hustled him out of the cabin. When they had gone, Calamity arose and
made his way to the bridge, where Mr. Dykes was on watch.
"Anything to report?" asked the Captain.
"No, sir."
"How are you managing with the crew?"
"Well, sir, they ain't quite as peaceful as they might be; not since we
met the _Ann_."
"Indeed? why?"
"They seem to think we might have made her a prize and taken her into
port. In fact," added the mate, warming up, "I may as well tell you
there's going to be trouble, sir."
"Mutiny, you mean?"
"Yep, and when they start there'll be blue murder. It's that swine we
picked up that's been workin' the mischief."
"Then we must deal with him, Mr. Dykes."
"I guess it'll be a stiff proposition, Cap'n; he's gotten all the crew
behind him. D'rectly you lay hands on him, it'll be like a spark in a
powder-barrel."
"Then you regard him, virtually, as Captain of the ship?"
The mate made no answer, but shrugged his shoulders significantly. He
believed that, in utterly disregarding the wishes of the crew, and, at
the same time, maintaining an iron discipline, Calamity had bitten off
"a bigger chunk than he could chew." However, he considered it prudent
to keep this opinion to himself, and therein he was undoubtedly right.
"By to-morrow morning," went on the Captain after a pause, "all signs of
mutiny will, I think, have disappeared."
"I hope to God they will, sir."
"I feel sure that an appeal to the men's reason, such as I shall make
to-morrow, will not fail in its effect."
"An appeal to their reason, sir!" gasped the mate.
"Yes. A mild demonstration of the absurdity of attempting to mutiny."
"I don't get you, sir."
"No? Well, muster all hands on deck at eight bells. Good-night, Mr.
Dykes."
"Good-night, sir," answered the mate, and, walking to the bridge-rail,
expectorated over the side. "Well," he muttered, "if it ain't enough to
make a feller spit blood. An appeal to their reason! Gee, he'll be
holdin' family prayers in the cabin next."
At six bells, which was an hour before his watch was up, the mate
perceived a man mounting the bridge-ladder.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, "who are you?"
"Brunton, sir," answered the man.
"Well, what d'you want? It's not your watch."
"Have you seen Skelt, sir?"
"Seen Skelt!" roared the mate. "What the hell do you take me for? D'you
think I know where every perishin' son of a cock-eyed monkey aboard this
packet is?"
"He was going to murder the Captain, sir. I couldn't get away before, as
all the others were watching me. I only got out now because they think
he's funked it."
"Goin' to murder--here, fetch the second-mate up, quick!"
The man hurried to Smith's cabin and roused out the sleeping occupant,
who stumbled up to the bridge vomiting profanity of varied hues.
"Get aft!" shouted the mate, "they're murderin' the old man."
Smith turned and dashed off to the Captain's cabin, which he entered
without even the ceremony of knocking. It was empty, but from a small
room adjoining came the sound of stentorian snores.
"Blimey!" muttered Smith, glancing round him. "He don't sound as if he
were dead."
His eye fell on the ship's log which lay open on the table.
Instinctively he glanced at it and, under the entry for the day, read
the following:
"Jasper Skelt, boatswain of the barque _Esmeralda_. Died at sea. Cause,
misadventure."
He slowly returned to the bridge and told the mate what he had seen.
"You're sure he was alive?" asked the latter.
"Well, he was makin' a noise like a motor-'bus climbin' a hill,"
answered Smith.
At eight bells that morning Mr. Dykes, in quite a different frame of
mind to that of a couple of hours ago, sent the bos'n to muster all
hands on deck. The men tumbled out sullenly, muttering among themselves
in a manner which seemed to justify the mate's recent warning to the
Captain.
Suddenly one of them gave a cry.
In the clear, grey morning light, they beheld, hanging from one of the
derricks, the lifeless body of Jasper Skelt. His hands and feet were
tightly bound with cords, and he was suspended from the boom by a rope
round his neck.
Judging from the men's faces as they stared at the ghastly spectacle,
Calamity's "appeal" was not likely to prove a vain one.