Bonanza

The stricken ship staggered on through unknown waters, doomed to become a derelict.

Lennie’s madness had left him, now that the worst was known; indeed, it was in quite a subdued manner that he said:

“They’re fightin’ below.”

An uproar that might have meant mutiny or the simple devilry of drunkenness broke suddenly at the stem, and we reached the hatch in time to drag MacCaskill upon deck out of the invisible hands of the men.

The language arising from the darkness was terrific and inhuman, and I heard also the drunkards scrambling and struggling to make their feet secure upon the steps.

“Keep ’em down!” shouted MacCaskill, as he began to mop his bleeding head.

“How does she go, Mac?”

“Sinkin’, I guess.”

A head loomed up, and two huge brown hands felt for the opening.

I lifted my foot, and drove it down upon this head, and the sailor went falling among his companions, who, unable to distinguish ally from enemy, received him with resounding blows.

Sandy ran up with the covering of the hatch, a grin of triumph on his face, and we clamped it down, while the men battered hopelessly.

“The stern passage is open yet,” panted the little man.

“Fasten it,” growled Lennie, in the same subdued manner. “We’ll keep ’em below, be Jerusalem! an’ drown the crowd.”

“There’s Pete!”

“He shouldn’t let hisself be took,” snarled Lennie.

The men were tumbling about, making through the darkness for the stern hatchway.

Sandy and I raced them, but as we passed the hot funnel, where the smoke came beating down, a large figure sauntered quietly along to meet us, and the soft voice which I had grown to hate and fear observed:

“So the wind has altogether blown itself out. It was a short storm, and a cheerful one.”

The mate stopped and stared, struck dumb.

I shouted at him to come on, lest the men should escape and complicate matters, and he did so, breathing quickly; while the badly-built figure strolled towards the bows, gently stroking his chin, as was his custom.

We jammed down the hatch in time, secured it by padlocks, and raced back, sweating in the dry air.

Redpath was standing in the centre of the deck, his legs apart to maintain his balance, one hand behind him, the other wandering over his flabby face. He greeted our coming with his amiable smile.

“Capital idea,” he said. “I was just remarking to Captain Lennie—a capital idea! Your little plan, Petrie, I’ll wager. It is quite necessary for our safety that the men should be fastened between decks. In fact, I came up to suggest it.”

I awaited the outburst from Lennie, but only silence followed. There was plenty of sound from the wind and the sea, from the poor ship shivering under us, and from the drunkards fighting together like trapped forest-cats, but not a word from the captain. Lennie’s face looked small, and his figure dried up. He tried to stare Redpath in the eyes, but failed. MacCaskill sat upon a skylight, a little spent after his exertions, and from the manner in which his mouth twitched I gathered he was trying to say something. Had Redpath been a man of our own stamp, a man of our own “outside” land, we might have understood him, and we should have certainly beaten him by mere numbers. His superior manner and his calm cynicism frightened us; his powerful will crushed ours; his well-turned sentences, with never an oath in them, spoken so faultlessly, and his magnificent air, made it difficult for any of us to oppose him either by word or deed. Had it been Olaffson, Lennie would probably have gone mad, and given him what he deserved with his iron bar. But Lennie stood mildly before Redpath like a servant before a hard master.

I cannot imagine that Redpath would ever have shown that he was either disconcerted or encouraged. When he tired of the silence which his presence had imposed, he went on:

“It is my duty to report to you, Captain Lennie, that one of your sailors, the half-breed, Leblanc, taken on by you at Gull, there conceived the dastardly plan of capturing this ship, his fellows aiding and abetting, and of sailing her, after the present company, myself included, had been put ashore—marooned is the expression used upon the salt seas, I believe—of sailing the Carillon, I repeat, to a certain locality, where he believes gold is to be found. Before putting away from Gull, he smuggled on board a quantity of liquor, with which he intended to stimulate the courage of his men at the critical moment. As you are aware, captain, these men cannot move far, or indulge in the simplest mental process, without having recourse to spirits. It was fortunate that I discovered Leblanc’s plot some time back. I assumed the disguise of a priest, as I was determined to frustrate this mutinous and piratical plan, and deceived not only the sailors, but your far more acute selves. To my sorrow I found myself outwitted, though I overcame the chief engineer when he was mad with liquor, and have since done my best to run the ship into safety, until the happening of the deplorable catastrophe which now threatens to sink us. It was impossible to stop the ship, because the mechanism became unworkable owing to an accident arising from my own ignorance.”

Redpath turned and fronted the factor.

“I have an apology to make to you, sir,” he went on. “By an unfortunate and inexcusable error, I imagined that you were in league with the mutineers.”

Redpath stopped as abruptly as he had commenced. He had spoken his carefully-prepared sentences with the air of a man who has done much good in his time, but who would scorn to seek after praise.

Akshelah pushed me aside impatiently, and stood out before us, small and determined. A bright colour animated her face, and her eyes were scornful.

“You stand and listen to him, and call yourselves men,” she said angrily. “That man is a liar. He is laughing at you, because he knows he is stronger than you all. You are cowards, but he is the greatest, because he only dares to fight with his tongue.”

Then I saw Redpath’s face change, and a faint flush rose under his loose skin. He gave one short laugh, and set his glance full upon the girl; but his power did not help him there.

Akshelah stepped out firmly, and stopped when within reach, until I went cold with dread lest he should put out his hand and suddenly shoot her. But Akshelah had no such fear, because she understood the man.

“I will show them,” she said fiercely, showing her little teeth, this strong young cat—“I will show them that you are not a man at all.”

She lifted her shapely brown hand, this Indian maid of mine, leant gracefully forward, and punished the English gentleman in the manner I have since seen described as boxing the ears. It was no light touch, because she struck only once, and I have no doubt but that the man’s cheek stung him.

Redpath made no motion of retaliation, but he laughed easily, took off his hat to the girl, raised his big shoulders, and muttering something about “mixing in savage company,” walked away, with an eye behind, and leaned carelessly against the side to await the next turn of events. Akshelah had beaten him before us all, had made a fool of him, as the saying goes, and our nerve improved in consequence.

It was only when we set ourselves to think of action that we discovered our helplessness. There was nothing to be done, except to wait and drift until the land should stop us. Evidently the water was gaining slowly. The pursuing steamer had slackened speed, perhaps because she was sure of us, or perhaps, as Sandy suggested, she, too, had been crippled.

Lennie, with all his spirit gone, mourned the loss of his ship and his reputation. He was almost in tears, and I overheard him muttering to my partner:

“Ben on the water all me time, an’ never made more’n a livin’. Never lost any other boat, ’cept a steam-tug ten year ago, an’ she was cranky. Now I’m gettin’ old, wi’ nothin’ saved. Never get ’nother job. May as well go down wi’ the ole ship, an’ be bit by fishes.”

“Shake ’em off, Bob,” advised the factor. “Things ain’t so messed, if ye come to watch. We ain’t a-going to sink. We’re a-going to run on sand yonder, and the ole ship’ll be better than ever when they’ve fixed a patch across her.”

A chill entered the wind, as the atmosphere shifted and the light became stronger. Looking out, I beheld a fine sight. Across our bows ran the land in a curving line, a bank of trees without a break, with the water white below, and the aurora above. An island ran out to port; here a narrow passage of smooth water led up to a broad silver beach. Any idea of running the ship through this passage and beaching her upon the sand was precluded by the sight of a shoal of rocks guarding the entrance effectually against anything larger than a canoe.

The keel dragged once upon sand in passing, but there was not enough to stop us. We passed so close to the rocks that I could see the green slime dripping off the black jaws, and some great pines, hanging forward at an angle that looked impossible, brushed upon the mast, and rained bunches of spines and small cones upon deck.

The broken-down captain refused to make any effort; Sandy had taken the wheel, and was doing his best to keep us off the visible dangers. When I came up, he jerked his head back, with the question:

“How’s she comin’?”

Afar along the white haunt of shadows, I saw the ghostly object, riding up and down, her single light twinkling, and a gust passed, bringing the deep sound of her panting.

“She’s not gaining,” I said.

“I guess,” said the mate gravely—“I guess we’re the first steamer what’s ever fooled over these waters, an’ she’s the second.”

“Where are we?” I asked, but the mate did not know. He gave his opinion that we were coming to territory never before visited by white men.

When I looked upon the silent shape of Redpath, I doubted the statement. Probably three men on board were visiting this mysterious region not for the first time, and my dead father had probably been here, with the old man, Joe Fagge, the gold-finder.

“She’s slowin’ all the time,” said the mate, with dreary triumph. “Maybe the fire’s gone out. Say! Listen below.”

Shouting and blasphemy had turned into yells of terror, and the battering upon the hatches became furious.

“The water’s worryin’ ’em,” muttered Sandy.

Then Redpath considered it his turn to play. A change had certainly come over the strong-minded man; he was frightened, and he could not altogether hide it; his hands worked uneasily, and he continually cast side glances towards me, as I thought, but I came to realise that I was standing on the line between his eye and the pursuing steamer. It was astonishing that he had not noticed her before.

“Captain Lennie,” he said loudly, “I appeal to you, in the cause of humanity, to unfasten the hatches.”

Lennie made no sign of hearing, but MacCaskill said gruffly:

“You was wantin’ ’em closed down yourself not such a while ago.”

“I considered the men might be dangerous,” said Redpath. “Now they are too frightened to do us any harm.”

“There’s Pete below,” muttered Lennie remorsefully. “Pete was allus a good pard.”

“And I guess you took him foul,” exclaimed MacCaskill boldly. “I guess you knocked him down, and then came up to tell captain he’s drunk.”

“As a gentleman, it is impossible for me to reply,” said Redpath.

“You give the boys that liquor, you and Olaffson,” went on the factor. “You set ’em around me, and started ’em to hustle me inter the cabin, ’cause you wanted me kept outer the racket.”

“Perhaps you believe these romantic charges?” suggested Redpath.

“I believe a pard,” muttered Lennie unhappily.

“You are the captain of this ship. I put myself in your hands. Release the men, and charge me before them.”

“He’s got the men on his side,” I called, backing up my partner, yet never daring to look towards my enemy.

I heard a soft, reproachful voice: “Petrie, I am surprised at you.”

Lennie stirred, and walked over to the stern hatch. Going upon his knees, he shouted, and his voice stopped pandemonium at that end.

“Captain,” whined one of the miserables, “open up, for mercy! The water’s a-runnin’ around, an’ ter’ble cold, an’ we’ll be drownded.”

“Where’s Dave?” shouted Lennie. “Tell him to back astern. Where’s Pete?”

“Some feller’s locked the door of the engine-room, and Pete’s tied up inside, they say, captain. Dave’s raddled. The water’s a-comin’ in dreadful.”

“Who gave ye the liquor?”

“Olaffson,” whined the voice.

“Revolting creature,” said Redpath.

“Most of us ain’t very drunk, captain.”

“Olaffson is, of course, Leblanc’s partner in this miserable undertaking,” continued Redpath.

A sharp gust came suddenly, and silt again jarred the keel.

“Mind out!” yelled Sandy, and we looked ahead.

A luxuriant screen of vegetation spread above and around, blotting out the light. As we entered the arch of gloom, a cold sensation thrilled me, and this outwardly beautiful, but treacherous, shore asserted its malignancy. A horrible odour enclosed us, and when we drifted nearer the silent trees, and could distinguish hundreds of naked poles springing out of a beach of putrid mud, the loathsome atmosphere became so dense that it was horrible to draw breath.

In helplessness and silence we awaited the end. The Carillon drove fast into the mud, brought up among the trees, and there stayed, her screw feebly beating up the half-liquid filth. A faint gleam of light, just powerful enough to struggle through the dense roof of vegetation, lit, after a ghastly manner, the straight unvarying tree-stems, none greater in circumference than the Carillon’s mast, the fearful stagnant mud-flat, and the gigantic crab-spiders, like the nameless things of a dreadful dream, scuttling on long bent legs noiselessly.

“It is the place where the devils dance,” said Akshelah, in horror.

The men between decks were being well punished for their intemperance. Pitiful were the supplications that ascended.

“Stinkin’ mud! Oh! come-a-help!” yelled one voice which sounded familiar.

“Lord-a-save! great awful bugs crawlin’ everlastingly.”

Then the little steamer danced over the black and white water, and touched the outer edge of the utterly black shadow. They must have seen us by the matches we kept striking to light our pipes, though the tobacco tasted of decayed matter, and the flames burnt blue.

Redpath was well and completely beaten. Perfect and polished gentleman to the end, he removed a clean white handkerchief from his mouth, and said:

“Captain Lennie. My dear sir,” with added warmth, “I will throw myself on your clemency, as a man grievously attacked by unjust suspicion. As a passenger upon your ship, and as a man who has done all the little possible for our common safety, I appeal to you to return good for good, and side with me now.”

“Pshaw!” muttered MacCaskill, and Lennie nodded approval at the factor’s exclamation.

A powerful voice rolled solemnly over the mud and water, and reached us through the poisoned atmosphere:

“Carillon!”

Sandy, whose lungs were strongest, returned the hail.

“Have you a man name of Tankerville?”

The shout went back in the negative.

“Have you a man disguised as a priest?”

“Persecution follows me,” Redpath remarked indifferently. “Petrie, your father was the better man, though I regret to say he was a murderer! I fear, gentlemen, I must bid you all good-bye!”

“There’s a reward,” rolled the menacing voice out of the fetid air.

“That,” said Redpath, more solemnly than I had ever heard him speak—“that is distinctly ironic. After looking for money all my life, I become a base article of commerce in my old age.”

“He can’t escape anyhow,” muttered MacCaskill, with a grin of satisfaction.

“Good-bye to you!” called Redpath, turning to make a gesture with his white hand. At the side of the ship he paused, and gravely adjusted the handkerchief round his mouth and nose.

A gasp of amazement and horror went up from the deck. The adventurer had gone!

We rushed across, sickening, and saw him below. He sank out of sight into the unutterable putrescence, dragged himself up, congealed with living filth, struggled on, half swimming, half dragging his body through the accumulated vegetable rot of centuries, pulling himself on by the smooth trunks of the trees, until he had lost all resemblance to any living thing, human or animal, and the great spider-like things, with the red stalk eyes and long crooked legs, darted at him noiselessly. Out of his heaving, reeking track ascended a miasma sufficient to poison a population. The ghost-light played once more faintly upon the unnatural object writhing itself away to liberty. Then it was gone, hidden in the outer stench and darkness.

MacCaskill spat violently, and pressed a hand to his aching forehead. Horror-struck, he muttered:

“That’s a man who’s wonderful fond of his life!”