The Second Mate almost gasped; then, without a word, he hit the apprentice with all his might, breaking his front teeth and sending him stunned to the deck. He next turned on the others, cursing, shouting meanwhile for the Master, Beeston, and Schieffs, the Bo’sun. The lads all fought doggedly, and Henricksen would have been badly mauled had not Captain Beeston and the Bo’sun come quickly to his aid. The Bo’sun was serving some foot-ropes at the time, and he came running up onto the poop, carrying his heavy teak serving mallet. With this he nearly killed two of the younger boys, named respectively Darkins and Peters, and within a minute the whole seven of the boys were either knocked senseless or being unmercifully kicked by the three men into abject submission.
I had better state here that the opinions of the men (i.e., the A.B.’s for’ard in the fo’c’sle) upon the treatment accorded the ’prentices was divided, some holding that it did boys good to be “handled” a bit, others that it was a shame and ought to be stopped; others, again, thought that the ’prentices were “uppish,” and got no more than they deserved.
This, I think, gives very fairly the attitudes of the men, and the reason why there was no attempt to interfere between the after-guard and the lads.
Meanwhile, up on the poop Captain Beeston was shouting to the Steward to bring up the irons. When these were brought, Jumbo, Bullard, and Connaught, the three biggest ’prentices, were trussed up, after which the Second Mate and the Bo’sun carried them down into the pantry and fairly tumbled them into the lazarette. In this way the three most formidable lads were disposed of. Of the others, the two who had been hit by the Bo’sun’s serving mallet were put into their bunks to recover, whilst Kinniks and Jones, the two young Lady Morgan apprentices, were sent aloft to grease down.
I have said that the three most formidable ’prentices were down in the lazarette securely in irons; but in this I am hardly correct, for the most formidable lad of the lot, as events proved, was at that moment down in the fore-peak (away up in the bows of the ship) routing out paint-drums, and sublimely unconscious of what had just happened to his berth-mates. When he came on deck, however, he was speedily learned.
“Your mates ’ave bin gettin what-for, my son!” one of the men informed him, grinning.
“Yes,” said another; “and from what I saw I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that them two young’uns won’t get better. There’ll be the deuce to pay then, an’ serve them three big brutes right. It’ll mean hangin’; that’s what it’ll mean!”
Larry Edwards (generally called “Tommy Dodd”) waited for nothing more, but raced aft, where he found things quite as bad as the men had pictured to him. Darkins and Peters still lay senseless in their bunks, breathing with queer little gasps. He ran in through the saloon doorway, under the break of the poop, for the Steward, and found him in his pantry.
“Steward,” he said, “have you been to Darkins and Peters? Those brutes have laid them out while I was down the fore-peak, and they look awful bad.”
“Hush!” whispered the Steward, holding up his hand. “The Old Man’s sittin’ in the saloon, an’ I darsent come yet. I was goin’ to have a look at ’em just now, but he saw me, an’ told me to let ’em lie, or he’d put me the same way. He’s just rampin’, the drunken old brute. But I’ll come the minute he goes into his cabin to lie down.”
“Steward,” said Tommy, very earnestly, “Darkins and Peters are going to die, I believe, unless something’s done. You’ve got to come, or there’ll be a murder trial when we get home, and you’ll show up pretty bad.”
This frightened the Steward, and, after much hesitation, he slipped out of his pantry, along the alley-way, out through the doorway under the poop, and there waited until he heard the Second Mate’s footsteps going aft in his continual pacing of the poop overhead; then he literally darted for’ard, round the mizzen hatch, and into the small steel after-deckhouse, where the ’prentices lived.
“Shut the door,” he whispered to Edwards, “or they’ll see us.” When this was done he drew aside the curtains of the boys’ bunks and looked at the damaged youngsters.
“My word! My word!” he said, drawing in his breath. “They’ll die, sure enough. I can’t do nothin’ for ’em. It’s the Bo’sun did this. I wouldn’t be him for the Mint!”
All the time that he talked he was examining first one boy’s head and then the other.
“They’ve sure had a terrible bashing,” he muttered. “I’ll watch my chance and bring some stuff along to bath ’em, an bind ’em up. If I’m caught, sonny, I shall be massacred.” Yet he managed it, and finally tried to force a little brandy down the boys’ throats; but the stuff dribbled helplessly away out of the corners of their mouths, and brought a bubbling sound into their breathing that frightened the old Steward so that he stopped, declaring that he had done all he could, and dared try no experiments.
“Just leave ’em be is all we can do now,” he said. “If they dies, they dies—an’ blow me if it won’t serve the Bo’sun right!” With that brief sentiment he left them, after having given Larry a brief outline of how the trouble had originated.
It was Edwards’s and Kinniks’s watch on deck that night. Darkins and Peters still lay unconscious in their bunks, breathing in the same strange, unnatural fashion that Larry had noticed when he first saw them after the fight. Harold Jones, whose watch below it was, sat wearily on a chest, not even trying to undress and turn in. From time to time he whispered to “Tommy Dodd,” who had crept quietly into the berth to see how the two in the bunks were getting on.
For a little while they sat and talked, until suddenly the for’ard door of the house was opened a little and Kinniks pushed his head cautiously into the berth. He was the Timekeeper for the first two hours of that watch, and had just stolen down off the poop for a moment.
“ ’S—sh!” he whispered, with a gesture of nervous excitement. “They’re going to have old Jumbo and Bullard and Connaught up out of the lazarette at seven bells. And they’re goin’ to tie them up by their thumbs in the mizzen rigging, before the First Mate is called, and hammer them till they’re sick. I heard the Old Man and the Second talking about it on the weather side of the chart-house.”
It was then, and at that exact moment, that young Larry Edwards had his inspiration of the plan (the first part of which he actually carried out almost unaided) by which he managed literally to show Captain Beeston that he had met his Waterloo.
He took command from that moment; told Kinniks to get back onto the poop at once, and not to worry whatever he might see. “You’ll have to keep my time as well as yours,” he told him; and therewith hurried him off. Then he turned to the still-dressed Harold Jones. “Don’t ask questions,” he said; “but go and get the fresh-water pump shipped, as quiet as you can. If you make a sound they’ll hear you, and you’ll just get murdered.”
As soon as Jones had gone on this errand Edwards turned the lamp a little lower and went out through the for’ard steel door of the little house. He returned in a couple of minutes with one of the boat’s empty water-breakers, which he proceeded to wash out. By the time that he had done Jones came in quickly to say that the pump was shipped.
“Right!” said the younger boy. “Now fill this breaker and the berth water-barrel as quick as ever you can; but go slow with the pump, or they’ll hear you.”
He next went aft himself, as quietly as a shadow, and stole the keys of the lamp-room out of the Second Mate’s room. With these he unlocked paint-locker and oil-room, away for’ard, and stepped inside, but, as fate would have it, did not snick it properly. As it fell out, whilst he was routing round in the dark for what he wanted, the Bo’sun happened to walk for’ard on that side of the main-deck, and the door, swinging open with the roll of the ship, caught him a blow on the elbow that set him dancing.
“Curse the door!” he said, and slammed it savagely, without ever thinking to look inside. I suppose he imagined merely that the Second Mate had forgotten to lock it that evening. A minute or so later it was opened e
ver so cautiously and Larry’s head came out to take a survey. Finally the whole of that astute youth emerged, and lifted out onto the deck a five-gallon drum of paraffin. He locked the door, and then swiftly and with infinite care carried his spoils aft to the ’prentices’ berth.
He did not bother to return the keys; but, having seen that Harold Jones was managing all right with the water, slipped out of the berth again and away in through the saloon doorway. Here, after listening awhile, he made his way aft to the Steward’s room and listened to his snoring; then to the room of Mr. Jenkins, the First Mate, and made sure that he was asleep. Finally, after standing a moment at the foot of the companion-way, listening, he did the thing he was planning—walked right into the privacy of the Captain’s own cabin, opened his desk, and took out the keys of the irons. There was a revolver there, which he grabbed up, but failed, in his hurry, to find the cartridges—perhaps a providential failure. There were two Winchester rifles locked in a rack, and these he quickly put out of action by bashing the hammers, which he did with two sharp steady blows from one of the emergency axes, which lay in their rack below the rifles.
The blows had not made much sound, but he was acutely anxious to make sure no one had heard, and so ran again, first to the Mate’s door, and then to the Steward’s; but both appeared to be sleeping quietly, whilst overheard, to wind’ard, he could hear the steady pacing of the Master and the Second Mate; and so he knew that, for the present at any rate, he was safe.
And now came the most desperate part of his scheme. He ran lightly (he was barefooted, remember) again to the foot of the companion way, listened a moment, and then stole into the pantry. Here he lifted the hatch that led down into the lazarette and felt for the ladder with his feet; then down he went, lowering the hatch cautiously back into place over his head. He felt his way down the ladder, reached the deck of the lazarette, and whispered: “Jumbo! Jumbo!”
“Halloa! Who’s there?” said Bullard’s voice.
“ ’S—sh!” whispered Edwards. “It’s me—Larry. I’ve got the keys. We’ll beat them yet!”
He struck a light, and a murmur of muttered exclamations of excitement came from out of the darkness. He walked over towards the sounds, striking another match, and so found his three fellow-’prentices, all ironed brutally. Their hands were handcuffed and their feet lashed together; then they had been doubled forward until their elbows were below their knees, and broomsticks had been thrust in over the elbows and under the knees and lashed securely, thus forcing them to remain always in that one constrained position.
“Larry, you’re a little brick!” said Jumbo, and Bullard added another word of praise; Connaught, the third one in irons, said nothing. He just lay silent, partly on his side, where he had fallen. He had been so roughly used that all the spirit seemed to have been knocked out of him.
Edwards drew his sheath-knife and, by the light of several matches, managed to cut Jumbo’s lashings; he was then able to get at the irons to unlock them. Whilst he worked he told them that Kinniks had overheard that they were going to be brought on deck at seven bells (near midnight—eleven-thirty, to be exact) and tied by their thumbs in the mizzen rigging and thrashed.
“I’ll do murder first,” said Jumbo, quietly. Then he caught young Larry in the dark and hugged him savagely. “I’ll never forget, kid, while I live. Come on with the others.”
Between them they cut out the other two, and in less than another couple of minutes had their irons off. They shook Connaught and rubbed his hands and knees and elbows until he began to take some notice of them; then they went for the ladder. Edwards felt his way up first, lifted the hatch ever so slightly, and peeped out. He lifted it higher and listened; there was not a sound, save the creak of the woodwork and the steady footsteps of the Captain and Second Mate overheard on the deck.
“Come on,” he whispered, and lifted the hatch fully. Jumbo came first; then Connaught, helped and urged by Bullard from below. Jumbo stooped, caught him under the arms, and hove him up bodily. Bullard followed, and Edwards lowered the hatch noiselessly into place. They next went quietly out of the pantry into the alley-way, the two bigger lads supporting Connaught. Tommy ran on noiselessly ahead, coming back to report that all was clear. They came out under the break of the poop, waited until the sound of the Captain’s and Second Mate’s footsteps had gone aft along the poop-deck; then they made a run, half-carrying Connaught, and so got into the berth through the after door.
They shut the door and bolted it. The for’ard one was open, and Kinniks was just entering with the last bucketful of water for the breaker.
“Good for you, Larry!” said Jumbo. “You seem to have enough for a siege.”
“Yes,” said Larry; “I’ve brought in five gallons of lamp-oil, too, for our stove and the berth lamp. Unship the fresh-water pump, Kinniks, and bring it into the berth; that’ll give them beans. We’ll bolt the door after you; scratch three times when you’re back again.”
Kinniks went out into the darkness and Edwards bolted the door. Then he rummaged in his chest and produced two of his pillowcases.
“I’m going down into the lazarette for some tins of corned beef and some ship’s bread,” he announced. “Then we’ll have to get some lime-juice, and we’ll want some sugar. We’ve got to have enough grub to enable us to hang on in here until the Old Man makes terms and agrees to treat us with ordinary decency, and not like a lot of dogs.”
“You’re not going alone, my son,” said Jumbo, quietly. “I’m coming; so’s Bullard. You’ve done your share tonight. You stay here and open for us.”
But this Larry refused flatly to do, and finally, when Kinniks had returned with the pump, the three of them, each with a couple of pillow-cases, stole out of the berth. They waited until the Captain and the Mate had turned to go aft in their constant pacing, then bolted in under the break of the poop and ran silently down the alley-way to the pantry. Here Tommy listened, first at the Steward’s door and afterwards at the Mate’s, and, finding them fast asleep, signed to the others to open the hatch.
Tommy went last, and lowered the hatch silently into place above his head; then groped down the ladder after the two big lads.
“We’ll have to be quick,” he whispered, as Jumbo struck a match. “It’s twenty past eleven; they’ll be down here in ten minutes—perhaps before.”
They rummaged round with all speed, striking matches constantly, and it was a mercy that they did not set the ship on fire. At the end of three or four minutes Jumbo had secured six full-sized tins of corned beef and a pillowslip full of hard biscuit. He took off his knife-belt and strapped the tins together, and so was ready. Meanwhile, Tommy had filled one of his slips with ship’s biscuit and the other with sugar, a tin of Kiel salt butter, and several handfuls of loose tea, scooped up bodily out of an opened tea-chest. Bullard had filled his slips with biscuit and an assortment consisting of a tin of molasses, a bottle of lime-juice, and a second tin of salt butter.
With this bulky collection they fumbled their way up the ladder and pushed up the hatch a little way to listen. Tommy was first; and as he paused there at the top of the ladder, clear and sharp up in the night came seven bells.
“Goodness!” whispered Tommy, heaving up the hatch. “The bell’s gone. We must just scoot. My gracious, they’re coming!”
As he said the last word Bullard and Jumbo stood beside him, and he lowered the trap into place swiftly but silently. Then all three of them ran quietly, barefooted as they were, up the alley-way, just as they heard the Captain’s foot on the bottom step of the companion-way. Another fraction of a second and they would have been caught. They heard the Master call up to the Second Mate to send aft a couple of the hands, and to call the Bo’sun and tell him to bring aft a couple fathoms of ratlin-line—a thinnish tarred rope, from a third to half an inch in circumference.
The three lads vanished out on deck and reached the berth, where they scratched on the door for Kinniks to open to them.
“That wa
s for you!” whispered Edwards, as they entered. “Those brutes would have just cut you to pieces with that ratlin-line!”
“Stop,” said Tommy, as Bullard made to bolt the door again. “There’s Jones going for’ard for the Bo’sun. We must get him in! I’ve a notion,” he added, quaintly, “that Mr. Bo’sun won’t be needed after all.”
He put his head out of the doorway.
“Jones!” he called quietly. “Jones!” But Harold Jones needed no calling for he was already at the door, trembling with excitement.
“Larry,” he said, “those brutes are going to do it now, they’ve sent me for the Bo’sun, and he’s to bring some ratlin-line. They’re—”
“Come inside,” interrupted Edwards, catching him by the shoulder. “They’re just going to do nothing at all. Come in!” And he hauled him in over the wash-board and bolted the door.
“My goodness!” cried Jones, in astonishment. “Jumbo! and Bullard! Where’s Connaught? How did you manage? What are you going to do? Good Lord! Don’t you know they’re going to lash you up in the rigging and baste you?”
“Were going to, you mean,” replied Jumbo, calmly, yet with a curious grim gritting of his teeth together. “Connaught’s in his bunk. Larry got us out. I guess there’ll be murder done before they touch us now.” He went to his bunk and, lifting the coil mattress, brought out a Winchester saloon rifle. “On my honour,” he said, in a tense voice, “I’ll pot the Skipper if he tries to touch me—or that brute of a Second Mate or the Bo’sun either!”
“I’ve something, too,” said Tommy, and threw down the Captain’s revolver on the berth table. “Only I couldn’ t find the cartridges. But I’ve got a good old muzzle-loader in my chest, and heaps of powder and shot.”
He proceeded to rummage for the weapon and its adjunct of death and destruction. He produced the weapon and exhibited it with pride—a big, old-fashioned flint-lock pistol, such as might well have been carried in Dick Turpin’s holster. “I got it in that gun-shop on the right-hand side of Market Street,” he explained. “They wanted a dollar for it, but I only had seventy-five cents, so they let it go for that, and seemed to think it a good joke. The boss of the shop made me a present of the shot and the powder, and said he’d come and read the burial service any time for nothing.”
The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea Page 24
