The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea
Page 39
He whirled round just in time to receive the Captain’s rush. He hurled himself at Mr. Tompkins and grabbed him round the body. He made a snap at Mr. Tompkins’s nose with his teeth, and, missing this most useful organ, bit his ear.
Then Mr. Tompkins shed all his remaining Christianity and got busy. He uppercut the Captain twice under the jaw, with both fists together, and then, as the Captain’s head went back and his great throat lay exposed, he hit him a chopping blow with his right fist, straight upon his Adam’s apple.
Captain Bully Keller loosed away, making noises in his throat, and ran around in a circle, still making those noises. And in the midst of his running round and round, the ex-prize-fighter stepped in and hit him handsomely, with every ounce of his strength, one liberal right-hand swing on the side of the point of his jaw.
It may seem a little brutal on Mr. Tompkins’s part to have done this at so distressing a moment; but, actually, it had an element of rough mercy in it; for the unconsciousness that followed promptly brought a swift and effectual ease to the bully.
The Captain slid down into a heap on the deck, beaten physically, mentally, and morally.
“Now,” said Mr. Tompkins, converted prize-fighter, “maybe I’ll win ye yet to the Lord’s side.” His eyes shone anew with the fervour of grim religious enthusiasm. He stooped and lifted the big man in his arms, with amazing ease, and carried him down to his cabin.
IX
Today there is no such person as Captain Bully Keller. After the hammering he received from Mr. Tompkins he lost prestige, and other heavily built sailormen discovered that it was possible to stand up successfully to him. His enormous confidence in himself seemed destroyed, and he became plain Captain Keller, a man who now pays his crews in cash, instead of in the blows that were once so economical and all-sufficient.
He still remembers Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins, passengers from San Francisco to Boston; but without, I may say, marked enthusiasm. Indeed, if you are a smallish man, it is well not to venture the subject.
The Mystery of Missing Ships
I
YES, I PROMISED I’D tell you what happened when I was Master of the Richard Harvey—a steam tramp and a fine strong lump of an iron vessel; bought by the French, she was, afterward, an’ they asked me to go on running her; but not me!
Mind you, this is a mighty strange business I’m going to tell you about; but it started just ordinary, with one of the blessed Stokers getting blind, paralysed drunk. We’d a cargo of all sorts, and I found afterward he’d got into a case of whisky that one of the stevedores must have stowed forrard on purpose, so as they could get it through the fore hatch.
Well, this joker gets drunk, and when he got below into the heat of the stokehold, he starts to play hell fire and Sally Lunn all at the same time. The Chief, who wasn’t Scotch, for a wonder, told two of ’em to run him on deck. There were several sorts of a rumpus then, including blood and murder, before they done it, and then they didn’t, for they was deader than him.
You see, the silly fool got in some ugly work with his shovel; and while they stood off from him, he started in and smashed all the steam gauges, and the place was full of steam in no time.
That was nothing, if he’d stopped there; but a properly drunk man’s got a bit of the madman about him—an’ some of a madman’s silly sort of murdering cunning. He creeps through the steam to where the main steam pipe was coupled onto the valve, and he lets out with the heavy shovel a dozen mighty, great blows, and then, crack, “chrrrr,” the main steam pipe split open—on the engine side of the valve, as we found after—and there was steam at near two hundred pounds and hot as the hereafter roaring round the engine room and the stokehold.
I was on the bridge at the time having a quiet smoke, and I heard shouts down the stokehold, and the the b-z-z-z of steam from the broken gauges; and a minute after came that awful mad “chrrrr” yell of the steam when the main pipe went. The engine-room skylight leaves was flung open in a moment, and the steam cane out in a white smother, roaring till I could think the sky was one solid echo with it. In a minute you couldn’t scarce see the decks fore or aft, and the screw had stopped right on the turn.
I knew it was mighty serious by the signs, and I came down off the bridge and across to the skylight like a runaway mare. I could scarce see the skylight already through the volumes of steam rolling along the decks. But my hands got the edge of it, and then in a moment I gave back from the skylight, with my face one scorch of pain, where the smother of steam came boiling out in mighty clouds. I stuffed my fingers into my ears, for I couldn’t hear not one sound in all the world but that dead, stunning roar.
Then I got a quick notion, and ran forrard a few yards and fumbled round. I ripped open the fiddley and the stokehold skylight, and got the burning stuff again on my half-raw face. Then I right about and raced for the Second Engineer’s berth, but he was out already in his shirt and drawers.
“The skylights!” he shouted, but I caught him by the arm.
“Open! All of ’em!” I roared in his ear. “Look at my face and hands!”
“It’s the main steam!” he shouts again at me, looking into the steam, and I was far enough away from the sound just to hear a faint ghost call of what he shouted.
“That’s what I’m thinking!” I yelled back.
He ran off to his room again, and I after him. He’d started smearing stuff over his face and hands.
“I’m going down,” he said.
“So am I,” I told him, and grabbed the tin of dubbin from him and smeared the stuff over my own face and hands. Then we tried for it, with the men all round like ghosts, and shouting to us not to go.
Well, we went down, and I thought my throat and mouth and chest was burned clean out with the first breath I took.
I let the Second lead, for he knew his own place better than me, and we tumbles over a man at the foot of the iron ladders.
I felt him over, and guessed it was the Chief by his beard. We couldn’t speak, but the Second helped me get him on to my back, and I went up the ladder while the Second tried for the valve.
I got the man up and out on deck, and sure it was the Chief. Lord! I guess he must have tried for the valve and got into the direct steam, then run blind for the steps and dropped.
I turned to go down, and four of my own deck hands came after me.
“Back, lads!” I shouted. “You can’t do nothing!”
But they just shook their heads, meaning they would take their share. And then three of the Stokers ran up, too, with their faces all wrapped up in their blankets to kill the steam.
“Keep back!” I shouted. “You—” And then the roar below stopped, and I knew the Second had got to the valve.
“Thank God for that!” I says out plain and honest. And I turned and looked down and listened to the horrible kind of steamy silence below me in the engine room.
“Johnson!” I shouted down into the dead steam below, that being the Second Engineer’s name, but there weren’t no answer.
“You can come and help me fetch the Second up,” I said to the men that were all pressing round me now,
“Cap’n,” said one of my deck hands, “ketch a holt of my arm.”
“Go to hell with your arm!” I said, my voice sounding loud and queer in the sudden darned silence.
I knew then I felt a bit rummy, but sailormen got to be shown how to do things, and I went down into the engine room and carried the Second up myself, for I couldn’t do less for a man of his breed.
When I got down again the men had found the two Stokers and the madman, all of ’em cooked to a turn, as you might say. There was signs enough about ’em to show they couldn’t live again and wouldn’t be no use if they could, so I had ’em each shoved into a blanket, with a chunk of coal, and dumped over the side. I did the same with the Chief. I felt we were starting to clear things up a bit then. I never do have no use for dead men aboard a ship. If they’re dead, dump ’em, I say, an’ always have said.
II
Well, there I was, with a well-found steamship and a bust main steam pipe and one engineer a mile deep under my keel and the other a mighty sick man in his bunk, nearer dead than alive. We carried a Greaser and twelve Stokers, but not even the Greaser was game to tackle the job of splicing up the steam pipe, and I cursed the man, while the Steward dressed my hands and face. Cursing wouldn’t mend the pipe, only it eased me to say things. Then I just went down to have a look at it myself.
I couldn’t use my hands, but I guess I had the brains I carry under my hat. I had no patience with the Greaser, and I got two of my own deck hands down to unship the pipe and strip away the packing that was parcelled all round the pipe to stop it losing heat, and then I had a good look at the bust. You see, I’ve a brother as is an engineer, and I’ve always had a taste that way myself, and I felt I could fix that pipe up to work if I’d only had the use of my hands. But I might do something yet if my lads showed they’d only a bit of gumption in their fingers and thumbs. I’d do the thinking. There was just one good thing about the Greaser; he knew what spares there was, pretty near down to the number and size of every spare bolt and nut; and I told the man plain that he’d good points, for I always give a man his due; you aren’t fit or able to run men if you don’t.
He’d told me right away there was no spare length of steam piping, but he fished out a fathom of sheet copper a quarter of an inch thick, and I thought I might be able to bend it round the split part of the pipe, first drilling and tapping the pipe.
I told him his notion had good sense, but unless he or my lads had finger skill to get the copper curved round even they’d never make a joint that’d hold steam. You see, the split was on the outside of a curve of the pipe, and a mighty cute bit of work it would take to fit anything round it close enough to hold in the power.
Well, after thinking awhile, I had the Greaser and my couple of lads taking turns with a hand drill, and I put four holes through the pipe on the inner side of the curve. Then I told the Greaser to put a punch in the holes and drive out the burst-in edges of the pipe, where the shovel had driven them inside the pipe. This way. I got the pipe into tolerable shape and the edges of the two-foot split closer; but I wasn’t much nearer making the pipe hold steam.
“Is there no elbow piping among the spares as would make a sleeve over this?” I asked the Greaser. “It needn’t fit all that close if I can use it the way I want.”
But there was no such thing, and I knew it would have to be the sheet of copper.
Well, I started the Greaser and my two lads to bend that sheet of copper, both to the curve of the elbow and the round of the pipe and midnight found them still bending and me still swearing and the split pipe still staring ugly at the lot of us.
“Drop it, men,” I said, “and turn in. I’ll tell the Second Mate to let you have all night in, and you can call at the cabin door and tell the Steward I said you was to have a tot of grog, and you, too, Greaser.”
That pleased them, as is but natural, and poor sort of man I’d be to run men if I didn’t know when a man had done his best, even if it were a damned clumsy sort of best.
III
Before I turned in I got a notion to have look at the ship’s manifest, and there, sure enough, I hit on something that set me hoping I’d found the thing in the cargo that might help. For there was a consignment of strong iron piping to a Mr. Daylesly, of Gostell, a grain station about sixty miles above ’Frisco. Then, farther on, there was two tons of sheet lead for Ellison, a plumber on the water front.
I went up on deck, meaning to tell Aymes, the Second Mate, to turn his watch to on the fore hatch, where the pipes and the lead was stored. But just as I stepped up into the scuttle, I was taken all aback to hear the Second Mate hailing from the break:
“Ahoy, there! Ahoy, there!” he was singing out. “Where are you coming to? Look where you’re coming to!”
Do you know, I got a sudden sick turn for the moment. I guessed in a flash one of them as is in the Bad Business had spotted us, rolling there, broken down. And if you don’t know what that is let me tell you it’s the modern form of piracy, and it’s piracy just as deadly and naked as ever in the old days. Let a vessel break down in mid-ocean and one of these human sharks will smell her out before long, and—well, she becomes one of the missing ships. You don’t believe me perhaps? Well, you hark to what I got to tell you first. There’s all sorts in the Bad Business, but whalers is worst. They got a sort of free pass to loaf around the ocean doing nought, with more men an’ boats to them than’s good for ’em. It’s like asking them to help themselves, sending hard cases to sea fitted up like that—all ready to make trouble. Oh, I know!
“Do you want help, Cap’n?” came a voice out of the darkness.
“No!” I roared, taking the answer out of Aymes’ mouth. “Sheer off there! When I want help I’ll ask for it. Sheer off there!”
As I sung out I reached for my night glasses out of the box in the companion scuttle, and now I set them to my eyes and stared.
“A whaler,” I said to myself, “by his boats. The Lord help us if he’s a wrong un!”
You see, the whaler carries a deal of men for her size, and I’d always suspect a whaler quicker than any other craft afloat. They’ve things too much their own way, and that means crookedness made easy—see? They can run in and out of ports as suits ’em, or loaf about the ocean without anyone thinking they’re up to anything funny. No, I never had no use for whaling ships, not when I’m at sea. They’ve too many men, and they’re a rough lot at best, and a deal rougher ordinarily. And what they are at worst—well, I guess I know better than some.
I slipped down in three jumps into my cabin and shoved two big Colts into my side pockets; then back on deck, and went across to Mr. Aymes.
“Is he sheering off?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir,” he said. “I didn’t care for him running up so close. I don’t see what his notion was, but it ain’t seamanlike, to say the least of it.”
“Mister,” I said, “keep your eyes skinned tonight. I’ve no use for that kind of business. Send a lad down into the lamp locker to trim and pass out all the lamps he can find. If yon vessel sees we’re on the go about the decks maybe it’ll be as well. I want you to lift the fore hatch and turn your watch and some of the Stokers to work shifting cargo. There’s some stuff I want. I’ll keep about the decks with you. Whose lookout is it?”
“James Knowles, Sir,” he told me.
“I’ll have a word with him,” I said, and got my second glasses from my cabin. Then I went straight away forrard and up on to the fo’cas’le head.
“Knowles,” I said, “keep your eyes open tonight. Here’s a pair of glasses. I don’t like yon hooker hanging round and offering help so friendly-like where help ain’t needed.”
“Nor me, Sir, if I may make so bold. I ain’t no use for whalers,” said the man, who was an old shellback. “Is it the Bad Business you’re thinking on, Sir?”
“It’s just that, my lad,” I told him. “Have you ever come up against it?”
“No, Sir;” he said, “but my brother sailed in the Alec Thompson, a big four-master as was reported missing two years ago. That ain’t nothin’, I know, Sir; but before I signed on last trip I was lookin’ in a pawnshop in ’Frisco, and there were his own watch, a good silver one, starin’ at me. I knew it by the dial that was made like a draught board of silver an’ black enamel. I went in an’ asked to have a look at it; all of a shake I was, so that the chap in the shop thought maybe I was on to some funny work, for he wouldn’t let me have the watch into my hands at first. When he did I opened the back, for my brother had his name there, with the date of his birth that I’d cut for him myself with a graver; for I’ve
a taste that way.
“Well, Sir, there had been something there, for I could see where the case was scraped; but not a thing as I could swear to, only I knew as it were my brother’s watch I held in my fist; an’ him with the watch in his hand in Liverpool, as I know, when I saw him off, for we set our watches alike, same as we always does before a voyage, and never alters ’em by the ship, but sees which has kep’ best time. An’ his ship hadn’t never been seen since, except reported at sea, once on the line an’ once down in these parts, an’ then never no more.
“ ‘This is my brother’s watch,’ I said to the shopman; ‘him that was lost in the Alec Thompson. I can swear to it.’
“ ‘What of it?’ he asks me, and I could swear he looked different. ‘Here, give it to me,’ he says, and snatched it from my hand. ‘If you want it pay for it. Hundred dollars is the figure.’
“ ‘Hundred dollars!’ I said. “Why, it didn’t cost a quarter that new.’
“ ‘Hundred’s the price to you,’ he says, and shoves the watch back into the tray. ‘If you want it bring your money with you or keep out. I’ve no time to waste with the likes of you.’ You know, Cap’n, the ugly way them ’Frisco storekeepers have with a sailorman; as if he wasn’t nothin’ but dirt?”
“Yes,” I says, mighty interested. “Did you go for him?”
“No, Sir,” he said. “I went out into the street to think how I might get that watch, for I could see the storekeeper were a wrong un, an’ never meant me to have it. No sailorman ever has twenty quid to spend on a watch. I’d never believed the odd yarns that’s floating round about the Bad Business, but I guess then, Sir, I knew they was Gospel truth; else how did my brother’s watch come there, when him an’ the ship an’ all is at the bottom? Now, I reckon that was just dead proof that there’s something in them funny yarns as is always floatin’ round, with no one ever to prove ’em or know how they come on the go. An’ I guess a store man was a crook, and knew more or guessed more than you or me, Sir, ’ll ever know.