The convict guards’ chief sport was this crushing of fingers. Oh, the warders were swine? Wait till they had one of them in their power. “When would it be — to-day or to-morrow?” It was for whenever Chéri-Bibi decided. Nevertheless let him hurry up!
Group succeeded group round the “tubs.” The men who were no longer eating watched the others eat. Each man was left his share. They showed a sense of fairness. And they stroked their stomachs with an air of satisfaction.
The rolling of the ship increased. Men slipped and lurched and cried out as others trod upon their feet. One blundering fool hung onto the “tub” and it began to bob up and down like a ship in distress. It was stopped too abruptly and there was a general shout. The haricots had made off! It was an unexpected bonus for the men who had finished their meal. They rushed forward and threw themselves upon the loathsome mess scattered over the deck.
The sea was terribly rough. The kit bags rolled one over the other; and one caught the clatter of things falling from their places between decks. A warder was sent sprawling on his face between the cages, and his revolver went off. The convicts laughed as only convicts can laugh. The shot did not kill or wound anyone.
“I wish it had killed you,” exclaimed the warder in a rasping voice as he scrambled to his feet.
In one cage a convict complained that salt water had been given him to drink. And the seas still mounted higher.... The waves sweeping against the ship’s waist and hurling themselves over the prow produced a thunder like the firing of heavy artillery.
At that moment the men who were eating at the “chain” with the Toper were listening to him with both ears. Carrots, the Kanaka, Little Buddha, and the African himself neglected their soup. But they pretended to be utterly intent on eating in the same gluttonous fashion.
“Don’t worry,” whispered the Toper. “As our curate said: ‘There’s a good time coming.’ It was not for nothing that Chéri-Bibi got himself put in irons. And the reason why he spat in the ‘Guv’nor’s’ face was that he didn’t want to be interfered with. He’s got his scheme. It’s a good ‘un.”
“We’ll leave that to Chéri-Bibi. Seems we might in irons?” whispered Little Buddha. “I myself can do nothing without him. I’ve no confidence in anyone but him.”
“That’s his affair. He knows his business. There was no way of making our arrangements so long as the warders were in the cage watching him. That’s why he got himself put in irons. Do you understand now? He can talk.”
“I shall be in the cells to-morrow,” said the African. “Hurry up, so that I know what’s what. Is it a fact that we’re all agreed on a shindy?”
“Certain,” declared the Toper, nodding his head. “All agreed to seize the ship.”
“Certain.”
“Is the lower gun deck in it?”
“The lower gun deck as well as the upper gun deck.”
“Aren’t there any police spies?”
“No, and no prison spies. All of us are in it quite openly. Ready to risk our skins if necessary. Win or die, what!”
“But what are we going to do when we’ve got the upper hand?”
‘We’ll leave that to Chéri-Bibi. Seems we might turn pirates. We can please ourselves seeing that we shall be our own masters, what? Everything in the store-room will be ours, the whole caboodle, the ship and the government’s money.”
“We shall be masters of the Atlantic. Let those who come up against us look out!” said Little Buddha, and playing the gentleman he went on: “What awful weather! What a hustle! You’re treading on my foot, Toper. Did you ever see such a crowd packed into so small a space? We might be on the Boulevards on the fourteenth of July.” And he hummed as he cleaned out the bottom of the tub:
In Paris chock-a-block with troops.
“Sing! Sing!” ordered the Toper. “There’s the warder. Don’t let him suspect that we’re planning things....”
Little Buddha wiped his mouth with his sleeve and finished:
In Paris chock-a-block with troops,
Where I go for my little treat,
There’ll be twenty million nincompoops
A-treading on my feet.
The guard had passed. The Toper went on:
“Maybe we can go to Caracas where there’s a revolution on. We could offer our services to the revolutionary army, and then it would be our turn to become the government.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Little Buddha approvingly. “You shall be Minister of Justice and! Minister of Education. You’d see how I would educate the people. There would be no use for murderers.”
“Now you’ve talked enough rot,” said the Kanaka, who never allowed himself to take a cheerful view of anything, “can you explain, Monsieur the Toper, how we who are unarmed, locked up in cages, surrounded by warders and soldiers ready to search us, can get hold of the Bayard?”
“You want to know too much,” returned Carrots. “That’s a fact, he’s too inquisitive,” insisted the Toper. “Chéri-Bibi doesn’t like it. I’ve told you he’s got his scheme.”
“Well, I tell you that without arms we can do nothing.”
“I agree with the Kanaka,” said the African. “Who told you we shouldn’t have any arms?”
“Where are we to get ’em from?”
“Aren’t there any on board?”
“Yes, but we can’t get at ’em.”
“The scheme is a very simple one,” the Toper let slip at last, in a tone of irritation. And leaning towards his companions at the tub he continued: “We shall have arms... as many as we want to make us masters of the lower deck. Do you follow me? We shall have arms... cutlasses, shooters... Excellent! At a given moment, when the cage is opened we shall make a rush at the guard, the Overseer General, the Inspector, the Lieutenant, in fact all the lot of them, and do for them. We shall open the other cages before the guards on the upper deck know what’s going on.”
“But the sentries will fire and the soldiers and sailors come hurrying up. We shall all be massacred.”
“Silly fool!” returned the Toper in a tone of contempt. “It’s certain that many of us will have to pay for it. More than one of us will get shot. But you can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs, can you? The chief thing is not to funk it but to do the needful. Eight hundred pals on board will be armed.... We’ll make a dash for the hatchways, and it’s the sentries that’ll pay for it. And then we can barricade the hatchways in the gangways with kit bags and any stuff we may find in the hold.... I tell you, there’ll be a devil of a racket. We’ll fight like they did in the days of the Revolution, what? It’s a bad look out for the funkers. For my part I’d rather go under in the attempt than snuff it at Bré slaving away for the Government.”
A murmur of approval greeted the orator’s last words. Nevertheless the Kanaka did not seem entirely convinced. He was a man with the scientific mind. He mistrusted the Toper’s enthusiasm, his impulsive, thoughtless temperament. Yet he realized that Chéri-Bibi had chosen him as the confidant of his plans because, owing to his herculean strength, his brutality and his exploits, the Toper exercised a real influence over the convicts; and Chéri-Bibi was confident that he would not betray him but would make short work of those false friends who when they had knowledge of his intentions did not regard them as wonderful. —
“The proof that we shall have arms when he likes,” went on the Toper, getting up, a movement which was followed by the gaze of all the convicts who had been furtively watching Chéri-Bibi’s lieutenant as he talked, “the proof is that he wants us all to-day, in a body, to drink his health. We’ve had enough water. Come on, Carrots, have a look at the bottom of your bag.”
Carrots did as he was told and almost died on the spot from shock as his fingers came in contact with the agreeable chill of a glass bottle, and pulled it out with a trembling hand. All the men stared at it with the exception of the Lamb. There is always at least one Lamb in each cage who does not want to know anything of what is happening round him, and
whose hypocritical attitude is allowed to pass because more often than not he is in a state of despair that prevents him from eating, and willingly foregoes his rations. With the exception, therefore, of the Lamb and the Toper, who started off on a tour of the grille just to keep the “deputy warders” under observation, every man had his eyes fixed on him, even the sick who pulled themselves together in order to see and understand.... Was it then indeed true?... A bottle.... A really big fat-bellied bottle.... A beautiful tickler.... A liter such as they had not seen for many a long day, for they were not entitled to buy luxuries at the canteen like the old offenders who were allowed to have money and the happiness that money can buy They all stood up in spite of the pitching and rolling and their illness....
Clutching one another, with a tremulous movement of the fingers, their eyes starting from their heads, they stared at the bottle.
Carrots, who trembled so greatly that he was afraid of dropping it, held it tightly clasped in his arms; and then he opened it with eyes closed, nostrils dilated and face transfixed. The bottle contained rum. They would be able to have a tot of rum. The mere thought of it excited their thirst. Men who no longer had the right to anything save blows and kicks like wild beasts, and to starve to death, suddenly saw the light! A bottle of rum! What a miracle and what a mystery. It was Chéri-Bibi’s doing. He alone was capable of such a stroke. He alone could explain the inexplicable — how this wonderful thing had come about in spite of perpetual searches and frightful and continuous supervision. The man who had smuggled in this bottle of rum would also smuggle in arms. That could be depended on. There was no longer room for any doubt. And the men in all their varied brutality passionately vowed themselves to him.
“What a piece of luck the Lieutenant didn’t fix on Carrots’ kit bag,” said Little Buddha.
“It proves that Providence is with us,” declared the Toper. “Come on, there’s a drink all round. There isn’t enough in this one for all of us.”
He took four large bottles of rum out of the bag at the moment when he felt that there would be a scrimmage round Carrots’ bottle, which would not go far among so many. Then there was a gloomy and mute delirium. They drank, they gurgled and choked with joy, their heads thrown back a little, transported by the flow of the burning spirit. Those who had not yet drunk waited, their hands outstretched, their fingers bent, growling impatiently, gasping painfully and heavily for breath. The Toper kept order, and when the warders walked down the alley-way he put the bottles out of sight. And then once again the men made a rush at them. When the unclean kiss on the mouth of the bottle continued too long, men cried out in muffled and threatening voices: “That’ll do!” and the drinker gave up the bottle with flaming eyes. When the bottles were empty there was at first a silence, a sort of physical exhaustion to which they yielded with one common accord. And then suddenly the same impulse of gratitude leapt forth from all their throats. And the hoarse voices rang out:
The guv ment will not leave us free,
From the Bois d’Boulogne to Gay Paree;
Who blows the blooming lot U P?
Sing ho for Chéri-Bibi!
Sing ho for Chéri-Bibi!
The guard in hot haste leveled their revolvers through the bars, and the Captain and the Lieutenant rushed up with a number of soldiers before the men could be made to stop their singing. The whole cage, when silence was restored, was condemned to three days bread and water diet. A warder discovered the empty bottles. Lieutenant de Vilène went pale with rage:
“Who made you a present of these?”
There was a silence.
“Who made you this present?”
Then the convicts in unison shouted:
“Chéri-Bibi... Chéri-Bibi.”
The Captain, noticing that they were in a state of mad excitement due to the rum to which they were unaccustomed, and wishing as far as possible to avoid further trouble, ordered his men to retire.
“You must make an inquiry,” he said to the Lieutenant when they were in the alley-way, “and if the guards are at fault, punish them severely. Bottles of rum in the cage! Why, there might have been arms. Oh, we’ve got to find out all about it.... It’s inconceivable.”
“Absolutely. But what is more inconceivable still, Captain,” replied the Lieutenant, “is why the juries did not condemn all these miscreants to death. If they saw them as we see them, it is quite likely that they would regret their weakness... not to say their cowardice. When I think that they did not dare to strike at Chéri-Bibbi....”
“Yes, it’s monstrous.”
The circumstances of Chéri-Bibi’s last trial were indeed monstrous. To begin with, two of the jurymen whose names were in the ballot, and who in spite of their efforts were not challenged, had simply fainted, and they had to he brought to by massage before they returned to a sense of their duty to society. They requested the President of the Assize Court to afford them police protection to their homes after the trial, and to instruct the detective service to continue to guard their precious lives; and finally they returned a verdict of guilty with “extenuating circumstances,” finding that Chéri-Bibi was only in part responsible and thus saving his head. The case was, moreover, conducted with a remarkable lack of firmness by the President, who was so polite that he seemed to be asking the prisoner’s pardon for taking so great a liberty as to try him. The state of mind of the Seine Assize Court at this period may be gathered if we recall that on the very morning of the trial, the wine shop in which the waiter served who betrayed Chéri-Bibi and handed him over to the police, was blown up like a box of fireworks. It was a warning that the jurymen had taken to heart.
“Let’s go and see him,” said the Captain, who descended the ladder leading to the lower gun deck. “This Chéri-Bibi prevents me from sleeping,” he confessed.
They went along the lower gun deck, between the cages. On the upper deck, thanks to the portholes, it was possible to see almost distinctly, but the second deck was like night with a few dim red gleams from lanterns that swung with the rolling of the waves. Only the iron bars shone, and behind them, looming in the darkness, the faces of demons appeared, like the hideous faces seen in nightmares, and they stared at the warders as they passed, revolver in hand. The two officers merely walked through the alley-way and went below to the third deck. As soon as they descended to this inferno the obscurity became impenetrable. In places they had to grope their way step by step, leaning against the iron walls behind which they caught the sound of wails or curses. They reached the alley-way in which lay the cells under a military guard. At the far end, at the very back of this hell, a warder opened the door for them. And they went in accompanied by a sailor carrying a lantern. Two deputy convict warders — guards whom the convicts placed even below the warders — rose to their feet at the entrance to the cell and gave the salute.
Some object was crouching in the gloom of the background.
For a few moments the two officers took stock of this object which did not stir. Was it dead? Was it alive? The Captain, heavy of heart, much concerned, determined to make sure.
“Aren’t you ashamed, Chéri-Bibi, to have spat in the face of your Captain?” he said.
The still motionless object possessed a voice, and a hoarse voice replied:
“You were wrong to take it as a personal insult.”
When Captain Barra chon, worthy man, who asked only to live in peace, and to whom by a frightful stroke of fate the duty had fallen to take this cargo of malefactors to its destination, heard Chéri-Bibi’s reply he turned giddy: “You were wrong to take it as a personal insult!” He had to hold on to the bulkhead so greatly was he moved. It was really too much. Chéri-Bibi was obviously making fun of him. The little spirit which the practice of his social and humanitarian theories with his subordinates had left the Captain received a rude shock. He realized that de Vilène was undoubtedly right in treating these miscreants as wild beasts who had nothing in common with ordinary human nature. And what the past crimes, the blo
od-stained notoriety of Chéri-Bibi failed to achieve, namely, make him forget that a man, however low he may have sunk, still belongs to the human family, the convict’s mockery had accomplished in a flash. He bitterly loathed all those wretches, and he could not forgive them for making him believe for an instant that he could win them by fair treatment and make better men of them. Why, he had never lost an opportunity since the vessel started of showing Chéri-Bibi that his heart was not steeled against the evils of the prison system, by granting some relaxation of the terrible regulations, by improving the convicts’ daily fare, and by interesting himself in their general welfare. He allowed them now and again an additional short exercise on the upper deck with the sole object of preventing them from stifling to death in their cages. And this was his reward! Chéri-Bibi spat in his face and told him not to regard it as a personal insult.... Yes, yes, de Vilène was right... it would teach him a lesson... it would teach him a lesson. For the future he would be pitiless and he began:
“Chéri-Bibi, you are a reckless fellow.”
The object squatting in the dark corner chuckled.
“Consider that I spat in the face of society. It was not intended to annoy you personally, Captain.”
He heard the hoarse, husky, forbidding voice, the manner of saying “Captain.” How could one pity such wretches? If only he did not get loose. He would be capable of anything, anything. He had already proved that he was capable of anything, but after Captain Barrachon had spoken he meant that he was able to do anything against him; in other words, entail upon him all the anxieties that would follow his escape, to say nothing of the crimes that he would commit aboard ship. The man who devised a scheme for blowing up the Law Courts would certainly see nothing out of the way in shooting Captain Barrachon.
Prudence was the watchword. Chéri-Bibi should remain in irons until the end of the voyage. He told him so.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 139
