The man was small and rather old, so that the brutality of the act was thus accentuated. The other seaman, however, was neither old nor small —— a huge bear of a man, with fierce black mustachios, and a great bull neck set between massive shoulders.
As he saw his mate go down he crouched, and, with a low snarl, sprang upon the captain crushing him to his knees with a single mighty blow.
From scarlet the officer’s face went white, for this was mutiny; and mutiny he had met and subdued before in his brutal career. Without waiting to rise he whipped a revolver from his pocket, firing point blank at the great mountain of muscle towering before him; but, quick as he was, John Clayton was almost as quick, so that the bullet which was intended for the sailor’s heart lodged in the sailor’s leg instead, for Lord Greystoke had struck down the captain’s arm as he had seen the weapon flash in the sun.
Words passed between Clayton and the captain, the former making it plain that he was disgusted with the brutality displayed toward the crew, nor would he countenance anything further of the kind while he and Lady Greystoke remained passengers.
The captain was on the point of making an angry reply, but, thinking better of it, turned on his heel and black and scowling, strode aft.
He did not care to antagonize an English official, for the Queen’s mighty arm wielded a punitive instrument which he could appreciate, and which he feared — England’s far reaching navy.
The two sailors picked themselves up, the older man assisting his wounded comrade to rise. The big fellow, who was known among his mates as Black Michael, tried his leg gingerly, and, finding that it bore his weight, turned to Clayton with a word of gruff thanks.
Though the fellow’s tone was surly, his words were evidently well meant. Ere he had scarce finished his little speech he had turned and was limping off toward the forecastle with the very apparent intention of forestalling any further conversation.
They did not see him again for several days, nor did the captain vouchsafe them more than the surliest of grunts when he was forced to speak to them.
They messed in his cabin, as they had before the unfortunate occurrence; but the captain was careful to see that his duties never permitted him to eat at the same time.
The other officers were coarse, illiterate fellows, but little above the villainous crew they bullied, and were only too glad to avoid social intercourse with the polished English noble and his lady, so that the Claytons were left very much to themselves.
This in itself accorded perfectly with their desires, but it also rather isolated them from the life of the little ship so that they were unable to keep in touch with the daily happenings which were to culminate so soon in bloody tragedy.
There was in the whole atmosphere of the craft that undefinable something which presages disaster. Outwardly, to the knowledge of the Claytons, all went on as before upon the little vessel, but that there was an undertow leading them toward some unknown danger both felt, though they did not speak of it to each other.
On the second day after the wounding of Black Michael, Clayton came on deck just in time to see the limp body of one of the crew being carried below by four of his fellows while the first mate, a heavy belaying pin in his hand, stood glowering at the little party of sullen sailors.
Clayton asked no questions — he did not need to — and the following day, as the great lines of a British battle-ship grew out of the distant horizon, he half determined to demand that he and Lady Alice be put aboard her, for his fears were steadily increasing that nothing but harm could result from remaining on the lowering, sullen Fuwalda.
Toward noon they were within speaking distance of the British vessel, but when Clayton had about decided to ask the captain to put them aboard her, the obvious ridiculousness of such a request became suddenly apparent. What reason could he give the officer commanding her majesty’s ship for desiring to go back in the direction from which he had just come!
Faith, what if he told them that two insubordinate seamen had been roughly handled by their officers. They would but laugh in their sleeves and attribute his reason for wishing to leave the ship to but one thing — cowardice.
John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, did not ask to he transferred to the British man-of-war, and late in the afternoon he saw her upper works fade below the far horizon, but not before he learned that which confirmed his greatest fears, and caused him to curse the false pride which had restrained him from seeking safety for his young wife a few short hours before, when safety was within reach — a safety which was now gone forever.
It was mid-afternoon that brought the little old sailor, who had been felled by the captain a few days before, to where Clayton and his wife stood by the ship’s side watching the ever diminishing outlines of the great battle-ship. The old fellow was polishing brasses, and as he came edging along until close to Clayton he said, in an undertone:
“‘Ell’s to pay, sir, on this ‘ere craft, an’ mark my word for it, sir. ‘Ell’s to pay.”
“What do you mean, my good fellow?” asked Clayton.
“Wy, hasn’t ye seen wats goin’ on? Hasn’t ye ‘eard that devil’s spawn of a capting an’ ‘is mates knockin’ the bloomin’ lights outen ‘arf the crew?
“Two busted ‘eads yeste’day, an’ three today. Black Michael’s as good as new agin an’ ‘e’s not the bully to stand fer it, not ‘e; an’ mark my word for it, sir.”
“You mean, my man, that the crew contemplates mutiny?” asked Clayton.
“Mutiny!” exclaimed the old fellow. “Mu tiny! They means murder, sir, an’ mark my word for it, sir.”
“When?”
“Hit’s comin’, sir; hit’s comin’ but I’m not a-sayin’ wen, an’ I’ve said too damned much now, but ye was a good sort t’other day an’ I thought it no more’n right to warn ye. But keep a still tongue in yer ‘ead an’ when ye hear shootin’ git below an’ stay there.
“That’s all, only keep a still tongue in yer ‘ead, or they’ll put a pill between yer ribs, an’ mark my word for it, sir,” and the old fellow went on with his polishing, which carried him away from where the Claytons were standing.
“Deuced cheerful outlook, Alice,” said Clayton, “You should warn the captain at once, John. Possibly the trouble may yet be averted,” she said.
“I suppose I should, but yet from purely selfish motives I am almost prompted to keep a still tongue in my ‘ead.’ Whatever they do now they will spare us in recognition of my stand for this fellow Black Michael, but should they find that I had betrayed them there would be no mercy shown us, Alice.”
“You have but one duty, John, and that lies in the interest of vested authority. If you do not warn the captain you are as much a party to whatever follows as though you had helped to plot and carry it out with your own head and hands.”
“You do not understand, dear,” replied Clayton. “It is of you I am thinking — there lies my first duty. The captain has brought this condition upon himself, so why then should I risk subjecting my wife to unthinkable horrors in probably futile attempt to save him from his own brutal folly? You have no conception, dear, of what would follow were this pack of cutthroats to gain control of the Fuwalda.”
“Duty is duty, my husband, and no amount of sophistries may change it. I would be a poor wife for an English lord were I to be responsible for his shirking a plain duty. I realize the danger which must follow, but I can face it with you —— face it much more bravely than I could face the dishonor of always knowing that you might have averted a tragedy had you not neglected your duty.”
“Have it as you will then, Alice,” he answered, smiling. “Maybe we are borrowing trouble. While I do not like the looks of things on board this ship, they may not be so bad after all, for it is possible that the ‘Ancient Mariner’ was but voicing the desires of his wicked old heart rather than speaking of real facts.
“Mutiny on the high sea may have been common a hundred years ago, but in this good year 1888 it is the least likely of
happenings.
“But there goes the captain to his cabin now. If I am going to warn him I might as well get the beastly job over for I have little stomach to talk with the brute at all.”
So saying he strolled carelessly in the direction of the companionway through which the captain had passed, and a moment later was knocking at his door.
“Come in,” growled the deep tones of that surly officer.
And when Clayton had entered, and closed the door behind him:
“Well?”
“I have come to report the gist of a conversation I heard today, because I feel that, while there may be nothing to it, it is as well that you be forearmed. In short, the men contemplate mutiny and murder.”
“It’s a lie!” roared the captain. “And if you have been interfering again with the discipline of this ship, or meddling in affairs that don’t concern you you can take the consequences, and be damned. I don’t care whether you are an English lord or not. I’m captain of this here ship, and from now on you keep your meddling nose out of my business.”
As he reached this peroration, the captain had worked himself up to such a frenzy of rage that he was fairly purple of face, and shrieked the last words at the top of his voice; emphasizing his remarks by a loud thumping of the table with one huge fist, shaking the other in Clayton’s face.
Greystoke never turned a hair, but stood eyeing the excited man with a level gaze.
“Captain Billings,” he drawled finally, “if you will pardon my candor, I might remark that you are something of an ass, don’t you know.” Whereupon he turned and left the cabin with the same indifferent ease that was habitual with him, and which was more surely calculated to raise the ire of a man of Billings’s class than a torrent of invective.
So, whereas the captain might easily have been brought to regret his hasty speech had Clayton attempted to conciliate him, his temper was now irrevocably set in the mold in which Clayton had left it, and the last chance of their working together for their common good and preservation of life was gone.
“Well, Alice,” said Clayton, as he rejoined his wife, “if I had saved my breath I should likewise have saved myself a bit of a calling. The fellow proved most ungrateful. Fairly jumped at me like a mad dog.
“He and his blasted old ship may go hang, for aught I care; and until we are safe off the thing I shall spend my energies in looking after our own welfare. And I rather fancy the first step to that end should be to go to our cabin and look over my revolvers. I am sorry now that we packed the larger guns and the ammunition with the stuff below.”
They found their quarters in a bad state of disorder. Clothing from their open boxes and bags strewed the little apartment, and even their beds had been torn to pieces.
“Evidently someone was more anxious about our belongings than we,” said Clayton. “By jove, I wonder what the bounder was after. Let’s have a look around, Alice, and see what’s missing.”
A thorough search revealed the fact that nothing had been taken but Clayton’s two revolvers and the small supply of ammunition he had saved out for them.
“Those are the very things I most wish they had left us,” said Clayton, “and the fact that they wished for them and them alone is the most sinister circumstance of all that have transpired to endanger us since we set foot on this miserable hulk.”
“What are we to do, John?” asked his wife. “I shall not urge you to go again to the captain for I cannot see you affronted further. Possibly our best chance for salvation lies in maintaining a neutral position.
“If the officers are able to prevent a mutiny, we have nothing to fear, while if the mutineers are victorious our one slim hope lies in not having attempted to thwart or antagonize them.’
“Right you are, Alice. We’ll keep in the middle of the road.”
As they fell to in an effort to straighten up their cabin, Clayton and his wife simultaneously noticed the corner of a piece of paper protruding from beneath the door of their quarters. As Clayton stooped to reach for it he was amazed to see it move further into the room, and then he realized that it was being pushed inward by someone from without.
Quickly and silently he stepped toward the door, but, as he reached for the knob to throw it open, his wife’s hand fell upon his wrist.
“No, John,” she whispered. “They do not wish to be seen, and so we cannot afford to see them. Do not forget that we are keeping the middle of the road.”
Clayton smiled and dropped his hand to his side. Thus they stood watching the little bit of white paper until it finally remained at rest upon the floor just inside the door.
Then Clayton stooped and picked it up. It was a bit of grimy, white paper roughly folded into a ragged square. Opening it they found a crude message printed in uncouth letters, with many evidences of an unaccustomed task.
Translated, it was a warning to the Claytons to refrain from reporting the loss of the revolvers, or from repeating what the old sailor had told them — to refrain on pain of death.
“I rather imagine we’ll be good,” said Clayton with a rueful smile. “About all we can do is to sit tight and wait for whatever may come.”
CHAPTER II. THE SAVAGE HOME
NOR did they have long to wait, for the next morning as Clayton was emerging on deck for his accustomed walk before breakfast, a shot rang out, and then another, and another.
The sight which met his eyes confirmed his worst fears. Facing the little knot of officers was the entire motley crew of the Fuwalda, and at their head stood Black Michael.
At the first volley from the officers the men ran for shelter, and from points of vantage behind masts, wheel house and cabin they returned the fire of the five men who represented the hated authority of the ship.
Two of their number had gone down before the captain’s revolver. They lay where they had fallen between the combatants.
Presently the first mate lunged forward upon his face, and at a cry of command from Black Michael the bloodthirsty ruffians charged the remaining four. The crew had been able to muster but six firearms, so most of them were armed with boathooks, axes, hatchets and crowbars.
The captain had emptied his revolver and was reloading as the charge was made. The second mate’s gun had jammed, and so there were but two weapons opposed to the mutineers as they rapidly approached the officers, who now started to give back before the infuriated rush of their men.
Both sides were cursing and swearing in a frightful manner, which, together with the reports of the firearms and the screams and groans of the wounded, turned the deck of the Fuwalda to the likeness of a madhouse.
Before the officers had taken a dozen backward steps the men were upon them. An axe in the hands of a burly negro cleft the captain from forehead to chin, and an instant later the others were down; dead or wounded from dozens of blows and bullet wounds.
Short and grisly had been the work of the mutineers of the Fuwalda, and through it all John Clayton had stood leaning carelessly beside the companionway puffing meditatively upon his pipe as though he had been but watching an indifferent cricket match.
As the last officer went down he bethought him that it was time that he returned to his wife lest some member of the crew find her alone below.
Though outwardly calm and indifferent, Clayton was inwardly apprehensive and wrought up, for he feared for his wife’s safety at the hands of these ignorant, half-brutes into whose hands fate had so remorselessly thrown them.
As he turned to descend the ladder he was surprised to see his wife standing on the steps almost at his side.
“How long have you been here, Alice?”
“Since the beginning,” she replied. “How awful, John. Oh, how awful! What can we hope for at the hands of such as those?”
“Breakfast, I hope,” he answered, smiling bravely in an attempt to allay her fears.
“At least,” he added, “I’m going to ask them. Come with me, Alice. We must not let them think we expect any but courteous treatment.”
The men had by this time surrounded the dead and wounded officers, and without either partiality or compassion proceeded to throw both living and dead over the sides of the vessel. With equal heartlessness they disposed of their own wounded and the bodies of the three sailors to whom a merciful Providence had vouchsafed instant death before the bullets of the officers.
Presently one of the crew spied the approaching Claytons, and with a cry of: “Here’s two more for the fishes,” rushed toward them with uplifted axe.
But Black Michael was even quicker, so that the fellow went down with a bullet in his back before he had taken a half dozen steps.
With a loud roar, Black Michael attracted the attention of the others, and, pointing to Lord and Lady Greystoke, cried:
“These here are my friends, and they are to be left alone. D’ ye understand?
“I’m captain of this ship now, an’ what I says goes,” he added, turning to Clayton. “Just keep to yourselves, and nobody’ll harm ye,” and he looked threateningly on his fellows.
The Claytons heeded Black Michael’s instructions so well that they saw but little of the crew and knew nothing of the plans the men were making.
Occasionally they heard faint echoes of brawls and quarreling among the mutineers, and on two occasions the vicious bark of firearms rang out on the still air. But Black Michael was a fit leader for this heterogeneous band of cutthroats, and, withal, held them in fair subjection to his rule.
On the fifth day following the murder of the ship’s officers, land was sighted by the lookout. Whether island or mainland, Black Michael did not know, but he announced to Clayton that if investigation showed that the place was habitable he and Lady Greystoke were to be put ashore with their belongings.
“You’ll be all right there for a few months,” he explained, “and by that time we’ll have been able to make an inhabited coast somewheres and scatter a bit. Then I’ll see that yer gover’ment’s notified where you be an’ they’ll soon send a man-o’war to fetch ye off.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 2
