Boats of the Glen Carrig and Other Nautical Adventures

by William Hope Hodgson

  “You’re sure lookin’ for trouble, my lad,” he said. “You darn fool. My Oath! What’s the use of pluggin’ him! That ain’t the way to do anythin’, ’cept a trip the ’lectric chair…. Now you calm down, my lad, or you’ll get rough-handled!”

  This last was in reply to the clumsy blow which the man had aimed at him, following an attempt to grab back the revolver, which Cargunka had just taken from him.

  “You’re mighty fresh, ain’t you, damn you!” said the man, and aimed a second completely ineffectual blow at Cargunka’s head.

  “Here, Bob, and you, Andrews, hold this fool,” said Cargunka. “I don’t want to get hot an’ hit him.”

  At this moment, there were several cries of:— “He’s comin’ to!” “The guy’s opening up.” “Look out for his gun, D.C.O.”

  Cargunka looked round, and saw that Buck Kessel was trying to sit up.

  “Sittin’ up an’ takin’ nourishment, are you!” said Cargunka. “Well, I guess you’ll try some other saloon, my lad, unless you want me to let this gent loose on you wiv a gun!”

  He jerked his elbow towards where the robbed prospector stood, tugging away from the two barmen, Bob and Andrews. And Kessel had no sooner seen him, that it was plain he was very willing indeed to get the other side of the swing doors.

  “It’s plain he’s labelled you, my lad, the same kind of rat-poison you are!” said Cargunka, staring at him, grimly. “My Oath! Get out! ’fore I lamn you. You make me sick. Get out!”

  And the man went out, staggering; but with very considerable haste.

  Cargunka turned:—

  “Now, my lad, what’s your name?” he asked the prospector.

  “George Monkton,” said the man.

  “Well, Monkton, you an’ me’s goin’ to have a little talk,” said Cargunka. “Let him go, you two. Come along in here, George, my lad, and we’ll get together on this business.”

  Chapter II

  Cargunka was walking up and down his “office,” as he called the room at the back of the bar.

  As he walked, he limped, owing to his dot-and-carry-one leg, from which he had received his title of D.C.O.

  George Monkton was sitting at the table, eating what Cargunka described as a scramble feed, which he had cooked for the man himself, on the oil stove which filled half of the end of the narrow room.

  As Monkton ate, he talked between, and even during, mouthfuls.

  “Say, D.C.O.,” he was saying, “who’s the guy in the wall-pic’cher? He sort of favours you. Say, it ain’t you now, in fancy rig—eh?”

  D.C.O. Cargunka beamed, literally; and his dot-and-carry limp became more pronounced, as he walked over to the picture and looked up at it.

  “No, my lad,” he said, ruffling his hair back from his shaven temples, “that ain’t me; but most people as comes in here, gets thinkin’ it is. That’s Lord Byron, the poet. A fine-lookin’ man he was, my lad, don’t ye think so?”

  “Sure, I’d say he was some high-brow,” agreed the man, Monkton.

  “He’d a short leg an’ a long one, same as me,” continued Cargunka, looking self-conscious. “D’you ever read poetry, my lad?”

  “G’ Lor! Not me!” said Monkton, with his mouth full. “Guess I ain’t much on readin’-gadgets.”

  “Well you miss a great deal,” said Cargunka, solemnly; “a great deal, my lad. Now, if you’ve filled up proper, we’ll light up, an’ I’ll make you a proposition. First of all, just where is this creek?”

  “About seventy miles up the coast, an’ about three inland,” said Monkton. “The nearest place to it, is Alf Nebrech’s, an’ that’s about fifteen miles to the West, I reck’n.”

  “Is there free water for a boat up to the pay-dirt?” asked Cargunka.

  “Sure,” replied Monkton.

  “Then I reck’n I got a plan,” said Cargunka. “One of my brigs, the Happy Return, is going up the coast next week, an’ I reck’n we’ll drop in on those jumpers, an’ give ’em a look-in!”

  “You’ll sure need a mighty big posse with you,” warned Monkton. “I tell you, D.C.O., they’re bad men. They’re gunmen that’d shoot up twice their crowd of plain diggers. You can’t do nothin’, b’lieve me!”

  “Leave that to me, my lad,” said Cargunka. “Are you game to back up my try, an’ hold your mouth tight shut for evermore afterwards?”

  “Sure!” said Monkton. “You show me a lead, an’ I guess I’ll follow. You can bet your boots on that. I’ll follow you into hell an’ out again, to get level with that crowd. You just show me a lead, D.C.O. That’s all I asks.”

  “Well,” said Cargunka, “I guess we’ll fix the divvy right now. If I show you how to pull this thing, an’ give you a hand, I’ll halve up wiv you on what we get. How’s that look to you, my lad?”

  “It looks good enough, I reck’n,” said Monkton. “I’m on!”

  “Well then, I’ll sign you on as A.B.,” Cargunka told him. “That’ll look natural enough; an’ I don’t reck’n never to carry no idlers in my ship. No, my lad! I works myself, an’ I expects others to work too.”

  Chapter III

  The result of Monkton’s faith in D.C.O. Cargunka was well justified; for ten days later, the Happy Return arrived off the place where the creek came down to the shore.

  Cargunka was seated in his galley, peeling potatoes, when Monkton identified the mouth of the creek; and his Captain came forrard, to ask whether he should heave the brig to.

  “I reck’n, Cap’n Gell,” said Cargunka, “you should know my rules by this, seein’ the times we’ve sailed together. When I’m cook, I’m plain cook, an’ you’re Cap’n; an’ cook I am till the end of the first dog-watch. What you got to do, you know blame well, seein’ we talked it all out last night.”

  “Very good, Sir,” said Captain Gell to his distinctly unorthodox Owner, and immediately gave orders to heave-to, whilst Cargunka continued meditatively to peel spuds; and, between whiles, he read lines from his small pocket volume of Byron’s Poems, which, as usual, was propped up on the low dresser before him.

  It is difficult to analyse with exactness just why Cargunka, who, as I have remarked before, was a man of very considerable wealth, persisted in signing-on in his own vessel as cook.

  Possibly, the reasons were varied. He had, as we know, an extraordinary mania for cooking, just as some men have an invincible desire to carpenter, or to tinker with clocks, or to garden, and the situation afforded him every excuse to satisfy his natural tastes in this line. He certainly enjoyed cooking, as only the born chef can enjoy that troublesome art.

  Also, it is possible that he liked the somewhat bizarre situation of occupying the position of cook, whilst he was, at the same time, Owner of the vessel. Futher, he saved the wages of a cook by doing the work himself. For, as he told Monkton, he carried no idlers in his ships; and was known to be as close in the matter of wages as any ship Owner of them all. But, to make up for this, he certainly fed his crews magnificently; so well, in fact, that when it was known that he intended to make a trip, he could have his pick of sailormen for the voyage. This speaks for itself.

  Later, in the second dog-watch, D.C.O. Cargunka sat in the Captain’s lounge chair on the poop, and talked:—

  “No, Cap’n, we’ll not go close in till well after dark. You got the name blacked out on the bow and stern?”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Captain Gell.

  “Well, get the dingy cleared, an’ fix up the rollocks an’ the oars so they won’t make no noise. I guess that’ll be all. We’ll lower her our here, and tow her in, so as not to have the sound of the falls squeaking, when we get close inshore.”

  “Very good, Sir,” said Captain Gell.

  When Captain Gell returned from giving the orders, Cargunka was lying back, reading his favourite little volume of poetry.

  “Ever read Byron, Cap’n?” asked Cargunka, lowering the book on to his knee.

  “No, Sir, leastways not to remember,” said Captain Gell, half absently.
r />   “Wonderful man, Cap’n,” said Cargunka, and stretched out his legs in front of him, surveying them earnestly.

  “Queer thing, Cap’n, I should have a long an’ a short one, ain’t it— A curious thing now, when you come to think Byron was the same way.” He hemmed, half self-consciously. “Have you ever thought as the likeness went any further, Cap’n?”

  “Very like, Sir. Very like,” said Captain Gell, with unconscious indifference; for he had answered similar questions a hundred times before, in the past years.

  “A wonderful fine-looking man he was, too,” continued Cargunka. “And a fine athlete, too….” He paused.

  “Aye, Sir,” said the Captain, and he spoke now with sufficient conviction to have satisfied even Cargunka. “Aye, you’re surely a fine athlete, Sir. A prettier one with the gloves, I never seen.”

  “It’s strange as the finest bodies get blemished, Cap’n,” said Cargunka, softly. He stuck out his shorter leg and looked at it for a while, in silence. “And Byron they spoiled too, an’ the same leg…. My word, Cap’n, but he was a proper fine-lookin’ man, too; an’ a fair divvil wiv the wimmin….” He hemmed again, self-consciously. “You’d not think, to look at me, as I was gifted that way, Cap’n, would you?”

  “No, Sir, I would not,” said Captain Gell, firmly.

  Cargunka was silent, searching round for some way in which he could convey to the Captain the truth, without seeming to boast; but he could think of nothing at the time, and so fell to reading again.

  “Send Monkton aft to me in the cabin, Cap’n,” he remarked, some minutes later, climbing out of the Captain’s chair, and thrusting the volume of poetry into his pocket.

  “Very good, Sir,” said Captain Gell, and walked forrard to the break of the poop, while Cargunka limped aft to the companionway, and so down the stairs into the saloon, where, in a few minutes, he was joined by Monkton.

  Chapter IV

  “Now, my lad,” said Cargunka, reaching up to light the saloon lamp, for it was growing dusk, “I s’pose you can pull an oar; for I don’t want to take no one else ashore wiv us in the boat. The less that’s known about tonight’s job, the better, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Sure,” said Monkton. “I’ve used boats plenty.”

  “Well then, my lad,” said Cargunka, “it’s black faces we’re having tonight. It’s a proper disguise, an’ it’ll stop us loomin’ up plain in the dark. Here! Rub it in well, down round your neck and ears… That’s the style!”

  Cargunka had a great pot of black, greasy-looking stuff, which he first offered to the man, and then dipped into himself; and so, in a very few minutes, the two of them were as a couple of buck niggers.

  “Now,” said Cargunka, “here’s some waste to wipe your ’ands. And you’d best button your dungarees up over your chest and wrists. That’s the thing! You won’t show much now in the dark, I’m thinkin’. Shove these felt socks on over your boots. Got your gun?”

  “Sure,” said the big miner.

  “Well, don’t be in no hurry to use it!” replied Cargunka. “It ain’t gun-work that’s going to win out tonight. It’s going to be just plain brains, my lad, an’ quiet feet.”

  Yet, for all that Cargunka was so emphatic on this point, there reposed a hefty Colt automatic in the side pocket of his coat; which suggests that he was not entirely convinced, in his own mind, that the night’s work that lay ahead of them, promised to be a completely peaceful affair.

  Cargunka went into his cabin, and came out with a dungaree jumper and trousers and another pair of felt socks. He pulled on the thin blue trousers over his own, and then got into the jumper, which was loose enough at the bottom to allow him to get freely at his coat pockets. After this, he drew on the pair of felt socks, over his boots, as Monkton had done; and so the two of them stood ready for the adventure.

  “Up on deck with you, my lad,” said Cargunka, and picked up a small, dark-coloured sack, off the cabin table. There was something in the sack, which he handled as gently as he turned and followed Monkton up on the poop.

  “I guess this’ll fix ’em right enough!” he muttered to himself, with a grim little laugh.

  It was dark by now, and the barque’s yards had been trimmed, and she was standing in for the vague shadow of the land. The wind was light, and the vessel made scarcely a sound as she ran through the water; whilst, fore and aft, not a light was visible.

  Yet, so quiet was the night, that the faint creak, creak of the spars and gear (and even the low mutter of the crew’s voices forrard) was plain to hear; but, except for these sounds, and the scarcely perceptible ripple of the water along the skin of the vessel, the night was just a quietness, through which came occasionally the slight noise of the water cheeping, cheeping, under the “entrance” of the clinker-built dingy towing astern; and somewhere, from far away under the dark shadow of the land, the low, hushed roar of the surf, making the quietness seem the more immense.

  The land began to emerge out of the grey vague loom of shadow, into a black line that grew ever more black and definite, whilst the faint surf murmur had become a low rolling sound, hollow and deep, under the black gloom of the land.

  Presently, Captain Gell came up to Cargunka.

  “We’re as close in as is safe, Sir,” he said. “I’ll have to put the hellum up in a minute.”

  “Very good, Cap’n,” said Cargunka, and went aft to the taffrail, where he unhitched the boat’s painter, and hauled her up.

  “Get in quiet, my lad,” he said to Monkton, who got down over the side, forthwith, into the boat, and began to ship the rowlocks.

  “Hold the painter, Cap’n, while I get in,” said Cargunka. “Hold her short, an’ then give me the painter, as soon as I’m in. I don’t want no splash.”

  This was done. The Captain released the painter quickly into Cargunka’s hands, and the boat was suddenly alone on the ocean; for the barque had gone from them, into the surrounding darkness. Cargunka saw her a minute later, with her helm up, falling away, like a shadow ship, towards the open sea.

  Then the two in the boat got out their oars, very quietly, and began to pull in towards the black cliffs of the coastline that stood up, high and gloomy, into the night.

  As they drew in under the coast, the rolling grumble of the surf grew louder, and Cargunka, staring inshore, could see the white boil of phosphorescence showing vaguely, where the big slow swells burst into broken water over the coast rocks, along the bottom of the black cliffs.

  Suddenly, Monkton burst into a loud laugh, as if some joke had just got home through his mental epidermis:—

  “G’ lor’, D.C.O., what a lot of silly fools we are, sure, goin’ tipsy-toesy like this! Why, I’d go the limit, they’d not heard a sound if we was to loose off our poppers, not with the row yonder!”

  “Quit that!” said Cargunka, sharply, but speaking in a low voice. “What d’you suppose I’m troublin’ about. I’m not worryin’ about them hearin’ me ashore yon; as you ought to know, seein’ as the shack’s three miles up the creek, and round the bend, at that!

  “You got to understan’ my way of doin’ a job, my lad, before you start thinkin’ me a fool. I don’t do nothin’ wiv me eyes shut, not if I can ’elp it! I ’ad a scout up here, three days, last week, lookin’ round. You’ll find some s’prisin’ changes ashore yon, when we gets up the creek, I’m thinkin’!

  “An’ you’ll like to know, maybe, my lad, as the reason we’re takin’ all this trouble to keep quiet, is ’cause I learnt as there’s some of ’em comes down the creek, an’ out here, fishin’. There’s Long Dan an’ Jabez Vlum an’ one or two others comes out here; an’ I guess you should know as they’re mighty quick-eared men. An’ we ain’t wanting anyone to come asking questions.”

  “Gee!” said Monkton. “What’d you think of that now! You’re sure a smart man, D.C.O. But I don’t sabe what them fur-shifters is doin’ out here, fishin’?”

  “You will, when we get up the creek a bit, my lad,” said Cargunka
. “It’s close on a fortnight, since you was up this way. An’ as soon as that friend of yours filed his papers, there was a proper rush up ’ere. You’ll find that they’ve got a small town spread up an’ down the creek; an’ fresh folk comin’ in every hour, pretty near.”

  “Je-hosh!” said the big miner. “You sure got the wise head, D.C.O. I reckon I holds my hands to you in the wise line. I—”

  “Shsss!” muttered Cargunka. “Stop rowin’! Don’t move!”

  The two of them froze into instant stillness, whilst the boat moved ahead, though almost soundlessly, with the way that was yet on her…. “There, turn your head to the left!” whispered Cargunka. “About fifty fathoms off the starboard bow!”

  The big miner saw then what Cargunka meant. Out there, indefinite almost as shadows, were two darker shapes upon the water, some hundred feet apart. They were canoes; and, as the two of them watched, straining their eyes, they saw the sway of a single figure in each, paddling gently. Then, the two canoes passed on into the vagueness, and they could see nothing.

  “Think they saw us, D.C.O.?” asked Monkton.

  “I reckon not, my lad,” replied Cargunka, “or we’d have had ’em singin’ out to know who we was, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Not so sure!” muttered the big miner. “Maybe they saw us, an’ll trail us in, to see what kind of outfit we is.”

  But Cargunka said nothing. He was staring inshore, searching the black cliffs and the phosphorescent gleam of foam at their base, for the mouth of the creek.

  “I reckon that’s her,” he said, at last. “Pull!—Quiet an’ steady now!”

  Ten minutes later, they had entered the mouth of the little creek, and all about them was the quiet of the stream, and the heavy, still smell of the earth, while the scent of the pine trees made a sweet balm in the night air, with the pine needles making a constant whispering in the darkness along the nearer bank, as a light wind stole down the great gully in which the creek ran.

  Chapter V

  Cargunka had brought the boat close in to the Northern bank, well under the shadow of the trees; for they had rounded the bend, and the new gold-town had jumped into view—a medley of minor lights, with, about half a mile ahead of them, where the creek swung round in a second bend, the blaze of two big gasoline flares; for already a drink saloon was in full blast.