No Traveller Returns (Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  Tex had nothing to say about that. He picked up his book and turned toward the door, looking the crowd over for a familiar face. Everything he owned had gone down with the Rarotonga. There was money coming to him, but how long it would be before he saw any of it was a question.

  Near the door he glimpsed a slight, buck-toothed seaman in a blue pea jacket who looked familiar. He edged through the crowd toward him. “Hi, Jack, how about stakin’ a guy to some chow?”

  “Hey? Don’t I know you? Tex, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Weren’t you on the West Ivis when I was?”

  “I’m Conrad…Shorty Conrad. Come on, there’s a greasy spoon right down the street.” Once they were outside, Shorty looked at Worden, noticing the sunburn and bandaged hands. “What happened to you?”

  “I was on the Rarotonga.”

  The sailor shook his head in awe. “Jee-sus! You were the only one who came back!”

  “Some passengers made it. Not many, but some.”

  “I heard about that! You’re a hero. And with Hazel Ryan yet. And Thornton Price! The actress and the millionaire! You brought them back alive.”

  “Yeah. Me an’ Frank Buck. If this is how it feels to be a hero, you can have it. I’m broke. There’s a hearing today—maybe I can hit up the commissioner for a few bucks.”

  They took stools at the counter and the burly Greek wiped his hands on his apron and stared at them. “You boys got the money? I don’t like to ask, but we get stiffed a lot.”

  “I got it.” Shorty showed him a handful of silver dollars.

  They ordered coffee and hamburger steaks. Tex leaned his elbows against the counter. He was tired, very tired. He felt he would fall off his stool if he wasn’t careful, and he didn’t even have the price of a bed. His shoulders ached and his hands were sore. They hurt when he used them and they hurt almost as much when he didn’t.

  “That gang still down in the valley?” If he could rustle up two bits, Tex knew he could rent a bed in one of the decaying shacks on the hillside. But if he had any more than that the local roughnecks might try to roll him for the rest. Even after a week in the hospital of the ship that picked them up, he wasn’t in any shape to defend himself.

  “Happy Valley? The same old gang, an’ just as tough as ever. It depends on who’s in port. Mahoney, Fitzpatrick, the McFee brothers, Russian Fred, Black Pete, and the Swedes. You ain’t got a beef with them, do ya?”

  “No.”

  “Jees, but that Fitz could sure scrap! I saw him whip ‘Frisco’ Grady one night in the damnedest brawl you ever saw! There’s a guy around here who beat him, though.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “McGuire. Denny McGuire. He don’t look like a tough guy, but they say he used to be a prizefighter.”

  “Ha! I’d like to have seen Fitz get it. That guy’s had it comin’ for a good long time!” Tex Worden took a long breath. “It was a nasty storm, Shorty. You never saw wind like that.”

  “She went down quick, eh? I heard it was like fifteen minutes.”

  “Maybe. Starb’rd half door gave way, then the engine room bulkhead. The water put the fires out. No power, no pumps—it was a madhouse.”

  They were silent, sipping their coffee and eating their greasy steaks. Finally Shorty asked, “How long were you out there?”

  “Fifteen days, just a few miles off the equator. It rained once—just in time.”

  Familiar faces drifted by the door. He knew some of them but could not recall their names. They were faces he’d seen from Hong Kong to Hoboken, from Limehouse to Malay Street in Singapore or Grant Road in Bombay, from Gomar Street in Suez to the old American Bar in Liverpool. They were pimps and prostitutes, seamen, fishermen, and bums, but they were all walking around on solid ground. He was glad to be back. Hell, he was glad to be alive.

  Tex Worden looked down at his hands. Under the bandages they were swollen, with angry red flesh where the blisters were starting to heal. His face was burned so badly he could not touch it to shave. He looked frightening and felt worse.

  He did not want to think of those bitter, brutal days when he had rowed the boat, hour after hour, day after day, all sense of time, all sense of motion forgotten. After the storm there had been no wind, just a dead calm, the only movement being the ripples in the wake of the lifeboat.

  He blinked and sat up suddenly. “I got to stop by the commissioner’s office. They want to ask me some questions about this mess. Sort of a preliminary inquiry, I guess.”

  * * *

  —

  There were several men in business suits in the conference room when they entered. They all looked at Tex, and Shorty quickly took a seat near the door, pushing back against the dark paneling, holding his hat in his hands.

  “Thank you, son,” the commissioner began. “That was a good job you did out there.”

  “There ain’t much I can tell you, sir,” Tex said. “But I’ll do my best.”

  The commissioner dropped into a swivel chair behind the table. “Good. We will not keep you any longer than we must, but naturally we have to arrive at some conclusions as to what took place and what caused the disaster. If there is anything you can tell us, we’d be glad to hear it.”

  Shorty stole a glance at the big man with the red face. A company man, here to protect its interests. He knew the type.

  “Well, I had come off watch about a half hour before it all happened, and when I went below everything seemed neat and shipshape. It was a rough night, hard on the passengers but nothing we sailors weren’t used to. The ship settled into the trough of a wave and I was sitting on my bunk in the fo’c’sle taking off my shoes.

  “Except this time when she settled she didn’t rise again, not so quick an’ light, at least. Stu, he was lyin’ in the top bunk, he sat up an’ stared at me. He said, ‘What the hell happened?’ And I said I didn’t know. Then it happened again, worse. This time we took a wave clear over the fo’c’sle.

  “He jumped down, and I was pulling my shoes back on. So was he, an’ we ran up on deck. We were riding real low and starting to list. Between seas we ran aft, looking for the mate. People were milling around and there was a lot of confusion. Before we found anyone, the signal came for boat stations, so I went up on the boat deck. Last I saw of Stu he was trying to break open a jammed door; I could hear people behind it.

  “She was starting to settle fast, going down with a heavy list to starb’rd. I was mighty scared because I remembered that starb’rd half door, and—”

  “What about the half door, Worden? What was wrong with it?”

  “Nothing at all, Commissioner,” the company man interrupted. “The company inspector—”

  “Just a minute, Mr. Winstead.” The commissioner spoke sharply. “Who is conducting this inquiry?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Proceed with your story, Worden.”

  “The half door was badly sprung, sir. Somebody said the ship had been bumped a while back, and I guess they paid no mind to repairs. Anyway, it wasn’t no bother unless they was loaded too heavy, and—”

  “What do you mean, Worden? Was the ship overloaded?”

  Winstead scowled at Worden, his lips drawing to a thin, angry line.

  “Well, sir, I guess I ain’t got no call to speak, but—”

  “You just tell what happened at the time of the wreck, Worden. That will be sufficient!” Winstead interrupted.

  “Mr. Winstead! I will thank you not to interrupt this man’s story again. I am conducting this inquiry, and Mr. Worden is the sole remaining member of the crew. As a seafaring man of many years’ experience, he understands ships, and he was there when it happened. I intend to hear all—let me repeat, all—he has to say. We certainly are not going to arrive at any conclusions by concealing anything. If your vessel was in proper condition, you have nothing to worry a
bout—but I must say your attitude gives rise to suspicion.” He paused, glancing up at the reporters, who were writing hurriedly. “Now, Worden, if you please. Continue your story.”

  “Well, sir, before we left I was standin’ by number three hatch waiting for the last loads to swing aboard so’s I could batten her down, an’ I heard Mr. Jorgenson—he was the mate—say that he didn’t like it at all. The Rarotonga usually carried just passengers and mail, but this trip we also had some construction equipment for the Canal Zone. Anyway, the mate said loading so heavy with that bad door was asking for trouble, and he went on to mention the bulkhead amidships.

  “I don’t know much about it, sir, except the talk in the fo’c’sle about the bulkhead between the hold and engine room. One of the men who’d been chipping rust down there said you didn’t dare chip very hard or you’d drive your hammer right through, it was that thin.

  “When I was ashore clearing the gangway, I saw she was loaded down below the Plimsoll marks.”

  “Weren’t you worried, Worden? I should think that knowing the conditions you would have been.”

  “No, sir. Generally speaking, men working aboard ship don’t worry too much. I’ve been going to sea quite a while now, an’ it’s always the other ships that sink, never the one a fellow’s on. At least that’s the way it is until somethin’ happens. If she sinks, then she sinks, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, sir. An’ there was trouble before we were three days out. Me an’ a couple of others were called to help Chips caulk that half door. You know, it’s a door in the ship’s side they load cargo through. Not all ships have ’em. That door, it didn’t fit right. Normal times, with a normal load, it was all right.

  “But three days out we had a spot of bad weather, some of that cargo shifted a mite, and she began to make water, so we had to recaulk the door.

  “To get back to that night, sir. When I got to my boat station, I saw one of the officers down on the deck with his head all stove in. I don’t know whether he got hit with something or whether it was done by a bunch of passengers fightin’ over the boat. Ever’body was yellin’ an’ clawin’, so I waded in an’ socked a few of them and got them straightened out.

  “I told them they’d damn well better do what they were told because I was the only one who knew how to get that lifeboat into the water. After that they quieted down some. A bunch of them ran off aft, because there was another boat already in the water, but I got busy with the lifeboat cover.

  “All of a sudden it was still, so quiet it scared you. The wind still blowing and big waves all around but ghostly still. You could hear a body speak just like I’m speakin’ now. It was like everything quieted down to let us die in peace.

  “All those people who’d been yellin’ an’ fightin’ stood there lookin’ at me, and one little fellow in a gray suit—he had a tie on an’ everything. He was Jewish, I think. He asked me what he could do, and I told him to get to the other end of the boat, to loose the falls and lower away when I did.

  “I got the boat cover off, and we got the boat into the water, and the ship was down so far and canted over that it was no problem gettin’ those few folks into the lifeboat.

  “I took a quick look around. The other boat was already away, and there were two ABs with it, Fulton an’ Jaworski. They had maybe thirty people in that boat, and I saw one of the stewards there, too. There was nobody else in sight, but I could hear some yellin’ forward.

  “I jumped into the boat and told the Jew to cast off. I got oars into the water, and we started looking for others. When we got out a ways, I could see Sparks was still in the radio shack.

  “Then the ship gave a kind of lunge and went down by the head. She just dipped down and then slid right away, going into the water on her beam ends with all the portside boats just danglin’ there, useless, as they couldn’t be got into the water. At the last minute, as she went under, I saw a man with an ax running from boat to boat cutting the falls. He was hoping they’d come up floating, and a couple of them did.

  “All of a sudden I see a man in the water. He was a pleasant-looking man with gray hair, and he was swimmin’. He looked so calm I almost laughed. ‘Cold, isn’t it?’ he says, and then he just turns and swims off, cool as you please. You’d have thought the beach wasn’t fifty feet away.

  “It’s things like that fairly take your wind, sir, and there I was, trying to pull the lifeboat away from the ship and hopin’ for the best.

  “I turned my head once and looked back. Mostly I was trying to guide the boat through wreckage that was already afloat. When I looked back—this was just before she went under—I glimpsed somebody standin’ on the bridge, one arm through the pilothouse window to hang on, and he was lighting his pipe with his free hand.

  “It just didn’t seem like it could be happenin’. There I was just minutes before, a-comin’ off watch, all set for a little shut-eye, and now here I was in a lifeboat, and the ship was goin’ down.

  “There must have been nearly a hundred people in the water, and not a whisper out of any of them. Like they was all in shock or somethin’ of the kind. Once a guy did yell to somebody else. Then something exploded underwater—maybe the boilers busted; I wouldn’t know. Anyway, when it was over, a lot of those folks who’d been in the water were gone. I fetched the bow of my boat around and rowed toward something white floating in the water. It was a woman, and I got her into the boat.”

  “Was that Hazel Ryan?” a reporter asked.

  “No, it was Lila, a stewardess. Then I held the boat steady whilst another man climbed in. He pointed out three people clingin’ to a barrel. I started for them.

  “The sea was rough, and folks would disappear behind a wave, and sometimes when you looked, they weren’t there anymore. Those people were havin’ a time of it, tryin’ to hang on to that barrel, so I got to them fast, and folks helped them aboard. The Ryan woman was one of them.

  “I’ll give her this. First moment she could speak, she asked if there was anything she could do, and I said just to set quiet and try to get warm, if I needed help I’d ask for it.

  “It was funny how black everything was, yet you could see pretty well for all of that. You’d see a white face against the black water, but by the time you got there, it was gone.

  “One time I just saw an arm. Woman’s, I think it was. She was right alongside the boat, and I let go an oar an’ grabbed for her, but her arm slipped right through my fingers.

  “Some of those we’d picked up were in panic and some in shock. That Jewish fellow with the necktie and all, Schwartz, he didn’t know a thing about the sea, but he was cool enough. We moved people around, got the boat trimmed, and I got her bow turned to meet the sea and started to try to ride her out.”

  “Did you think about the radio? Ships might have been headed for your position.”

  “Sparks was in there, and he was sending. I am sure of that, but he hadn’t any orders, and most shipmasters don’t want any Mayday or SOS goin’ out unless they say. If he sent it, he sent it on his own, because the old man never made the bridge. Later—well, after the storm we had no idea where the wreck had happened.”

  “The man you saw lighting his pipe?”

  “Jorgenson, I think. He was watch officer, but they were changin’ watch, so I don’t know. He wasn’t heavy enough for the old man.

  “Anyway, I’d no time to think of them. The sea was makin’ up, and I was havin’ the devil’s own time with that boat. She’d have handled a lot easier if we’d had a few more people aboard.

  “Lila, she was hurtin’. Seemed like she was all stove up inside, and the shock was wearin’ off. She was feelin’ pain, turnin’ and twisting like, and the Ryan woman was trying to help. She and that little Jew, they worked over her, coverin’ her with coats, trying to tuck them under so she’d ride easier. The rest just s
at and stared.”

  “No other boats got off?”

  “I don’t know—except that boat with Fulton and Jaworski. They were good men, and they’d do what could be done.”

  “How was the weather?”

  “Gettin’ worse, sir. There was nobody to spell me on the oars because nobody knew anythin’ about handling a boat in a heavy sea. I shipped the oars and got hold of the tiller, which made it a mite easier.

  “Lila had passed out; spray was whippin’ over the boat. I was hangin’ on to that tiller, scared ever’ time a big one came over that it would be the last of us. You just had to live from one sea to the next.”

  “How long did the storm last?”

  “About two days. I don’t rightly remember because I was so tired everything was hazy. When the sea calmed down enough, I let Schwartz have the tiller. I’d been grippin’ it so hard and so long I could hardly let go.”

  “You were at the tiller forty-eight hours without relief?”

  “Yes, sir. Maybe a bit more. But after that she began to settle down, and the sun came out.”

  “The boat was provisioned according to regulations?”

  “Yes, sir. We’d some trouble about water later but the rations were what they were supposed to be.”

  “How about the crew and the officers? Were they efficient in your opinion?”

  “Sure. Yes, they were okay. I’ve been going to sea quite a spell, and I never have seen any seaman or officer shirk his job. It ain’t bravery nor lack of it, just that he knows his job and has been trained for it.

  “Passengers? Well, all of a sudden everything is different. There’s turmoil an’ confusion; there’s folks runnin’ back and forth, and the passengers don’t know what’s going on.”

  “How long before she sank?”

  “Fifteen minutes, give or take a few. It surely wasn’t more, though. It might have been no more than five. We’d made quite a bit of water before the cargo shifted and she heeled over. With that half door underwater, then maybe the engine room bulkhead, the water might have put the fires out. No pumps or power—she just filled up and sank.”