Part 7 (2/2)

”Right first time; hanging it is.”

”It ain't nothin' to do with us, any'ow,” said one of the objectors. ”We ain't responsible for what the skipper does.”

”P'raps not, but if he orders you to shoot a man and you do it, you're a murderer and will be treated as such. You won't save your neck by telling the beak that you thought you were a privateer. No, my son, it'll be a hanging job, you can take your Davy on that. Maybe they'll put a photo of your handsome dial in the newspapers, but your gal will soon be looking for another jolly sailor-boy to sponge on, and mother'll lose her curly-headed darling.”

There was a constrained silence for some moments, during which Skelt grinned at his audience sardonically. Despite the affected incredulity of his listeners, they were evidently beginning to feel nervous. To even the most ignorant among them, piracy was an ugly word, much akin to murder.

”S'posing what you say's right, what are we to do?” asked one of the hecklers at last.

”Ask the skipper to let us get out and walk,” suggested someone amidst laughter.

”If any of you had brains a fraction of the size of your guts you wouldn't ask me a fool question like that,” answered Skelt. ”If a bloke came up and said 'I'm going to hang you in five minutes,' what would you do?”

”Knock 'is bloomin' light out,” said a fireman.

”Shove a knife between 'is ribs,” suggested another.

”Of course you would,” said the ex-boatswain. ”But here's a man who gets you on board his s.h.i.+p and then tells you to do something that'll get you hanged as sure as infants eat pap. And you'd sooner risk your necks than tell him that, if he wants any murdering done, he'd better do it himself. You're a peris.h.i.+ng set of heroes, strike me blind!”

”Why don't you tell that to the old man yourself?” asked one of the audience. ”Your neck's as much in danger as ours.”

”Aye, aye, tell 'im yourself,” echoed the others.

”So I would if I thought you'd stand by me. But you're such a set of white-livered skunks that, at the first word from this one-eyed skipper, you'd turn on me. Why, if you were men instead of a d.a.m.ned pack of slaves, you'd take charge of this packet yourselves and clap that lunatic aft in irons. Then you'd take the s.h.i.+p into the nearest port and claim salvage, and a nice little fortune you'd make out of it. It'd be every man his own pub then and don't you forget it.”

”What about the orf'cers, old son?” inquired someone.

”Treat 'em the same if they refused to come in with us. One of them would have to do the navigating, and if he had any objections we'd soon get rid of them. A bit of whipcord tightened round a man's head is a wonderful persuader.”

”So's the wooden 'orse,” cried a fireman, referring to the manner in which the fiery orator had been induced to waive his claim to be regarded as a pa.s.senger.

There was another burst of laughter at this sally, but the would-be righter of wrongs, though annoyed, was not to be put down.

”Whose fault was that?” he demanded. ”One man couldn't fight the whole crowd of you, and if that swivel-eyed swine had given the word you'd have been on me like a pack of dogs. But I haven't forgotten, and I'll lay my life against a mouldy biscuit that I get even before I leave this stinking slave-dhow.”

”You oughter be in 'Ide Park, you ought,” said the sceptical fireman.

”You'd look fine on a Sunday afternoon standin' on the top of a tub.”

”If it pleases you to be funny, it doesn't hurt me,” retorted Skelt.

”But wait till you're up before the beak on a charge of piracy on the high seas; maybe you'll sing a different tune.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and, with an expression of utter contempt on his face, turned away. But, despite the scornful incredulity with which his remarks had been received, they had not fallen on entirely barren soil. As a general rule, the sailor-man is hopelessly ignorant of the law, and, in consequence, has a vague but very real dread of it. For him, it possesses all the terrors of the unknown; its very jargon cows him, and the wording of a summons sounds more terrible in his ears than the worst abuse of the worst skipper that ever sailed the seas. Skelt, it was true, had not served out any fear-inspiring legal phrases, but he had mentioned piracy, which is an ugly word to use on a s.h.i.+p whose character and mission savour somewhat of that offence.

So, while they pretended to laugh at the ex-boatswain's words, those who had heard them began to feel a new and unpleasant sense of dread. This quickly communicated itself to the rest of the crew, and before the first dog-watch was called that day there was hardly a man who was not obsessed by it. Many of them would have cut a person's throat for the price of a drink; not a few had seen the inside of a prison for some offence or other, but piracy, the greatest crime of which a sailor can be guilty, made them shudder. It belonged to the highest order of crime, and, though the punishment could not be greater than that meted out for stabbing a man in the back, the fact that it was vaster and infinitely more daring than anything their coa.r.s.e minds had ever conceived, made it seem appallingly stupendous.

During the afternoon those who were off watch discussed the subject in whispers. Some were for sending a deputation to the skipper, but no one could be found whose courage was equal to the task. Skelt, who was approached on the subject, flatly declined to act as the crew's representative. He had done his part, he a.s.serted, by warning them of their danger; let somebody else have the privilege of bearding Calamity.

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