Part 5 (1/2)
”I don't like boats to come sneaking up from nowhere in particular, alongside a s.h.i.+p when I am in charge of the deck. I can keep a lookout as well as any man out of home ports, but I hate to be circ.u.mvented by m.u.f.fled oars and such ungentlemanlike tricks. Yacht officer--indeed.
These seas must be full of such yachtsmen. I consider you played a mean trick on me. I told my old man there was nothing in sight at sunset--and no more there was. I believe you blundered upon us by chance--for all your boasting about sunsets and bearings. Gammon! I know you came on blindly on top of us, and with m.u.f.fled oars, too. D'ye call that decent?”
”If I did m.u.f.fle the oars it was for a good reason. I wanted to slip past a cove where some native craft were moored. That was common prudence in such a small boat, and not armed--as I am. I saw you right enough, but I had no intention to startle anybody. Take my word for it.”
”I wish you had gone somewhere else,” growled Shaw. ”I hate to be put in the wrong through accident and untruthfulness--there! Here's my old man calling me--”
He left the cabin hurriedly and soon afterward Lingard came down, and sat again facing Carter across the table. His face was grave but resolute.
”We shall get the breeze directly,” he said.
”Then, sir,” said Carter, getting up, ”if you will give me back that letter I shall go on cruising about here to speak some other s.h.i.+p. I trust you will report us wherever you are going.”
”I am going to the yacht and I shall keep the letter,” answered Lingard with decision. ”I know exactly where she is, and I must go to the rescue of those people. It's most fortunate you've fallen in with me, Mr.
Carter. Fortunate for them and fortunate for me,” he added in a lower tone.
”Yes,” drawled Carter, reflectively. ”There may be a tidy bit of salvage money if you should get the vessel off, but I don't think you can do much. I had better stay out here and try to speak some gunboat--”
”You must come back to your s.h.i.+p with me,” said Lingard, authoritatively. ”Never mind the gunboats.”
”That wouldn't be carrying out my orders,” argued Carter. ”I've got to speak a homeward-bound s.h.i.+p or a man-of-war--that's plain enough. I am not anxious to knock about for days in an open boat, but--let me fill my fresh-water breaker, Captain, and I will be off.”
”Nonsense,” said Lingard, sharply. ”You've got to come with me to show the place and--and help. I'll take your boat in tow.”
Carter did not seem convinced. Lingard laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.
”Look here, young fellow. I am Tom Lingard and there's not a white man among these islands, and very few natives, that have not heard of me. My luck brought you into my s.h.i.+p--and now I've got you, you must stay. You must!”
The last ”must” burst out loud and sharp like a pistol-shot. Carter stepped back.
”Do you mean you would keep me by force?” he asked, startled.
”Force,” repeated Lingard. ”It rests with you. I cannot let you speak any vessel. Your yacht has gone ash.o.r.e in a most inconvenient place--for me; and with your boats sent off here and there, you would bring every infernal gunboat buzzing to a spot that was as quiet and retired as the heart of man could wish. You stranding just on that spot of the whole coast was my bad luck. And that I could not help. You coming upon me like this is my good luck. And that I hold!”
He dropped his clenched fist, big and muscular, in the light of the lamp on the black cloth, amongst the glitter of gla.s.ses, with the strong fingers closed tight upon the firm flesh of the palm. He left it there for a moment as if showing Carter that luck he was going to hold. And he went on:
”Do you know into what hornet's nest your stupid people have blundered?
How much d'ye think their lives are worth, just now? Not a bra.s.s farthing if the breeze fails me for another twenty-four hours. You may well open your eyes. It is so! And it may be too late now, while I am arguing with you here.”
He tapped the table with his knuckles, and the gla.s.ses, waking up, jingled a thin, plaintive finale to his speech. Carter stood leaning against the sideboard. He was amazed by the unexpected turn of the conversation; his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes never swerved for a moment from Lingard's face. The silence in the cabin lasted only a few seconds, but to Carter, who waited breathlessly, it seemed very long.
And all at once he heard in it, for the first time, the cabin clock tick distinctly, in pulsating beats, as though a little heart of metal behind the dial had been started into sudden palpitation.
”A gunboat!” shouted Lingard, suddenly, as if he had seen only in that moment, by the light of some vivid flash of thought, all the difficulties of the situation. ”If you don't go back with me there will be nothing left for you to go back to--very soon. Your gunboat won't find a single s.h.i.+p's rib or a single corpse left for a landmark. That she won't. It isn't a gunboat skipper you want. I am the man you want. You don't know your luck when you see it, but I know mine, I do--and--look here--”
He touched Carter's chest with his forefinger, and said with a sudden gentleness of tone:
”I am a white man inside and out; I won't let inoffensive people--and a woman, too--come to harm if I can help it. And if I can't help, n.o.body can. You understand--n.o.body! There's no time for it. But I am like any other man that is worth his salt: I won't let the end of an undertaking go by the board while there is a chance to hold on--and it's like this--”
His voice was persuasive--almost caressing; he had hold now of a coat b.u.t.ton and tugged at it slightly as he went on in a confidential manner: