Part 14 (1/2)

”That's me. I left there two years ago, to start on my own.”

”H'm,” said the little sailor in the canoe. ”I was master of one of Kevendale's s.h.i.+ps once. It was me that had misfortune with the _Armenia_.”

”By gum! are you Captain Kettle that piled up the old _Atrocity_ on that iceberg? I'm sorry to see you come down to this, Captain.”

”Captain Kettle,” said the sulky Mate, ”that was in the Congo Pilot Service?”

”Yes,” said Kettle.

”Then, Captain,” said the Mate, ”I take back what I said about you being Robinson Crusoe. You may have met with misfortune, but, by the Lord, you're a man all the way through. You've made the ports down there on the Congo just ring with the way you kept your end up with those beastly Belgians. And now when any Englishman goes ash.o.r.e at Boma or Matadi or any place on the river, they're fit to eat him.”

The compliment had its doubtful side, but Kettle bowed with pleasure.

”Mr. Mate,” he said, ”I should have been more polite to you. I forgot you were a man who had just come through an anxious time.”

”Anxious time! My holy grandmother! You should have just seen. It was my watch below when she took the ground, and I give you my word for it, there's deep water marked in the chart where she struck. Third mate had the bridge, and he rang for engines hard astern. Nothing happened. From the first moment she hit, the Krooboys got the notion she was their s.h.i.+p by all the rules of the Coast, and they played up to that tune like men.

They bashed in the heads of the two engineers who tried to handle the reversing gear, and fairly took the s.h.i.+p below; and when the old man came out in his pyjamas and started his fancy shooting on deck, they just ran in on him and pulled him into kybobs.

”The second mate pegged out a week ago with black-water fever. So there was only me and Mr. Sheriff here, and the third left that were worth counting.” He wagged a stubby finger contemptuously at the rest of his boat's crew. ”Half this crowd don't know enough English to take a wheel, and the rest of them come from happy Dutchland, where they don't make soldiers, bless their silly eyes. I can tell you I'm not feeling sweet about it myself. I left a bran new suit of clothes and an Accra finger-ring on that blame' s.h.i.+p.”

”Well, never mind the rest of the tale now,” said Sheriff. ”Here we are kicked overboard, and glad enough to save our bare skins, I'll own. We won't go into the question of manning British s.h.i.+ps with foreigners just now. What's interesting me is the fact that those Krooboys have got hatches off already, and are standing by the cranes and winches. I've seen them work cargo before all up and down the coast, and know the pace they can put into it, and if we don't move quick they'll scoff that s.h.i.+p clear down to the ceilings of her holds.” A winch chain rattled, and a sling load of cloth bales swung up to one of her derrick sheaves. ”My faith, look at that! They've begun to broach cargo by now, and there are some of the beggars setting to lower the surf-boats to ferry it on to the beach.”

The Mate rapped out sulphurous wishes for the Krooboys' future state.

”Yes, yes,” said Sheriff, ”but we're wasting time. Come now, Captain, you heard my offer, and you seemed to like it. I'm waiting for you to fill your part of the bargain. Away with you ash.o.r.e, and bring off your army and take possession.”

”I'm afraid, sir,” said Kettle honestly, ”you've been taking a little too much for granted. I've got no establishment ash.o.r.e. I'm just what you see--a common tramp, or worse, seeing that I've been play-acting for my dinners of late. And as for any help those n.i.g.g.e.rs ash.o.r.e could give, why, I shouldn't recommend it. The one-eyed old son of a dog who's head-man, has served on s.h.i.+ps according to his own telling, and he'll have the same notions about loot as your own Krooboys. The Coast n.i.g.g.e.r hereabouts has got a fancy that any s.h.i.+p on the beach is c.u.mshaw for himself, and you'll not knock it out of him without some hard teaching.

No, Mr. Sheriff, to call in that one-eyed head-man and his friends--who it makes me hot to think I had to sing and dance to not six hours back--would only pile up the work ahead of us. Much best tackle the s.h.i.+p as she is.”

”What!” said Sheriff. ”Do you mean to say we can retake her? You don't know what those boys are like. I tell you they were fair demons when we left, and they'll be worse now, because they are certain to have got liquor inside them by this. It's not a bit of use your counting on these deckhands and stokers in the boat. They're not a penn'oth of use, the whole lot of them.”

”Well,” said Kettle diffidently, ”I'd got my eye on that packet of cartridge beside you on the thwart. If they were four-fiftys--”

”They are--let's look--four--five--nought. Yes, well?”

Captain Kettle pulled a well-cleaned revolver out of his waist-cloth.

”I've carried this empty for a whole year now, sir, but I don't think I've forgot my shooting.”

”I can speak here,” said the Mate. ”I've heard of his usefulness that way on the Congo. When Captain Kettle lets off his gun, Mr. Sheriff, it's a funeral. By gum, if he's a way of getting the s.h.i.+p again, I'm on for helping. Look! There's that steward's boy, Tins, going into my room this minute. I've a suit of clothes there that have never been put on, and he'll have them for a cert if we don't look quick.”

”Now then, Captain,” said Sheriff, ”if there's anything going to be done, get a move on you.”

Kettle paddled the dug-out alongside, and stepped into the lifeboat. His eye glittered as he tore open the wrapping of the cartridges and reloaded his revolver. It was long since he had known the complacent feel of the armed man.

”Now,” he said, ”there's one more thing. I'm not in uniform, but I hold a master's ticket, and I've got to be skipper.”

”You can take the berth for me,” said the Mate. ”I'll say outright it's a lot above my weight.”

”And I've offered it to you already,” said Sheriff. ”Go on, man, and give your orders.”

Captain Kettle's first desire was to get back to the steamer whence the boat had come, and this the mixed crew of foreigners at the oars had scruples about carrying out. But Kettle and the Mate got furiously at work on them with their hands, and in less than a minute the men were doing as they were bidden, except, that is, a trio who were too badly wounded to sit up, and who were allowed to wallow on the floor gratings.