Part 16 (1/2)
”I've commanded a black brigantine, name of _The Petrel_,” he admitted simply. ”She was a brigantine aloft, but _alow_ she had much the same lines as the _Laughing La.s.s_.” He whirled on his heel to roll to one of the covered yacht's cannon. ”Looks like a harmless little toy to burn black powder, don't she?” he remarked. He stripped off the tarpaulin and the false bra.s.s muzzle to display as pretty a little Maxim as you would care to see. ”Now you know all about it,” he said.
”Look here, Captain Selover,” I demanded, ”don't you know that I could blow your whole shooting-match higher than Gilderoy's kite. How do you know I won't do it when I get back? How do you know I won't inform the doctor at once what kind of an outfit he has tied to?”
He planted far apart his thick legs in their soiled blue trousers, pushed back his greasy linen boating hat and stared at me with some amus.e.m.e.nt.
”How do you know I won't blow on Lieutenant or Ensign Ralph Slade, U.S.N., when I get back?” he demanded. I blessed that illusion, anyway.
”Besides, I know my man. You won't do anything of the sort.” He walked to the rail and spat carefully over the side.
”As for the doctor,” he went on, ”he knows all about it. He told me all about myself, and everything I had ever done from the time I'd licked Buck Jones until last season's little diversion. Then he told me that was why he wanted me to s.h.i.+p for this cruise.” The captain eyed me quizzically.
I threw out my hands in a comic gesture of surrender.
”Well, where are we bound, anyway?”
The dirty, unkempt, dishevelled figure stiffened.
”Mr. Eagen,” its falsetto shrilled, ”you are mate of this vessel. Your duty is to see that my orders as to sailing are carried out. Beyond that you do not go. As to navigation, and lat.i.tude and longitude and where the h.e.l.l we are, that is outside your line of duty. As to where we are bound, you are getting double wages not to get too d.a.m.n curious. Remember to earn your wages, Mr. Eagen!”
He turned away to the binnacle. In spite of his personal filth, in spite of the lawless, almost piratical, character of the man, in that moment I could not but admire him. If Percy Darrow was ignorant of the purposes of this expedition, how much more so Captain Selover. Yet he accepted his trust blindly, and as far as I could then see, intended to fulfil it faithfully. I liked him none the worse for snubbing me. It indicated a streak in his moral nature akin to and quite as curious as his excessive neatness regarding his immediate surroundings.
IV
THE STEEL CLAW
During the next few days the crew discussed our destination. Discipline, while maintained strictly, was not conventional. During the dog watches, often, every man aboard would be below, for at that period Captain Selover loved to take the wheel in person, a thick cigar between his lips, the dingy checked s.h.i.+rt wide open to expose his hairy chest to the breeze. In the twilight of the forecastle we had some great sea-lawyer's talks--I say ”We,” though I took little part in them. Generally I lay across my bunk smoking my pipe while Handy Solomon held forth, his speech punctuated by surly speculations from the n.i.g.g.e.r, with hesitating deep-sea wisdom from the hairy Thrackles, or with voluminous bursts of fractured English from Perdosa. Pulz had nothing to offer, but watched from his pale green eyes. The light s.h.i.+fted and wavered from one to the other as the s.h.i.+p swayed: garments swung; the empty berths yawned cavernous. I could imagine the forecastle filled with the desperate men who had beaten off the _Oyama_. The story is told that they had swept the gunboat's decks with her own rapid-fires, turned in.
No one knew where we were going, nor why. The doctor puzzled them, and the quant.i.ty of his belongings.
”It ain't pearls,” said Handy Solomon. ”You can kiss the Book on that, for we ain't a diver among us. It ain't c.h.i.n.ks, for we are cruising sou'-sou'-west. Likely it's trade,--trade down in the Islands.”
We were all below. The captain himself had the wheel. Discipline, while strict, was not conventional.
”Contrabandista,” muttered the Mexican, ”for dat he geev us double pay.”
”We don't get her for nothing,” agreed Thrackles. ”Double pay and duff on Wednesday generally means get your head broke.”
”No trade,” said the n.i.g.g.e.r gloomily.
They turned to him with one accord.
”Why not?” demanded Pulz, breaking his silence.
”No trade,” repeated the n.i.g.g.e.r.
”Ain't you got a reason, Doctor?” asked Handy Solomon.
”No trade,” insisted the n.i.g.g.e.r.