Майн Рид
The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea
Chapter Forty Nine.
Two “Sydney Ducks.”
Jack Striker and Bill Davis are “Sydney Ducks,” who have seen service in the chain-gangs of Australia. They have also served as sailors, this being their original calling. But since a certain voyage to the Swan River settlement – in which they were but passengers, sent out at the expense of Her Britannic Majesty’s Government – they have had aversion to the sea, and only take to it intermittently – when under the necessity of working passage from port to port for other purposes. Escaping from a colonisation forced upon them, and quite uncongenial, they had thus made their way into California; and, after a run up the Sacramento, and a spell at gold-seeking, with but indifferent success, had returned to San Francisco; in the Queen City of the Pacific – finding ways of life they liked better than the hard labour of pick, pan, and cradle. Loitering among its low sailor-haunts, they encountered a pleasant surprise, by meeting a man who offered them five thousand dollars each to ship in a merchant-vessel, for the “short trip” to Panama! A wage so disproportioned to the service asked for, of course called for explanation; which the princely contractor gave, after having secured their confidence. It proved satisfactory to the Sydney Ducks, who, without further questioning, entered into the contract. The result was their getting conducted aboard the Condor– she being the vessel bound for the port of Panama.
He who had given them this handsome engagement was not the owner of the ship; no more was he her captain or supercargo; but a gentleman representing himself authorised to accept their services, for a somewhat different purpose than the mere working of her sails; and who promised to pay them in a peculiar manner – under certain contingencies, even more than the sum stipulated, notwithstanding its magnificence.
The conditions were partially made known to them before setting foot on the ship; and though an honest sailor would scornfully have rejected them – even in the face of such tempting reward – Jack Striker and Bill Davis have accepted them without scruple or cavil. For they are not honest sailors; but ex-convicts, criminals still unreformed, and capable of any misdeed – piracy, or murder – if only money can be made thereby.
Since coming aboard the Condor, and mixing with her crew, they have had additional insight into the character of their contract, and the services required of them. They find that several other men have been engaged in a somewhat similar way; and at a like bounteous wage – for a while wondering at it – till after a mutual comparison of notes, and putting together their respective scraps of intelligence, with surmises added, they have arrived at a pretty accurate understanding of how the land lies, and why their entrepreneur– who is no other than the second mate, Padilla – has been so liberal.
Striker, who has seen more of the world, and is the elder of the two “ducks,” has been the first to obtain this added information; and it is for the purpose of communicating it to his old chum of the chain-gang, he has asked the latter to step aside with him. For chancing to be cast together in the middle watch, an opportunity offers, which the older convict has all that day been looking out for.
Davis, of more talkative habit, is the first to break silence; which he does on the instant of their ducking under the sailcloth.
“Well, old pal! what d’ye think of our present employ? Better than breakin’ stone for them Swan River roads, with twenty pound of iron chain clinkin’ at a fellow’s ankles. An’t it?”
“Better’n that, yes; but not’s good as it might be.”
“Tut, man, you’re always grumblin’. Five thousand dollars for a trip that isn’t like to run up to a month – not more than a fortnight or three weeks, I should say! If that don’t content you, I’d like to know what would.”
“Well, mate; I’ll tell’ee what wud. Thirty thousand for the trip. An’ Jack Striker an’t like to be satisfied wi’ anythin’ much short o’ that sum.”
“You’re joking, Jack?”
“No, I an’t, Bill. As you knows, I’m not o’ the jokin’ sort; an’ now mean what I say, sartin as I ever meant anythin’ in my life. Both me an’ you oughter get thirty thousand apiece o’ this yellow stuff – that at the werry least.”
“Why, there wouldn’t be enough to go round the lot that’s in.”
“Yes, thar wud, an’ will. Old as I am, I hain’t yit quite lost hearin’. My yeers are as sharp as they iver wor, an’ jist as reliable. Larst night I heerd a whisper pass atween Padilla an’ another o’ them Spanish chaps, that’s put me up to somethink.”
“What did you hear?”
“That the swag’ll tot up to the total o’ three hundred thousand dollars.”
“The deuce it will! Why, they said it wasn’t half that much. Padilla himself told me so.”
“No matter what he’s told you. I tell ye now, it’s all o’ the six figures I’ve sayed. In coorse, it’s their interest to make it out small as they possibly can; seein’ as our share’s to be a percentage. I know better now; an’ knowin’ it, an’t agoin’ to stan’ none o’ theer nonsense. Neyther shud you, Bill. We both o’ us are ’bout to risk the same as any o’ the t’others.”
“That’s true enough.”
“In coorse it is. An’ bein’ so, we oughter share same as them; can, an’ will, if we stick well thegither. It’s jest as eezy one way as t’other.”
“There’s something in what you say, mate.”
“Theer’s every thin’ in it, an’ nothin’ more than our rights. As I’ve sayed, we all risk the same, an’ that’s gettin’ our necks streetched. For if we make a mucker o’ the job, it’ll be a hangin’ matter sure. An’ I dar say theer’s got to be blood spilt afore it’s finished.”
“What would you advise our doing? You know, Jack, I’ll stand by you, whatever you go in for.”
“Well; I want it to be a fair divide, all round; detarmined it shell be. Why shud the four Spanish fellas get a dollar more’n us others? As I’ve obsarved, two of them, Gomez an’ Hernandez, have set theer eyes on the weemen folks. It’s eezy to see that’s part o’ theer game. Beside, I heerd them talkin’ o’t. Gomez be arter the light girl, an’ Hernandez the dark un. ’Bout that, they may do as they like for ought’s I care. But it’s all the more reezun why they oughtent be so greedy ’bout the shinin’ stuff. As for Mister Gomez, it’s plain he’s the head man o’ the lot; an’ the second mate, who engaged us, is only same’s the others, an’ ’pears to be controlled by him. ’Twar ’tween them two I overheerd the confab; Gomez sayin’ to Padilla that the dust lyin’ snug in the cabin-lockers was full valley for three hundred thousan’. An’ as theer’s eleven o’ us to share, that ’ud be nigh on thirty thousan’ apiece, if my ’rithmetic an’t out o’ recknin’. Bill Davis; I say, we oughter stan’ up for our rights.”
“Certainly we should. But there’ll be difficulty in getting them, I fear.”
“Not a bit – not a morsel, if we stick out for ’em. The four Spanyards means to go snacks ’mong themselves. But theer be seven o’ us outsiders; an’ when I tell the others what I’ve tolt you, they’ll be all on our side – if they an’t the foolishest o’ fools.”
“They won’t be that, I take it. A difference of twenty thousand dollars or so in their favour, will make them sensible enough. But what’s to be the upshot, or, as they call it in the theatre play-bills, what’s the programme!”
“Well, mate, so far as I’ve been put up to it, we’re to run on till we get to the coast, somewheer near the Issmus o’ Panyma. Theer we’ll sight land, and soon’s we do, the ship’s to be scuttled – we first securin’ the swag,’ an’ takin’ it ashore in one o’ the boats. We’re to land on some part o’ the coast that’s known to Gomez, he says. Then we’re to make for some town, when we’ve got things straight for puttin’ in appearance in a explainable way. Otherways, we might get pulled up, an’ all our trouble ’ud be for nowt. Worse, every man-Jack on us ’ud have a good chance to swing for it.”
“And the young ladies?”
“They’re to go along wi’ Gomez an’ Hernandez. How they mean to manage it, I can’t tell ye. They’ll be a trouble, no doubt, as allers is wi’ weemen, an’ it be a pity we’re hampered wi’ ’em; mor’n that, it’s reg’lar dangersome. They may get the hul kit o’ us into a scrape. Howsever, we’ll hev to take our chances, since theer’s no help for it. The two chaps ’pear to be reg’lar struck with ’em. Well, let ’em carry off the gurls an’ welcome. But, as I’ve sayed, thet oughter make ’em less objectin’ to a fair divide o’ the dust.”
“What’s to be done with the others – the old Spaniard and skipper, with the black cook and first mate?”
“They’re to go down wi’ the ship. The intenshun is, to knock all o’ ’em on the head, soon’s we come in sight o’ land.”
“Well, Jack, for the first three I don’t care a brass farthing. They’re foreigners and blacks; therefore, nothing to us. But, as Blew chances to be a countryman of ours, I’d rather it didn’t go so hard with him.”
“Balderdash, Bill Davis! What have you or me to do wi’ feelins o’ that sort? Countryman, indeed! A fine country, as starves ten millions o’ the like o’ us two; an’ if we try to take what by nateral right’s our own, sends us out o’ it wi’ handcuffs round our wrists, an’ iron jewellery on our ankles! All stuff an’ psalm-singin’ that ’bout one’s own country, an’ fella-countryman. If we let him off, we might meet him somewhere, when we an’t a-wantin’ to. He’ll have to be sarved same as the t’other three. There be no help for’t, if we don’t want to have hemp roun’ our thrapples.”
“I suppose you’re right, Striker; though it does seem a pity too. But what reason have the Spaniards for keepin’ the thing back? Why should they wait till we get down by Panama? As the yellow stuff’s lyin’ ready, sure it might be grabbed at once, an’ then we’d have more time to talk of how it’s to be divided? What’s the difficulty about our taking it now?”
“’Tant the takin’ o’ it. That’ll be eezy work; an’ when the time comes, we’ll have it all our own way. We could toss the four overboard in the skippin’ o’ a flea. But then, how’s the ship to be navvygated without the skipper an’ first mate?”
“Surely we can do without them?”
“That’s jest what we can’t. O’ all our crew, theer’s only them two as hev the knowledge o’ charts an’ chronometers, an’ the like; for him as is actin’ second confesses he don’t know nothin’ ’bout sich. Tharfor, though we’re in a good sound craft, without the skipper, or Blew, we’d be most as good as helpless. We’re now on the biggest o’ all oceans, an’ if we stood on the wrong tack, we might niver set eyes on land – or only to be cast away on some dangersome shore. Or, what ’ud be bad as eyther, get overhauled by some man-o’-war, an’ not able to gie account o’ ourselves. Theer’s the diffyculty, don’t ’ee see, Bill? For thet reezun the Spanyards have agreed to let things alone till we’ve ran down nigh Panyma. Theer Gomez says he knows o’ a long streetch o’ uninhabited coast, where we’ll be safe goin’ ashore.”
“Well, I suppose that’ll be the best way, after all. If a man has the money, it don’t make much difference where he sets foot on shore; an’ no doubt we’ll find sport down at Panyma, good as anywheres else.”
“Theer ye be right, Bill. When a cove’s flush there’s pleasurin’ iverywhere. Goold’s the only thing as gives it.”
“With the prospect of such big plunder, we can afford to be patient,” says Davis resignedly.
“I an’t agoin’ to be patient for the paltry five thousand they promised. No, Bill; neyther must you. We’ve equal rights wi’ the rest, an’ we must stan’ out for ’em.”
“Soon as you say the word, Jack, I’m at your back. So’ll all the others, who’re in the same boat with ourselves.”
“They oughter, an’ belike will; tho’ theer’s a weak-witted fool or two as may take talkin’ into it. I means to go at ’em the night, soon’s I’ve finished my trick at the wheel, the which ’ll soon be on. Ay! theer’s the bells now! I must aft. When I come off, Bill, you be up by the night-heads, an’ have that Dutch chap as is in our watch ’long wi’ ye; an’ also the Dane. They’re the likeliest to go in wi’ us at oncet, an’ we’ll first broach it to them.”
“All right, old pal; I’ll be there.”
The two plotters step out from under the awning; Striker turning aft to take his “trick” at the wheel, the other sauntering off in the direction of the forecastle.
Chapter Fifty.
An Appalling Prospect
Harry Blew stands aghast – his hair on end, the blood coursing chill through his veins.
No wonder, after listening to such revelations! A plot diabolical – a scheme of atrocity unparalleled – comprising three horrible crimes: robbery, the abduction of women, and the murder of men; and among the last, himself.
Now knows he the cause of the crew’s insubordination; too clearly comprehends it. Three hundred thousand dollars of gold-dust stowed in the cabin-lockers!
News to him; for Captain Lantanas had not made him acquainted with the fact – the treasure having been shipped before his coming aboard. Indeed, on that same night when he went after Silvestre; for at the very time he was knocking at the ship-agent’s office-door, Don Tomas, with a trusty waterman, was engaged in putting it aboard the Chilian ship.
An unfortunate arrangement, after all. And now too certain of ending disastrously, not only for Don Gregorio, but those dear to him, with others less interested, yet linked to his fate.
Though the ex-man-o’-war’s man is neither doubtful nor incredulous of what he has just heard, it is some time before his mind can grasp all the details. So filled is he with astonishment, it is natural his thoughts should be confused, and himself excited.
But soon he reflects calmly; and revolving everything over, perceives clearly enough what are the crimes to be committed, with the motives for committing them. There can be no ambiguity about the nature of the nefarious conspiracy. It has all been hatched, and pre-arranged, on shore; and the scoundrels have come aboard specially for its execution. The four Spaniards – or Californians, as he believes them to be – must have had knowledge of the treasure being shipped, and, in their plan to appropriate it, have engaged the others to assist them. Striker’s talk has told this; while revealing also the still more fiendish designs of abduction and murder.
The prospect is appalling; and as he reflects upon it, Harry Blew feels his heart sink within him – strong though that heart be. For a dread fate is impending over himself, as well as those he has promised to protect.
How it is to be averted! How he is to save Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez! How save himself?
These questions come crowding together, and repeat themselves over and over; but without suggesting answer. He cannot think of one that is satisfactory; he sees no chance of escape. The crew are all in the plot – every man of them – either as principals, or engaged assistants. The conversation of the two convicts has told this. The second mate same as the rest; which to him, Harry Blew, causes no surprise. He had already made up his mind about Padilla; observing his sympathy with those who were showing insubordination. He had also noticed that whatever was up among them, Gil Gomez was the directing spirit; dominating Padilla, notwithstanding the latter’s claim to superior authority as one of the ship’s officers; while Velarde and Hernandez seemed also to be controlled by him. The last, Harry Blew has discovered to be a landsman, with no sea-experience whatever; when found out, excusing himself on the plea that he wished to work his passage to Panama. The position of the other seven is understood by what Striker said. All are equal in the scheme of pillage and murder – though not to have equal reward.
Bringing them one after another before his mind; recalling his experience of them – which, though short, has given him some knowledge of their character – the Condor’s first officer cannot think of one likely to take sides with him. They are all men of iniquity; and in defending the innocent he will have to stand alone. For it will amount to almost that, with no other help than Captain Lantanas, Don Gregorio, and the cook; the first, a slight slender man, with just strength enough to handle a telescope; the second, aged, and something of an invalid; the third, for fighting purposes, scarce worth thinking of. His fidelity might be depended upon; but he is also an oldish man, and would count for little in a conflict, with such desperadoes as those who design making themselves masters of the ship.
All these points present themselves to the mind of the first mate clearly, impressively.
A thought of telling Captain Lantanas what he has discovered, and which at first naturally occurred to him, he no longer entertains. The trusting Chilian skipper would scarce give credit to such an atrocious scheme. And if he did, in all likelihood it would result in his taking some rash step, which would but quicken their action, and bring sooner on the fatal catastrophe.
No; ’twill never do to make him acquainted with the danger, great as it is.
Nor yet should Don Gregorio know of it. The terrible secret must be kept from both, and carefully. Either of them aware of it, and in an hour after, all might be over – the tragedy enacted, and its victims consigned to the sea – himself, Harry Blew, being one of them!
Still crouching under the sail, he trembles, as in fancy he conjures up a fearful scene; vividly, as though the reality were before his eyes. In the midst of the open ocean, or close to land, the tragedy to be enacted will be all the same. The girls seized; the captain, Don Gregorio, the cook, and himself, shot down, or poniarded; after that, the gold dragged out of the lockers; the vessel scuttled, and sunk; a boat alone left to carry the pirates ashore, with their spoils and captives!
Contemplating such a scene – even though only in imagination – it is not strange that the Condor’s first officer feels a shivering throughout his frame. He feels it in every fibre. And reflection fails to give relief; since it suggests to him no plan for saving himself. On the contrary, the more he dwells on it, the more is he sensible of the danger – sees it in all its stark-naked reality. Against such odds a conflict would be hopeless. It could only end in death to all who have been singled out, himself perhaps the first.
For a time he stands in silent cogitation, with despair almost paralysing his heart. He is unable to think steadily, or clearly. Doubtful, unfeasible schemes shape themselves in his mind; idle thoughts flit across his brain; all the while wild tumultuous emotions coursing through his soul.
At length, and after prolonged reflection, he seems to have made a resolve. As his countenance is in shadow, its expression cannot be seen; but, judging by the words that are muttered by his lips, it is one which should be unworthy of a British sailor – in short, that of a traitor.
For his soliloquy seems to show that he has yielded to craven fear – intends surrendering up the sacred trust reposed in him, and along with it his honour!
The words are:
“I must cast my lot in along wi’ them. It’s the only chance; an’ for the savin’ o’ my own life! I’ll do that Lord help me, I’ll do it!”
Chapter Fifty One.
Plot upon Plot
The Condor is sailing barge, with a light breeze several points abaft the beam.
Jack Striker is at the wheel; and as the sea is smooth he finds it easy steering, having little to do but keep the barque steady by taking an occasional squint at the compass-card.
The moon – which has just risen – shining in his face, shows it to be that of a man over fifty, with the felon in its every line and lineament. It is beardless, pock-pitted, with thick shapeless lips, broad hanging jowls, nostrils agape, and nose flattened like the snout of a bull-dog. Eyes gosling-green, both bleary, one of them bloodshot. For all, eyes that, by his own boast, “can see into a millstone as far as the man who picks it.”
He has not been many minutes at his post when he sees some one approaching from the waist of the ship; a man, whom he makes out to be the first mate.
“Comin’ to con me,” growls the ex-convict. “Don’t want any o’ his connin’, not I. Jack Striker can keep a ship on her course well’s him, or any other board o’ this craft.”
He is on the starboard side of the wheel, while the mate is approaching along the port gangway. The latter, after springing up to the poop-deck, stops opposite the steersman, as he does so, saying:
“Well, Striker, old chap! not much trouble with her to-night. She’s going free too, with the wind in the right quarter. We ought to be making good nine knots?”
“All o’ that, I daresay, sir,” rejoins Striker, mollified by the affable manner in which the first officer has addressed him. “The barque ain’t a bad ’un to go, though she be a queery-rigged craft’s ever I war aboard on.”
“You’ve set foot on a goodish many, I should say, judgin’ from the way ye handle a helm. I see you understan’ steerin’ a ship.”
“I oughter, master,” answers the helmsman, further flattered by the compliment to his professional skill. “Jack Striker’s had a fair show o’ schoolin’ to that bizness.”
“Been a man-o’-war’s man, hain’t you?”
“Ay, all o’ that. Any as doubts it can see the warrant on my back, an’ welcome to do so. Plenty o’ the cat’s claws there, an’ I don’t care a brass fardin’ who knows it.”
“Neyther need ye. Many a good sailor can show the same. For myself, I hain’t had the cat, but I’ve seed a man-o’-war sarvice, an’ some roughish treatment too. An’ I’ve seed sarvice on ships man-o’-war’s men have chased – likin’ that sort a little better; I did.”
“Indeed!” exclaims the ex-convict, turning his eyes with increased interest on the man thus frankly confessing himself. “Smuggler? Or maybe slaver?”
“Little bit o’ both. An’ as you say ’bout the cat, I don’t care a brass fardin’ who knows o’ it. It’s been a hardish world wi’ me; plenty o’ ups an’ downs; the downs oftener than the ups, Just now things are lookin’ sort o’ uppish. I’ve got my berth here ’count o’ the scarcity o’ hands in San Francisco, an’ the luck o’ knowin’ how to take sights an’ keep a log. Still the pay an’t much considerin’ the chances left behind. I daresay I’d ’a done a deal better by stayin’ in Californey, an’ goin’ on to them gold-diggin’s up in the Sacramenta mountains.”
“You han’t been theer, han’t ye?”
“No. Never went a cable’s length ayont the town o’ Francisco.”
“Maybe, jest as well ye didn’t, Master Blew. Me an’ Bill Davis tried that dodge; we went all the way to the washin’s on Feather River; but foun’ no gold, only plenty o’ hard work, wi’ precious little to eat, an’ less in the way o’ drink. Neyther o’ us likin’ the life, we put back for the port.”
For all his frankness in confessing to the cat-o’-nine tails on board a warship, Striker says nothing about a rope of a different kind he and his chum Davis were very near getting around their necks on the banks of that same Feather River, and from which they escaped by a timely retreat upon “’Frisco.”
“Well,” rejoins Blew, in a tone of resignation; “as you say, maybe I’ve did the wisest thing after all, in not goin’ that way. I might ’a come back empty-handed, same as yerself an’ Davis. Ye say liquor war scarce up there. That ’ud never ’a done for me. I must have my reg’lar allowance, or – . Well, no use sayin’ what. As an old man-o’-war’s man you can can understan’ me, Striker. An’ as the same, I suppose you won’t object to a tot now?”
“Two, for that matter,” promptly responds Striker, like all his sort – drouthy.
“Well; here’s a drop o’ rum – the best Santa Cruz. Help yourself!”
Blew presents a black-jack bottle to the helmsman, who, detaching one hand from the spokes, takes hold of the bottle. Then, raising it to his lips, and keeping it there for a prolonged spell, returns it to its owner, who, for the sake of sociability, takes a pull himself. All this done, the dialogue is renewed, and progresses in even a more friendly way than before; the Santa Cruz having opened the heart of the Sydney Duck to a degree of familiarity; while, on his side, the mate, throwing aside all reserve, lets himself down to a level with the foremast-man.
It ends in their establishing a confidence, mutual and complete, of that character known as “thickness between thieves.”
Blew first strikes the chord that puts their spirits en rapport, by saying:
“Ye tell me, Striker, that ye’ve had hard times an’ some severe punishment. So’s had Harry Blew. An’ ye say ye don’t care about that. No more cares he. In that we’re both o’ us in the same boat. An’ now we’re in the same ship – you a sailor afore the mast, I first officer – but for all the difference in our rank, we can work thegether. An’ there’s a way we can both o’ us do better. Do you want me to tell it ye?”
“Ay, ay; tell it. Jack Striker’s ears are allus open to ’ear ’ow he can better his sittivation in life. I’m a listener.”
“All right. I’ve observed you’re a good hand at the helm. Would ye be as good to go in for a job that’ll put a pile o’ money in your pocket?”
“That depends. Not on what sort o’ job; I don’t mean that. But what’s the figger – the ’mount o’ the money – how much?”
“Puttin’ it in gold, as much as you can carry; ay, enough to make you stagger under it.”
“An’ you ask if I’m good for a job like that? Funny question to ask – it are; ’specially puttin’ it to ole Jack Striker. He’s good for’t – wi’ the gallows starin’ him full in the face. Danged if he an’t!”
“Well; I thought you wouldn’t be the one to show basket-faced ’bout it. It’s a big thing I hev on hand, an’ there’ll be a fortin’ for all who go in for it.”
“Show Jack Striker the chance o’ goin’ in, an’ he’ll show you a man as knows no backin’ out.”
“Enough, shipmate. The chance is close to hand; aboard o’ this ship. Below, in her cabin-lockers, there’s stowed somethin’ like half a ton o’ glitterin’ gold-dust. It belongs to the old Spaniard that’s passenger. What’s to hinder us to lay hands on it? If we can only get enough o’ the crew to say yes, there needs be no difficulty. Them as won’t ’ll have to stan’ aside. Though, from what I see o’ them, it’s like they’ll all come in. Divided square round, there’d be atween twenty an’ thirty thousand dollars apiece. Do that tempt ye. Striker?”
“Rayther. Wi’ thirty thousand dollars I’d ne’er do another stroke o’ work.”
“You needn’t then. You can have all o’ that, by joinin’ in, an’ helpin’ me to bring round the rest. Do you know any o’ them ye could speak to ’bout the bizness – wi’ safety, I mean?”
“I do. Two or three. One sartin’; my ole chum, Bill Davis. He can be trusted wi’ a secret o’ throat-cuttin’, let alone a trifle such as you speak o’. An’ now, Master Blew, since you’ve seen fit to confide in me, I’m goin’ to gi’e ye a bit o’ my confidince. It’s but fair ’tween two men as hev got to understan’ one the tother. I may as well tell ye that I know all about the stuff in the cabin-lockers – hev knowed it iver since settin’ fut in the Condor’s forc’s’l. Me an’ Bill war talkin’ o’t jist afore I coomed to the wheel. You an’t the only one as hez set theer hearts on hevin’ it. Them Spanish chaps hez got it all arranged arready – an’ had afore they shipped ’board this barque. Thar’s the four o’ ’em, as I take it, all standin’ in equal; while the rest o’ the crew war only to get so much o’ a fixed sum.”
“Striker, ye ’stonish me!”
“Well, I’m only tellin’ ye what be true, an’ what I knows to be so. I’m gled you’re agreeable to go in wi’ us; the which ’ll save trouble, an’ yer own life as well. For I may as well tell ye, Master Blew, that they’d made up thar minds to send ye to the bottom o’ the briny, ’long wi’ skipper an’ the ole Spaniard, wi’ the black throwed into the bargain.”
“That’s a nice bit o’ news to hear, by jingo! Well, Jack, I’m thankful to ye for communicatin’ it. Lord! it’s lucky for me we’ve this night chanced to get talkin’ thegether.”
“Thar may be luck in’t all roun’. Bill an’ me’d made up our minds to stan’ out for a equal divide o’ the dust – like shares to ivery man. Shud there be any dispute ’bout that bein’ fair, wi’ you on our side, we’ll eezy settle it our way, ’spite o’ them Spanyards. If they refuse to agree, an’ it coomes to fightin’, then Jack Striker’s good for any two on ’em.”
“An’ Harry Blew for any other two. No fear but we can fix that. How many do you think will be with us?”
“Most all, I shud say, ’ceptin’ the Spanyards themselves. It consarns the rest same’s it do us. At all events, we’re bound to ha’ the majority.”
“When do you propose we should begin broachin’ it to them?”
“Straight away, if you say the word. I’ll try some o’ ’em soon as I’ve goed off from heer. Thar be several on the watch as ’ll be takin’ a drop o’ grog thegether, ’fore we turns in. No better time nor now.”
“True. So set at ’em at once, Striker. But mind ye, mate, be cautious how ye talk to them, an’ don’t commit ayther of us too far, till you’ve larnt their temper. I’ll meet ye in the first dog-watch the morrow. Then you can tell me how the land’s likely to lie.”
“All right. I’ll see to it in the smooth way. Ye can trust Jack Striker for that.”
“Take another suck o’ the Santa Cruz. If this trip proves prosp’rous in the way we’re plannin’ it, neyther you nor me ’ll need to go without the best o’ good liquor for the rest o’ our lives.”
Again Striker clutches at the proffered bottle, and holds it to his head – this time till he has drained it dry.
Returned to him empty, Harry Blew tosses it overboard. Then parting from the steersman, he commences moving forward, as with the design to look after other duties.
As he steps out from under the shadow of the spanker, the moon gleaming athwart his face, shows on it an expression which neither pencil nor pen could depict. Difficult indeed to interpret it. The most skilled physiognomist would be puzzled to say, whether it is the reproach of conscious guilt, or innocence driven to desperation.
