Майн Рид
The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea
Chapter Fifty Two.
Share and Share Alike
In the Condor’s forecastle.
It is her third night since leaving San Francisco, and the second watch is on deck; the men on the first having gone down below. That on duty is Padilla’s; in it Gomez, Hernandez, Velarde, and the two sailors of nationality unknown.
The off-watch consists of Striker, Davis, the Frenchman, who is called La Crosse, with the Dutchman and Dane.
All these five are in the forepeak, the chief mate, as they suppose, having retired to rest.
They have been below for some time, and it is now near eleven o’clock of the night. All have finished their suppers, and are seated, some on the sides of their bunks, some on sea-chests. A large one of the latter, cleated in the centre of the floor, does service as a table. Upon it is a black bottle containing rum – the sailor’s orthodox drink. In his hand, each holds his pannikin, while in every mouth there is a pipe, and the forecastle is full of smoke. A pack of playing-cards lies on the lid of the chest; greasy and begrimed, as if they had seen long service; though not any on this particular night, are in the hands of those sitting around, who show no inclination to touch them. They may have been used by the men of the watch now on deck; this, probably enough, since the cards are Spanish, as told by their picturing.
Those occupying the forecastle now have something on their minds more important than card-playing: a question of money; but not money to be made in that way. What they are thinking about, and talking of, is the gold-dust in the cabin-lockers; not how it is to be got out of them, but how it shall be distributed after it is out.
This is not the first time the subject has been before them. There has been talk of it all that day; though only between them in twos, and informally. Since finding out how things stood, and especially after his confab with the first mate, Striker, as promised, has been sounding his shipmates, one after another. He has communicated his purpose to all, and had their approval of it – the four Spaniards excepted. These he has not yet approached; but this night intends doing so – as the others insist that an immediate understanding be arrived at, and the thing definitely settled.
The five are now waiting till those on the watch, not required for deck-duty, come below. All of them have had intimation they will be wanted in the forecastle; and as the night is fine, with no occasion for changing sails or other occupation, only the helmsman need absent himself from a muster, whose summons to most of the second watch has appeared a little strange.
They obey it, notwithstanding; and after a while the two sailors come down – the nondescripts without name; though one goes by the sobriquet of “Old Tarry,” the other having had bestowed upon him the equally distinctive, but less honourable, appellation of “Slush.”
Shortly after, the second mate, Padilla, makes his appearance, along with him Velarde; the former a man who has seen some forty winters, rugged in frame, with bronzed complexion, and features forbidding, as any that ever belonged to freebooters; the latter in this respect not so unlike him, only younger, of a more slender frame, and less rude in speech, as in manner.
Soon as setting foot on the forecastle’s floor, Padilla, as an officer of the ship, speaking in tone of authority, demands to know why they have been summoned thither.
Striker, putting himself forward as the spokesman of the off-watch, replies:
“Hadn’t ye better sit down, master mate? The subjeck we’re goin’ to discuss may take a start o’ time an’ it’s as cheap sittin’ as standin’. Maybe ye won’t mind joinin’ us in a drink?”
Saying this, the ex-convict clutches at the bottle pours some rum into his pannikin, and offers it to Padilla.
The Spaniard accepting, drinks; and passing the cup to Velarde, sits down.
The latter imitating him as to the drink, takes seat by his side; Old Tarry and Slush having already disposed of themselves.
“Now,” pursues the second mate, “let’s hear what it’s all about.”
“Theer be two not yit among us,” says Striker. “In coorse, one’s at the wheel.”
“Yes; Gomez is there,” responds Padilla.
“Where be Hernandez?”
“I don’t know. Likely, along with him.”
“Don’t much matter,” puts in Davis. “I dar’ say we can settle the thing without either. You begin, Jack; tell Mr Padilla, and the rest, what we’ve been talking about.”
“’Twon’t take a very long time to tell it,” responds Striker. “Theer be no great need for wastin’ words. All I’ve got to say are, that the swag shud be eekilly divided.”
Padilla starts, Velarde doing the same.
“What do you mean?” asks the former, putting on an air of innocence.
“I means what I’ve saved – that the swag shud be eekilly divided.”
“And yet I don’t understand you.”
“Yis, ye do. Come, Master Padilla, ’tain’t no use shammin’ ignorance – not wi’ Jack Striker, at all events. He be too old a bird to get cheated wi’ chaff. If ye want to throw dust into my eyes, it must be o’ the sort that’s stowed aft in the cuddy. Now, d’ye understan’ me?” Padilla looks grave, so does Velarde. Old Tarry and Slush show no sign of feeling; both being already prepared for the demand Striker intended to make, and having given their promise to back it.
“Well,” says the second mate, “you appear to be talking of some gold-dust. And, I suppose, you know all about it!”
“That we do,” responds Striker.
“Well, what then?” asks Padilla.
“Only what I’ve sayed,” rejoins the Sydney Duck. “If you weesh, I can say it over ’gain. That theer yellow stuff shud be measured out to the crew o’ this craft share and share alike, even hands all roun’ without respectin’ o’ parsons. An’, by God! it shall be so deevided – shall, will, an’ must.”
“Yes!” endorses Davis, with like emphatic affirmation.
“It shall, and it must!”
“Pe gar, most it!” adds the Frenchman; followed in the same strain by Stronden the Dane, and Van Houton the Dutchman, chorused by Old Tarry and Slush.
“It an’t no use your stannin’ out, masters,” continues Striker, addressing himself to the two Spaniards. “Ye see the majority’s against ye; an’ in all cases o’ the kind, wheresomever I’ve seed ’em, the majority means the right. Besides, in this partickler case we’re askin’ no moren’ what’s right – refarrin’ to the job afore us. I’m willin’ to conceed, that you Spanish chaps hev hed most to do wi’ the first plannin’ o’ the thing; as alser, that ye brought the rest o’ us into it. But what signify the bringin’ in compared wi’ the gettin’ out? In sich scrapes, ’taint the beginnin’ but the eend as is dangersome. An’ we’ve all got to unnergo that danger; the which I needn’t particklarly speak o’, as every man o’ ye must feel it ’bout the nape o’ his neck, seein’ the risk he’ll hev to run o’ gettin’ that streetched. It’s eequil all roun’, and tharfor the reward for runnin’ it shed be eequil too. So say Jack Striker.”
“So I, and I, and I,” echo the others; all save Padilla and Velarde, who remain silent and scowling.
“Yis,” continues Striker, “an’ theer be one who ’ant present among us, as oughter have his share too. I don’t mean either Mr Gomez or Hernandez. Them two shud be contented, seein’ as they’re more after the weemen than the money, an’ nobody as I know o’ carin’ to cut ’em out there. It’s true him I refer to hez come into the thing at the ’leventh hour, as ye may say – after ’twar all planned. But he mote a gied us trouble by stannin’ apart. Tharfore, I say, let’s take him in on shares wi’ the rest.”
“Whom are you speaking of?” demands Padilla.
“I needn’t tell ye,” responds the senior of the Sydney Ducks! “If I an’t mistook, that’s him a comin’ down, an’ he can speak for hisself.”
At the words, a footstep is heard upon the forecastle stair. A pair of legs is seen descending; after them a body – the body of Harry Blew!
Padilla looks scared; Velarde the same. Both fancy their conspiracy discovered, their scheme blown; and that Striker, with all his talk, has been misleading them. They almost believe they are to be set upon and put in irons; and that for this very purpose the first officer is entering the forecastle.
They are soon undeceived, however, on hearing what he has to say. Striker draws it out, repeating the conversation passed, and the demand he has been making.
Thus Harry Blew gives rejoinder:
“I’m with ye, shipmates, to the end, be that sweet or bitter. Striker talks straight, an’ his seems the only fair way of settlin’ the question. The majority must decide. There’s two not here, an’ they’ve got to be consulted. They’re both by the wheel. Tharfore, let’s go aft, an’ talk the thing there. There’s no fear for our bein’ interrupted. The skipper’s asleep, an’ we’ve got the ship to ourselves.”
So saying, he leads up the ladder, the rest rising from their seats, and crowding after.
Once on deck, they cluster around the forehatch, and there stop; the first mate having something to say to them before proceeding farther.
The second does not take part in this conference; but stealing past unseen, glides on towards the after-part of the ship.
Soon the others saunter in the same direction, in twos and threes, straggling along the waist, but again gathering into a group around the capstan. There the moonlight, falling full upon their faces, betrays the expression of men in mutiny; but mutiny unopposed. For on the quarterdeck no one meets them. The traitorous first officer has spoken truly: the captain is asleep; they have the ship to themselves!
Chapter Fifty Three.
“Castles in Spain.”
Gomez is still at the wheel; his “trick” having commenced at the change of the watches. As known, he is not alone, but with Hernandez beside him.
Both are youngish men, neither above thirty; and both of swarthy complexion, though with beards of different colours; that of Gomez black, the other reddish-brown. Besides having heavy moustaches, their whiskers stand well forward on their jaws, and around their throats; growing so luxuriantly as to conceal the greater portion of their faces; the expression upon which it is difficult to determine. Equally to tell aught of their figures, draped as these are in rough sailor toggery, cut wide and hanging loosely about their bodies. Both, however, appear of about medium height, Gomez a little the taller, and more strongly built. On their heads are the orthodox “sou’-wester” hats; that of Gomez drawn slouching over eyes that almost continually glow with a sullen lurid light, as if he were always either angry or on the point of becoming so. At the same time he habitually keeps his glance averted, as though wishing to conceal either his thoughts or his features; it may be both.
Acting in the capacity of a common sailor, he has nevertheless hitherto appeared to control the second mate, as most others of the crew, and more especially the Spaniards.
This, alleged by Striker, has been observed by Harry Blew himself; so that of the conspirators Gomez is unquestionably chief. Though Padilla engaged the hands, the instructions must have proceeded from him, and all were shipped on conditions similar to those accepted by the Sydney Ducks.
Five thousand dollars, for less than a month’s service, would be wages too unprecedentedly large to be offered without creating suspicion of some sinister intent. Nor did he, who offered it, leave this point untouched. While promising such big bounty, he exacted a promise in return: that each recipient of it was to bear a hand in whatever he might be called on to do.
The men so indefinitely engaged, and on such latitudinarian terms, were not the ones to stick at trifles; and most of them stepped aboard the Chilian ship prepared to assist in the perpetrating of any known crime in the calendar. Since becoming better acquainted with the particulars of what they have been shipped for, not one of them has shown disposition to back out of it. They are still ready to do the deed; but, as seen, under changed conditions.
Gomez is not yet aware of the strike that has taken place; though during the day he has heard some whisperings, and is half expecting trouble with his confederates. Hernandez also, though it is not of this they are now conversing as they stand together at the wheel.
The theme which engages them is altogether different; beauty, not booty, being the subject of their discourse, which is carried on in a low tone, though loud enough to be heard by anyone standing near.
But they are not afraid. No one is within earshot. Their comrades of the watch are away in the forward part of the vessel, while those of the off-watch are below in her forepeak – the skipper asleep in his cabin – the passengers in theirs.
It is about two of these last they are talking; and in terms, that, for common sailors, might seem strange – rough ribald men bandying free speech, and making familiar remarks, about such delicate high-born dames as Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez!
But not strange to one acquainted with Gil Gomez and José Hernandez – and too intelligible if knowing their intention towards these ladies. It may be learnt by listening to their conversation; Hernandez, who has introduced the subject, asking:
“About the muchachas? What are we to do with them after getting ashore?”
“Marry them, of course,” promptly answers the other. “That’s what I mean doing with the beautiful Doña Carmen. Don’t you intend the same with Doña Iñez?”
“Of course – if I can.”
“Can! There need be no difficulty about it, camarado.”
“I hope not; though I think there will, and a good deal. There’s certain to be some.”
“In what way?”
“Suppose they don’t give their consent!”
“A fig for their consent! We shall force it! Don’t be letting that scare you. Whether they’re agreeable or not, we’ll have a marriage ceremony, or the form of one – all the same. I can fix that, or I’m much mistaken about the place we’re going to, and the sort of men we may expect to meet there. When I last looked on Santiago De Veragua – bidding adieu to a place that was rather pleasant – I left behind a few old familiars, who are not likely to have forgotten me, though long years have rolled by since. Some there, who will still be willing, and ready, to do me a service, I doubt not; especially now I have the means to pay for it, and handsomely. If the Padre Padierna be yet alive, he’ll marry me to Carmen Montijo without asking her any questions; or, if he did, caring what answers she might give to them. It’s now nine years since I saw the worthy Father, and he may have kicked up his heels long ago; though that’s not likely. He was a tough old sinner, and knew how to take care of himself. However, it won’t matter much. If he’s under ground, I’ve got another string to my bow, in the young extra, Gonzaga; who, in my time, had charge of souls in a parrochia, nearer the place where I hope we shall be able to make shore. He may by this have risen to be grand church dignitary. Whether or not, I’ve but little fear of his having forgotten old times, when he and I used to go shares in certain little adventures of the amorous kind. So you perceive, mio amigo, we’re not drifting towards a desert coast, inhabited only by savages; but one where we’ll find all the means and appliances of civilisation – among them a priest, to do the little bit of ecclesiastical service we may stand in need of, and without asking awkward questions, or caring a claco for consequences. Neither of the two I’ve spoken of will trouble their consciences on that score, so long as it’s me. More especially after I’ve shown them the colour of the stuff with which our pockets will be so plentifully lined. And if neither of my old acquaintances turn up, there are no end of others, who’ll be willing to tie the knot that’s to make us happy for life. I tell you, hombre, we’re steering straight towards an earthly paradise. You’ll find Santiago all that.”
“I hope it may be, as you say.”
“You may rest sure of it. Once in the old Veraguan town, with these women as our wives – and they no longer able to question our calling them so – we can enter society without fear of showing our faces. And with this big bonanza at our backs, we may lead a luxurious life there; or go anywhere else it pleases us. As for returning to your dear California, as you call it, you won’t care for that when you’ve become a Benedict.”
“You’ve made up your mind, then, that we marry them?”
“Of course I have, and for certain reasons. Otherwise, I shouldn’t so much care, now that they’re in our power, and we can dictate terms to them. You can do as you please respecting marriage, though you have the same reasons as myself, for changing your señorita into a señora.”
“What do you allude to?”
“To the fact that both these damsels have large properties in Spain, as a worthy friend in San Francisco made me aware just before leaving. The Doña Carmen will inherit handsomely at her father’s death, which is the same as if said and done now. I don’t refer to his gold-dust, but a large landed property the old gentleman is soon coming into in Biscay; and which, please God, I shall some day look up and take possession of. While the other has no end of acres in Andalusia, with whole streets of houses in Cadiz. To get all that, these women must be our wives; otherwise, we should have no claim to it, nor yet be able to show our faces in Spain.”
“Of course I’m glad to hear about all that,” rejoins Hernandez; “but, if you believe me, it’s not altogether the money that’s been tempting me throughout this whole affair. I’m mad in love with Iñez Alvarez; – so mad, that if she hadn’t a claco in the world I’m willing to be her husband.”
“Say, rather, her master; as I intend to be of Carmen Montijo. Ah! once we get ashore, I’ll teach her submission. The haughty dame will learn what it is to be a wife. And if not an obedient one, por Dios! she shall have a divorce, that is, after I’ve squeezed out of her the Biscayan estate. Then she can go free, if it so please her.”
On pronouncing this speech, the expression on the speaker’s countenance is truly satanic. It seems to foreshadow a sad fate for Carmen Montijo.
For some seconds there is silence between the plotters. Again breaking it, Hernandez says:
“I don’t like the idea of our putting the old gentleman to death. Is there no other way we could dispose of him?”
“Pah, hombre! You’re always harping on the strings of humanity; striking discordant sounds too. There’s no other way by which we can be ourselves safe. If we let him live, he’d be sure to turn up somewhere, and tell a tale that would get both our throats grappled by the garrota. The women might do the same, if we didn’t make wives of them. Once that, and we can make exhibit of our marriage certificates, their words will go for nought. Besides, having full marital powers, we can take precautions against any scandal. Don Gregorio has got to die; the skipper too; and that rough fellow, the first mate – with the old blackamoor cocinero.”
“Maldita! I don’t feel up to all that. It will be rank wholesale murder.”
“Nothing of the sort – only drowning. And we needn’t do that either. They can be tied before we scuttle the ship, and left to go down along with her. By the time she sinks, we’ll be a long way off; and you, my sensitive and sentimental friend, neither see nor hear anything to give your tender heart a horror.”
“The thought of it’s enough.”
“But how is it to be helped? If they’re allowed to live, we’d never be out of danger. Maybe, you’d like to abandon the business altogether, and resign thought of ever having the pretty Iñez for a wife?”
“There you mistake, amigo. Sooner than that, I’ll do the killing myself. Ay, kill her, rather than she shall get away from me.”
“Now you’re talking sense. But see! What’s up yonder?”
The interrogatory is from seeing a group of men assembled on the fore-deck, alongside the hatch. The sky cloudless, with a full moon overhead, shows it to be composed of nearly, if not all, the Condor’s crew. The light also displays them in earnest gesticulation, while their voices, borne aft, tell of some subject seriously debated.
What can it be? They of the last dog-watch, long since relieved, should be asleep in their bunks. Why are they now on deck? Their presence there, gives surprise to the two at the wheel.
And while engaged in expressing it, and interrogating one another, they perceive the second mate coming aft – as also, that he makes approach in hurried, yet stealthy manner.
“What is it?” asks Gomez.
“A strike,” answers Padilla. “A mutiny among the men we engaged to assist us.”
“On what grounds?”
“They’ve got to know all about the gold-dust – even to the exact quantity there is of it.”
“Indeed! And what’s their demand?”
“That we shall share it with them. They say they’ll have it so.”
“The devil they do!”
“The old ladrone, Striker, began it. But what will astonish you still more; the first mate knows all our plans, and’s agreed to go in along with us. He’s at the head of the mutineers, too, and insists on the same thing. They swear, if we don’t divide equally, the strongest will take what they can. I’ve hastened hither to ask you what we’d best do.”
“They’re determined, are they?”
“To the death – they all say so.”
“In that case,” mutters Gomez, after a moment or two spent in reflection, “I suppose we’ll have to yield to their demands. I see no help for it. Go straight back, and say something to pacify them. Try to put things off, till we have time to consider. Maldita! this is an unexpected difficulty – ugly as sin itself!”
Padilla is about to return to his discontented shipmates on the forward-deck; but is saved the journey, seeing them come aft. Nor do they hesitate to invade the sacred precincts of the quarter; for they have no fear of being forbidden. There they pause for a few seconds, and then continue on.
Soon they mount to the poop-deck, and cluster around the wheel; the whole crew now present – mates as men – all save the captain and cook. And all take part in the colloquy that succeeds, either in speech or by gesture.
The debate is short, and the question in dispute soon decided. Harry Blew and Jack Striker are the chief spokesmen; and both talk determinedly; the others, with interests identical, backing them up by gestures, and exclamations of encouragement.
“Shipmates!” says the first officer, “this thing we’re all after should be equally divided between us.”
“Must be,” adds Striker, with an oath. “Share and share alike. That’s the only fair way. An’ the only one we’ll gie in to.”
“Stick to that, Striker!” cries Davis: “we’ll stand by ye.”
“Pe gar! certainement,” endorses the Frenchman, “Vat for no? Sacré bleu! ve vill. I am for les droits de matelot—le vrai chose democratique. Vive le fair play!”
Dane and Dutchman, with Tarry and Slush, speak in the same strain.
The scene is as short, as violent. The Spaniards perceiving themselves in a minority, and a position that threatens unpleasant consequences, soon yield, declaring their consent to an equal distribution of the “dust.”
After which, the men belonging to the off-watch retire to the forecastle, and there betake themselves to their bunks; while the others scatter about the decks.
Gil Gomez remains at the wheel, his time not yet being up; Hernandez beside him. For some moments, the two are silent, their brows shadowed with gloom. It is not pleasant to lose fifty thousand dollars apiece; and something like this have they lost within the last ten minutes. Still there is a reflection upon which they can fall back well calculated to soothe them – other bright skies ahead.
Gomez first returning to think of this, says:
“Never mind, amigo. There will be money enough to serve our present purposes all the same. And for the future we can both build on a good sure foundation.”
“On what?”
“On our ‘Castles in Spain!’”
