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CHAPTER XXIV - A HARD BARGAIN
The ship which thus appeared before the castaways had long
"tramped" the ocean, wandering from one port to another as
freights offered. She was two years out from London, by the
Cape of Good Hope, India, and the Archipelago; and was now
bound for San Francisco in the hope of working homeward
round the Horn. Her captain was one Jacob Trent. He had
retired some five years before to a suburban cottage, a patch of
cabbages, a gig, and the conduct of what he called a Bank. The
name appears to have been misleading. Borrowers were
accustomed to choose works of art and utility in the front shop;
loaves of sugar and bolts of broadcloth were deposited in
pledge; and it was a part of the manager's duty to dash in his
gig on Saturday evenings from one small retailer's to another,
and to annex in each the bulk of the week's takings. His was
thus an active life, and to a man of the type of a rat, filled with
recondite joys. An unexpected loss, a law suit, and the
unintelligent commentary of the judge upon the bench,
combined to disgust him of the business. I was so
extraordinarily fortunate as to find, in an old newspaper, a
report of the proceedings in Lyall v. The Cardiff Mutual
Accommodation Banking Co. "I confess I fail entirely to
understand the nature of the business," the judge had remarked,
while Trent was being examined in chief; a little after, on fuller
information--"They call it a bank," he had opined, "but it seems
to me to be an unlicensed pawnshop"; and he wound up with
this appalling allocution: "Mr. Trent, I must put you on your
guard; you must be very careful, or we shall see you here
again." In the inside of a week the captain disposed of the
bank, the cottage, and the gig and horse; and to sea again in the
Flying Scud, where he did well and gave high satisfaction to
his owners. But the glory clung to him; he was a plain sailor
-man, he said, but he could never long allow you to forget that
he had been a banker.
His mate, Elias Goddedaal, was a huge viking of a man, six
feet three and of proportionate mass, strong, sober, industrious,
musical, and sentimental. He ran continually over into
Swedish melodies, chiefly in the minor. He had paid nine
dollars to hear Patti; to hear Nilsson, he had deserted a ship
and two months' wages; and he was ready at any time to walk
ten miles for a good concert, or seven to a reasonable play. On
board he had three treasures: a canary bird, a concertina, and a
blinding copy of the works of Shakespeare. He had a gift,
peculiarly Scandinavian, of making friends at sight: an
elemental innocence commended him; he was without fear,
without reproach, and without money or the hope of making it.
Holdorsen was second mate, and berthed aft, but messed
usually with the hands.
Of one more of the crew, some image lives. This was a
foremast hand out of the Clyde, of the name of Brown. A
small, dark, thickset creature, with dog's eyes, of a disposition
incomparably mild and harmless, he knocked about seas and
cities, the uncomplaining whiptop of one vice. "The drink is
my trouble, ye see," he said to Carthew shyly; "and it's the more
shame to me because I'm come of very good people at Bowling,
down the wa'er." The letter that so much affected Nares, in
case the reader should remember it, was addressed to this man
Brown.
Such was the ship that now carried joy into the bosoms of the
castaways. After the fatigue and the bestial emotions of their
night of play, the approach of salvation shook them from all
self-control. Their hands trembled, their eyes shone, they
laughed and shouted like children as they cleared their camp:
and some one beginning to whistle _Marching Through
Georgia,_ the remainder of the packing was conducted, amidst
a thousand interruptions, to these martial strains. But the
strong head of Wicks was only partly turned.
"Boys," he said, "easy all! We're going aboard of a ship of
which we don't know nothing; we've got a chest of specie, and
seeing the weight, we can't turn to and deny it. Now, suppose
she was fishy; suppose it was some kind of a Bully Hayes
business! It's my opinion we'd better be on hand with the
pistols."
Every man of the party but Hemstead had some kind of a
revolver; these were accordingly loaded and disposed about the
persons of the castaways, and the packing was resumed and
finished in the same rapturous spirit as it was begun. The sun
was not yet ten degrees above the eastern sea, but the brig was
already close in and hove to, before they had launched the boat
and sped, shouting at the oars, towards the passage.
It was blowing fresh outside, with a strong send of sea. The
spray flew in the oarsmen's faces. They saw the Union Jack
blow abroad from the Flying Scud, the men clustered at the
rail, the cook in the galley door, the captain on the quarter-deck
with a pith helmet and binoculars. And the whole familiar
business, the comfort, company, and safety of a ship, heaving
nearer at each stroke, maddened them with joy.
Wicks was the first to catch the line, and swarm on board,
helping hands grabbing him as he came and hauling him
across the rail.
"Captain, sir, I suppose?" he said, turning to the hard old man
in the pith helmet.
"Captain Trent, sir," returned the old gentleman.
"Well, I'm Captain Kirkup, and this is the crew of the Sydney
schooner Currency Lass, dismasted at sea January 28th."
"Ay, ay," said Trent. "Well, you're all right now. Lucky for
you I saw your signal. I didn't know I was so near this beastly
island, there must be a drift to the south'ard here; and when I
came on deck this morning at eight bells, I thought it was a
ship afire."
It had been agreed that, while Wicks was to board the ship and
do the civil, the rest were to remain in the whaleboat and see
the treasure safe. A tackle was passed down to them; to this
they made fast the invaluable chest, and gave the word to
heave. But the unexpected weight brought the hand at the
tackle to a stand; two others ran to tail on and help him, and the
thing caught the eye of Trent.
"'Vast heaving!" he cried sharply; and then to Wicks: "What's
that? I don't ever remember to have seen a chest weigh like
that."
"It's money," said Wicks.
"It's what?" cried Trent.
"Specie," said Wicks; "saved from the wreck."
Trent looked at him sharply. "Here, let go that chest again, Mr.
Goddedaal," he commanded, "shove the boat off, and stream
her with a line astern."
"Ay, ay, sir!" from Goddedaal.
"What the devil's wrong?" asked Wicks.
"Nothing, I daresay," returned Trent. "But you'll allow it's a
queer thing when a boat turns up in mid-ocean with half a ton
of specie,--and everybody armed," he added, pointing to
Wicks's pocket. "Your boat will lay comfortably astern, while
you come below and make yourself satisfactory."
"O, if that's all!" said Wicks. "My log and papers are as right
as the mail; nothing fishy about us." And he hailed his friends
in the boat, bidding them have patience, and turned to follow
Captain Trent.
"This way, Captain Kirkup," said the latter. "And don't blame
a man for too much caution; no offence intended; and these
China rivers shake a fellow's nerve. All I want is just to see
you're what you say you are; it's only my duty, sir, and what
you would do yourself in the circumstances. I've not always
been a ship-captain: I was a banker once, and I tell you that's
the trade to learn caution in. You have to keep your weather-
eye lifting Saturday nights." And with a dry, business-like
cordiality, he produced a bottle of gin.
The captains pledged each other; the papers were overhauled;
the tale of Topelius and the trade was told in appreciative ears
and cemented their acquaintance. Trent's suspicions, thus
finally disposed of, were succeeded by a fit of profound
thought, during which he sat lethargic and stern, looking at and
drumming on the table.
"Anything more?" asked Wicks.
"What sort of a place is it inside?" inquired Trent, sudden as
though Wicks had touched a spring.
"It's a good enough lagoon--a few horses' heads, but nothing to
mention," answered Wicks.
"I've a good mind to go in," said Trent. "I was new rigged in
China; it's given very bad, and I'm getting frightened for my
sticks. We could set it up as good as new in a day. For I
daresay your lot would turn to and give us a hand?"
"You see if we don't!" said Wicks.
"So be it, then," concluded Trent. "A stitch in time saves nine."
They returned on deck; Wicks cried the news to the Currency
Lasses; the foretopsail was filled again, and the brig ran into
the lagoon lively, the whaleboat dancing in her wake, and came
to single anchor off Middle Brooks Island before eight. She
was boarded by the castaways, breakfast was served, the
baggage slung on board and piled in the waist, and all hands
turned to upon the rigging. All day the work continued, the
two crews rivalling each other in expense of strength. Dinner
was served on deck, the officers messing aft under the slack of
the spanker, the men fraternising forward. Trent appeared in
excellent spirits, served out grog to all hands, opened a bottle of
Cape wine for the after-table, and obliged his guests with many
details of the life of a financier in Cardiff. He had been forty
years at sea, had five times suffered shipwreck, was once nine
months the prisoner of a pepper rajah, and had seen service
under fire in Chinese rivers; but the only thing he cared to talk
of, the only thing of which he was vain, or with which he
thought it possible to interest a stranger, was his career as a
money-lender in the slums of a seaport town.
The afternoon spell told cruelly on the Currency Lasses.
Already exhausted as they were with sleeplessness and
excitement, they did the last hours of this violent employment
on bare nerves; and when Trent was at last satisfied with the
condition of his rigging, expected eagerly the word to put to
sea. But the captain seemed in no hurry. He went and walked
by himself softly, like a man in thought. Presently he hailed
Wicks.
"You're a kind of company, ain't you, Captain Kirkup?" he
inquired.
"Yes, we're all on board on lays," was the reply.
"Well, then, you won't mind if I ask the lot of you down to tea
in the cabin?" asked Trent.
Wicks was amazed, but he naturally ventured no remark; and a
little after, the six Currency Lasses sat down with Trent and
Goddedaal to a spread of marmalade, butter, toast, sardines,
tinned tongue, and steaming tea. The food was not very good,
and I have no doubt Nares would have reviled it, but it was
manna to the castaways. Goddedaal waited on them with a
kindness far before courtesy, a kindness like that of some old,
honest countrywoman in her farm. It was remembered
afterwards that Trent took little share in these attentions, but sat
much absorbed in thought, and seemed to remember and forget
the presence of his guests alternately.
Presently he addressed the Chinaman.
"Clear out!" said he, and watched him till he had disappeared
in the stair. "Now, gentlemen," he went on, "I understand
you're a joint-stock sort of crew, and that's why I've had you all
down; for there's a point I want made clear. You see what sort
of a ship this is--a good ship, though I say it, and you see what
the rations are--good enough for sailor-men."
There was a hurried murmur of approval, but curiosity for what
was coming next prevented an articulate reply.
"Well," continued Trent, making bread pills and looking hard
at the middle of the table, "I'm glad of course to be able to give
you a passage to 'Frisco; one sailor-man should help another,
that's my motto. But when you want a thing in this world, you
generally always have to pay for it." He laughed a brief, joyless
laugh. "I have no idea of losing by my kindness."
"We have no idea you should, captain," said Wicks.
"We are ready to pay anything in reason," added Carthew.
At the words, Goddedaal, who sat next to him, touched him
with his elbow, and the two mates exchanged a significant
look. The character of Captain Trent was given and taken in
that silent second.
"In reason?" repeated the captain of the brig. "I was waiting for
that. Reason's between two people, and there's only one here.
I'm the judge; I'm reason. If you want an advance you have to
pay for it"--he hastily corrected himself--"If you want a passage
in my ship, you have to pay my price," he substituted. "That's
business, I believe. I don't want you; you want me."
"Well, sir," said Carthew, "and what IS your price?"
The captain made bread pills. "If I were like you," he said,
"when you got hold of that merchant in the Gilberts, I might
surprise you. You had your chance then; seems to me it's mine
now. Turn about's fair play. What kind of mercy did you have
on that Gilbert merchant?" he cried, with a sudden stridency.
"Not that I blame you. All's fair in love and business," and he
laughed again, a little frosty giggle.
"Well, sir?" said Carthew, gravely.
"Well, this ship's mine, I think?" he asked sharply.
"Well, I'm of that way of thinking meself," observed Mac.
"I say it's mine, sir!" reiterated Trent, like a man trying to be
angry. "And I tell you all, if I was a driver like what you are, I
would take the lot. But there's two thousand pounds there that
don't belong to you, and I'm an honest man. Give me the two
thousand that's yours, and I'll give you a passage to the coast,
and land every man-jack of you in 'Frisco with fifteen pounds
in his pocket, and the captain here with twenty-five."
Goddedaal laid down his head on the table like a man
ashamed.
"You're joking," said Wicks, purple in the face.
"Am I?" said Trent. "Please yourselves. You're under no
compulsion. This ship's mine, but there's that Brooks Island
don't belong to me, and you can lay there till you die for what I
care."
"It's more than your blooming brig's worth!" cried Wicks.
"It's my price anyway," returned Trent.
"And do you mean to say you would land us there to starve?"
cried Tommy.
Captain Trent laughed the third time. "Starve? I defy you to,"
said he. "I'll sell you all the provisions you want at a fair
profit."
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mac, "but my case is by itself I'm
working me passage; I got no share in that two thousand
pounds nor nothing in my pockut; and I'll be glad to know what
you have to say to me?"
"I ain't a hard man," said Trent. "That shall make no
difference. I'll take you with the rest, only of course you get no
fifteen pound."
The impudence was so extreme and startling, that all breathed
deep, and Goddedaal raised up his face and looked his superior
sternly in the eye.
But Mac was more articulate. "And you're what ye call a
British sayman, I suppose? the sorrow in your guts!" he cried.
"One more such word, and I clap you in irons!" said Trent,
rising gleefully at the face of opposition.
"And where would I be the while you were doin' ut?" asked
Mac. "After you and your rigging, too! Ye ould puggy, ye
haven't the civility of a bug, and I'll learn ye some."
His voice did not even rise as he uttered the threat; no man
present, Trent least of all, expected that which followed. The
Irishman's hand rose suddenly from below the table, an open
clasp-knife balanced on the palm; there was a movement swift
as conjuring; Trent started half to his feet, turning a little as he
rose so as to escape the table, and the movement was his bane.
The missile struck him in the jugular; he fell forward, and his
blood flowed among the dishes on the cloth.
The suddenness of the attack and the catastrophe, the instant
change from peace to war and from life to death, held all men
spellbound. Yet a moment they sat about the table staring
open-mouthed upon the prostrate captain and the flowing
blood. The next, Goddedaal had leaped to his feet, caught up
the stool on which he had been sitting, and swung it high in air,
a man transfigured, roaring (as he stood) so that men's ears
were stunned with it. There was no thought of battle in the
Currency Lasses; none drew his weapon; all huddled helplessly
from before the face of the baresark Scandinavian. His first
blow sent Mac to ground with a broken arm. His second
bashed out the brains of Hemstead. He turned from one to
another, menacing and trumpeting like a wounded elephant,
exulting in his rage. But there was no counsel, no light of
reason, in that ecstasy of battle; and he shied from the pursuit
of victory to hail fresh blows upon the supine Hemstead, so that
the stool was shattered and the cabin rang with their violence.
The sight of that post-mortem cruelty recalled Carthew to the
life of instinct, and his revolver was in hand and he had aimed
and fired before he knew. The ear-bursting sound of the report
was accompanied by a yell of pain; the colossus paused,
swayed, tottered, and fell headlong on the body of his victim.
In the instant silence that succeeded, the sound of feet
pounding on the deck and in the companion leaped into
hearing; and a face, that of the sailor Holdorsen, appeared
below the bulkheads in the cabin doorway. Carthew shattered
it with a second shot, for he was a marksman.
"Pistols!" he cried, and charged at the companion, Wicks at his
heels, Tommy and Amalu following. They trod the body of
Holdorsen underfoot, and flew up-stairs and forth into the
dusky blaze of a sunset red as blood. The numbers were still
equal, but the Flying Scuds dreamed not of defence, and fled
with one accord for the forecastle scuttle. Brown was first in
flight; he disappeared below unscathed; the Chinaman
followed head-foremost with a ball in his side; and the others
shinned into the rigging.
A fierce composure settled upon Wicks and Carthew, their
fighting second wind. They posted Tommy at the fore and
Amalu at the main to guard the masts and shrouds, and going
themselves into the waist, poured out a box of cartridges on
deck and filled the chambers. The poor devils aloft bleated
aloud for mercy. But the hour of any mercy was gone by; the
cup was brewed and must be drunken to the dregs; since so
many had fallen all must fall. The light was bad, the cheap
revolvers fouled and carried wild, the screaming wretches were
swift to flatten themselves against the masts and yards or find a
momentary refuge in the hanging sails. The fell business took
long, but it was done at last. Hardy the Londoner was shot on
the foreroyal yard, and hung horribly suspended in the brails.
Wallen, the other, had his jaw broken on the maintop-gallant
crosstrees, and exposed himself, shrieking, till a second shot
dropped him on the deck.
This had been bad enough, but worse remained behind. There
was still Brown in the forepeak. Tommy, with a sudden
clamour of weeping, begged for his life. "One man can't hurt
us," he sobbed. "We can't go on with this. I spoke to him at
dinner. He's an awful decent little cad. It can't be done.
Nobody can go into that place and murder him. It's too
damned wicked."
The sound of his supplications was perhaps audible to the
unfortunate below.
"One left, and we all hang," said Wicks. "Brown must go the
same road." The big man was deadly white and trembled like
an aspen; and he had no sooner finished speaking, than he went
to the ship's side and vomited.
"We can never do it if we wait," said Carthew. "Now or
never," and he marched towards the scuttle.
"No, no, no!" wailed Tommy, clutching at his jacket.
But Carthew flung him off, and stepped down the ladder, his
heart rising with disgust and shame. The Chinaman lay on the
floor, still groaning; the place was pitch dark.
"Brown!" cried Carthew, "Brown, where are you?"
His heart smote him for the treacherous apostrophe, but no
answer came.
He groped in the bunks: they were all empty. Then he moved
towards the forepeak, which was hampered with coils of rope
and spare chandlery in general.
"Brown!" he said again.
"Here, sir," answered a shaking voice; and the poor invisible
caitiff called on him by name, and poured forth out of the
darkness an endless, garrulous appeal for mercy. A sense of
danger, of daring, had alone nerved Carthew to enter the
forecastle; and here was the enemy crying and pleading like a
frightened child. His obsequious "Here, sir," his horrid fluency
of obtestation, made the murder tenfold more revolting. Twice
Carthew raised the pistol, once he pressed the trigger (or
thought he did) with all his might, but no explosion followed;
and with that the lees of his courage ran quite out, and he
turned and fled from before his victim.
Wicks sat on the fore hatch, raised the face of a man of seventy,
and looked a wordless question. Carthew shook his head.
With such composure as a man displays marching towards the
gallows, Wicks arose, walked to the scuttle, and went down.
Brown thought it was Carthew returning, and discovered
himself, half crawling from his shelter, with another incoherent
burst of pleading. Wicks emptied his revolver at the voice,
which broke into mouse-like whimperings and groans. Silence
succeeded, and the murderer ran on deck like one possessed.
The other three were now all gathered on the fore hatch, and
Wicks took his place beside them without question asked or
answered. They sat close, like children in the dark, and shook
each other with their shaking. The dusk continued to fall; and
there was no sound but the beating of the surf and the
occasional hiccup of a sob from Tommy Hadden.
"God, if there was another ship!" cried Carthew of a sudden.
Wicks started and looked aloft with the trick of all seamen, and
shuddered as he saw the hanging figure on the royal yard.
"If I went aloft, I'd fall," he said simply. "I'm done up."
It was Amalu who volunteered, climbed to the very truck,
swept the fading horizon, and announced nothing within sight.
"No odds," said Wicks. "We can't sleep ..."
"Sleep!" echoed Carthew; and it seemed as if the whole of
Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ thundered at the gallop through his
mind.
"Well, then, we can't sit and chitter here," said Wicks, "till
we've cleaned ship; and I can't turn to till I've had gin, and the
gin's in the cabin, and who's to fetch it?"
"I will," said Carthew, "if any one has matches."
Amalu passed him a box, and he went aft and down the
companion and into the cabin, stumbling upon bodies. Then he
struck a match, and his looks fell upon two living eyes.
"Well?" asked Mac, for it was he who still survived in that
shambles of a cabin.
"It's done; they're all dead," answered Carthew.
"Christ!" said the Irishman, and fainted.
The gin was found in the dead captain's cabin; it was brought
on deck, and all hands had a dram, and attacked their farther
task. The night was come, the moon would not be up for
hours; a lamp was set on the main hatch to light Amalu as he
washed down decks; and the galley lantern was taken to guide
the others in their graveyard business. Holdorsen, Hemstead,
Trent, and Goddedaal were first disposed of, the last still
breathing as he went over the side; Wallen followed; and then
Wicks, steadied by the gin, went aloft with a boathook and
succeeded in dislodging Hardy. The Chinaman was their last
task; he seemed to be light-headed, talked aloud in his
unknown language as they brought him up, and it was only
with the splash of his sinking body that the gibberish ceased.
Brown, by common consent, was left alone. Flesh and blood
could go no further.
All this time they had been drinking undiluted gin like water;
three bottles stood broached in different quarters; and none
passed without a gulp. Tommy collapsed against the
mainmast; Wicks fell on his face on the poop ladder and moved
no more; Amalu had vanished unobserved. Carthew was the
last afoot: he stood swaying at the break of the poop, and the
lantern, which he still carried, swung with his movement. His
head hummed; it swarmed with broken thoughts; memory of
that day's abominations flared up and died down within him
like the light of a lamp in a strong draught. And then he had a
drunkard's inspiration.
"There must be no more of this," he thought, and stumbled once
more below.
The absence of Holdorsen's body brought him to a stand. He
stood and stared at the empty floor, and then remembered and
smiled. From the captain's room he took the open case with
one dozen and three bottles of gin, put the lantern inside, and
walked precariously forth. Mac was once more conscious, his
eyes haggard, his face drawn with pain and flushed with fever;
and Carthew remembered he had never been seen to, had lain
there helpless, and was so to lie all night, injured, perhaps
dying. But it was now too late; reason had now fled from that
silent ship. If Carthew could get on deck again, it was as much
as he could hope; and casting on the unfortunate a glance of
pity, the tragic drunkard shouldered his way up the companion,
dropped the case overboard, and fell in the scuppers helpless.
Content of CHAPTER XXIV - A HARD BARGAIN [Robert Louis Stevenson's novel: The Wrecker]
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