The Devil's Admiral Part 16

Ten minutes were probably spent in my exploration of the forecastle, although in my nervous haste it seemed an hour, and I stopped frequently to listen for intruders, and for some indication of how the fight was going on deck.

With the handle of the belaying-pin gripped in one hand, and the knife in the pocket of my nankeen jacket ready for an emergency, I felt my way along the port side toward the foot of the companion, determined to get out of the stinking hole and try my chances in the open. My plan was to find Riggs, if I could, and, if he were besieged, attack Thirkle and his men from the rear, although I knew full well my disadvantage against them, armed as they were with plenty of pistols.

But I trusted to the darkness, and hoped that I might outwit them by a bluff that I, also, had firearms. Unless I could outmanoeuvre them before daylight and join forces with Riggs I knew we had small chance against them in daylight, if, indeed, they had not already eliminated the captain from the fight.

I had a gleeful picture of myself challenging Thirkle in the dark, and urging him and Buckrow, Long Jim, and Petrak, to come and take me, telling them at the same time that I would give them shot for shot, and cautioning my imaginary force to hold fire until the enemy was close at hand. I imagined that a bold manner, and the surprise they would receive at my appearance in the fight would diminish their confidence and give them a wholesome respect for me until I could gain the saloon-deck and ally myself with Riggs.

Then all my brave plans went to smash as I heard some one sneaking down the companionway. For an instant I was in a panic of terror and chagrined that I had lingered long enough to give the enemy time to return. But I determined that I might as well fight there as anywhere else, and, bracing myself against the bunks, I drew my knife and raised the belaying-pin, prepared to begin the attack as soon as my visitor got within reach.

I could hear him breathing gently as he came down one step at a time, and from the light "smack" on each succeeding board I knew that he was barefooted. He was feeling his way along, as if in strange territory, and I knew that it could be neither one of the Chinese crew nor one of Thirkle's band.

As I stood there waiting for him to come within reach I heard a peculiar fluttering which puzzled me, until my memory served me, and I remembered that this queer swis.h.i.+ng sound belonged to Rajah, the dumb Malay mess-boy. I knew it must be Rajah, probably seeking for Riggs; but I also knew that he would have his deadly kris, and I s.h.i.+vered for myself at the prospect of being dealt a blow from that awful, irregular blade which he could wield so expertly.

Now, I did not want to kill or wound Rajah, for, if Riggs were still alive, the boy would be a valuable member of our party; and, if Riggs were dead, I hoped that I might win the boy to my side. I could have struck him down with the heavy iron pin as he groped his way out of the companion; but there would be small satisfaction in killing him, for it would simply be doing a job which would please Thirkle and make his task of taking the s.h.i.+p all the easier.

Neither did I expect to be able to explain to the Malay that I was not his enemy, for he could not make any reply to my pleadings, and the only answer I might get would be the awful kris.

I thought of crouching in his path and adopting football tactics--tackling him low as soon as he stumbled upon me. But that way had its dangers, for he would undoubtedly have his knife and would make short work of me before I could overpower him.

As it happened I had no choice in the matter, and we came together suddenly and unexpectedly with a lurch of the vessel. He was nearer to me than I imagined, and as he threw up his knife-arm toward the bunk the blade clanged against the boarding, and his shoulder struck me.

I grabbed for his wrist, and at the same time dropped the pin, which must have fallen on his foot. Twisting his arm, I made him drop the kris; and then, as I flung him backward over a chest, went with him, and, startled by the attack, I had him pinioned to the deck and helpless before he knew what had happened.

"Rajah! Rajah!" I whispered frantically as he attempted to squirm out of my grasp. "Number Four! Number Four! Good man--no fight Number Four!"

That was my number at the saloon-table, and I thought he must recognize me by that. He hissed in the manner which he had to convey that he understood an order, but I held him as gently as I could for a minute and tried to demonstrate to him that I meant him no harm, and spoke the peace-language of pidgin-English, common enough in the Orient.

He lay quiet and made no resistance, hissing, and I let go of him and fumbled for his kris. I found it, and then patted his head as he still lay upon the deck, and he patted my hand in turn and kissed it; and then I gave him his blade, at which he was overjoyed.

I struck a match then, that he might see me, and by sign-language tried to make him understand that we should go on deck and search for Thirkle and the others.

Before we had finished our silent parley I heard a noise at the scuttle, and then Riggs whispered: "Rajah! Rajah!"

I was wondering what I should say to him, afraid that I might frighten him away again, or that when he recognized my voice he would be all the more convinced that I was against him, or make some startled exclamation which would betray his presence to Thirkle, and also give him the information of my whereabouts. Before I made any sound Rajah had rapped a signal to him, and I heard him coming down.

Rajah scratched my hand and felt for the matchbox in my pocket, and as Captain Riggs reached the foot of the companion I struck a match and held it before my face, between Rajah and myself.

"Good G.o.d!" cried Riggs, and he backed toward the companion, holding up his hands in terror as he thought that I had captured Rajah.

"Captain," I called as the match went out, "it's Trenholm, ready to fight with you. I'm not with that murdering crew. I didn't kill Trego. Don't be a fool, but give me a chance to help you."

"Didn't kill Trego!" he said, amazed. "I know you didn't kill Trego, but you had the red chap do it for you."

"No, I didn't. The money I gave that little devil was for bringing my bag on board, and he told you that I paid him for killing Trego so that Meeker, or Thirkle, would get me out of the way. I tell you that I am not with that gang. Give me a gun, and I'll help you in this fight."

"Who's that dead man on the deck?" he asked. "How come you down here?"

"That's Harris. Thirkle and Buckrow killed him."

"Thirkle! There's no Thirkle aboard here. Thirkle! Why, that's--"

"Thirkle," I said, "is the Rev. Luther Meeker. He is the head of the whole gang."

"Then poor Harris was right," he moaned, feeling for a chest and sitting down upon it. "Harris was right." I could hear despair in his voice--he was master no longer, but a broken, dispirited old man.

"Cheer up, captain; we'll beat them yet," I said as cheerily as I could.

"We're lost," he moaned. "Light the slush-lamp,--they won't bother us now."

"But let's get on deck and give them a fight," I said. "It won't do any good to stay down here--"

The board at the scuttle rattled, and we listened. I stooped and groped for the belaying-pin.

"They got below," growled Buckrow. After a minute he slammed the scuttle-board shut, and we heard a heavy, thumping sound and the clanking of a chain.

"We're lost!" moaned Riggs. "They are making the scuttle fast with rail-chains. All hands lost, and the Lord have mercy on us! Light the slush-lamp, Mr. Trenholm--we're dead men!"

"What is their game?" I asked, in doubt as to the meaning of what he said about the rail-chains, although I was dismayed by the ominous sounds at the scuttle and knew that we must be prisoners in the forecastle.

"There is no escape from here," said Riggs. "They hold the s.h.i.+p now, and they'll scuttle her before day comes."

I struck a match and lit the swinging slush-lamp, which made a dismal, smoking flame and added to the heat and the mult.i.tude of smells which made the forecastle a hole of torture. But the light was comforting, and Rajah crept to his master's side and clung to his arm, the boy's mouth open and his eyes full of questions.

"So they got poor Harris," said Riggs, still sitting on the chest and gazing at the body of the mate. "I told him not to come down, but he would have his way. I thought I could get down here and find one of his pistols."

"They are gone," I told him. "I made a search for them, and was about to get out of here when I heard Rajah coming down. It is lucky I didn't kill the boy--or that he didn't kill me. But that's all done and over, captain, and we ought to begin to plan for our escape. Is there no way out of here?"

He put his pallid face in his hands and shook his head, and it was then that I realized his age and his helplessness. He had given up the fight.

"You don't realize our situation, Mr. Trenholm, or what all this means, or the men we are against. That forecastle bulkhead is lined with sheet-iron on the other side to keep the crews from broaching cargo, and, even if we should cut through it, we would come against cargo in the hold, and would be no better off. I admire your pluck, but you don't know the odds against us. They'll loot her and scuttle her before the sun is well up, and we'll go down in this trap. Help me lift poor Harris into a bunk."

We stowed the body of the mate in a lower bunk and covered it with straw and some of the clothing of the Chinese. Riggs sat down again and stared at the littered deck.

"But we must fight to the last minute," I said. "We can't give up like this, even if we are trapped. You certainly do not intend to surrender now. I know, captain, that the odds are great; but we can fight, can't we?"

"You don't know!" he almost wailed, beating his knees with his hands.

"You don't know what it all means, of course. I tell you they'll loot her and scuttle her when they have done their work aboard, and we're doomed men!"

"But what is there to loot in this old tub?" I asked, preferring to have him tell me of the mysterious cargo than to take the time of explaining how I had followed him and Harris below.

"That's what they want," he said, talking to himself more than to me.

"Harris was right, but we found out too late. They got Mr. Trego before he could warn us. And it's not my fault if I die for it. Me, J. Riggs, master of sail and steam for thirty years, and never a s.h.i.+p lost nor a dishonest dollar in all my life, not to know what's in my s.h.i.+p!

"It's not me that lost her, G.o.d knows; but that's what the owners will say, and that's what everybody will say--if they don't say something worse when the truth comes out. 'Riggs gone, and his s.h.i.+p gone,' they'll say, and then others will wink and whisper: 'And you know the _Kut Sang_ was ballasted with gold,' and who's to know I never stole it?"

"Gold!" I said. "You say there is gold aboard?"

"Yes, gold!" he almost shouted at me. "Chests of gold coin, a dozen or more! That's what they're after, and that's what they'll get, and that's what it is all about--Trego and all the rest of it!"