The Mystery Part 15

"The first mate seems to have a remarkable command of language," said he.

I did not reply.

"Well, to tell you the truth I don't know where we are going," he continued. "Thought you might be able to inform me. Where did this s.h.i.+p and its precious gang of cutthroats come from, anyway?"

"Meaning me?"

"Oh, meaning you too, for all I know," he shrugged wearily. Suddenly he turned to me and laid his hand on my shoulder with one of those sudden bursts of confidence I came later to recognise and look for, but in which I could never quite believe--nor disbelieve.

"I am eaten with curiosity," he stated in the least curious voice in the world. "I suppose you know who his Nibs is?"

"Dr. Schermerhorn, do you mean?"

"Yes. Well, I've been with him ten years. I am his right-hand man. All his business I transact down to the last penny. I even order his meals.

His discoveries have taken shape in my hands. Suddenly he gets a freak.

He will go on a voyage. Where? I shall know in good time. For how long? I shall know in good time. For what purpose? Same answer. What accommodations shall I engage? I experience the worst shock of my life;--he will engage them himself. What scientific apparatus? Shock number two;--he will attend to that. Is there anything I can do? What do you suppose he says?"

"How should I know?" I asked.

"You should know in the course of intelligent conversation with me," he drawled. "Well, he, good old staid Schermie with the vertebrated thoughts gets kittenish. He says to me, 'Joost imachin, Percy, you are all-alone-on-a-desert-island placed; and that you will sit on those sands and wish within yourself all you would buy to be comfortable. Go out and buy me those things--in abundance.' Those were my directions."

He puffed.

"What does he pay you?" he asked.

"Enough," I replied.

"More than enough, by a good deal, I'll bet," he rejoined. "The old fool!

He ought to have left it to me. What is this craft? Have you ever sailed on her before?"

"No."

"Have any of the crew?"

I replied that I believed all of them were Selover's men. He threw the cigarette b.u.t.t into the sea and turned back.

"Well, I wish you joy of your double wages," he mocked.

So he knew that, after all! How much more of his ignorance was pretended I had no means of guessing. His eye gleamed sarcastically as he sauntered toward the companion-way. Handy Solomon was at the wheel, steering easily with one foot and an elbow. His steel hook lay fully exposed, glittering in the sunlight. Darrow glanced at it curiously, and at the man's headgear.

"Well, my genial pirate," he drawled, "if you had a line to fit that hook, you'd be equipped for fis.h.i.+ng." The man's teeth bared like an animal's, but Darrow went on easily as though unconscious of giving offence. "If I were you, I'd have it arranged so the hook would turn backward as well as forward. It would be handier for some things,--fighting, for instance."

He pa.s.sed on down the companion. Handy Solomon glared after him, then down at his hook. He bent his arm this way and that, drawing the hook toward him softly, as a cat does her claws. His eyes cleared and a look of admiration crept into them.

"By G.o.d, he's right!" he muttered, and after a moment; "I've wore that ten year and never thought of it. The little son of a gun!"

He remained staring for a moment at the hook. Then he looked up and caught my eye. His own turned quizzical. He s.h.i.+fted his quid and began to hum:

"The bos'n laid aloft, aloft laid he, _Blow high, blow low! What care we?_ 'There's a s.h.i.+p upon the wind'ard, a wreck upon the lee,'

_Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e."_

We had entered the trades and were making good time. I was content to stay on deck, even in my watch below. The wind was strong, the waves das.h.i.+ng, the sky very blue. From under our forefoot the flying fish sped, the monsters pursued them. A tingle of spray was in the air. It was all very pleasant. The red handkerchief around Solomon's head made a pretty spot of colour against the blue of the sky and the darker blue of the sea. Silhouetted over the flaw-less white of the deck house was the sullen, polished profile of the n.i.g.g.e.r. Beneath me the s.h.i.+p swerved and leaped, yielded and recovered. I breathed deep, and saw cutla.s.ses in harmless shadows. It was two years ago. I was young--then----

At the mess hour I stood in doubt. However, I was informed by the captain's falsetto that I was to eat in the cabin. As the only other officer, I ate alone, after the others had finished, helping myself from the dishes left on the table. It was a handsome cabin, well kept, with white woodwork spotlessly clean, leather cus.h.i.+ons--much better than one would expect. I afterwards found that the neatness of this cabin and of the three staterooms was maintained by the n.i.g.g.e.r--at peril of his neck.

A rack held a dozen rifles, five revolvers, and,--at last--my cutla.s.ses.

I examined the lot with interest. They were modern weapons,--the new high power 30-40 box-magazine rifle, shooting government ammunition,--and had been used. The revolvers were of course the old 45 Colt's. This was an extraordinary armament for a peaceable schooner of one hundred and fifty tons burden.

The rest of the cabin's fittings were not remarkable. By the configuration of the s.h.i.+p I guessed that two of the staterooms must be rather large. I could make out voices within.

On deck I talked with Captain Selover.

"She's a snug craft," I approached him.

He nodded.

"You have armed her well."

He muttered something of pirates and the China seas.

I laughed.

"You have arms enough to give your crew about two magazine rifles apiece--unless you filled all your berths forward!"

Captain Selover looked me direct in the eye.

"Talk straight, Mr. Eagen," said he.

"What is this s.h.i.+p, and where is she bound?" I asked, with equal simplicity.

He considered.

"As for the s.h.i.+p," he replied at length, "I don't mind saying. You're my first officer, and on you I depend if it comes to--well, the small arms below. If the s.h.i.+p's a little under the shade, why, so are you. She's by way of being called a manner of hard names by some people. I do not see it myself. It is a matter of conscience. If you would ask some interested, they would call her a smuggler, a thief, a wrecker, and all the other evil t.i.tles in the catalogue. She has taken in c.h.i.n.ks by way of Santa Cruz Island--if that is smuggling. The country is free, and a c.h.i.n.k is a man. Besides, it paid ten dollars a head for the landing. She has carried in a cargo or so of junk; it was lying on the beach where a fool master had piled it, and I took what I found. I couldn't keep track of the underwriters' intentions."

"But the room forward----?" I broke in.

"Well, you see, last season we were pearl fis.h.i.+ng."

"But you needed only your diver and your crew," I objected.

"There was the matter of a j.a.panese gunboat or so," he explained.

"Poaching!" I cried.

"So some call it. The sh.e.l.ls are there. The islands are not inhabited. I do not see how men claim property beyond the tide water. I have heard it argued----"

"Hold on!" I cried. "There was a trouble last year in the Is.h.i.+gaki Jima Islands where a poacher beat off the _Oyama_. It was a desperate fight."

Captain Selover's eye lit up.