The time may have been long or short, it was perhaps minutes, perhaps only seconds, ere he awoke to find himself observed, and saw the captain sitting up and watching him over the break of the poop, a strange blindness as of fever in his eyes, a haggard knot of corrugations on his brow. Cain saw himself in a mirror. For a flash they looked upon each other, and then glanced guiltily aside; and Carthew fled from the eye of his accomplice7, and stood leaning on the taffrail.
An hour went by, while the day came brighter, and the sun rose and drank up the clouds: an hour of silence in the ship, an hour of agony beyond narration8 for the sufferers. Brown’s gabbling prayers, the cries of the sailors in the rigging, strains of the dead Hemstead’s minstrelsy, ran together in Carthew’s mind, with sickening iteration. He neither acquitted9 nor condemned10 himself: he did not think, he suffered. In the bright water into which he stared, the pictures changed and were repeated: the baresark rage of Goddedaal; the blood-red light of the sunset into which they had run forth11; the face of the babbling12 Chinaman as they cast him over; the face of the captain, seen a moment since, as he awoke from drunkenness into remorse13. And time passed, and the sun swam higher, and his torment15 was not abated16.
Then were fulfilled many sayings, and the weakest of these condemned brought relief and healing to the others. Amalu the drudge17 awoke (like the rest) to sickness of body and distress18 of mind; but the habit of obedience19 ruled in that simple spirit, and appalled20 to be so late, he went direct into the galley21, kindled22 the fire, and began to get breakfast. At the rattle23 of dishes, the snapping of the fire, and the thin smoke that went up straight into the air, the spell was lifted. The condemned felt once more the good dry land of habit under foot; they touched again the familiar guide-ropes of sanity24; they were restored to a sense of the blessed revolution and return of all things earthly. The captain drew a bucket of water and began to bathe. Tommy sat up, watched him awhile, and slowly followed his example; and Carthew, remembering his last thoughts of the night before, hastened to the cabin.
Mac was awake; perhaps had not slept. Over his head Goddedaal’s canary twittered shrilly25 from its cage.
“How are you?” asked Carthew.
“Me arrum’s broke,” returned Mac; “but I can stand that. It’s this place I can’t abide26. I was coming on deck anyway.”
“Stay where you are, though,” said Carthew. “It’s deadly hot above, and there’s no wind. I’ll wash out this ——” and he paused, seeking a word and not finding one for the grisly foulness28 of the cabin.
“Faith, I’ll be obliged to ye, then,” replied the Irishman. He spoke29 mild and meek30, like a sick child with its mother. There was now no violence in the violent man; and as Carthew fetched a bucket and swab and the steward’s sponge, and began to cleanse31 the field of battle, he alternately watched him or shut his eyes and sighed like a man near fainting. “I have to ask all your pardons,” he began again presently, “and the more shame to me as I got ye into trouble and couldn’t do nothing when it came. Ye saved me life, sir; ye’re a clane shot.”
“For God’s sake, don’t talk of it!” cried Carthew. “It can’t be talked of; you don’t know what it was. It was nothing down here; they fought. On deck — O, my God!” And Carthew, with the bloody33 sponge pressed to his face, struggled a moment with hysteria.
“Kape cool, Mr. Cart’ew. It’s done now,” said Mac; “and ye may bless God ye’re not in pain and helpless in the bargain.”
There was no more said by one or other, and the cabin was pretty well cleansed34 when a stroke on the ship’s bell summoned Carthew to breakfast. Tommy had been busy in the meanwhile; he had hauled the whaleboat close aboard, and already lowered into it a small keg of beef that he found ready broached35 beside the galley door; it was plain he had but the one idea — to escape.
“We have a shipful of stores to draw upon,” he said. “Well, what are we staying for? Let’s get off at once for Hawaii. I’ve begun preparing already.”
“Mac has his arm broken,” observed Carthew; “how would he stand the voyage?”
“A broken arm?” repeated the captain. “That all? I’ll set it after breakfast. I thought he was dead like the rest. That madman hit out like ——” and there, at the evocation36 of the battle, his voice ceased and the talk died with it.
After breakfast, the three white men went down into the cabin.
“I’ve come to set your arm,” said the captain.
“I beg your pardon, captain,” replied Mac; “but the firrst thing ye got to do is to get this ship to sea. We’ll talk of me arrum after that.”
“O, there’s no such blooming hurry,” returned Wicks.
“When the next ship sails in, ye’ll tell me stories!” retorted Mac.
“But there’s nothing so unlikely in the world,” objected Carthew.
“Don’t be deceivin’ yourself,” said Mac. “If ye want a ship, divil a one’ll look near ye in six year; but if ye don’t, ye may take my word for ut, we’ll have a squadron layin’ here.”
“That’s what I say,” cried Tommy; “that’s what I call sense! Let’s stock that whaleboat and be off.”
“And what will Captain Wicks be thinking of the whaleboat?” asked the Irishman.
“I don’t think of it at all,” said Wicks. “We’ve a smart-looking brig under foot; that’s all the whaleboat I want.”
“Excuse me!” cried Tommy. “That’s childish talk. You’ve got a brig, to be sure, and what use is she? You daren’t go anywhere in her. What port are you to sail for?”
“For the port of Davy Jones’s Locker37, my son,” replied the captain. “This brig’s going to be lost at sea. I’ll tell you where, too, and that’s about forty miles to windward of Kauai. We’re going to stay by her till she’s down; and once the masts are under, she’s the Flying Scud38 no more, and we never heard of such a brig; and it’s the crew of the schooner39 Currency Lass that comes ashore40 in the boat, and takes the first chance to Sydney.”
“Captain dear, that’s the first Christian41 word I’ve heard of ut!” cried Mac. “And now, just let me arrum be, jewel, and get the brig outside.”
“I’m as anxious as yourself, Mac,” returned Wicks; “but there’s not wind enough to swear by. So let’s see your arm, and no more talk.”
The arm was set and splinted; the body of Brown fetched from the forepeak, where it lay still and cold, and committed to the waters of the lagoon42; and the washing of the cabin rudely finished. All these were done ere midday; and it was past three when the first cat’s-paw ruffled43 the lagoon, and the wind came in a dry squall, which presently sobered to a steady breeze.
The interval44 was passed by all in feverish45 impatience46, and by one of the party in secret and extreme concern of mind. Captain Wicks was a fore-and-aft sailor; he could take a schooner through a Scotch47 reel, felt her mouth and divined her temper like a rider with a horse; she, on her side, recognising her master and following his wishes like a dog. But by a not very unusual train of circumstance, the man’s dexterity48 was partial and circumscribed49. On a schooner’s deck he was Rembrandt or (at the least) Mr. Whistler; on board a brig he was Pierre Grassou. Again and again in the course of the morning, he had reasoned out his policy and rehearsed his orders; and ever with the same depression and weariness. It was guess-work; it was chance; the ship might behave as he expected, and might not; suppose she failed him, he stood there helpless, beggared of all the proved resources of experience. Had not all hands been so weary, had he not feared to communicate his own misgivings50, he could have towed her out. But these reasons sufficed, and the most he could do was to take all possible precautions. Accordingly he had Carthew aft, explained what was to be done with anxious patience, and visited along with him the various sheets and braces51.
“I hope I’ll remember,” said Carthew. “It seems awfully52 muddled53.”
“It’s the rottenest kind of rig,” the captain admitted: “all blooming pocket handkerchiefs! And not one sailor-man on deck! Ah, if she’d only been a brigantine, now! But it’s lucky the passage is so plain; there’s no manoeuvring to mention. We get under way before the wind, and run right so till we begin to get foul27 of the island; then we haul our wind and lie as near south-east as may be till we’re on that line; ‘bout ship there and stand straight out on the port tack54. Catch the idea?”
“Yes, I see the idea,” replied Carthew, rather dismally55, and the two incompetents56 studied for a long time in silence the complicated gear above their heads.
But the time came when these rehearsals58 must be put in practice. The sails were lowered, and all hands heaved the anchor short. The whaleboat was then cut adrift, the upper topsails and the spanker set, the yards braced59 up, and the spanker sheet hauled out to starboard.
“Heave away on your anchor, Mr. Carthew.”
“Anchor’s gone, sir.”
“Set jibs.”
It was done, and the brig still hung enchanted60. Wicks, his head full of a schooner’s mainsail, turned his mind to the spanker. First he hauled in the sheet, and then he hauled it out, with no result.
“Brail the damned thing up!” he bawled61 at last, with a red face. “There ain’t no sense in it.”
It was the last stroke of bewilderment for the poor captain, that he had no sooner brailed up the spanker than the vessel62 came before the wind. The laws of nature seemed to him to be suspended; he was like a man in a world of pantomime tricks; the cause of any result, and the probable result of any action, equally concealed63 from him. He was the more careful not to shake the nerve of his amateur assistants. He stood there with a face like a torch; but he gave his orders with aplomb64; and indeed, now the ship was under weigh, supposed his difficulties over.
The lower topsails and courses were then set, and the brig began to walk the water like a thing of life, her forefoot discoursing65 music, the birds flying and crying over her spars. Bit by bit the passage began to open and the blue sea to show between the flanking breakers on the reef; bit by bit, on the starboard bow, the low land of the islet began to heave closer aboard. The yards were braced up, the spanker sheet hauled aft again; the brig was close hauled, lay down to her work like a thing in earnest, and had soon drawn66 near to the point of advantage, where she might stay and lie out of the lagoon in a single tack.
Wicks took the wheel himself, swelling67 with success. He kept the brig full to give her heels, and began to bark his orders: “Ready about. Helm’s a-lee. Tacks68 and sheets. Mainsail haul.” And then the fatal words: “That’ll do your mainsail; jump forrard and haul round your foreyards.”
To stay a square-rigged ship is an affair of knowledge and swift sight; and a man used to the succinct69 evolutions of a schooner will always tend to be too hasty with a brig. It was so now. The order came too soon; the topsails set flat aback; the ship was in irons. Even yet, had the helm been reversed, they might have saved her. But to think of a stern-board at all, far more to think of profiting by one, were foreign to the schooner-sailor’s mind. Wicks made haste instead to wear ship, a manoeuvre70 for which room was wanting, and the Flying Scud took ground on a bank of sand and coral about twenty minutes before five.
Wicks was no hand with a square-rigger, and he had shown it. But he was a sailor and a born captain of men for all homely71 purposes, where intellect is not required and an eye in a man’s head and a heart under his jacket will suffice. Before the others had time to understand the misfortune, he was bawling72 fresh orders, and had the sails clewed up, and took soundings round the ship.
“She lies lovely,” he remarked, and ordered out a boat with the starboard anchor.
“Here! steady!” cried Tommy. “You ain’t going to turn us to, to warp73 her off?”
“I am though,” replied Wicks.
“I won’t set a hand to such tomfoolery for one,” replied Tommy. “I’m dead beat.” He went and sat down doggedly74 on the main hatch. “You got us on; get us off again,” he added.
Carthew and Wicks turned to each other.
“Perhaps you don’t know how tired we are,” said Carthew.
“The tide’s flowing!” cried the captain. “You wouldn’t have me miss a rising tide?”
“O, gammon! there’s tides to-morrow!” retorted Tommy.
“And I’ll tell you what,” added Carthew, “the breeze is failing fast, and the sun will soon be down. We may get into all kinds of fresh mess in the dark and with nothing but light airs.”
“I don’t deny it,” answered Wicks, and stood awhile as if in thought. “But what I can’t make out,” he began again, with agitation75, “what I can’t make out is what you’re made of! To stay in this place is beyond me. There’s the bloody sun going down — and to stay here is beyond me!”
The others looked upon him with horrified76 surprise. This fall of their chief pillar — this irrational77 passion in the practical man, suddenly barred out of his true sphere, the sphere of action — shocked and daunted78 them. But it gave to another and unseen hearer the chance for which he had been waiting. Mac, on the striking of the brig, had crawled up the companion, and he now showed himself and spoke up.
“Captain Wicks,” said he, “it’s me that brought this trouble on the lot of ye. I’m sorry for ut, I ask all your pardons, and if there’s any one can say ‘I forgive ye,’ it’ll make my soul the lighter79.”
Wicks stared upon the man in amaze; then his self-control returned to him. “We’re all in glass houses here,” he said; “we ain’t going to turn to and throw stones. I forgive you, sure enough; and much good may it do you!”
The others spoke to the same purpose.
“I thank ye for ut, and ‘tis done like gentlemen,” said Mac. “But there’s another thing I have upon my mind. I hope we’re all Prodestan’s here?”
It appeared they were; it seemed a small thing for the Protestant religion to rejoice in!
“Well, that’s as it should be,” continued Mac. “And why shouldn’t we say the Lord’s Prayer? There can’t be no hurt in ut.”
He had the same quiet, pleading, childlike way with him as in the morning; and the others accepted his proposal, and knelt down without a word.
“Knale if ye like!” said he. “I’ll stand.” And he covered his eyes.
So the prayer was said to the accompaniment of the surf and seabirds, and all rose refreshed and felt lightened of a load. Up to then, they had cherished their guilty memories in private, or only referred to them in the heat of a moment and fallen immediately silent. Now they had faced their remorse in company, and the worst seemed over. Nor was it only that. But the petition “Forgive us our trespasses,” falling in so apposite after they had themselves forgiven the immediate80 author of their miseries81, sounded like an absolution.
Tea was taken on deck in the time of the sunset, and not long after the five castaways — castaways once more — lay down to sleep.
Day dawned windless and hot. Their slumbers82 had been too profound to be refreshing83, and they woke listless, and sat up, and stared about them with dull eyes. Only Wicks, smelling a hard day’s work ahead, was more alert. He went first to the well, sounded it once and then a second time, and stood awhile with a grim look, so that all could see he was dissatisfied. Then he shook himself, stripped to the buff, clambered on the rail, drew himself up and raised his arms to plunge84. The dive was never taken. He stood instead transfixed, his eyes on the horizon.
“Hand up that glass,” he said.
In a trice they were all swarming85 aloft, the nude86 captain leading with the glass.
On the northern horizon was a finger of grey smoke, straight in the windless air like a point of admiration87.
“What do you make it?” they asked of Wicks.
“She’s truck down,” he replied; “no telling yet. By the way the smoke builds, she must be heading right here.”
“What can she be?”
“She might be a China mail,” returned Wicks, “and she might be a blooming man-of-war, come to look for castaways. Here! This ain’t the time to stand staring. On deck, boys!”
He was the first on deck, as he had been the first aloft, handed down the ensign, bent88 it again to the signal halliards, and ran it up union down.
“Now hear me,” he said, jumping into his trousers, “and everything I say you grip on to. If that’s a man-of-war, she’ll be in a tearing hurry; all these ships are what don’t do nothing and have their expenses paid. That’s our chance; for we’ll go with them, and they won’t take the time to look twice or to ask a question. I’m Captain Trent; Carthew, you’re Goddedaal; Tommy, you’re Hardy89; Mac’s Brown; Amalu — Hold hard! we can’t make a Chinaman of him! Ah Wing must have deserted90; Amalu stowed away; and I turned him to as cook, and was never at the bother to sign him. Catch the idea? Say your names.”
And that pale company recited their lesson earnestly.
“What were the names of the other two?” he asked. “Him Carthew shot in the companion, and the one I caught in the jaw91 on the main top-gallant?”
“Holdorsen and Wallen,” said some one.
“Well, they’re drowned,” continued Wicks; “drowned alongside trying to lower a boat. We had a bit of a squall last night: that’s how we got ashore.” He ran and squinted92 at the compass. “Squall out of nor’-nor’-west-half-west; blew hard; every one in a mess, falls jammed, and Holdorsen and Wallen spilt overboard. See? Clear your blooming heads!” He was in his jacket now, and spoke with a feverish impatience and contention93 that rang like anger.
“But is it safe?” asked Tommy.
“Safe?” bellowed94 the captain. “We’re standing95 on the drop, you moon-calf! If that ship’s bound for China (which she don’t look to be), we’re lost as soon as we arrive; if she’s bound the other way, she comes from China, don’t she? Well, if there’s a man on board of her that ever clapped eyes on Trent or any blooming hand out of this brig, we’ll all be in irons in two hours. Safe! no, it ain’t safe; it’s a beggarly last chance to shave the gallows96, and that’s what it is.”
At this convincing picture, fear took hold on all.
“Hadn’t we a hundred times better stay by the brig?” cried Carthew. “They would give us a hand to float her off.”
“You’ll make me waste this holy day in chattering97!” cried Wicks. “Look here, when I sounded the well this morning, there was two foot of water there against eight inches last night. What’s wrong? I don’t know; might be nothing; might be the worst kind of smash. And then, there we are in for a thousand miles in an open boat, if that’s your taste!”
“But it may be nothing, and anyway their carpenters are bound to help us repair her,” argued Carthew.
“Moses Murphy!” cried the captain. “How did she strike? Bows on, I believe. And she’s down by the head now. If any carpenter comes tinkering here, where’ll he go first? Down in the forepeak, I suppose! And then, how about all that blood among the chandlery? You would think you were a lot of members of Parliament discussing Plimsoll; and you’re just a pack of murderers with the halter round your neck. Any other ass14 got any time to waste? No? Thank God for that! Now, all hands! I’m going below, and I leave you here on deck. You get the boat cover off that boat; then you turn to and open the specie chest. There are five of us; get five chests, and divide the specie equal among the five — put it at the bottom — and go at it like tigers. Get blankets, or canvas, or clothes, so it won’t rattle. It’ll make five pretty heavy chests, but we can’t help that. You, Carthew — dash me! — You, Mr. Goddedaal, come below. We’ve our share before us.”
And he cast another glance at the smoke, and hurried below with Carthew at his heels.
The logs were found in the main cabin behind the canary’s cage; two of them, one kept by Trent, one by Goddedaal. Wicks looked first at one, then at the other, and his lip stuck out.
“Can you forge hand of write?” he asked.
“No,” said Carthew.
“There’s luck for you — no more can I!” cried the captain. “Hullo! here’s worse yet, here’s this Goddedaal up to date; he must have filled it in before supper. See for yourself: ‘Smoke observed. — Captain Kirkup and five hands of the schooner Currency Lass.’ Ah! this is better,” he added, turning to the other log. “The old man ain’t written anything for a clear fortnight. We’ll dispose of your log altogether, Mr. Goddedaal, and stick to the old man’s — to mine, I mean; only I ain’t going to write it up, for reasons of my own. You are. You’re going to sit down right here and fill it in the way I tell you.”
“How to explain the loss of mine?” asked Carthew.
“You never kept one,” replied the captain. “Gross neglect of duty. You’ll catch it.”
“And the change of writing?” resumed Carthew. “You began; why do you stop and why do I come in? And you’ll have to sign anyway.”
“O! I’ve met with an accident and can’t write,” replied Wicks.
“An accident?” repeated Carthew. “It don’t sound natural. What kind of an accident?”
Wicks spread his hand face-up on the table, and drove a knife through his palm.
“That kind of an accident,” said he. “There’s a way to draw to windward of most difficulties, if you’ve a head on your shoulders.” He began to bind99 up his hand with a handkerchief, glancing the while over Goddedaal’s log. “Hullo!” he said, “this’ll never do for us — this is an impossible kind of a yarn100. Here, to begin with, is this Captain Trent trying some fancy course, leastways he’s a thousand miles to south’ard of the great circle. And here, it seems, he was close up with this island on the sixth, sails all these days, and is close up with it again by daylight on the eleventh.”
“Goddedaal said they had the deuce’s luck,” said Carthew.
“Well, it don’t look like real life — that’s all I can say,” returned Wicks.
“It’s the way it was, though,” argued Carthew.
“So it is; and what the better are we for that, if it don’t look so?” cried the captain, sounding unwonted depths of art criticism. “Here! try and see if you can’t tie this bandage; I’m bleeding like a pig.”
As Carthew sought to adjust the handkerchief, his patient seemed sunk in a deep muse101, his eye veiled, his mouth partly open. The job was yet scarce done, when he sprang to his feet.
“I have it,” he broke out, and ran on deck. “Here, boys!” he cried, “we didn’t come here on the eleventh; we came in here on the evening of the sixth, and lay here ever since becalmed. As soon as you’ve done with these chests,” he added, “you can turn to and roll out beef and water breakers; it’ll look more shipshape — like as if we were getting ready for the boat voyage.”
And he was back again in a moment, cooking the new log. Goddedaal’s was then carefully destroyed, and a hunt began for the ship’s papers. Of all the agonies of that breathless morning, this was perhaps the most poignant102. Here and there the two men searched, cursing, cannoning103 together, streaming with heat, freezing with terror. News was bawled down to them that the ship was indeed a man-of-war, that she was close up, that she was lowering a boat; and still they sought in vain. By what accident they missed the iron box with the money and accounts, is hard to fancy; but they did. And the vital documents were found at last in the pocket of Trent’s shore-going coat, where he had left them when last he came on board.
Wicks smiled for the first time that morning. “None too soon,” said he. “And now for it! Take these others for me; I’m afraid I’ll get them mixed if I keep both.”
“What are they?” Carthew asked.
“They’re the Kirkup and Currency Lass papers,” he replied. “Pray God we need ‘em again!”
“Boat’s inside the lagoon, sir,” hailed down Mac, who sat by the skylight doing sentry104 while the others worked.
“Time we were on deck, then, Mr. Goddedaal,” said Wicks.
As they turned to leave the cabin, the canary burst into piercing song.
“My God!” cried Carthew, with a gulp105, “we can’t leave that wretched bird to starve. It was poor Goddedaal’s.”
“Bring the bally thing along!” cried the captain.
And they went on deck.
An ugly brute106 of a modern man-of-war lay just without the reef, now quite inert107, now giving a flap or two with her propeller108. Nearer hand, and just within, a big white boat came skimming to the stroke of many oars109, her ensign blowing at the stern.
“One word more,” said Wicks, after he had taken in the scene. “Mac, you’ve been in China ports? All right; then you can speak for yourself. The rest of you I kept on board all the time we were in Hongkong, hoping you would desert; but you fooled me and stuck to the brig. That’ll make your lying come easier.”
The boat was now close at hand; a boy in the stern sheets was the only officer, and a poor one plainly, for the men were talking as they pulled.
“Thank God, they’ve only sent a kind of a middy!” ejaculated Wicks. “Here you, Hardy, stand for’ard! I’ll have no deck hands on my quarter-deck,” he cried, and the reproof110 braced the whole crew like a cold douche.
The boat came alongside with perfect neatness, and the boy officer stepped on board, where he was respectfully greeted by Wicks.
“You the master of this ship?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Wicks. “Trent is my name, and this is the Flying Scud of Hull98.”
“You seem to have got into a mess,” said the officer.
“If you’ll step aft with me here, I’ll tell you all there is of it,” said Wicks.
“Why, man, you’re shaking!” cried the officer.
“So would you, perhaps, if you had been in the same berth111,” returned Wicks; and he told the whole story of the rotten water, the long calm, the squall, the seamen112 drowned; glibly113 and hotly; talking, with his head in the lion’s mouth, like one pleading in the dock. I heard the same tale from the same narrator in the saloon in San Francisco; and even then his bearing filled me with suspicion. But the officer was no observer.
“Well, the captain is in no end of a hurry,” said he; “but I was instructed to give you all the assistance in my power, and signal back for another boat if more hands were necessary. What can I do for you?”
“O, we won’t keep you no time,” replied Wicks cheerily. “We’re all ready, bless you — men’s chests, chronometer114, papers and all.”
“Do you mean to leave her?” cried the officer. “She seems to me to lie nicely; can’t we get your ship off?”
“So we could, and no mistake; but how we’re to keep her afloat’s another question. Her bows is stove in,” replied Wicks.
The officer coloured to the eyes. He was incompetent57 and knew he was; thought he was already detected, and feared to expose himself again. There was nothing further from his mind than that the captain should deceive him; if the captain was pleased, why, so was he. “All right,” he said. “Tell your men to get their chests aboard.”
“Mr. Goddedaal, turn the hands to to get the chests aboard,” said Wicks.
The four Currency Lasses had waited the while on tenter- hooks. This welcome news broke upon them like the sun at midnight; and Hadden burst into a storm of tears, sobbing115 aloud as he heaved upon the tackle. But the work went none the less briskly forward; chests, men, and bundles were got over the side with alacrity116; the boat was shoved off; it moved out of the long shadow of the Flying Scud, and its bows were pointed117 at the passage.
So much, then, was accomplished118. The sham32 wreck119 had passed muster120; they were clear of her, they were safe away; and the water widened between them and her damning evidences. On the other hand, they were drawing nearer to the ship of war, which might very well prove to be their prison and a hangman’s cart to bear them to the gallows — of which they had not yet learned either whence she came or whither she was bound; and the doubt weighed upon their heart like mountains.
It was Wicks who did the talking. The sound was small in Carthew’s ears, like the voices of men miles away, but the meaning of each word struck home to him like a bullet. “What did you say your ship was?” inquired Wicks.
“Tempest, don’t you know?” returned the officer.
Don’t you know? What could that mean? Perhaps nothing: perhaps that the ships had met already. Wicks took his courage in both hands. “Where is she bound?” he asked.
“O, we’re just looking in at all these miserable121 islands here,” said the officer. “Then we bear up for San Francisco.”
“O, yes, you’re from China ways, like us?” pursued Wicks.
“Hong Kong,” said the officer, and spat122 over the side.
Hong Kong. Then the game was up; as soon as they set foot on board, they would be seized; the wreck would be examined, the blood found, the lagoon perhaps dredged, and the bodies of the dead would reappear to testify. An impulse almost incontrollable bade Carthew rise from the thwart123, shriek124 out aloud, and leap overboard; it seemed so vain a thing to dissemble longer, to dally125 with the inevitable126, to spin out some hundred seconds more of agonised suspense127, with shame and death thus visibly approaching. But the indomitable Wicks persevered128. His face was like a skull129, his voice scarce recognisable; the dullest of men and officers (it seemed) must have remarked that telltale countenance130 and broken utterance131. And still he persevered, bent upon certitude.
“Nice place, Hong Kong?” he said.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the officer. “Only a day and a half there; called for orders and came straight on here. Never heard of such a beastly cruise.” And he went on describing and lamenting132 the untoward133 fortunes of the Tempest.
But Wicks and Carthew heeded134 him no longer. They lay back on the gunnel, breathing deep, sunk in a stupor135 of the body: the mind within still nimbly and agreeably at work, measuring the past danger, exulting136 in the present relief, numbering with ecstasy137 their ultimate chances of escape. For the voyage in the man-of-war they were now safe; yet a few more days of peril138, activity, and presence of mind in San Francisco, and the whole horrid139 tale was blotted140 out; and Wicks again became Kirkup, and Goddedaal became Carthew — men beyond all shot of possible suspicion, men who had never heard of the Flying Scud, who had never been in sight of Midway Reef.
So they came alongside, under many craning heads of seamen and projecting mouths of guns; so they climbed on board somnambulous, and looked blindly about them at the tall spars, the white decks, and the crowding ship’s company, and heard men as from far away, and answered them at random141.
And then a hand fell softly on Carthew’s shoulder.
“Why, Norrie, old chappie, where have you dropped from? All the world’s been looking for you. Don’t you know you’ve come into your kingdom?”
He turned, beheld142 the face of his old schoolmate Sebright, and fell unconscious at his feet.
The doctor was attending him, a while later, in Lieutenant143 Sebright’s cabin, when he came to himself. He opened his eyes, looked hard in the strange face, and spoke with a kind of solemn vigour144.
“Brown must go the same road,” he said; “now or never.” And then paused, and his reason coming to him with more clearness, spoke again: “What was I saying? Where am I? Who are you?”
“I am the doctor of the Tempest,” was the reply. “You are in Lieutenant Sebright’s berth, and you may dismiss all concern from your mind. Your troubles are over, Mr. Carthew.”
“Why do you call me that?” he asked. “Ah, I remember — Sebright knew me! O!” and he groaned145 and shook. “Send down Wicks to me; I must see Wicks at once!” he cried, and seized the doctor’s wrist with unconscious violence.
“All right,” said the doctor. “Let’s make a bargain. You swallow down this draught146, and I’ll go and fetch Wicks.”
And he gave the wretched man an opiate that laid him out within ten minutes and in all likelihood preserved his reason.
It was the doctor’s next business to attend to Mac; and he found occasion, while engaged upon his arm, to make the man repeat the names of the rescued crew. It was now the turn of the captain, and there is no doubt he was no longer the man that we have seen; sudden relief, the sense of perfect safety, a square meal and a good glass of grog, had all combined to relax his vigilance and depress his energy.
“When was this done?” asked the doctor, looking at the wound.
“More than a week ago,” replied Wicks, thinking singly of his log.
“Hey?” cried the doctor, and he raised his hand and looked the captain in the eyes.
“I don’t remember exactly,” faltered147 Wicks.
And at this remarkable148 falsehood, the suspicions of the doctor were at once quadrupled.
“By the way, which of you is called Wicks?” he asked easily.
“What’s that?” snapped the captain, falling white as paper.
“Wicks,” repeated the doctor; “which of you is he? that’s surely a plain question.”
Wicks stared upon his questioner in silence.
“Which is Brown, then?” pursued the doctor.
“What are you talking of? what do you mean by this?” cried Wicks, snatching his half-bandaged hand away, so that the blood sprinkled in the surgeon’s face.
He did not trouble to remove it. Looking straight at his victim, he pursued his questions. “Why must Brown go the same way?” he asked.
Wicks fell trembling on a locker. “Carthew’s told you,” he cried.
“No,” replied the doctor, “he has not. But he and you between you have set me thinking, and I think there’s something wrong.”
“Give me some grog,” said Wicks. “I’d rather tell than have you find out. I’m damned if it’s half as bad as what any one would think.”
And with the help of a couple of strong grogs, the tragedy of the Flying Scud was told for the first time.
It was a fortunate series of accidents that brought the story to the doctor. He understood and pitied the position of these wretched men, and came whole-heartedly to their assistance. He and Wicks and Carthew (so soon as he was recovered) held a hundred councils and prepared a policy for San Francisco. It was he who certified149 “Goddedaal” unfit to be moved and smuggled150 Carthew ashore under cloud of night; it was he who kept Wicks’s wound open that he might sign with his left hand; he who took all their Chile silver and (in the course of the first day) got it converted for them into portable gold. He used his influence in the wardroom to keep the tongues of the young officers in order, so that Carthew’s identification was kept out of the papers. And he rendered another service yet more important. He had a friend in San Francisco, a millionaire; to this man he privately151 presented Carthew as a young gentleman come newly into a huge estate, but troubled with Jew debts which he was trying to settle on the quiet. The millionaire came readily to help; and it was with his money that the wrecker gang was to be fought. What was his name, out of a thousand guesses? It was Douglas Longhurst.
As long as the Currency Lasses could all disappear under fresh names, it did not greatly matter if the brig were bought, or any small discrepancies152 should be discovered in the wrecking153. The identification of one of their number had changed all that. The smallest scandal must now direct attention to the movements of Norris. It would be asked how he who had sailed in a schooner from Sydney, had turned up so shortly after in a brig out of Hong Kong; and from one question to another all his original shipmates were pretty sure to be involved. Hence arose naturally the idea of preventing danger, profiting by Carthew’s new-found wealth, and buying the brig under an alias154; and it was put in hand with equal energy and caution. Carthew took lodgings156 alone under a false name, picked up Bellairs at random, and commissioned him to buy the wreck.
“What figure, if you please?” the lawyer asked.
“I want it bought,” replied Carthew. “I don’t mind about the price.”
“Any price is no price,” said Bellairs. “Put a name upon it.”
“Call it ten thousand pounds then, if you like!” said Carthew.
In the meanwhile, the captain had to walk the streets, appear in the consulate157, be cross-examined by Lloyd’s agent, be badgered about his lost accounts, sign papers with his left hand, and repeat his lies to every skipper in San Francisco: not knowing at what moment he might run into the arms of some old friend who should hail him by the name of Wicks, or some new enemy who should be in a position to deny him that of Trent. And the latter incident did actually befall him, but was transformed by his stout158 countenance into an element of strength. It was in the consulate (of all untoward places) that he suddenly heard a big voice inquiring for Captain Trent. He turned with the customary sinking at his heart.
“YOU ain’t Captain Trent!” said the stranger, falling back. “Why, what’s all this? They tell me you’re passing off as Captain Trent — Captain Jacob Trent — a man I knew since I was that high.”
“O, you’re thinking of my uncle as had the bank in Cardiff,” replied Wicks, with desperate aplomb.
“I declare I never knew he had a nevvy!” said the stranger.
“Well, you see he has!” says Wicks.
“And how is the old man?” asked the other.
“Fit as a fiddle,” answered Wicks, and was opportunely159 summoned by the clerk.
This alert was the only one until the morning of the sale, when he was once more alarmed by his interview with Jim; and it was with some anxiety that he attended the sale, knowing only that Carthew was to be represented, but neither who was to represent him nor what were the instructions given. I suppose Captain Wicks is a good life. In spite of his personal appearance and his own known uneasiness, I suppose he is secure from apoplexy, or it must have struck him there and then, as he looked on at the stages of that insane sale and saw the old brig and her not very valuable cargo160 knocked down at last to a total stranger for ten thousand pounds.
It had been agreed that he was to avoid Carthew, and above all Carthew’s lodging155, so that no connexion might be traced between the crew and the pseudonymous purchaser. But the hour for caution was gone by, and he caught a tram and made all speed to Mission Street.
Carthew met him in the door.
“Come away, come away from here,” said Carthew; and when they were clear of the house, “All’s up!” he added.
“O, you’ve heard of the sale, then?” said Wicks.
“The sale!” cried Carthew. “I declare I had forgotten it.” And he told of the voice in the telephone, and the maddening question: “Why did you want to buy the Flying Scud?”
This circumstance, coming on the back of the monstrous161 improbabilities of the sale, was enough to have shaken the reason of Immanuel Kant. The earth seemed banded together to defeat them; the stones and the boys on the street appeared to be in possession of their guilty secret. Flight was their one thought. The treasure of the Currency Lass they packed in waist-belts, expressed their chests to an imaginary address in British Columbia, and left San Francisco the same afternoon, booked for Los Angeles.
The next day they pursued their retreat by the Southern Pacific route, which Carthew followed on his way to England; but the other three branched off for Mexico.
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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teemed
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| v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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foulness
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| n. 纠缠, 卑鄙 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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evocation
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| n. 引起，唤起 n. <古> 召唤，招魂 | |
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locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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41
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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43
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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45
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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47
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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48
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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49
circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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51
braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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52
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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53
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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incompetents
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| n.无能力的，不称职的，不胜任的( incompetent的名词复数 ) | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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aplomb
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| n.沉着，镇静 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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succinct
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| adj.简明的，简洁的 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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72
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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73
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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75
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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76
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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78
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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80
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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81
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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84
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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85
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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86
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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87
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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88
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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89
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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90
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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91
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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92
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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93
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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94
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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95
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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96
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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97
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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98
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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99
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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100
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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101
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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102
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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103
cannoning
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| vi.与…猛撞（cannon的现在分词形式） | |
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104
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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105
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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106
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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107
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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108
propeller
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器 | |
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109
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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110
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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111
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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112
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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113
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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114
chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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115
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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116
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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117
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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118
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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119
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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120
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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121
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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122
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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123
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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124
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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125
dally
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| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
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126
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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127
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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128
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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130
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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131
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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132
lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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133
untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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134
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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136
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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137
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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138
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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139
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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140
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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141
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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142
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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143
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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144
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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145
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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146
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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147
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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148
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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149
certified
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| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
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150
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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151
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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152
discrepancies
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| n.差异，不符合（之处），不一致（之处）( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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153
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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154
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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155
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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156
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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157
consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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159
opportunely
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| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
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160
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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161
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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