Part 9

A deeper sound broke crashing behind the screaming of the dry tempest, and a sheet of fire sprang suddenly into the south.

“We are safe,” said Akshelah gravely. “See! The Great Spirit is there. They say he is everywhere, and though he has no power upon the water, he sits upon the rock lighting his pipe, to show us he is there.”

The first torrent of wind had passed, and the stream became far less violent. When the _Carillon_ came up from an abyss, as though she had been hurled by a mighty hand, I saw a low island, chiefly of basalt, where a few pines grew and some sparse vegetation. Akshelah pointed at the land when we came up the second time. The lightning played about the pines, making the scene as distinct as an evil dream.

Akshelah had her lips against my ear.

“Tell me what they do with the thing which was broken by the flying stone?”

“They find which way the ship must go.”

“Which way do we go to reach the river?”

“North-east.”

“Then we have lost our way.”

I pulled her more closely to me, to make sure of her words, and called on her to explain.

“We are going where the ghost-lights are born.”

Due north!

I asked how she knew.

“By the tree-moss on the island,” said she, and I was silenced.

This peculiar moss is an unfailing guide to the traveller, because it will only grow upon the north side of trees. Akshelah’s wonderful eyes had caught the information as we swept past the ghostly island.

Redpath had destroyed the compasses, and Lennie was steering the ship by the inaccurate instrument the adventurer had provided. We were off our course, and Redpath was having us borne to his own destination.

I told Akshelah to stay while I went in search of MacCaskill, but she disobeyed me as usual. We fought our way along, bending before the wind, but the deck was clear. I came to the wheel-house, and clung to it to keep myself perpendicular. Within I saw two frightened faces--Lennie clinging to the wheel, his coat off, his muscles swelling, his black eyes staring from a perfectly pallid countenance; Sandy struggling with one hand to control a smoked lantern, with the other to hold the lying compass, so that the captain might see it. Both men were more terrified than suspicious.

I was so injudicious as to yell a suggestion that the storm had carried us out of our course.

Lennie never put his eyes on me. I swung myself round to the mate’s side, and the little man shouted:

“See the island?”

I answered in the affirmative, and horror came into his eyes.

“It weren’t real. We’re right on our course, an’ there’s never an island there.”

I saw Lennie’s lips moving, and I knew he was still cursing.

“Where’s the priest?” shouted Sandy.

I was as anxious to know as he was.

Sandy yelled on:

“I don’t believe in ’em, but I’d like him handy now. If we’re a-goin’ to drown, I’d like to be drownded close beside him.”

Lennie threw himself upon the wheel, and when it was steady, tugged at the cord communicating with the engineer. By his doing so it occurred to me that our speed was excessive, despite the wind. The engines did not respond to the order.

A great shout came from Sandy, and the glass of his lantern shivered against the wheel. He put out his hand, and the captain’s face went ghastly, and his eyes half closed with a shudder.

To the left of us, bathed in floods of electric light, I saw a ragged outline of rocks, with black trees battling above, and a great bed of snow-white surf raging beneath.

“Petrie,” wailed the mate, out of that tumult, “we’ll meet maybe in another world, though I hold to me doubts. Get below anyhow, an’ chain up Dave and Pete afore they get any crazier.”

I went for the hatchway, and dived down, Akshelah always following. Where was MacCaskill?

The darkness swallowed me. The lanterns had never been lighted. As I set foot below, there came to me out of the darkness, and the blended noises of storm and machinery, furious laughter as of men revelling.

“Muchumeneto is here to-night,” said Akshelah, and the girl was right. The Evil Spirit was indeed aboard.

The gong in the engine-room pealed incessantly, but the engineer took no heed. A dark figure controlled the life of the ship, and a long white hand held the lever at full pressure. Pete was not there, Dave was not there. Redpath was engineer, and Olaffson was his fireman!

CAPTAIN CORN WHISKY

Olaffson looked up and grinned contentedly; Redpath glanced at me sideways. Before him the furnace whirled in white vapour, and the tamarac logs heaved and melted like fat. At the first inward step I saw a human shape pushed away in the corner, and this unconscious figure suggested the chief engineer, his arms and legs secured by wide straps.

Redpath was peering at the indicator as I came in, and reducing the pressure. Then he walked out of the blast of heat, unfastened and pulled off his cassock, removed the hard hat and false hair, and stood up before us by the gleam of the furnace as the English gentleman he professed to be. I thought the Icelander would have fallen in sheer amazement. The adventurer’s gentle voice became audible, but its tone no longer suggested friendliness when he addressed me.

“I have told you the truth. He thought I was the priest, and as such has been serving me. I have played the game by myself--always the safest way. You see I have done very well.”

“Where is MacCaskill?” I shouted.

Redpath stroked his flabby chin very gently, his eyes upon me all the time. I was ashamed to show fear, but I hesitated, even when Akshelah pushed me slightly forward. Without raising his voice, the masterful man made his words perfectly distinct.

“We shall reach shore before morning, I hope. For our mutual convenience, I shall then recommend a parting, as I find we have not so many sympathies in common as I had supposed. I shall proceed to discover Bonanza. You will travel back to your aboriginal home. My advice is sometimes worth following.”

His large face never moved; the cold words seemed as though spoken out of a mask. I could merely repeat my question:

“Where’s MacCaskill?”

Again he ignored the question, but he smiled when he said:

“The men, I understand, are enjoying themselves. They appear to have organised a small conversazione, or something of a very similar nature.”

A shiver ran along the ship, as a slight resistance met her speed, and she raced on again.

“Sand or gravel?” called Redpath coldly, and Olaffson sulkily called back, “Sand!”

The wind had been dropping all the time, and now singing and hoarse laughter sounded above all the noises of the ship, warning me that I was neglecting my duty and my partner. Redpath went back to the engine.

“I cannot imagine that you propose to resist my plans,” he said, in the superior cynical style; and, as I left, he called after me, “Excuse me for troubling you, but if you should meet the second engineer, will you be good enough to ask him where he keeps the oil-can?”

The smoke-room of the men was placed well up in the stem. The bounding and plunging became shorter as we worked along, dodging the rolling barrels, until a lantern swung from a rafter overhead, and I pulled Akshelah back so that I might command a view of the cabin, where the oaths and jests became continually louder. The ship might have been freighted with wild beasts.

I saw MacCaskill sitting between a couple of inebriated human parrots; he was diplomatically taking his share in the conversation, and although practically a prisoner, inasmuch as he was detained against his wish, no harm would be likely to befal him so long as he made no attempt to escape. The men were in the mood to be aggressively friendly with anyone who would agree with them, and would be just as ill-disposed should their inclinations be crossed. My hopes began to run very low. The command had been taken out of Lennie’s hands. The master of the _Carillon_ that night was Captain Corn Whisky.

Who but Redpath would have worked such a beastly plan into effect? He had methodically smuggled the forbidden stuff on board, had kept it hidden, and had distributed it among these hopeless lake drunkards at what was for him the favourable hour of the electric storm.

Some scud raced across the sky, and between the rack and the lightning came the smoky gleam of the aurora; the wind was so dry as to be stifling when I met it upon deck; the haze was rolling up, and the light increasing.

Lennie stood over the wheel, tired and silent. Sandy advanced cautiously, and said when we met:

“I was jest a-comin’ down meself. They’ve got her a-goin’ pretty good now, but while ago she was racin’ full rip. Captain’s mad enough to kill. You felt that sand bar, eh?”

“Come over here,” I said, wishing to take him from the dark-looking captain; and the mate looked at me quickly, and came.

We stood over the hatchway, and I told him to bend and listen. He inclined his ear, his face towards me, and soon I saw a change working in his features. I expected him to act instantly, but he had been frightened before that night, and he was badly frightened now. He went on staring at me, his face stupid.

“There’s only one thing what starts men inter that sort o’ noise.”

“Sandy,” I said--“captain, you, and I are sober, and Mac, who’s kept below, and Redpath and Olaffson, who’re running this ship, and Pete, whom they’ve knocked stupid.”

The little mate was grey under the quivering lights.

“Redpath! What? Who’s Redpath?”

“Father Lacombe, he called himself, and he’ll shoot as soon as look.”

Sandy moistened his lips.

“Lucky the storm’s passin’,” he half whispered. “I must tell captain, though he won’t do good while he’s mad. I tell ye I don’t like it.”

There was no need to go for the captain. A hoarse shout came to us, and that same moment the ship swerved mightily. There was no one at the wheel; Lennie lurched over the deck, his hands feeling as though he were blind, mastered by his fear and his superstition.

“We’re off our course--ben off hours!” he shouted, swaying about the deck, and once I thought he meant to throw himself over. “How many times have ye ben in these waters?” he yelled, swinging upon me as though I had contradicted him. “What do ye know of this part, you liar? Look at yonder, would you?”

“Let him work it off,” muttered Sandy.

Where the smoky mist was blown a little aside, I made out the grim outline of the shore, with its trees, directly ahead.

“There’s no passage here!” raved the captain, hitting at me. “We shan’t ever reach that land. This is shallow water--sand an’ rocks all the way. I’ve seen ’em peepin’ outer the waves as black as Satan, an’ I’ve pulled her off jest in time every half minute. We’ll strike a reef next thing, an’ be playin’ of harps an’ wearin’ of crowns by morning--”

He was interrupted by a shrill cry from keen-eyed Akshelah. The haze had broken behind, where she pointed wildly with both hands.

“Muchumeneto!” she screamed. “See him! He has been with us, and now he follows. His dominion is upon the water. He watches us. Look! His eye! his eye following us!”

Lennie staggered forward towards the stern, gazing blankly, both hands above his eyes, and panting like a broken horse. I stared into the lessening wind, between the ghost-lights and the gloom, where the tossing dark-blue water came up, and simultaneously we saw the bright eye--red, as if bloodshot--flash, and go out, and flash again as a great wave surged up from the south.

The wind rushed, carrying along far north a weird sound, the voice of that creature, while points of light, like fireflies, darted suddenly into the distant veil of mist, and went out immediately, the creature panting forth its fiery breath as it sweated in pursuit.

Sandy divested the monster of all supernatural attributes--another steamer, undoubtedly the vessel which had come into Gull, too late, as the mate now understood, to catch the _Carillon_. She was flying after us along the line of the storm, knowing that wherever we passed it would be safe for her to follow. The red eye went on flashing, and the whistle chirped, as the mate expressed it; but we had no lights to show that night, and our whistle would not chirp back.

“They’re crazy!” shouted Lennie, swinging back. “Same as us! Where’s Pete?”

As he seemed more in a mood to take the information, Sandy gave it carefully.

It seemed to daze the captain, but it had at least the effect of bringing him to his senses.

“Where’s Dave?”

“Raddled!”

Lennie nodded, as though it were the answer he had expected, but his face was full of vengeance.

“Pigs don’t feed alone,” he grimly suggested, stopped, and the mate nodded.

The captain swore very quietly.

“What’s the man who works the racket?” he said; and now it was my turn to answer.

He quickly cut me short.

“Get to the wheel, Sandy. Keep her off the rocks if ye can. I’m a-goin’ to stop her, or blow her up. Boy, fetch me up that bar!”

I lifted the iron bar used for stretching the ropes, and gave it to the captain.

He made a hurried movement towards the hatchway, but before he could begin to descend the hull crashed upon a reef, and we all went down rolling. The ship lifted, groaned with the effort dragged herself free, and leapt forward into deep water, game to the end, her pace diminishing because of the shock and the ragged rent which the rocks must have made along her.

Lennie picked himself up, took the bar, and again made for the hatchway, but now with murder on his face.

“Best have a plan, captain!” I called, to conciliate him; and he looked back, stopped, and joined me, possibly because he thought I was more of a fighter than himself.

A MAN FOND OF LIFE

The stricken ship staggered on through unknown waters, doomed to become a derelict.

Lennie’s madness had left him, now that the worst was known; indeed, it was in quite a subdued manner that he said:

“They’re fightin’ below.”

An uproar that might have meant mutiny or the simple devilry of drunkenness broke suddenly at the stem, and we reached the hatch in time to drag MacCaskill upon deck out of the invisible hands of the men.

The language arising from the darkness was terrific and inhuman, and I heard also the drunkards scrambling and struggling to make their feet secure upon the steps.

“Keep ’em down!” shouted MacCaskill, as he began to mop his bleeding head.

“How does she go, Mac?”

“Sinkin’, I guess.”

A head loomed up, and two huge brown hands felt for the opening.

I lifted my foot, and drove it down upon this head, and the sailor went falling among his companions, who, unable to distinguish ally from enemy, received him with resounding blows.

Sandy ran up with the covering of the hatch, a grin of triumph on his face, and we clamped it down, while the men battered hopelessly.

“The stern passage is open yet,” panted the little man.

“Fasten it,” growled Lennie, in the same subdued manner. “We’ll keep ’em below, be Jerusalem! an’ drown the crowd.”

“There’s Pete!”

“He shouldn’t let hisself be took,” snarled Lennie.

The men were tumbling about, making through the darkness for the stern hatchway.

Sandy and I raced them, but as we passed the hot funnel, where the smoke came beating down, a large figure sauntered quietly along to meet us, and the soft voice which I had grown to hate and fear observed:

“So the wind has altogether blown itself out. It was a short storm, and a cheerful one.”

The mate stopped and stared, struck dumb.

I shouted at him to come on, lest the men should escape and complicate matters, and he did so, breathing quickly; while the badly-built figure strolled towards the bows, gently stroking his chin, as was his custom.

We jammed down the hatch in time, secured it by padlocks, and raced back, sweating in the dry air.

Redpath was standing in the centre of the deck, his legs apart to maintain his balance, one hand behind him, the other wandering over his flabby face. He greeted our coming with his amiable smile.

“Capital idea,” he said. “I was just remarking to Captain Lennie--a capital idea! Your little plan, Petrie, I’ll wager. It is quite necessary for our safety that the men should be fastened between decks. In fact, I came up to suggest it.”

I awaited the outburst from Lennie, but only silence followed. There was plenty of sound from the wind and the sea, from the poor ship shivering under us, and from the drunkards fighting together like trapped forest-cats, but not a word from the captain. Lennie’s face looked small, and his figure dried up. He tried to stare Redpath in the eyes, but failed. MacCaskill sat upon a skylight, a little spent after his exertions, and from the manner in which his mouth twitched I gathered he was trying to say something. Had Redpath been a man of our own stamp, a man of our own “outside” land, we might have understood him, and we should have certainly beaten him by mere numbers. His superior manner and his calm cynicism frightened us; his powerful will crushed ours; his well-turned sentences, with never an oath in them, spoken so faultlessly, and his magnificent air, made it difficult for any of us to oppose him either by word or deed. Had it been Olaffson, Lennie would probably have gone mad, and given him what he deserved with his iron bar. But Lennie stood mildly before Redpath like a servant before a hard master.

I cannot imagine that Redpath would ever have shown that he was either disconcerted or encouraged. When he tired of the silence which his presence had imposed, he went on:

“It is my duty to report to you, Captain Lennie, that one of your sailors, the half-breed, Leblanc, taken on by you at Gull, there conceived the dastardly plan of capturing this ship, his fellows aiding and abetting, and of sailing her, after the present company, myself included, had been put ashore--marooned is the expression used upon the salt seas, I believe--of sailing the _Carillon_, I repeat, to a certain locality, where he believes gold is to be found. Before putting away from Gull, he smuggled on board a quantity of liquor, with which he intended to stimulate the courage of his men at the critical moment. As you are aware, captain, these men cannot move far, or indulge in the simplest mental process, without having recourse to spirits. It was fortunate that I discovered Leblanc’s plot some time back. I assumed the disguise of a priest, as I was determined to frustrate this mutinous and piratical plan, and deceived not only the sailors, but your far more acute selves. To my sorrow I found myself outwitted, though I overcame the chief engineer when he was mad with liquor, and have since done my best to run the ship into safety, until the happening of the deplorable catastrophe which now threatens to sink us. It was impossible to stop the ship, because the mechanism became unworkable owing to an accident arising from my own ignorance.”

Redpath turned and fronted the factor.

“I have an apology to make to you, sir,” he went on. “By an unfortunate and inexcusable error, I imagined that you were in league with the mutineers.”

Redpath stopped as abruptly as he had commenced. He had spoken his carefully-prepared sentences with the air of a man who has done much good in his time, but who would scorn to seek after praise.

Akshelah pushed me aside impatiently, and stood out before us, small and determined. A bright colour animated her face, and her eyes were scornful.

“You stand and listen to him, and call yourselves men,” she said angrily. “That man is a liar. He is laughing at you, because he knows he is stronger than you all. You are cowards, but he is the greatest, because he only dares to fight with his tongue.”

Then I saw Redpath’s face change, and a faint flush rose under his loose skin. He gave one short laugh, and set his glance full upon the girl; but his power did not help him there.

Akshelah stepped out firmly, and stopped when within reach, until I went cold with dread lest he should put out his hand and suddenly shoot her. But Akshelah had no such fear, because she understood the man.

“I will show them,” she said fiercely, showing her little teeth, this strong young cat--“I will show them that you are not a man at all.”

She lifted her shapely brown hand, this Indian maid of mine, leant gracefully forward, and punished the English gentleman in the manner I have since seen described as boxing the ears. It was no light touch, because she struck only once, and I have no doubt but that the man’s cheek stung him.

Redpath made no motion of retaliation, but he laughed easily, took off his hat to the girl, raised his big shoulders, and muttering something about “mixing in savage company,” walked away, with an eye behind, and leaned carelessly against the side to await the next turn of events. Akshelah had beaten him before us all, had made a fool of him, as the saying goes, and our nerve improved in consequence.

It was only when we set ourselves to think of action that we discovered our helplessness. There was nothing to be done, except to wait and drift until the land should stop us. Evidently the water was gaining slowly. The pursuing steamer had slackened speed, perhaps because she was sure of us, or perhaps, as Sandy suggested, she, too, had been crippled.

Lennie, with all his spirit gone, mourned the loss of his ship and his reputation. He was almost in tears, and I overheard him muttering to my partner:

“Ben on the water all me time, an’ never made more’n a livin’. Never lost any other boat, ’cept a steam-tug ten year ago, an’ she was cranky. Now I’m gettin’ old, wi’ nothin’ saved. Never get ’nother job. May as well go down wi’ the ole ship, an’ be bit by fishes.”

“Shake ’em off, Bob,” advised the factor. “Things ain’t so messed, if ye come to watch. We ain’t a-going to sink. We’re a-going to run on sand yonder, and the ole ship’ll be better than ever when they’ve fixed a patch across her.”

A chill entered the wind, as the atmosphere shifted and the light became stronger. Looking out, I beheld a fine sight. Across our bows ran the land in a curving line, a bank of trees without a break, with the water white below, and the aurora above. An island ran out to port; here a narrow passage of smooth water led up to a broad silver beach. Any idea of running the ship through this passage and beaching her upon the sand was precluded by the sight of a shoal of rocks guarding the entrance effectually against anything larger than a canoe.