The Devil's Admiral Part 17

"And you never knew?" I asked, more to take his mind off his troubles and rouse his fighting spirit than for the information, for the details mattered little to us now.

"Mr. Trenholm," he began with fervor, "if I had known there were any dangers I could have met them. I've faced death enough in my day not to fear it, and I'm no weakling if I am an old man. But a master should know what's in his ship and what's before him, and not be caught in a mess of lies and sneaking. But perhaps the owners didn't know--the ship's in charter for the voyage, and Mr. Trego took charge at the last minute.

"Looking back now, I'm minded to think they were afraid I'd turn pirate at the sight of a few chests of gold. They thought they were slick; but there were others just as slick, laying lines to beat 'em; and here I am, without officers or crew or ship, and jailed in my own fo'c'sle. Doggone it! I guess all hands knew about that gold but me!

"What do they do? Kill my bos'n ash.o.r.e, take the lampman for it, and make me so short-handed that I ship a gang of pirates as pa.s.sengers. It was understood that there were to be no pa.s.sengers this trip; but the owners saw a chance to make a few dollars extra, and the charter party says all right. I heard that much, and then the banker, who acted for the charter party, says to another: 'It will make it look more ordinary to carry pa.s.sengers if there is some care exercised.'

"Some care! They give me a parson that's a pirate, and he makes me suspect you of a murder; and you bring one of his very men aboard--and me, like a fool, ship him--and the other two he brings with his organ."

"But the gold--why should they ship so much gold in this manner?"

"For the Russians," he said. "I went through Trego's papers, and the best I can make out of a lot of foreign writing is that it is going to Hong-Kong to buy coal for the Baltic fleet. At first they were going to make their headquarters in Manila and do the business there; but the most of the tramps--colliers--are British, and they found it easier to do business out of Hong-Kong, I suppose, because the j.a.panese could keep close watch of suspicious vessels making Manila a port of call.

"Ye see, all the banks out here are full of spies---Chinese clerks and all hands--and they are watching day and night. The masters of the colliers and the blockade-runners into Port Arthur won't take checks or other money--they want it slap down in solid gold before they will sail, and this gold had to be landed in Hong-Kong.

"The j.a.ps might send a couple of cruisers for it if they shipped it openly, so they try to sneak it through like this, and with all their hiding and lying and sneaking there was a leak somewhere, and these fine chaps aboard us laid lines to git it--and here we are."

"And still fighting, captain," I said.

"Did you ever hear of the Devil's Admiral, Mr. Trenholm?"

"I never did. Who is the gentleman?"

"I never believed in the stories myself, but Harris did; and now I am sure that he is right. Two years ago a ship left Singapore for Bombay, and never was heard from until her chronometer turned up in Swatow or somewhere. A Portuguese Jew had them in a p.a.w.nshop, and he said he bought them from a c.h.i.n.k for seven Mex dollars. They never found the c.h.i.n.k; but there was the ship's name, or the captain's name written in the case with a pencil.

"Then last year the steamer _Legaspi_ left Manila for Hong-Kong with cattle and Christmas goods and pa.s.sengers, and never was heard from. Some said she went out to run the blockade before Port Arthur, and the j.a.ps sunk her, but the others said the Devil's Admiral got her; and then the stories began, and when a ship was overdue or never heard from, people began to say the Devil's Admiral had her."

"But who is he, captain?"

"That's it, Mr. Trenholm. n.o.body knows. He never leaves a man alive to tell the tale. Some say he's a big c.h.i.n.k, some say he's a big black man from the African coast who was mate in a whaler, some say he was an officer in the British navy.

"They found a man dying from starvation and wounds in a boat that got away from him, and the poor chap told a crazy story that they couldn't make head or tail of, and he died before he told enough to help any, but he said it was the Devil's Admiral and his crew that got 'em.

"Pearlers he went after first, and then he got bolder and went after sailing-ships; and now they say he went after steamers and got the _Legaspi_, and, Mr. Trenholm, I believe he's aboard here now."

"But who--"

We heard heavy blows struck against a bulkhead, and the shriek of a door as it was torn from its hinges.

"They are breaking into the storeshold," explained Riggs. "They have got the gold, and the next move will be to get away with it in the boats after they have opened her sea-valves, and down we'll go with the old _Kut Sang_."

"But what makes you think we have this Devil's Admiral aboard?" I asked.

"Thirkle is supposed to be the name of the Devil's Admiral."

"And Thirkle is--"

"Our Rev. Luther Meeker, Mr. Trenholm. We are dead men."

CHAPTER XI

A COUNCIL OF WAR

"We are dead men," repeated Riggs, smiling grimly. "We'll never see another day. This slick devil will be back in Manila or up the China coast, praying his way out of the country with the gold cached somewhere to wait until he comes for it. He can take enough of it with him to buy a schooner--part of it is in Bank of England notes--but the Rev. Luther Meeker will never be heard from again, because _he_ sailed in the _Kut Sang_."

"He won't!" I raged, testing the weight of the belaying-pin. "I'll batter my way out of here and take him by the throat if it's the last act of my life! If you won't fight, I will!"

I braced my feet on the plunging deck of the forecastle and shook my head like a maddened animal. The seas outside a.s.sailed our bows, and their fury thrilled me, and seemed a part of my desire to slay. I tore off my jacket and started for the scuttle with the belaying-pin gripped in my hand, bent on battering down the barrier which kept us from the upper deck.

"Not that," said Riggs, seizing me. "You'll have them down upon us, or they'll turn the firehose down the scuttle and drown us like rats. I've broken too many mutinies, Mr. Trenholm. You can't do that."

"But let's do something," I pleaded. "We might as well be planning something as to be sitting here weeping over what has happened."

We stopped to listen as the hammering between decks grew louder. The pirates were smashing the chests that held the gold, and to us in our prison the noise of their work was ominous--as if they were building a gallows and we were condemned men.

"They've got it," said Riggs. "When they've stowed the boats with it they'll open her sea-valves, and down we'll go. If there was a chance in the world, Mr. Trenholm, I'd fight; but, being a landsman, you don't understand how these things work out. They are probably driving her toward the coast now--we've been making an easting, as I can tell from her roll, and, as they'll be well off the steamer-lanes by daylight, they may wait until they can see where they will make their landing.

"But, if we give them trouble, they'll make sure of putting us out of the way before they abandon ship. Take it calm, and we may see a way out of it; but there is nothing to gain by opening the fight again, fixed as we are."

"It's a dismal outlook," I confessed, impressed by his coolness in spite of his surrender to the situation.

"You may be right, but if you will put your wits to work you may see a way."

"If I had any cartridges--"

"Cartridges! Have you a pistol?"

He drew a heavy revolver from his pocket and dropped the empty cylinder into his palm, and I gave a roar of joy at the sight of it, for I knew that it would take the bullets I had found in Harris's pocket.

"A forty-four! Here! These will fit!" and I plucked a handful of the precious cartridges which were suddenly transformed from so much useless lead and powder into deadly missiles which might yet save our lives and the ship.

"Our luck has turned!" I cried, slapping him on the back and putting six of the greasy slugs into the cylinder and snapping it back into position.

"We can fight them now, captain. Only let me get sight on one of those murderers and I'll drill him--Thirkle and Buckrow and the whole lot of 'em!"

"You won't get the chance," he said. "They are too wise to come prowling around if there is a chance of getting a bullet, and they won't bother their heads with us now--it's the gold they want--there they go again."

There was a shot on deck, and then we heard heavy shoes pounding over the deck and a wild yell over our heads as a man got a bullet or jumped into the sea.

I ran up the companion to the scuttle-hood and listened, and, with the pistol ready, tried to make out what was going on. I could hear Thirkle calling to Petrak, and then the screaming of Chinese, shots in rapid succession, and the patter of bare feet scampering on the iron deck-plates.

In a few minutes the battle seemed to be transferred to the superstructure and the after-deck, and from then until the ports of the forecastle became gray disks in the false dawn there was scarcely a quarter of an hour that was not marked by a pistol-shot or the death-cry of a victim. We knew it was a ruthless slaughter, and that Thirkle was working out the ancient creed that dead men tell no tales.

I lingered in the scuttle, and tried my luck on it with the broken knife, hoping that I might cut an aperture which would admit the muzzle of the pistol, or my hand, so that I might grasp the chains on the outside and pull them free. After an hour or more of labour I managed to split away a small piece of board, but in the dim light from the swaying slush-lamp I made slow progress.