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Dead Men Tell No Tales

E >> E. W. Hornung >> Dead Men Tell No Tales



Dead Men Tell No Tales

by E. W. Hornung




CONTENTS

Chapter I Love on the Ocean

Chapter II The Mysterious Cargo

Chapter III To the Water's Edge

Chapter IV The Silent Sea

Chapter V My Reward

Chapter VI The Sole Survivor

Chapter V I Find a Friend

Chapter VI A Small Precaution

Chapter VII My Convalescent Home

Chapter VIII Wine and Weakness

Chapter IX I Live Again

Chapter X My Lady's Bidding

Chapter XI The Longest Day of My Life

Chapter XII In the Garden

Chapter XIII First Blood

Chapter XIV A Deadlock

Chapter XV When Thieves Fall Out

Chapter XVI A Man of Many Murders

Chapter XVII My Great Hour

Chapter XVIII The Statement of Francis Rattray




CHAPTER I

Love on the Ocean


Nothing is so easy as falling in love on a long sea voyage, except
falling out of love. Especially was this the case in the days
when the wooden clippers did finely to land you in Sydney or in
Melbourne under the four full months. We all saw far too much of
each other, unless, indeed, we were to see still more. Our
superficial attractions mutually exhausted, we lost heart and
patience in the disappointing strata which lie between the surface
and the bed-rock of most natures. My own experience was confined
to the round voyage of the Lady Jermyn, in the year 1853. It was
no common experience, as was only too well known at the time. And
I may add that I for my part had not the faintest intention of
falling in love on board; nay, after all these years, let me confess
that I had good cause to hold myself proof against such weakness.
Yet we carried a young lady, coming home, who, God knows, might have
made short work of many a better man!

Eva Denison was her name, and she cannot have been more than
nineteen years of age. I remember her telling me that she had not
yet come out, the very first time I assisted her to promenade the
poop. My own name was still unknown to her, and yet I recollect
being quite fascinated by her frankness and self-possession. She
was exquisitely young, and yet ludicrously old for her years; had
been admirably educated, chiefly abroad, and, as we were soon to
discover, possessed accomplishments which would have made the
plainest old maid a popular personage on board ship. Miss Denison,
however, was as beautiful as she was young, with the bloom of ideal
health upon her perfect skin. She had a wealth of lovely hair, with
strange elusive strands of gold among the brown, that drowned her
ears (I thought we were to have that mode again?) in sunny ripples;
and a soul greater than the mind, and a heart greater than either,
lay sleeping somewhere in the depths of her grave, gray eyes.

We were at sea together so many weeks. I cannot think what I was
made of then!

It was in the brave old days of Ballarat and Bendigo, when ship
after ship went out black with passengers and deep with stores, to
bounce home with a bale or two of wool, and hardly hands enough to
reef topsails in a gale. Nor was this the worst; for not the crew
only, but, in many cases, captain and officers as well, would join
in the stampede to the diggings; and we found Hobson's Bay the
congested asylum of all manner of masterless and deserted vessels.
I have a lively recollection of our skipper's indignation when
the pilot informed him of this disgraceful fact. Within a fortnight,
however, I met the good man face to face upon the diggings. It is
but fair to add that the Lady Jermyn lost every officer and man in
the same way, and that the captain did obey tradition to the extent
of being the last to quit his ship. Nevertheless, of all who sailed
by her in January, I alone was ready to return at the beginning of
the following July.

I had been to Ballarat. I had given the thing a trial. For the
most odious weeks I had been a licensed digger on Black Hill Flats;
and I had actually failed to make running expenses. That, however,
will surprise you the less when I pause to declare that I have paid
as much as four shillings and sixpence for half a loaf of execrable
bread; that my mate and I, between us, seldom took more than a few
pennyweights of gold-dust in any one day; and never once struck pick
into nugget, big or little, though we had the mortification of
inspecting the "mammoth masses" of which we found the papers full
on landing, and which had brought the gold-fever to its height during
our very voyage. With me, however, as with many a young fellow who
had turned his back on better things, the malady was short-lived. We
expected to make our fortunes out of hand, and we had reckoned
without the vermin and the villainy which rendered us more than ever
impatient of delay. In my fly-blown blankets I dreamt of London
until I hankered after my chambers and my club more than after much
fine gold. Never shall I forget my first hot bath on getting back to
Melbourne; it cost five shillings, but it was worth five pounds, and
is altogether my pleasantest reminiscence of Australia.

There was, however, one slice of luck in store for me. I found the
dear old Lady Jermyn on the very eve of sailing, with a new captain,
a new crew, a handful of passengers (chiefly steerage), and nominally
no cargo at all. I felt none the less at home when I stepped over
her familiar side.

In the cuddy we were only five, but a more uneven quintette I defy
you to convene. There was a young fellow named Ready, packed out
for his health, and hurrying home to die among friends. There was
an outrageously lucky digger, another invalid, for he would drink
nothing but champagne with every meal and at any minute of the day,
and I have seen him pitch raw gold at the sea-birds by the hour
together. Miss Denison was our only lady, and her step-father, with
whom she was travelling, was the one man of distinction on board.
He was a Portuguese of sixty or thereabouts, Senhor Joaquin Santos
by name; at first it was incredible to me that he had no title, so
noble was his bearing; but very soon I realized that he was one of
those to whom adventitious honors can add no lustre. He treated
Miss Denison as no parent ever treated a child, with a gallantry
and a courtliness quite beautiful to watch, and not a little
touching in the light of the circumstances under which they were
travelling together. The girl had gone straight from school to her
step-father's estate on the Zambesi, where, a few months later, her
mother had died of the malaria. Unable to endure the place after
his wife's death, Senhor Santos had taken ship to Victoria, there
to seek fresh fortune with results as indifferent as my own. He
was now taking Miss Denison back to England, to make her home with
other relatives, before he himself returned to Africa (as he once
told me) to lay his bones beside those of his wife. I hardly know
which of the pair I see more plainly as I write - the young girl
with her soft eyes and her sunny hair, or the old gentleman with
the erect though wasted figure, the noble forehead, the steady eye,
the parchment skin, the white imperial, and the eternal cigarette
between his shrivelled lips.

No need to say that I came more in contact with the young girl.
She was not less charming in my eyes because she provoked me
greatly as I came to know her intimately. She had many irritating
faults. Like most young persons of intellect and inexperience, she
was hasty and intolerant in nearly all her judgments, and rather
given to being critical in a crude way. She was very musical,
playing the guitar and singing in a style that made our shipboard
concerts vastly superior to the average of their order; but I have
seen her shudder at the efforts of less gifted folks who were
also doing their best; and it was the same in other directions where
her superiority was less specific. The faults which are most
exasperating in another are, of course, one's own faults; and I
confess that I was very critical of Eva Denison's criticisms. Then
she had a little weakness for exaggeration, for unconscious egotism
in conversation, and I itched to tell her so. I felt so certain
that the girl had a fine character underneath, which would rise to
noble heights in stress or storm: all the more would I long now to
take her in hand and mould her in little things, and anon to take
her in my arms just as she was. The latter feeling was resolutely
crushed. To be plain, I had endured what is euphemistically called
"disappointment" already; and, not being a complete coxcomb, I had
no intention of courting a second.

Yet, when I write of Eva Denison, I am like to let my pen outrun my
tale. I lay the pen down, and a hundred of her sayings ring in my
ears, with my own contradictious comments, that I was doomed so soon
to repent; a hundred visions of her start to my eyes; and there is
the trade-wind singing in the rigging, and loosening a tress of my
darling's hair, till it flies like a tiny golden streamer in the
tropic sun. There, it is out! I have called her what she was to
be in my heart ever after. Yet at the time I must argue with her
- with her! When all my courage should have gone to love-making,
I was plucking it up to sail as near as I might to plain
remonstrance! I little dreamt how the ghost of every petty word
was presently to return and torture me.

So it is that I can see her and hear her now on a hundred separate
occasions beneath the awning beneath the stars on deck below at noon
or night but plainest of all in the evening of the day we signalled
the Island of Ascension, at the close of that last concert on the
quarter-deck. The watch are taking down the extra awning; they are
removing the bunting and the foot-lights. The lanterns are trailed
forward before they are put out; from the break of the poop we watch
the vivid shifting patch of deck that each lights up on its way. The
stars are very sharp in the vast violet dome above our masts; they
shimmer on the sea; and our trucks describe minute orbits among the
stars, for the trades have yet to fail us, and every inch of canvas
has its fill of the gentle steady wind. It is a heavenly night.
The peace of God broods upon His waters. No jarring note offends
the ear. In the forecastle a voice is humming a song of Eva Denison's
that has caught the fancy of the men; the young girl who sang it so
sweetly not twenty minutes since who sang it again and again to
please the crew she alone is at war with our little world she alone
would head a mutiny if she could.

"I hate the captain!" she says again.

"My dear Miss Denison!" I begin; for she has always been severe upon
our bluff old man, and it is not the spirit of contrariety alone
which makes me invariably take his part. Coarse he may be, and not
one whom the owners would have chosen to command the Lady Jermyn; a
good seaman none the less, who brought us round the Horn in foul
weather without losing stitch or stick. I think of the ruddy ruffian
in his dripping oilskins, on deck day and night for our sakes, and
once more I must needs take his part; but Miss Denison stops me
before I can get out another word.

"I am not dear, and I'm not yours," she cries. "I'm only a
school-girl - you have all but told me so before to-day! If I were
a man - if I were you - I should tell Captain Harris what I thought
of him!"

"Why? What has he done now?"

"Now? You know how rude he was to poor Mr. Ready this very
afternoon!"

It was true. He had been very rude indeed. But Ready also had
been at fault. It may be that I was always inclined to take an
opposite view, but I felt bound to point this out, and at any cost.

"You mean when Ready asked him if we were out of our course? I
must say I thought it was a silly question to put. It was the same
the other evening about the cargo. If the skipper says we're in
ballast why not believe him? Why repeat steerage gossip, about
mysterious cargoes, at the cuddy table? Captains are always touchy
about that sort of thing. I wasn't surprised at his letting out."

My poor love stares at me in the starlight. Her great eyes flash
their scorn. Then she gives a little smile - and then a little nod
- more scornful than all the rest.

"You never are surprised, are you, Mr. Cole?" says she. "You were
not surprised when the wretch used horrible language in front of me!
You were not surprised when it was a - dying man - whom he abused!"

I try to soothe her. I agree heartily with her disgust at the
epithets employed in her hearing, and towards an invalid, by the
irate skipper. But I ask her to make allowances for a rough,
uneducated man, rather clumsily touched upon his tender spot. I
shall conciliate her presently; the divine pout (so childish it was!)
is fading from her lips; the starlight is on the tulle and lace and
roses of her pretty evening dress, with its festooned skirts and
obsolete flounces; and I am watching her, ay, and worshipping her,
though I do not know it yet. And as we stand there comes another
snatch from the forecastle: -

"What will you do, love, when I am going.
With white sail flowing,
The seas beyond?
What will you do, love - "

"They may make the most of that song," says Miss Denison grimly;
"it's the last they'll have from me. Get up as many more concerts
as you like. I won't sing at another unless it's in the fo'c'sle.
I'll sing to the men, but not to Captain Harris. He didn't put in
an appearance tonight. He shall not have another chance of
insulting me."

Was it her vanity that was wounded after all? "You forget," said I,
"that you would not answer when he addressed you at dinner."

"I should think I wouldn't, after the way he spoke to Mr. Ready; and
he too agitated to come to table, poor fellow!"

"Still, the captain felt the open slight."

"Then he shouldn't have used such language in front of me."

"Your father felt it, too, Miss Denison."

I hear nothing plainer than her low but quick reply:

"Mr. Cole, my father has been dead many; many years; he died
before I can remember. That man only married my poor mother. He
sympathizes with Captain Harris - against me; no father would do
that. Look at them together now! And you take his side, too; oh!
I have no patience with any of you - except poor Mr. Ready in his
berth."

"But you are not going."

"Indeed I am. I am tired of you all."

And she was gone with angry tears for which I blamed myself as I
fell to pacing the weather side of the poop - and so often
afterwards! So often, and with such unavailing bittertness !

Senhor Santos and the captain were in conversation by the weather
rail. I fancied poor old Harris eyed me with suspicion, and I
wished he had better cause. The Portuguese, however, saluted me
with his customary courtesy, and I thought there was a grave twinkle
in his steady eye.

"Are you in deesgrace also, friend Cole?" he inquired in his all
but perfect English.

"More or less," said I ruefully.

He gave the shrug of his country - that delicate gesture which is
done almost entirely with the back - a subtlety beyond the power
of British shoulders.

"The senhora is both weelful and pivish," said he, mixing the two
vowels which (with the aspirate) were his only trouble with our
tongue. "It is great grif to me to see her growing so unlike her
sainted mother!"

He sighed, and I saw his delicate fingers forsake the cigarette
they were rolling to make the sacred sign upon his breast. He was
always smoking one cigarette and making another; as he lit the new
one the glow fell upon a strange pin that he wore, a pin with a
tiny crucifix inlaid in mosaic. So the religious cast of Senhor
Santos was brought twice home to me in the same moment, though, to
be sure, I had often been struck by it before. And it depressed me
to think that so sweet a child as Eva Denison should have spoken
harshly of so good a man as her step-father, simply because he had
breadth enough to sympathize with a coarse old salt like Captain
Harris.

I turned in, however, and I cannot say the matter kept me awake in
the separate state-room which was one luxury of our empty saloon.
Alas? I was a heavy sleeper then.




CHAPTER II

THE MYSTERIOUS CARGO


"Wake up, Cole! The ship's on fire!"

It was young Ready's hollow voice, as cool, however, as though he
were telling me I was late for breakfast. I started up and sought
him wildly in the darkness.

"You're joking," was my first thought and utterance; for now he was
lighting my candle, and blowing out the match with a care that
seemed in itself a contradiction.

"I wish I were," he answered. "Listen to that!"

He pointed to my cabin ceiling; it quivered and creaked; and all at
once I was as a deaf man healed.

One gets inured to noise at sea, but to this day it passes me how
even I could have slept an instant in the abnormal din which I now
heard raging above my head. Sea-boots stamped; bare feet pattered;
men bawled; women shrieked; shouts of terror drowned the roar of
command.

"Have we long to last?" I asked, as I leaped for my clothes.

"Long enough for you to dress comfortably. Steady, old man! It's
only just been discovered; they may get it under. The panic's the
worst part at present, and we're out of that."

But was Eva Denison? Breathlessly I put the question; his answer
was reassuring. Miss Denison was with her step-father on the poop.
"And both of 'em as cool as cucumbers," added Ready.

They could not have been cooler than this young man, with death at
the bottom of his bright and sunken eyes. He was of the type which
is all muscle and no constitution; athletes one year, dead men the
next; but until this moment the athlete had been to me a mere and
incredible tradition. In the afternoon I had seen his lean knees
totter under the captain's fire. Now, at midnight - the exact time
by my watch - it was as if his shrunken limbs had expanded in his
clothes; he seemed hardly to know his own flushed face, as he caught
sight of it in my mirror.

"By Jove!" said he, "this has put me in a fine old fever; but I
don't know when I felt in better fettle. If only they get it under!
I've not looked like this all the voyage."

And he admired himself while I dressed in hot haste: a fine young
fellow; not at all the natural egotist, but cast for death by the
doctors, and keenly incredulous in his bag of skin. It revived
one's confidence to hear him talk. But he forgot himself in an
instant, and gave me a lead through the saloon with a boyish
eagerness that made me actually suspicious as I ran. We were
nearing the Line. I recalled the excesses of my last crossing,
and I prepared for some vast hoax at the last moment. It was only
when we plunged upon the crowded quarter-deck, and my own eyes read
lust of life and dread of death in the starting eyes of others, that
such lust and such dread consumed me in my turn, so that my veins
seemed filled with fire and ice.

To be fair to those others, I think that the first wild panic was
subsiding even then; at least there was a lull, and even a reaction
in the right direction on the part of the males in the second class
and steerage. A huge Irishman at their head, they were passing
buckets towards the after-hold; the press of people hid the hatchway
from us until we gained the poop; but we heard the buckets spitting
and a hose-pipe hissing into the flames below; and we saw the column
of white vapor rising steadily from their midst.

At the break of the poop stood Captain Harris, his legs planted wide
apart, very vigorous, very decisive, very profane. And I must
confess that the shocking oaths which had brought us round the Horn
inspired a kind of confidence in me now. Besides, even from the
poop I could see no flames. But the night was as beautiful as it
had been an hour or two back; the stars as brilliant, the breeze
even more balmy, the sea even more calm; and we were hove-to already,
against the worst.

In this hour of peril the poop was very properly invaded by all
classes of passengers, in all manner of incongruous apparel, in all
stages of fear, rage, grief and hysteria; as we made our way among
this motley nightmare throng, I took Ready by the arm.

"The skipper's a brute," said I, "but he's the right brute in the
right place to-night, Ready !"

"I hope he may be," was the reply. "But we were off our course
this afternoon; and we were off it again during the concert, as
sure as we're not on it now."

His tone made me draw him to the rail.

"But how do you know? You didn't have another look, did you?"

"Lots of looks-at the stars. He couldn't keep me from consulting
them; and I'm just as certain of it as I'm certain that we've a
cargo aboard which we're none of us supposed to know anything about."

The latter piece of gossip was, indeed, all over the ship; but this
allusion to it struck me as foolishly irrelevant and frivolous. As
to the other matter, I suggested that the officers would have had
more to say about it than Ready, if there had been anything in it.

"Officers be damned!" cried our consumptive, with a sound man's
vigor. "They're ordinary seamen dressed up; I don't believe they've
a second mate's certificate between them, and they're frightened out
of their souls."

"Well, anyhow, the skipper isn't that."

"No; he's drunk; he can shout straight, but you should hear him try
to speak."

I made my way aft without rejoinder. "Invalid's pessimism," was my
private comment. And yet the sick man was whole for the time being;
the virile spirit was once more master of the recreant members; and
it was with illogical relief that I found those I sought standing
almost unconcernedly beside the binnacle.

My little friend was, indeed, pale enough, and her eyes great with
dismay; but she stood splendidly calm, in her travelling cloak and
bonnet, and with all my soul I hailed the hardihood with which I
had rightly credited my love. Yes! I loved her then. It had come
home to me at last, and I no longer denied it in my heart. In my
innocence and my joy I rather blessed the fire for showing me her
true self and my own; and there I stood, loving her openly with my
eyes (not to lose another instant), and bursting to tell her so
with my lips.

But there also stood Senhor Santos, almost precisely as I had seen
him last, cigarette, tie-pin, and all. He wore an overcoat, however,
and leaned upon a massive ebony cane, while he carried his daughter's
guitar in its case, exactly as though they were waiting for a train.
Moreover, I thought that for the first time he was regarding me with
no very favoring glance.

"You don't think it serious?" I asked him abruptly, my heart still
bounding with the most incongruous joy.

He gave me his ambiguous shrug; and then, "A fire at sea is surely
sirrious," said he.

"Where did it break out ?"

"No one knows; it may have come of your concert."

"But they are getting the better of it?"

"They are working wonders so far, senhor."

"You see, Miss Denison," I continued ecstatically, "our rough old
diamond of a skipper is the right man in the right place after all.
A tight man in a tight place, eh?" and I laughed like an idiot in
their calm grave faces.

"Senhor Cole is right," said Santos, "although his 'ilarity sims a
leetle out of place. But you must never spik against Captain 'Arrees
again, menma."

"I never will," the poor child said; yet I saw her wince whenever
the captain raised that hoarse voice of his in more and more
blasphemous exhortation; and I began to fear with Ready that the
man was drunk.

My eyes were still upon my darling, devouring her, revelling in her,
when suddenly I saw her hand twitch within her step-father's arm.
It was an answering start to one on his part. The cigarette was
snatched from his lips. There was a commotion forward, and a cry
came aft, from mouth to mouth:

"The flames! The flames !"

I turned, and caught their reflection on the white column of smoke
and steam. I ran forward, and saw them curling and leaping in the
hell-mouth of the hold.

The quarter-deck now staged a lurid scene: that blazing trap-door
in its midst; and each man there a naked demon madly working to
save his roasting skin. Abaft the mainmast the deck-pump was being
ceaselessly worked by relays of the passengers; dry blankets were
passed forward, soaking blankets were passed aft, and flung flat
into the furnace one after another. These did more good than the
pure water: the pillar of smoke became blacker, denser: we were at
a crisis; a sudden hush denoted it; even our hoarse skipper stood
dumb.

I had rushed down into the waist of the ship - blushing for my
delay - and already I was tossing blankets with the rest. Looking
up in an enforced pause, I saw Santos whispering in the skipper's
ear, with the expression of a sphinx but no lack of foreign
gesticulation - behind them a fringe of terror-stricken faces,
parted at that instant by two more figures, as wild and strange as
any in that wild, strange scene. One was our luckless lucky digger,
the other a gigantic Zambesi nigger, who for days had been told off
to watch him; this was the servant (or rather the slave) of Senhor
Santos.

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