I had this story from one who
had no business to tell it to
me, or to any other. I may credit
the seductive influence of an
old vintage upon the narrator
for the beginning of it, and
my own skeptical incredulity
during the days that followed
for the balance of the strange
tale.
When my convivial host discovered
that he had told me so much,
and that I was prone to doubtfulness,
his foolish pride assumed the
task the old vintage had commenced,
and so he unearthed written evidence
in the form of musty manuscript,
and dry official records of the
British Colonial Office to support
many of the salient features
of his remarkable narrative.
I do not say the story is true,
for I did not witness the happenings
which it portrays, but the fact
that in the telling of it to
you I have taken fictitious names
for the principal characters
quite sufficiently evidences
the sincerity of my own belief
that it MAY be true.
The yellow, mildewed pages
of the diary of a man long dead,
and the records of the Colonial
Office dovetail perfectly with
the narrative of my convivial
host, and so I give you the story
as I painstakingly pieced it
out from these several various
agencies.
If you do not find it credible
you will at least be as one with
me in acknowledging that it is
unique, remarkable, and interesting.
From the records of the Colonial
Office and from the dead man's
diary we learn that a certain
young English nobleman, whom
we shall call John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke, was commissioned to
make a peculiarly delicate investigation
of conditions in a British West
Coast African Colony from whose
simple native inhabitants another
European power was known to be
recruiting soldiers for its native
army, which it used solely for
the forcible collection of rubber
and ivory from the savage tribes
along the Congo and the Aruwimi.
The natives of the British Colony
complained that many of their
young men were enticed away through
the medium of fair and glowing
promises, but that few if any
ever returned to their families.
The Englishmen in Africa went
even further, saying that these
poor blacks were held in virtual
slavery, since after their terms
of enlistment expired their ignorance
was imposed upon by their white
officers, and they were told
that they had yet several years
to serve.
And so the Colonial Office
appointed John Clayton to a new
post in British West Africa,
but his confidential instructions
centered on a thorough investigation
of the unfair treatment of black
British subjects by the officers
of a friendly European power.
Why he was sent, is, however,
of little moment to this story,
for he never made an investigation,
nor, in fact, did he ever reach
his destination.
Clayton was the type of Englishman
that one likes best to associate
with the noblest monuments of
historic achievement upon a thousand
victorious battlefields--a strong,
virile man --mentally, morally,
and physically.
In stature he was above the
average height; his eyes were
gray, his features regular and
strong; his carriage that of
perfect, robust health influenced
by his years of army training.
Political ambition had caused
him to seek transference from
the army to the Colonial Office
and so we find him, still young,
entrusted with a delicate and
important commission in the service
of the Queen.
When he received this appointment
he was both elated and appalled.
The preferment seemed to him
in the nature of a well-merited
reward for painstaking and intelligent
service, and as a stepping stone
to posts of greater importance
and responsibility; but, on the
other hand, he had been married
to the Hon. Alice Rutherford
for scarce a three months, and
it was the thought of taking
this fair young girl into the
dangers and isolation of tropical
Africa that appalled him.
For her sake he would have
refused the appointment, but
she would not have it so. Instead
she insisted that he accept,
and, indeed, take her with him.
There were mothers and brothers
and sisters, and aunts and cousins
to express various opinions on
the subject, but as to what they
severally advised history is
silent.
We know only that on a bright
May morning in 1888, John, Lord
Greystoke, and Lady Alice sailed
from Dover on their way to Africa.
A month later they arrived
at Freetown where they chartered
a small sailing vessel, the Fuwalda,
which was to bear them to their
final destination.
And here John, Lord Greystoke,
and Lady Alice, his wife, vanished
from the eyes and from the knowledge
of men.
Two months after they weighed
anchor and cleared from the port
of Freetown a half dozen British
war vessels were scouring the
south Atlantic for trace of them
or their little vessel, and it
was almost immediately that the
wreckage was found upon the shores
of St. Helena which convinced
the world that the Fuwalda had
gone down with all on board,
and hence the search was stopped
ere it had scarce begun; though
hope lingered in longing hearts
for many years.
The Fuwalda, a barkentine of
about one hundred tons, was a
vessel of the type often seen
in coastwise trade in the far
southern Atlantic, their crews
composed of the offscourings
of the sea--unhanged murderers
and cutthroats of every race
and every nation.
The Fuwalda was no exception
to the rule. Her officers were
swarthy bullies, hating and hated
by their crew. The captain, while
a competent seaman, was a brute
in his treatment of his men.
He knew, or at least he used,
but two arguments in his dealings
with them--a belaying pin and
a revolver--nor is it likely
that the motley aggregation he
signed would have understood
aught else.
So it was that from the second
day out from Freetown John Clayton
and his young wife witnessed
scenes upon the deck of the Fuwalda
such as they had believed were
never enacted outside the covers
of printed stories of the sea.
It was on the morning of the
second day that the first link
was forged in what was destined
to form a chain of circumstances
ending in a life for one then
unborn such as has never been
paralleled in the history of
man.
Two sailors were washing down
the decks of the Fuwalda, the
first mate was on duty, and the
captain had stopped to speak
with John Clayton and Lady Alice.
The men were working backwards
toward the little party who were
facing away from the sailors.
Closer and closer they came,
until one of them was directly
behind the captain. In another
moment he would have passed by
and this strange narrative would
never have been recorded.
But just that instant the officer
turned to leave Lord and Lady
Greystoke, and, as he did so,
tripped against the sailor and
sprawled headlong upon the deck,
overturning the water- pail so
that he was drenched in its dirty
contents.
For an instant the scene was
ludicrous; but only for an instant.
With a volley of awful oaths,
his face suffused with the scarlet
of mortification and rage, the
captain regained his feet, and
with a terrific blow felled the
sailor to the deck.
The man was small and rather
old, so that the brutality of
the act was thus accentuated.
The other seaman, however, was
neither old nor small--a huge
bear of a man, with fierce black
mustachios, and a great bull
neck set between massive shoulders.
As he saw his mate go down
he crouched, and, with a low
snarl, sprang upon the captain
crushing him to his knees with
a single mighty blow.
From scarlet the officer's
face went white, for this was
mutiny; and mutiny he had met
and subdued before in his brutal
career. Without waiting to rise
he whipped a revolver from his
pocket, firing point blank at
the great mountain of muscle
towering before him; but, quick
as he was, John Clayton was almost
as quick, so that the bullet
which was intended for the sailor's
heart lodged in the sailor's
leg instead, for Lord Greystoke
had struck down the captain's
arm as he had seen the weapon
flash in the sun.
Words passed between Clayton
and the captain, the former making
it plain that he was disgusted
with the brutality displayed
toward the crew, nor would he
countenance anything further
of the kind while he and Lady
Greystoke remained passengers.
The captain was on the point
of making an angry reply, but,
thinking better of it, turned
on his heel and black and scowling,
strode aft.
He did not care to antagonize
an English official, for the
Queen's mighty arm wielded a
punitive instrument which he
could appreciate, and which he
feared--England's far-reaching
navy.
The two sailors picked themselves
up, the older man assisting his
wounded comrade to rise. The
big fellow, who was known among
his mates as Black Michael, tried
his leg gingerly, and, finding
that it bore his weight, turned
to Clayton with a word of gruff
thanks.
Though the fellow's tone was
surly, his words were evidently
well meant. Ere he had scarce
finished his little speech he
had turned and was limping off
toward the forecastle with the
very apparent intention of forestalling
any further conversation.
They did not see him again
for several days, nor did the
captain accord them more than
the surliest of grunts when he
was forced to speak to them.
They took their meals in his
cabin, as they had before the
unfortunate occurrence; but the
captain was careful to see that
his duties never permitted him
to eat at the same time.
The other officers were coarse,
illiterate fellows, but little
above the villainous crew they
bullied, and were only too glad
to avoid social intercourse with
the polished English noble and
his lady, so that the Claytons
were left very much to themselves.
This in itself accorded perfectly
with their desires, but it also
rather isolated them from the
life of the little ship so that
they were unable to keep in touch
with the daily happenings which
were to culminate so soon in
bloody tragedy.
There was in the whole atmosphere
of the craft that undefinable
something which presages disaster.
Outwardly, to the knowledge of
the Claytons, all went on as
before upon the little vessel;
but that there was an undertow
leading them toward some unknown
danger both felt, though they
did not speak of it to each other.
On the second day after the
wounding of Black Michael, Clayton
came on deck just in time to
see the limp body of one of the
crew being carried below by four
of his fellows while the first
mate, a heavy belaying pin in
his hand, stood glowering at
the little party of sullen sailors.
Clayton asked no questions--he
did not need to--and the following
day, as the great lines of a
British battleship grew out of
the distant horizon, he half
determined to demand that he
and Lady Alice be put aboard
her, for his fears were steadily
increasing that nothing but harm
could result from remaining on
the lowering, sullen Fuwalda.
Toward noon they were within
speaking distance of the British
vessel, but when Clayton had
nearly decided to ask the captain
to put them aboard her, the obvious
ridiculousness of such a request
became suddenly apparent. What
reason could he give the officer
commanding her majesty's ship
for desiring to go back in the
direction from which he had just
come!
What if he told them that two
insubordinate seamen had been
roughly handled by their officers?
They would but laugh in their
sleeves and attribute his reason
for wishing to leave the ship
to but one thing--cowardice.
John Clayton, Lord Greystoke,
did not ask to be transferred
to the British man-of-war. Late
in the afternoon he saw her upper
works fade below the far horizon,
but not before he learned that
which confirmed his greatest
fears, and caused him to curse
the false pride which had restrained
him from seeking safety for his
young wife a few short hours
before, when safety was within
reach--a safety which was now
gone forever.
It was mid-afternoon that brought
the little old sailor, who had
been felled by the captain a
few days before, to where Clayton
and his wife stood by the ship's
side watching the ever diminishing
outlines of the great battleship.
The old fellow was polishing
brasses, and as he came edging
along until close to Clayton
he said, in an undertone:
"'Ell's to
pay, sir, on this 'ere craft,
an' mark my word
for it, sir. 'Ell's to pay."
"What do you mean, my good
fellow?" asked Clayton.
"Wy, hasn't
ye seen wats goin' on? Hasn't
ye 'eard that devil's
spawn of a capting an' is mates
knockin' the bloomin' lights
outen 'arf the crew?
"Two busted
'eads yeste'day, an' three
to-day. Black Michael's
as good as new agin an' 'e's
not the bully to stand fer it,
not 'e; an' mark my word for
it, sir."
"You mean, my man, that the
crew contemplates mutiny?" asked
Clayton.
"Mutiny!" exclaimed the old
fellow. "Mutiny! They means murder,
sir, an' mark my word for it,
sir."
"When?"
"Hit's comin',
sir; hit's comin' but I'm not
a-sayin' wen, an'
I've said too damned much now,
but ye was a good sort t'other
day an' I thought it no more'n
right to warn ye. But keep a
still tongue in yer 'ead an'
when ye 'ear shootin' git below
an' stay there.
"That's all, only keep a still
tongue in yer 'ead, or they'll
put a pill between yer ribs,
an' mark my word for it, sir," and
the old fellow went on with his
polishing, which carried him
away from where the Claytons
were standing.
"Deuced cheerful outlook, Alice," said
Clayton.
"You should warn the captain
at once, John. Possibly the trouble
may yet be averted," she said.
"I suppose
I should, but yet from purely
selfish motives I
am almost prompted to `keep a
still tongue in my 'ead.' Whatever
they do now they will spare us
in recognition of my stand for
this fellow Black Michael, but
should they find that I had betrayed
them there would be no mercy
shown us, Alice."
"You have but
one duty, John, and that lies
in the interest
of vested authority. If you do
not warn the captain you are
as much a party to whatever follows
as though you had helped to plot
and carry it out with your own
head and hands."
"You do not understand, dear," replied
Clayton. "It is of you I am thinking--there
lies my first duty. The captain
has brought this condition upon
himself, so why then should I
risk subjecting my wife to unthinkable
horrors in a probably futile
attempt to save him from his
own brutal folly? You have no
conception, dear, of what would
follow were this pack of cutthroats
to gain control of the Fuwalda."
"Duty is duty,
John, and no amount of sophistries
may change
it. I would be a poor wife for
an English lord were I to be
responsible for his shirking
a plain duty. I realize the danger
which must follow, but I can
face it with you."
"Have it as you will then,
Alice," he answered, smiling. "Maybe
we are borrowing trouble. While
I do not like the looks of things
on board this ship, they may
not be so bad after all, for
it is possible that the `Ancient
Mariner' was but voicing the
desires of his wicked old heart
rather than speaking of real
facts.
"Mutiny on
the high sea may have been
common a hundred years
ago, but in this good year 1888
it is the least likely of happenings.
"But there
goes the captain to his cabin
now. If I am going
to warn him I might as well get
the beastly job over for I have
little stomach to talk with the
brute at all."
So saying he strolled carelessly
in the direction of the companionway
through which the captain had
passed, and a moment later was
knocking at his door.
"Come in," growled
the deep tones of that surly
officer.
And when Clayton had entered,
and closed the door behind him:
"Well?"
"I have come
to report the gist of a conversation
I heard
to-day, because I feel that,
while there may be nothing to
it, it is as well that you be
forearmed. In short, the men
contemplate mutiny and murder."
"It's a lie!" roared the captain. "And
if you have been interfering
again with the discipline of
this ship, or meddling in affairs
that don't concern you you can
take the consequences, and be
damned. I don't care whether
you are an English lord or not.
I'm captain of this here ship,
and from now on you keep your
meddling nose out of my business."
The captain had worked himself
up to such a frenzy of rage that
he was fairly purple of face,
and he shrieked the last words
at the top of his voice, emphasizing
his remarks by a loud thumping
of the table with one huge fist,
and shaking the other in Clayton's
face.
Greystoke never turned a hair,
but stood eying the excited man
with level gaze.
"Captain Billings," he drawled
finally, "if you will pardon
my candor, I might remark that
you are something of an ass."
Whereupon he turned and left
the captain with the same indifferent
ease that was habitual with him,
and which was more surely calculated
to raise the ire of a man of
Billings' class than a torrent
of invective.
So, whereas the captain might
easily have been brought to regret
his hasty speech had Clayton
attempted to conciliate him,
his temper was now irrevocably
set in the mold in which Clayton
had left it, and the last chance
of their working together for
their common good was gone.
"Well, Alice," said Clayton,
as he rejoined his wife, "I might
have saved my breath. The fellow
proved most ungrateful. Fairly
jumped at me like a mad dog.
"He and his
blasted old ship may hang,
for aught I care; and
until we are safely off the thing
I shall spend my energies in
looking after our own welfare.
And I rather fancy the first
step to that end should be to
go to our cabin and look over
my revolvers. I am sorry now
that we packed the larger guns
and the ammunition with the stuff
below."
They found their quarters in
a bad state of disorder. Clothing
from their open boxes and bags
strewed the little apartment,
and even their beds had been
torn to pieces.
"Evidently someone was more
anxious about our belongings
than we," said Clayton. "Let's
have a look around, Alice, and
see what's missing."
A thorough search revealed
the fact that nothing had been
taken but Clayton's two revolvers
and the small supply of ammunition
he had saved out for them.
"Those are the very things
I most wish they had left us," said
Clayton, "and the fact that they
wished for them and them alone
is most sinister."
"What are we to do, John?" asked
his wife. "Perhaps you were right
in that our best chance lies
in maintaining a neutral position.
"If the officers
are able to prevent a mutiny,
we have nothing
to fear, while if the mutineers
are victorious our one slim hope
lies in not having attempted
to thwart or antagonize them."
"Right you
are, Alice. We'll keep in the
middle of the road."
As they started to straighten
up their cabin, Clayton and his
wife simultaneously noticed the
corner of a piece of paper protruding
from beneath the door of their
quarters. As Clayton stooped
to reach for it he was amazed
to see it move further into the
room, and then he realized that
it was being pushed inward by
someone from without.
Quickly and silently he stepped
toward the door, but, as he reached
for the knob to throw it open,
his wife's hand fell upon his
wrist.
"No, John," she whispered. "They
do not wish to be seen, and so
we cannot afford to see them.
Do not forget that we are keeping
to the middle of the road."
Clayton smiled and dropped
his hand to his side. Thus they
stood watching the little bit
of white paper until it finally
remained at rest upon the floor
just inside the door.
Then Clayton stooped and picked
it up. It was a bit of grimy,
white paper roughly folded into
a ragged square. Opening it they
found a crude message printed
almost illegibly, and with many
evidences of an unaccustomed
task.
Translated, it was a warning
to the Claytons to refrain from
reporting the loss of the revolvers,
or from repeating what the old
sailor had told them--to refrain
on pain of death.
"I rather imagine we'll be
good," said Clayton with a rueful
smile. "About all we can do is
to sit tight and wait for whatever
may come."
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