A silent witness
is he and what’s he a-doin’ in my cabin? Who are yer, mister?”
Now, that would seem to be a perfectly simple and straightforward
question. But it is not so simple as it seems. To a complete stranger,
the bare mention of a name is unilluminating. Further explanations are
needed. And at that moment I did not feel equal to explanations.
Besides, I was not so very clear on the subject myself. Consequently,
I preserved a silence which, perhaps, was wooden rather than golden.
“D’ye ’ear?” persisted the first man. “I’m a-arskin’ you a question.”
“What’s the good of arskin’ questions of a man what’s been a-rammin’
’is crumpet aginst the bottom of the river?” protested the other man.
“What d’ye mean?” demanded the first mariner.
“Can’t you see?” retorted the other, “as ’e’s took the ground ’ard?
Look at ’is ’ed.”
Here the first mariner--Lucifer, or lamp-bearer--wiped his hand over
the top of my head and then examined the tip of his forefinger
critically as though it were the arming of a deep-sea lead.
“You’re right, Abel,” said he. “That’s mud off the bottom, that is. He
must have took a regular header. Sooicide perhaps, and altered his
mind. Found it a bit damper’n what he expected. Put the kittle on,
Abe.”
From this moment, the two mariners treated me as if I had been a
lay-figure. Silently, they peeled off my wet clothes, and dried my
skin with vigorous friction as if it had been a wet deck. They not
only asked no further questions, but when I would have spoken they
urged me to economize my wind. They inducted me into stiff and hairy
garments of uncouth aspect, and finally, Abe set before me on the
table a large earthenware mug, the contents of which steamed and
diffused through the cabin a strong odour of Dutch gin.
“You git outside that, mister,” said the luminiferous mariner (who
turned out subsequently to be the skipper), “and then you’d best turn
in.”
The treatment was not strictly orthodox, but I obeyed without demur.
Most people would have done the same under the circumstances. But the
process of “getting outside” it took time, for the grog was boiling
hot and had been brewed with a flexible wrist. By the time that I had
emptied the mug I was not only revived, but (so far as my memory
serves) rather disposed to be garrulously explanatory and facetious. I
even felt a slight inclination to sing. But my friends would stand no
nonsense. As soon as the mug was fairly empty, they bundled me, neck
and crop, into a sort of elongated cupboard and proceeded to pile on
me untold quantities of textile fabrics, including a complete suit of
oilskins. Then they commanded me to go to sleep; which I believe I
must have done almost instantly.
CHAPTER XI.
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
Awakening in a strange place is always a memorable experience;
especially to the young, in whom the capacity for novel sensations has
not yet been exhausted by repetition. When I emerged, somewhat
gradually, from the unconsciousness of sleep, my first impressions
concerned themselves with the unusual appearance of the bedroom wall
and its remarkable proximity to my nose. I further noticed that the
bedstead had become inexplicably tilted and that the house appeared to
be swaying; and as I mused on these phenomena with the vagueness of
the half-awake, a loud voice, proceeding apparently from the floor
above, roared out the mystic words, “Lee O!” whereupon there ensued a
sound like the shaking of colossal table cloths and the loud clanking
of chains, and my bedstead took a sharp tilt to the opposite side.
This roused me pretty completely, and, turning over in the bunk, I
looked out into the barge’s cabin.
It was broad daylight and evidently not early, for a square patch of
sunlight crept to and fro on the little table, whence presently it
slipped down to the floor and slithered about unsteadily, as if
Phœbus had overdone his morning dram and could not drive his chariot
straight. I watched it lazily for some time and then, becoming
conscious of a vacancy within, crept out from under the mountain of
bedclothes and made my way to the ladder.
As I put my head through the companion hatch, a man who stood at the
wheel regarded me stolidly.
“So you’ve woke up, have yer?” said he. “Thought you was going right
round the clock. Abel! he’s woke up. Tell young Ted to stand by with
them heggs and that there ’addick.”
Here Abel looked round from behind the luff of the mainsail, and
having verified the statement, conveyed the order to some invisible
person in the fore-peak. Then he came aft with an obvious air of
business. The time for explanations had arrived.
Accordingly I proceeded to “pitch them my yarn,” as they expressed it;
to which they listened with polite attention and manifest
disappointment, clearly regarding the story as a fabrication from
beginning to end. And no wonder. The whole affair was utterly
incredible even to me; to them it must have seemed sheer nonsense.
Their own verdict of “sooicide” during very temporary insanity with
sudden mental recovery, under the influence of cold water, was so much
more rational. Not that they obtruded their views. They listened
patiently and said nothing; and nothing that they could have said
could have been more expressive.
Meanwhile I looked about me with no little surprise. Some miles away
to the south lay a stretch of low land, faint and grey, with a single
salient object, apparently a church with two spires. In every other
direction was the unbroken sea horizon.
“You seem to have made a pretty good passage,” I remarked.
“We’ve had sixteen hours to do it in,” replied the skipper, “and
spring tides and a nice bit of breeze. If it ’ud only hold--which I’m
afraid it won’t--we’d be in Folkestone Harbour this time to-morrow, or
even sooner. Folkestone be much out of your way?”
I smiled at the artlessness of the question. It was undeniable that
the route from Charing Cross to Hampstead by way of Folkestone was
slightly indirect. But there was no need to insist on the fact. My
hospitable friends had acted for the best and their prudence was
justified by the result; for here I was, not a whit the worse for my
ducking save that I badly wanted a bath.
“Folkestone will suit me quite well,” I replied, “if there is enough
money left in my pockets to pay my fare home.”
“That’s all right,” said the skipper. “I cleared out your pockets
myself. You’ll find the things in a mug in the starboard locker.
Better overhaul ’em when you go below and see if you’ve dropped
anything. Here comes young Ted with your grub.”
As he spoke the apprentice rose through the fore-hatch like a stage
apparition--if one can imagine an apparition burdened with a tin
tea-pot, two “heggs” and an “’addick”--and came grinning along the
weather side-deck, to vanish through the cabin hatchway. I followed
gleefully, and, almost before young Ted had finished the somewhat
informal table arrangements, fell to on the food with voracious joy.
“If you want any more eggs or anythink,” said the apprentice, “all
you’ve got to do is just to touch the electric bell and the waiter’ll
come and take your orders,” and having delivered this delicate shaft
of irony he presented me with an excellent back view of a pair of
brown dreadnoughts as he retired up the ladder.
As I consumed the rough but excellent breakfast I reflected on the
strange events that had placed me in my present odd situation. For the
first time, I began fairly to realize that I was in some way involved
in a nexus of circumstances that I did not in the least understand. I
had an enemy; a vindictive enemy, too, in whose eyes mere human life
was a thing of no account. But who could he be? I knew of no one on
whom I had ever inflicted the smallest injury. I bore no man any
grudge and had never to my knowledge had unfriendly dealings with any
human creature. Was this inveterate enemy of mine anyone whom I knew?
Or was he some stranger whose path I had crossed without knowing it,
and whom I should not recognize even if I saw him?
This last supposition was highly disquieting, especially as it seemed
rather probable; for if my enemy was unknown to me, what precautions
could I take?
Then, again, there was the question! What was the occasion of this
extraordinary vendetta? What had I done to this man that he should
pursue me with such deadly purpose? As to Jervis’s suggestion, that I
had seen something at the Samways’ house that I was not wanted to see,
there was nothing in it; for, as a matter of fact, I had seen nothing.
There was nothing to see. The man Maddock was certainly dead. As to
what he died of, that was Batson’s affair; but even in that there was
no sign of anything suspicious. The man himself had consulted Batson,
and had thought so badly of himself that he had made his will in
Batson’s presence. The patient himself was fully aware of his serious
condition; it was only Batson, with his eternal hurry and bustle and
his defective eyesight, who had missed observing it. The only
circumstance that supported Jervis’s view was that the acts of
violence seemed to be connected with the locality of Batson’s house.
Of course there remained the mystery of the dead priest or
lay-brother. But with that these attempts seemed to have no
connection. Nor was there any reason why the murderer should pursue
me. I had seen the body, it is true; but nobody believed me and no
proceedings were being taken. Nor could I have identified the murderer
if I had been confronted with him. Clearly, he had nothing to fear
from me.
From the causes of my present predicament I passed to the immediate
future. I should have to get back from Folkestone, and I ought to send
a telegram to my landlady, Mrs. Blunt, who would probably be in a
deuce of a twitter about me. I raised the lid of the locker, and,
reaching out the big earthenware mug, emptied its contents on the
table. All my portable property seemed to be there, including the
little gold reliquary, which I had carelessly carried in my pocket
ever since I had shown it to Thorndyke. My available funds were some
four or five pounds; amply sufficient to get me home and to discharge
my liability to the skipper as well. I swept the things back into the
mug, which I returned to the locker, and having cut myself another
thick slice of bread, proceeded with the largest breakfast that I have
ever eaten.
The skipper’s forebodings were justified by the course of events. When
I came on deck the breeze had died down to a mere faint breath, hardly
sufficient to keep the big red main-sail asleep--as the pretty old
nautical phrase has it. The skipper was still at the wheel and Abel
was anxiously taking soundings with a hand-lead.
“You won’t do it, Bill,” said the latter, coiling up the lead-line
with an air of finality, “this ’ere breeze is a-petering right out.”
The skipper said nothing, but stared gloomily at the land which was
now right ahead and much nearer than when I had last looked; and from
the land his eye travelled to a sand-bank from which rose a tall post
at the top of which was an inverted cone.
“Ought to a-gone about a bit sooner, Bill,” pursued Abel; whereupon
the skipper turned on him fiercely.
“What’s the good o’ saying that now?” he demanded. “If you’d a-told me
the wind was going to drop, I’d a-gone about sooner. What water is
there?”
“Five fathom here,” replied Abel; “that means one and a quarter on the
Woolpack. You’d best shove her nose round now, Bill.”
“Oh, all right!” retorted the skipper, “Lee O! This is going to be an
all-night job, this is,” and with this gloomy prediction, he spun the
wheel round viciously, and once more headed away from the land.
Prophecy appeared to be the skipper’s specialty and, like most
prophets, he tended to view the future with an unfavourable eye.