“If it was that,” said I, “why did you not cut the cords and spoil the plot?”
“Cut the cords! Ye mean cut my ain throat; that’s what wad happen if the skipper guessed my knowledge o’ his deevilry. And dae ye think a gallows job o’ this kind depends a’thegither on twa or three bits o’ twine? Na, na, this is a very business-like transaction, Mr. Greig, and I’ll warrant there has been naethin’ left to chance. I wondered at them bein’ sae pernicketty about the sma’ boats afore we sailed when the timbers o’ the ship hersel’ were fair ganting. That big new boat and sails frae Kirkcaldy was a gey odd thing in itsel’ if I had been sober enough to think o’t. I suppose ye paid your passage, Mr. Greig? I can fancy a purser on the Seven Sisters upon nae ither footin’ and that made me dubious o’ ye when I first learned o’ this hell’s caper for Jamieson o’ the Grange. If ye hadna fought wi’ the skipper I would hae coonted ye in wi’ the rest.”
“He has two pounds of my money,” I answered; “at least I’ve saved the other two if we fail to reach Halifax.”
At that he laughed softly again.
“It might be as well wi’ Risk as wi’ the conger,” said he, meaningly. “I’m no’ sae sure that you and me’s meant to come oot o’ this; that’s what I might tak’ frae their leaving only the twa o’ us aft when they were puttin’ the cargo aff there back at Blackness.”
“The cargo!” I repeated.
“Of course,” said Horn. “Ye fancied they were goin’ to get rid o’ ye there, did ye? I’ll alloo I thought that but a pretence on your pairt, and no’ very neatly done at that. Well, the smallest pairt but the maist valuable o’ the cargo shipped at Borrowstouness is still in Scotland; and the underwriters ‘ll be to pay through the nose for what has never run sea risks.”
At that a great light came to me. This was the reason for the masked cuddy skylights, the utter darkness of the Seven Sisters while her boats were plying to the shore; for this was I so closely kept at her ridiculous manifest; the lists of lace and plate I had been fatuously copying were lists of stuff no longer on the ship at all, but back in the possession of the owner of the brigantine.
“You are an experienced seaman – ?”
“I have had a vessel of my own,” broke in Horn, some vanity as well as shame upon his countenance.
“Well, you are the more likely to know the best way out of this trap we are in,” I went on. “For a certain reason I am not at all keen on it to go back to Scotland, but I would sooner risk that than run in leash with a scoundrel like this who’s sinking his command, not to speak of hazarding my unworthy life with a villainous gang. Is there any way out of it, Horn?”
The seaman pondered, a dark frown upon his tanned forehead, where the veins stood out in knots, betraying his perturbation. The wind whistled faintly in the tops, the Seven Sisters plainly went by the head; she had a slow response to her helm, and moved sluggishly. Still the pump was clanking and we could hear the water streaming through the scupper holes. Risk had joined his mate and was casting anxious eyes over the waters.
“If we play the safty here, Mr. Greig,” said Horn, “there’s a chance o’ a thwart for us when the Seven Ststers comes to her labour. That’s oor only prospect. At least they daurna murder us.”
“And what about the crew?” I asked. “Do you tell me there is not enough honesty among them all to prevent a blackguardly scheme like this?”
“We’re the only twa on this ship this morning wi’ oor necks ootside tow, for they’re all men o’ the free trade, and broken men at that,” said Horn resolutely, and even in the midst of this looming disaster my private horror rose within me.
“Ah!” said I, helpless to check the revelation, “speak for yourself, Mr. Horn; it’s the hangman I’m here fleeing from.”
He looked at me with quite a new countenance, clearly losing relish for his company.
“Anything by-ordinar dirty?” he asked, and in my humility I did not have the spirit to resent what that tone and query implied.
“Dirty enough,” said I, “the man’s dead,” and Horn’s face cleared.
“Oh, faith! is that all?” quo’ he, “I was thinkin’ it might be coinin’ – beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Greig, or somethin’ in the fancy way. But a gentleman’s quarrel ower the cartes or a wench – that’s a different tale. I hate homicide mysel’ to tell the truth, but whiles I’ve had it in my heart, and in a way o’ speakin* Dan Risk this meenute has my gully-knife in his ribs.”
As he spoke the vessel, mishandled, or a traitor to her helm, now that she was all awash internally with water, yawed and staggered in the wind. The sails shivered, the yards swung violently, appalling noises came from the hold. At once the pumping ceased, and Risk’s voice roared in the confusion, ordering the launch of the Kirkcaldy boat.
CHAPTER XII
MAKES PLAIN THE DEEPEST VILLAINY OF RISK AND SETS ME ON A FRENCHMAN
When I come to write these affairs down after the lapse of years, I find my memory but poorly retains the details of that terrific period between the cry of Risk and the moment when Horn and I, abandoned on the doomed vessel, watched the evening fall upon the long Kirkcaldy boat, her mast stepped, but her sails down, hovering near us for the guarantee of our eternal silence regarding the crime the men on her were there and then committing. There is a space – it must have been brief, but I lived a lifetime in it – whose impressions rest with me, blurred, but with the general hue of agony. I can see the sun again sailing overhead in the arching sky of blue; the enormous ocean, cruel, cold, spread out to the line of the horizon; the flapping sails and drumming reef-points, the streaming halliards and clew-garnets, the spray buffeting upon our hull and spitting in our faces like an enemy; I hear the tumult of the seamen hurrying vulgarly to save their wretched lives, the gluck of waters in the bowels of the ship, the thud of cargo loose and drifting under decks.
But I see and hear it all as in a dream or play, and myself someway standing only a spectator.
It seemed that Risk and his men put all their dependence on the long-boat out of Kirkcaldy. She was partly decked at the bows like a Ballantrae herring-skiff, beamy and commodious. They clustered round her like ants; swung her out, and over she went, and the whole hellish plot lay revealed in the fact that she was all found with equipment and provisions.
Horn and I made an effort to assist at her preparation; we were shoved aside with frantic curses; we were beaten back by her oars when we sought to enter her, and when she pushed off from the side of the Seven Sisters, Dan Risk was so much the monster that he could jeer at our perplexity. He sat at the tiller of her without a hat, his long hair, that was turning lyart, blown by the wind about his black and mocking eyes.
“Head her for Halifax, Horn,” said he, “and ye’ll get there by-and-by.”
“Did I ever do ye any harm, skipper?” cried the poor seaman, standing on the gunwale, hanging to the shrouds, and his aspect hungry for life.
“Ye never got the chance, Port Glesca,” cried back Risk, hugging the tiller of the Kirkcaldy boat under his arm. “I’ll gie ye a guess —
Come-a-riddle, come-a-riddle, come-a-rote-tote-tote —
Oh to bleezes! I canna put a rhyme till’t, but this is the sense o’t – a darkie’s never deaf and dumb till he’s deid. Eh! Antonio, ye rascal!”
He looked forward as he spoke and exchanged a villainous laugh with the cook, his instrument, who had overheard us and betrayed.
“Ye