Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (279 page)

‘Yes, I am wet,’ said Herrick. ‘Can you do anything with me?’

Attwater read his face attentively.

‘It would depend a good deal upon what you are,’ said he.

‘What I am? A coward!’ said Herrick.

‘There is very little to be done with that,’ said Attwater. ‘And yet the description hardly strikes one as exhaustive.’

‘Oh, what does it matter?’ cried Herrick. ‘Here I am. I am broken crockery; I am a burst drum; the whole of my life is gone to water; I have nothing left that I believe in, except my living horror of myself. Why do I come to you? I don’t know; you are cold, cruel, hateful; and I hate you, or I think I hate you. But you are an honest man, an honest gentleman. I put myself, helpless, in your hands. What must I do? If I can’t do anything, be merciful and put a bullet through me; it’s only a puppy with a broken leg!’

‘If I were you, I would pick up that pistol, come up to the house, and put on some dry clothes,’ said Attwater.

‘If you really mean it?’ said Herrick. ‘You know they — we — they. .. But you know all.’

‘I know quite enough,’ said Attwater. ‘Come up to the house.’

And the captain, from the deck of the Farallone, saw the two men pass together under the shadow of the grove.

CHAPTER 11. DAVID AND GOLIATH

Huish had bundled himself up from the glare of the day — his face to the house, his knees retracted. The frail bones in the thin tropical raiment seemed scarce more considerable than a fowl’s; and Davis, sitting on the rail with his arm about a stay, contemplated him with gloom, wondering what manner of counsel that insignificant figure should contain. For since Herrick had thrown him off and deserted to the enemy, Huish, alone of mankind, remained to him to be a helper and oracle.

He considered their position with a sinking heart. The ship was a stolen ship; the stores, either from initial carelessness or ill administration during the voyage, were insufficient to carry them to any port except back to Papeete; and there retribution waited in the shape of a gendarme, a judge with a queer-shaped hat, and the horror of distant Noumea. Upon that side, there was no glimmer of hope. Here, at the island, the dragon was roused; Attwater with his men and his Winchesters watched and patrolled the house; let him who dare approach it. What else was then left but to sit there, inactive, pacing the decks — until the Trinity Hall arrived and they were cast into irons, or until the food came to an end, and the pangs of famine succeeded? For the Trinity Hall Davis was prepared; he would barricade the house, and die there defending it, like a rat in a crevice. But for the other? The cruise of the Farallone, into which he had plunged only a fortnight before, with such golden expectations, could this be the nightmare end of it? The ship rotting at anchor, the crew stumbling and dying in the scuppers? It seemed as if any extreme of hazard were to be preferred to so grisly a certainty; as if it would be better to up-anchor after all, put to sea at a venture, and, perhaps, perish at the hands of cannibals on one of the more obscure Paumotus. His eye roved swiftly over sea and sky in quest of any promise of wind, but the fountains of the Trade were empty. Where it had run yesterday and for weeks before, a roaring blue river charioting clouds, silence now reigned; and the whole height of the atmosphere stood balanced. On the endless ribbon of island that stretched out to either hand of him its array of golden and green and silvery palms, not the most volatile frond was to be seen stirring; they drooped to their stable images in the lagoon like things carved of metal, and already their long line began to reverberate heat. There was no escape possible that day, none probable on the morrow. And still the stores were running out!

Then came over Davis, from deep down in the roots of his being, or at least from far back among his memories of childhood and innocence, a wave of superstition. This run of ill luck was something beyond natural; the chances of the game were in themselves more various; it seemed as if the devil must serve the pieces. The devil? He heard again the clear note of Attwater’s bell ringing abroad into the night, and dying away. How if God...?

Briskly, he averted his mind. Attwater: that was the point. Attwater had food and a treasure of pearls; escape made possible in the present, riches in the future. They must come to grips, with Attwater; the man must die. A smoky heat went over his face, as he recalled the impotent figure he had made last night and the contemptuous speeches he must bear in silence. Rage, shame, and the love of life, all pointed the one way; and only invention halted: how to reach him? had he strength enough? was there any help in that misbegotten packet of bones against the house?

His eyes dwelled upon him with a strange avidity, as though he would read into his soul; and presently the sleeper moved, stirred uneasily, turned suddenly round, and threw him a blinking look. Davis maintained the same dark stare, and Huish looked away again and sat up.

‘Lord, I’ve an ‘eadache on me!’ said he. ‘I believe I was a bit swipey last night. W’ere’s that cry-byby ‘Errick?’

‘Gone,’ said the captain.

‘Ashore?’ cried Huish. ‘Oh, I say! I’d ‘a gone too.’

‘Would you?’ said the captain.

‘Yes, I would,’ replied Huish. ‘I like Attwater. ‘E’s all right; we got on like one o’clock when you were gone. And ain’t his sherry in it, rather? It’s like Spiers and Ponds’ Amontillado! I wish I ‘ad a drain of it now.’ He sighed.

‘Well, you’ll never get no more of it — that’s one thing,’ said Davis, gravely.

‘‘Ere! wot’s wrong with you, Dyvis? Coppers ‘ot? Well, look at me! I ain’t grumpy,’ said Huish; ‘I’m as plyful as a canary-bird, I am.’

‘Yes,’ said Davis, ‘you’re playful; I own that; and you were playful last night, I believe, and a damned fine performance you made of it.’

‘‘Allo!’ said Huish. ‘‘Ow’s this? Wot performance?’

‘Well, I’ll tell you,’ said the captain, getting slowly off the rail.

And he did: at full length, with every wounding epithet and absurd detail repeated and emphasised; he had his own vanity and Huish’s upon the grill, and roasted them; and as he spoke, he inflicted and endured agonies of humiliation. It was a plain man’s masterpiece of the sardonic.

‘What do you think of it?’ said he, when he had done, and looked down at Huish, flushed and serious, and yet jeering.

‘I’ll tell you wot it is,’ was the reply, ‘you and me cut a pretty dicky figure.’

‘That’s so,’ said Davis, ‘a pretty measly figure, by God! And, by God, I want to see that man at my knees.’

‘Ah!’ said Huish. ‘‘Ow to get him there?’

‘That’s it!’ cried Davis. ‘How to get hold of him! They’re four to two; though there’s only one man among them to count, and that’s Attwater. Get a bead on Attwater, and the others would cut and run and sing out like frightened poultry — and old man Herrick would come round with his hat for a share of the pearls. No, SIR! it’s how to get hold of Attwater! And we daren’t even go ashore; he would shoot us in the boat like dogs.’

‘Are you particular about having him dead or alive?’ asked Huish.

‘I want to see him dead,’ said the captain.

‘Ah, well!’ said Huish, ‘then I believe I’ll do a bit of breakfast.’

And he turned into the house.

The captain doggedly followed him.

‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘What’s your idea, anyway?’

‘Oh, you let me alone, will you?’ said Huish, opening a bottle of champagne. ‘You’ll ‘ear my idea soon enough. Wyte till I pour some chain on my ‘ot coppers.’ He drank a glass off, and affected to listen. ‘‘Ark!’ said he, ‘‘ear it fizz. Like ‘am fryin’, I declyre. ‘Ave a glass, do, and look sociable.’

‘No!’ said the captain, with emphasis; ‘no, I will not! there’s business.’

‘You p’ys your money and you tykes your choice, my little man,’ returned Huish. ‘Seems rather a shyme to me to spoil your breakfast for wot’s really ancient ‘istory.’

He finished three parts of a bottle of champagne, and nibbled a corner of biscuit, with extreme deliberation; the captain sitting opposite and champing the bit like an impatient horse. Then Huish leaned his arms on the table and looked Davis in the face.

‘W’en you’re ready!’ said he.

‘Well, now, what’s your idea?’ said Davis, with a sigh.

‘Fair play!’ said Huish. ‘What’s yours?’

‘The trouble is that I’ve got none,’ replied Davis; and wandered for some time in aimless discussion of the difficulties in their path, and useless explanations of his own fiasco.

‘About done?’ said Huish.

‘I’ll dry up right here,’ replied Davis.

‘Well, then,’ said Huish, ‘you give me your ‘and across the table, and say, “Gawd strike me dead if I don’t back you up.”‘

His voice was hardly raised, yet it thrilled the hearer. His face seemed the epitome of cunning, and the captain recoiled from it as from a blow.

‘What for?’ said he.

‘Luck,’ said Huish. ‘Substantial guarantee demanded.’

And he continued to hold out his hand.

‘I don’t see the good of any such tomfoolery,’ said the other.

‘I do, though,’ returned Huish. ‘Gimme your ‘and and say the words; then you’ll ‘ear my view of it. Don’t, and you won’t.’

The captain went through the required form, breathing short, and gazing on the clerk with anguish. What to fear, he knew not; yet he feared slavishly what was to fall from the pale lips.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me ‘alf a second,’ said Huish, ‘I’ll go and fetch the byby.’

‘The baby?’ said Davis. ‘What’s that?’

‘Fragile. With care. This side up,’ replied the clerk with a wink, as he disappeared.

He returned, smiling to himself, and carrying in his hand a silk handkerchief. The long stupid wrinkles ran up Davis’s brow, as he saw it. What should it contain? He could think of nothing more recondite than a revolver.

Huish resumed his seat.

‘Now,’ said he, ‘are you man enough to take charge of ‘Errick and the niggers? Because I’ll take care of Hattwater.’

‘How?’ cried Davis. ‘You can’t!’

‘Tut, tut!’ said the clerk. ‘You gimme time. Wot’s the first point? The first point is that we can’t get ashore, and I’ll make you a present of that for a ‘ard one. But ‘ow about a flag of truce? Would that do the trick, d’ye think? or would Attwater simply blyze aw’y at us in the bloomin’ boat like dawgs?’

‘No,’ said Davis, ‘I don’t believe he would.’

‘No more do I,’ said Huish; ‘I don’t believe he would either; and I’m sure I ‘ope he won’t! So then you can call us ashore. Next point is to get near the managin’ direction. And for that I’m going to ‘ave you write a letter, in w’ich you s’y you’re ashamed to meet his eye, and that the bearer, Mr J. L. ‘Uish, is empowered to represent you. Armed with w’ich seemin’ly simple expedient, Mr J. L. ‘Uish will proceed to business.’

He paused, like one who had finished, but still held Davis with his eye.

‘How?’ said Davis. ‘Why?’

‘Well, you see, you’re big,’ returned Huish; ‘‘e knows you ‘ave a gun in your pocket, and anybody can see with ‘alf an eye that you ain’t the man to ‘esitate about usin’ it. So it’s no go with you, and never was; you’re out of the runnin’, Dyvis. But he won’t be afryde of me, I’m such a little un! I’m unarmed — no kid about that — and I’ll hold my ‘ands up right enough.’ He paused. ‘If I can manage to sneak up nearer to him as we talk,’ he resumed, ‘you look out and back me up smart. If I don’t, we go aw’y again, and nothink to ‘urt. See?’

The captain’s face was contorted by the frenzied effort to comprehend.

‘No, I don’t see,’ he cried, ‘I can’t see. What do you mean?’

‘I mean to do for the Beast!’ cried Huish, in a burst of venomous triumph. ‘I’ll bring the ‘ulkin’ bully to grass. He’s ‘ad his larks out of me; I’m goin’ to ‘ave my lark out of ‘im, and a good lark too!’

‘What is it?’ said the captain, almost in a whisper.

‘Sure you want to know?’ asked Huish.

Davis rose and took a turn in the house.

‘Yes, I want to know,’ he said at last with an effort.

‘We’n you’re back’s at the wall, you do the best you can, don’t you?’ began the clerk. ‘I s’y that, because I ‘appen to know there’s a prejudice against it; it’s considered vulgar, awf’ly vulgar.’ He unrolled the handkerchief and showed a four-ounce jar. ‘This ‘ere’s vitriol, this is,’ said he.

The captain stared upon him with a whitening face.

‘This is the stuff!’ he pursued, holding it up. ‘This’ll burn to the bone; you’ll see it smoke upon ‘im like ‘ell fire! One drop upon ‘is bloomin’ heyesight, and I’ll trouble you for Attwater!’

‘No, no, by God!’ exclaimed the captain.

‘Now, see ‘ere, ducky,’ said Huish, ‘this is my bean feast, I believe? I’m goin’ up to that man single-’anded, I am. ‘E’s about seven foot high, and I’m five foot one. ‘E’s a rifle in his ‘and, ‘e’s on the look-out, ‘e wasn’t born yesterday. This is Dyvid and Goliar, I tell you! If I’d ast you to walk up and face the music I could understand. But I don’t. I on’y ast you to stand by and spifflicate the niggers. It’ll all come in quite natural; you’ll see, else! Fust thing, you know, you’ll see him running round and owling like a good un...’

‘Don’t!’ said Davis. ‘Don’t talk of it!’

‘Well, you ARE a juggins!’ exclaimed Huish. ‘What did you want? You wanted to kill him, and tried to last night. You wanted to kill the ‘ole lot of them and tried to, and ‘ere I show you ‘ow; and because there’s some medicine in a bottle you kick up this fuss!’

‘I suppose that’s so,’ said Davis. ‘It don’t seem someways reasonable, only there it is.’

‘It’s the happlication of science, I suppose?’ sneered Huish.

‘I don’t know what it is,’ cried Davis, pacing the floor; ‘it’s there! I draw the line at it. I can’t put a finger to no such piggishness. It’s too damned hateful!’

‘And I suppose it’s all your fancy pynted it,’ said Huish, ‘w’en you take a pistol and a bit o’ lead, and copse a man’s brains all over him? No accountin’ for tystes.’

‘I’m not denying it,’ said Davis, ‘It’s something here, inside of me. It’s foolishness; I dare say it’s dam foolishness. I don’t argue, I just draw the line. Isn’t there no other way?’