Maddon's Rock (31 page)

Jenny seized my arm. “Oh, Jim, that was terrific! You scared him. And all that official stuff about wanted for murder——” She was laughing.

I felt a momentary thrill of excitement—then it was gone. Halsey would come back. The bait of half a million in silver bullion would soon settle the anxieties of his crew. All I had done was to tell him who we were and gain a bit of time. I went to the engine-room voice-pipe again. “Mac,” I called, “you’ve got to get that engine working.”

“A’ canna do anything till we’ve got steam up.” His voice sounded thin and peevish. Wisht! If only Halsey had been a few hours later.

“What do you suppose hell do now?” Jenny asked.

“Give his crew a pep talk and then hell come back,” I replied.

“Will he try and board us?”

“God knows,” I said. “If I were in his shoes I know what I’d do. Cut the
Trikkala
adrift. We’d be on those rocks over there in no time. Then he could deal with us at his leisure.”

The tug was hove-to now about half a mile to the north of us inside the reefs. Through the glasses I saw the crew assemble on the foc’s’le under the bridge. I counted about a dozen of them. Halsey was addressing them from the bridge. Bert’s voice came faintly from the stern. I went to the port wing of the bridge and looked aft to see what he wanted. He was standing by the three-inch. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he kept beckoning to me and pointing to the gun. Then he went over to one of the lockers which he had opened and pulled out a shell. He made a motion of ramming it up the gun.

I was down that bridge ladder in an instant and running aft. It had never occurred to me that those ancient, rust-caked guns could be used. But then I wasn’t a gunner—Bert was. If it could be fired, then here was our answer.

Bert was fiddling with the breech mechanism as I came up. “Is there a chance of our being able to use it?” I panted.

He looked round and grinned. “Don’t know, guv’nor. Barrel’s pretty rusty. But I managed to lower the breech block. She’s all right on elevation. But the traverse is a bit sticky. Wot d’yer fink? Shall we ’ave a go? She’s bin greased, but then that was a long time ago. The rust just flakes off the a’tside o’ the barrel. Like as not she’ll explode. But if it’s our only chance, we’d better take it.”

I hesitated. The thing looked rotten with rust. For more than a year it had taken the full brunt of the waves. “What about the one in the bows?” I suggested.

“I ain’t ’ad a look at ’er. She might be better, but I da’t it. She was facin’ inter the wind all the time. Anyway, we ain’t got time ter look ’er over. ’Ere comes the ruddy tug now.”

He was right. The tug was under way again. She swung in a wide arc, coming right round so that she was headed towards us again.

“Okay, Bert,” I said. “Well take a chance on it.”

“Right. You take the traverse. I’ll take the elevation and do the firing.” He began to sing “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition” as he lowered the breech again and rammed one of the rounds home. The breech block rose with a clang.

I told Zenliski, who was standing by, to run to the bridge and get the megaphone. “I’ll give them warning,” I said. “If they don’t stop, we’ll put a shot across her bows. Okay?”

“Right-ho, chum.” Bert wriggled on to the layer’s seat on the left of the gun. “The ra’nd I got up the spa’t is fuzed for zero. Mind the ’awser,” he added as I climbed into the other layer’s seat.

It was the hawser that ran out to Zelinski’s anchor. It was lying slack on the deck close by me. “It’s all right,” I said. “It’s the bow anchor that’s holding her.” I didn’t worry about it for the
Trikkala
was lying with her bows turned to the wind and there was no chance of the stern anchor line suddenly pulling tight.

The tug was coming up fast now. The decks were deserted. Halsey had ordered his men under cover. Through the glasses I could see Jukes and Evans with Hendrik on the bridge. Both of them were armed with rifles. They ducked down under cover as the tug neared the
Trikkala
. Zelinski handed me the megaphone. Jenny had come down with him. “Is that gun all right?” she asked anxiously.

“I hope so,” I said. “You and Zelinski get under cover. And keep well away from the gun.” I saw Jenny hesitate. “For God’s sake get under cover,” I said.

The tug was close now. She had cut down her speed. As I had thought, she was making straight for the point where the anchor cable dipped in the waves. She’d nose her bows under the cable and sheltered by the tug’s hull, the crew would cut through it with a hack-saw. Then they’d do the same to the bow anchor chain.

I put the megaphone to my lips. “Ahoy,
Tempest
!” I hailed. “Ahoy! If you don’t go about I’ll open fire.”

“’E’s ’oldin’ to ’is course,” Bert said. “Shall we let ’im ’ave it.” The rusty muzzle of the gun dipped as he depressed. I traversed right. The gearing was sticky. But forcing the gun round with all my weight on the traversing handle, I found the tug in my sights. “On target,” Bert reported.

I laid her off a bit ahead of the
Tempest
. “Right!” I called out. And then with my heart in my mouth, I ordered, “Fire!”

There was a flash, a violent explosion that made my ears sing deafly, and in the same instant a great fountain of water shot up just in front of the tug’s bows.

“Luvly,” Bert called out excitedly. “That’s put the wind up ’em.” He had jumped down from his seat and was thrusting another round into the breech. I sat slightly dazed with the realisation that the gun had fired and we were still alive. Men were running about the
Tempest
’s decks. We were sitting on top of them at point-blank range, and they knew it. I saw somebody on the bridge working frantically at the wheel. The engine-room telegraph rang. The screws frothed white at the stem. The breech block clanged to. “That’ll teach Capting stupid ’Alsey,” Bert said. He suddenly laughed. “Look at the poor fools, fightin’ at the wheel. Blimey! Look—they’re goin’ ter foul our anchor ’awser. They’re runnin’ slap into it.”

In their frantic haste to bring the tug round, they seemed to have forgotten all about the anchor hawser they were aiming to run underneath. I thought for a moment that it would sweep their deck of bridge, funnel, everything. But it was the bows that hit the hawser. The whole weight of the boat thrust at it, pushing it out in a great loop. Jenny’s voice suddenly cried, “Jim! The hawser!”

Then Bert’s voice shouted, “Look a’t!”

In that same instant I saw the whole length of the slack hawser rise out of the water and whip tight like a bowstring. Something rose up from the deck like a
solid bar and crashed against my seat. A terrible pain broke through my hip and back. I felt myself flung forward. Then in a daze of pain and lost consciousness I felt myself falling, falling. Then it was dark and I was struggling. I could not breathe. I was fighting in the toils of some nightmare fabric that seemed to have no substance yet was closed all about me.

I don’t remember anything after that until I found myself lying in the bottom of a boat, a man’s sea boot close against my face. My clothes were soaked and I was shivering with cold. The boat pitched and tossed violently. Oars creaked rhythmically. I looked up. My head was lying between a man’s feet. Two knees were hunched between me and the grey sky, framing a man’s face. He looked down at me. It was Hendrik.

I closed my eyes. I thought this must be part of the nightmare. But slowly it all came back to me—the hawser whipped suddenly taut, the pain in my thigh and back, that sensation of flying through the air. I knew then that I had been flung over the stern of the
Trikkala.
The tug must have lowered a boat. Wind and tide would have carried me towards the tug. I suppose Bert had been afraid to open fire on them, or they had threatened to shoot me if he did. The boards were hard. I tried to move myself into a more comfortable position, but such a pain swept up my side that I think I lost consciousness again.

The next thing I knew I was being lifted out of the boat. More pain, but I could move my legs and I realised that nothing was broken. “Is he conscious, Mr. Hendrik?” It was Halsey’s voice.

“Aye,” replied the mate. “There’s nothing the matter wi’ him at all. Legs and back a wee bit bruised, that’s all.”

I was carried down a companion ladder, a door was opened and I was dropped on to a bunk. I struggled on to one elbow and stared around me. I was in a small cabin. Hendrik was there. So was Halsey. The two men who had carried me in went out. Halsey closed the door. He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Now, dear boy, perhaps you’ll tell me how you come to be on the
Trikkala
?” His voice was soft, gentle as a woman’s, yet without warmth, almost colourless.

I felt myself panicking. “What are you going to do with me?” I asked him, struggling to keep my voice to an even pitch.

“That depends on you and your friends,” he replied smoothly. “Corile, let’s have your story. You and Cook came on board the
Tempest
at Newcastle. You found out where the
Trikkala
was lying from Rankin. Then what?”

“We got a boat and sailed to Maddon’s Rock,” I said.

“How did you get the boat? How many of you are there?”

“Several of us,” I answered vaguely.

Halsey clucked his tongue. “Come, Vardy—a little more precision, please. How many of you?”

“That’s up to you to find out,” I replied. I was scared, but I had myself under control now.

He laughed, that jeering, mirthless laugh. “There are ways of making you talk. Or—wait a minute.” He chuckled softly in his beard. “I saw a woman on board. That was just after you had fallen into the water. She was trying to persuade one of your friends to jump in after you. There was something about her—she was very like Miss Sorrel who went with you on that raft when we abandoned the
Trikkala.
Would it be Miss Sorrel?” His voice was suddenly sharp. “Would it, Vardy?” He was leaning over me, sudden excitement blazing in his eyes. I braced myself for the blow, but the violence died suddenly out of his eyes and he leaned back in his chair. “I see—it is Miss Sorrel. And she is in love with you or she would not be here.” He chuckled again. “That makes it so much easier.” Then he leaned forward. “Vardy,” he said, “I’ll give you a chance. Advise your friends to give themselves up. You are escaped convicts. The law will be against you. But if they let us come aboard the
Trikkala
peaceably, then when we get back to England——”

“I’m not a fool,” I interrupted him. “You’ve no intention of taking your crew back to England, let alone
us. You’ll abandon all but your own gang as you abandoned the crew of the
Trikkala
.”

He sighed. “Come, come, dear boy. A little morbid, aren’t you?” He shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet. “I’ll leave you now to think over your position. In a court of law your action in seizing the
Trikkala
and opening fire on us would be regarded as an act of piracy.”

“And what about your action in beaching the
Trikkala
up here?” I countered.

He laughed so that his teeth showed white in the black frame of his beard. “Yes,” he said, “I admit that I would not like it to come to a court case. Come, I’ll make you an offer. If a little of the silver is missing when I dock, I can always say I was unable to salvage it all. Suppose I land you and your friends at say, Tromso in Norway. A man with money can always disappear.” He nodded. “Think it over, my friend. Now I will go and bring a little pressure to bear on your friends.” He shook his head, smiling. “
Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
” he quoted. Then with another chuckle, he said, “Come, Mr. Hendrik. I think we will give Juliet a hail.” His evil chuckle echoed in my ears long after he and Hendrik had gone out, locking the door after them.

I struggled off the bunk and stood up. My whole body seemed sore as if I had fallen on to concrete paving. But I was only bruised. Nothing worse. God! Why did this have to happen? Our luck had deserted us with a vengeance.

Up on deck the loudhailer came to life. It was Halsey’s voice, muffled and faint. “
Tempest
calling
Trikkala. Tempest
calling
Trikkala.
Unless you surrender ship and bullion within one hour, I intend to hang Vardy for an act of piracy.” He repeated the message and then the loudhailer was switched off. For a wild moment I thought he was bluffing. Bert would call his bluff and——But then I remembered the crew of th
e Trikkala
and the cook’s story of the
Penang.
Halsey meant just what he said. In an hour’s time I should either swing from a rope’s end or Jenny and Bert would hand over the
Trikkala.
In either case the end would be the same—
death. Halsey would leave us marooned on Maddon’s Rock. He wouldn’t kill us outright. He’d leave us to die a natural death on that ghastly rock. Thus he would pay lip service to his conscience.

The cabin was small, smaller than my cell in Dartmoor. The sense of being shut in strained at my nerves. I tried to fight down my fear. But it came at me in a mist of terror that sent me shouting and beating on the door. I tried to break it open with a chair. But the door was stout and the chair broke in my hand. I searched wildly round for some stronger weapon. But there was nothing, and in a frenzy I beat upon it with my fists. When I came to my senses I found myself tugging at the handle and sobbing like a lunatic. I forced myself to be calm. I sat down on the bunk. I must get out. I must get clear of the ship.

GRADUALLY I CALMED
myself. There must be a way out. There must be something I could do. The cabin walls were of wood. But it was stout wood. No more chance of forcing a way through them than through the door. The padding of gum boots on the deck planks sounded almost over my head. I looked up. The deck planks formed part of the ceiling of the cabin. It was impossible to stand upright beneath them. But the remainder of the cabin was loftier, the increased height being obtained by a raised hatch that must rise about two feet above the deck. And then I noticed that in the side of this hatch was a small porthole about six inches in diameter. It was closed. Presumably they had battened everything down coming through the gap in the reefs. I climbed on a chair and, unscrewing the catch, opened the deadlight. I found myself looking out between a man’s legs across half a mile of tossing waves to the rusty hulk of the
Trikkala
. If only that porthole had been bigger! But I realised that it would be no use. I could not swim that distance. The water would be too cold. But the sight of the open air and
the Trikkala
raised my spirits.