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Web of the Golden Spider, The

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<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>Of Powder and Bullets</h3> Day after day of the long voyage passed without incident. Danbury and Wilson in the close relationship necessary aboard ship grew to be warm friends. And yet the latter still remained silent concerning that part of his quest relating to the hidden treasure. This was not so much due to any remaining suspicion of Danbury as to the fact that the latter seemed so occupied with his own interests. In fact, he was tempted far more to confide in Stubbs. The latter would be an ideal partner on such a search. As the days passed he became more and more convinced that it would be to his advantage to enlist the services of Stubbs even upon as big a basis as share and share alike. Danbury trod the decks each day with a light step, and at night relieved his buoyant heart of its dreams to Wilson and of its plans to Stubbs. The latter had spoken once or twice of the necessity of finding something for the men below to do, but Danbury had waved aside the suggestion with a good-natured “Let ’em loaf.” But finally their grumblings and complainings grew so loud that Stubbs was forced to take some 150 notice of it, and so, upon his own responsibility, had them up on deck where he put them through a form of drill. But they rebelled at this and at last reached a condition which threatened to become serious. “We’ve jus’ got to find something for them to do,” Stubbs informed him. “They ought certainly to be kept in trim. Don’t want them to get flabby.” “’Nother thing, they are livin’ too high,” said Stubbs. “Salt pork and hardtack is what they needs,––not beefsteak.” “Nonsense, Stubbs. This isn’t a slave-ship. Nothing like good fodder to keep ’em in trim. They are getting just what you get at a training table, and I know what that does,––keeps you fit as a king.” “Mebbe so. I’ll tell you what it’ull do for them,––it’ll inspire ’em to cut our bonny throats some day. The ale alone ’ud do it. Think of servin’ ale to sech as them with nothin’ to do but sit in the sun. Darned if they ain’t gettin’ to look as chubby as them babies you see in the advertisements. An’ their tempers is growin’ likewise.” “Good fightin’ spirit, eh?” “Yes,” drawled Stubbs, “an’ a hell of a bad thing to have on the high seas.” “Well,” said Danbury, after a moment’s thought, “you have them up on deck to-morrow and I’ll have a talk with them.” It was Danbury’s first opportunity to look over his mercenaries as a whole and he gave a gasp of surprise 151 at the row after row of villainous faces raised with sneering grins to his. Well in the front squatted “Bum” Jocelin, known to the water-front police for fifteen years,––six feet of threatening insolence; “Black” Morrison with two penitentiary sentences back of him; and “Splinter” Mallory, thin, leering, shifty. And yet Danbury, after he had recovered himself a bit, saw in their very ugliness the fighting spirit of the bulldog. He had not hired them for ornament but for the very lawlessness which led them rather to fight for what they wished than to work for it. Doubtless below their flannel shirts they all had hearts which beat warmly. So he met their gaze frankly and, raising one foot to a capstan, he bent forward with a smile and began. Stubbs stood by with the strained expression of a father who stands helpless watching a son do a foolish thing. On the other hand, Wilson, though he would not have done it himself, rather admired the spirit that prompted the act. “Men,” began Danbury,––and Stubbs choked back an exclamation at his gentleness,––“men, I haven’t told you much about the errand upon which you are bound, but I feel now that you ought to know. You signed for two months and agreed to accept your orders from me. You were told there would be some scrapping–––” “The hell we were,” broke in Splinter. Danbury, ignoring the interruption, blandly continued: “And you were all picked out as men who wouldn’t balk at a bit of a mix-up. But you weren’t told what it is all about. <div>152</div> “Well, then, this is the game: down there in Carlina where we are going there is a one-horse republic where they used to have a dinky little kingdom. A republic is all right when it’s an honest republic, but this one isn’t. It was stolen, and stolen from the finest woman in the world. I’m going to give you all a chance to see her some day, and I know you’ll throw up your hats then and say the game is worth it, if you don’t before.” Their faces were as stolid as though they could not understand a word of what he was saying. But he had lost sight of them and saw only the eyes of the girl of whom he was speaking. “Once, when she was a little girl, they put her in prison. And it wasn’t a man’s prison either, but a mangy, low-down, dog kennel. Think of it! Put her down there in the dark among the rats. But that was too much for the decent ones of even that crowd, and they had to let her go. So now she lives in a little house in her kingdom, like a beggar outside her own door.” Danbury had worked himself up to a fever pitch. His words came hoarsely and he stepped nearer in his excitement. But as he paused once more, he realized that he was facing a pack of dummies. For a moment he stared at them in amazement. Then he burst out, “Are you with us, men? Haven’t we something worth fighting for––something worth fighting hard for?” He heard a rough guffaw from a few men in the rear; then a voice: <div>153</div> “It’s the dough we’re out fer––no damned princess.” Danbury whitened. He leaped forward as though to throw himself into the midst of them all, and reached for the throat of the man who had spoken. But Stubbs who had been watching, drew his revolver, and followed close behind. With the aid of Wilson he separated the two and drew off Danbury, while keeping the others at bay. “Go below,” he commanded. “Let me talk to ’em a minute.” “But––but the damned jellyfish––the–––” Wilson seized his arm and managed to drag him away and down to his cabin. Then Stubbs, with feet wide apart, faced the gang. His voice was low, but they did not miss a word. “Th’ cap’n,” he began, “has talked to ye as though ye was white men ’cause he’s young and clean an’ doesn’t know the likes of ye. He hain’t had so much to do with a bunch of white-livered, swill-tub jail birds as I have. But don’t you go further an’ make th’ mistake thet ’cause he’s young he ain’t a man yet. ’Cause if ye do, ye’ll wake up sudden with a jolt. Even if he did mistake a pack of yaller dogs fer men, don’t ye think he doesn’t know how to handle yaller dogs. But I s’pose ye are jus’ as good to shoot at as better. Now I gut ye aboard this craft––me, Stubbs,” he pointed to his breast with a thick forefinger, “an’ ye’re goneter earn yer grub afore ye’re done.” <div>154</div> “Shanghaied––we was shanghaied,” ventured Splinter. “You was, was ye? D’ ye think ye could make anyone b’lieve a man in his sober senses would shanghai the likes of you? But howsomever that may be, here you is and here you stays till ye git ashore. Then you has yer chi’ce er gittin’ shot in front er gittin’ shot behind,––gittin’ shot like white men er gittin’ shot like niggers. ’Cause I tells you right now thet in all the shootin’, I’ll be hangin’ round where I can spot the first man who goes the wrong way. An’,” he drew his weapon from his pocket, “I can shoot.” He placed a bullet within two inches of the hand of a man who was leaning against the rail. The group huddled more closely together like frightened sheep. “Now,” he concluded, “ye’re goneter git more exercise an’ less grub arter this. Tuck it away fer future ref’rence thet th’ next time yer cap’n talks to yer ye’d better show a little life. Now, jus’ ter prove ye appreciate what he said, cheer. An’ cheer good, ye dogs.” They let out a howl. “Now back to yer kennels!” They slunk away, crowding one another in their effort to get from the range of the weapon which Stubbs still carelessly held pointed at their heels. It was several days after this that Wilson was pacing the deck alone one night rather later than usual. The sky was filled with big, top-heavy clouds which rolled across the purple, blotting out every now and then 155 the half moon which sprinkled the sea with silver butterflies. The yacht quivered as though straining every timber, but it looked to Wilson a hopeless task ever to run out from under the dark cup and unchanging circumference. It seemed as though one might go on this path through eternity with the silver butterflies ever fluttering ahead into the boundless dark. He lounged up to Martin at the wheel. The latter, a sturdy, somewhat reserved man, appeared glad to see him and showed evidence of being disturbed about something. He frequently glanced up from the lighted compass before the wheel as though on the point of speaking, but turned back to his task each time, reconsidering his impulse. Finally he cleared his throat and remarked with a fine show of indifference, “Everything been all quiet below, to-day?” “So far as I know.” “Been down there lately?” “No; but the men seemed this morning in unusually good form. More cheerful than they’ve been at all.” “So?” For a few moments he appeared engrossed in his work, turning the creaking wheel to the right, the left, and finally steadying it on its true course. Wilson waited. The man had said enough to excite his interest and he knew the best way to induce him to talk more freely was to keep silent. “Happened to go for’ard afore my shift to-night an’ I heard some of ’em talkin’. Didn’t sound to me like th’ sorter talk that’s good aboard ship.” <div>156</div> “So? What were they saying?” “Nothin’ much,” he answered, frightened back into stubborn silence. “They talk pretty free at all times,” returned Wilson. “They haven’t learned much about ship discipline.” “I hopes they don’t act as free as they talk.” “No fear of that, I guess.” Another long silence. Then Martin asked: “Where’s the ammunition stowed?” “We had it moved the other day to the vacant cabins just beyond our quarters.” “All of it?” “Every cartridge. Why do you ask that, Martin?” “I happened to go for’ard afore my shift,” he repeated. Wilson arose and stepped to his side. “See here, if you heard anything unusual, I’d like to know it before I turn in.” “My business is a-workin’ of this wheel, an’ what I says is we’ve gut a damned bad cargo.” Wilson smiled. After all, it was probably only the constitutional jealousy that always exists between a seaman and a landsman. “All right, Martin, only we’re all in the same kettle. Keep your ears open, and if you hear anything definite let me know.” “Then I says I puts my chest agin my door afore I sleeps an’ I watches out for shadows when I’m at the wheel.” <div>157</div> “And have you seen any to-night?” “No, an’ I hopes I won’t.” “All right. Good night.” “Good night, sir.” Wilson stepped out of the pilot-house and made a short round of the ship. He even ventured down to the forward hold, but all was as quiet there as ever. He turned towards his own cabin. Danbury’s light was out. Beyond he saw the form of the first mate who had been posted there to guard the ammunition. He spoke to him and received a cordial reply. “All quiet?” “All quiet, sir.” The door of Stubbs’ cabin was closed, and he heard within his heavy snoring. He entered his own cabin and closed the door. But he felt uneasy and restless. Instead of undressing he threw himself down on the bunk, after placing his pistol underneath his pillow. Martin’s talk had been just suggestive enough to start his brain to working, disturbed as he was by so many other things. He had an impulse to rouse Stubbs. He wanted someone with whom to talk. He would also have been more comfortable if he had been able to make sure that those bits of parchment were still safe in his comrade’s chest, where he had locked them. If the crew once got even a suspicion that there was on board such a golden chance as these offered, it would be a temptation difficult for even better men to resist. He realized that if they were able sufficiently to surrender each his own selfish individual 158 desires and organize compactly under a single leader, they would form an almost irresistible force. But of course the key to the whole situation lay in the ammunition. Without this they were helpless. Knives and clubs could not resist powder and bullet. He became drowsy finally and his thoughts wandered once more to the treasure and then to Jo until his eyes closed and, though his lips still remained tense, he slept. He was awakened by the sound of a muffled fall in the next cabin. He sprang to his feet, seizing his weapon. The electric light wire had been cut so that the cabin was in suffocating darkness. By some instinct he forced himself flat against the wall by the door. The next second the door was flung open and two forms hurled themselves with a grunt upon the bunk. He fired twice and darted out into the passageway. Here all was confusion, but all was dark. Man fell against man with oaths and wild threshing of the arms, but they all knew one another for friends. He was for the moment safe. The doors to the cabins of Stubbs and Danbury were wide open. He knew that either they had escaped by some such miracle as his, or that they were beyond help. It seemed to him that there was but one thing to do, make the deck and collect whatever honest men were left. The mutineers were still fighting with one another and had grown so panic-stricken that they were making little progress towards their goal. Quick action might even now save the ship. He heard a voice raised in a vain endeavor to control them. <div>159</div> “Steady, boys, steady! Wait till we get a light.” At the head of the stairs leading to the deck he found a sentinel. He struck at him and then grappled. The two rolled on the deck, but the struggle was brief. Wilson soon had him pinned to the deck. He raised the fellow’s head and threw him with all his strength backwards. The man lay very still after this. When he rose to his feet the deck was as deserted as though nothing at all unusual were going on below. He rushed to the pilot-house. The ship swerved tipsily and then the engines ceased their throbbing. Martin lay limply over his wheel. The cutthroats had got below to the engines. For a moment his head whirled with twenty impossible plans. Then he steadied himself. There was but one thing to do; the gang was evidently so far in control of the ship as to prevent aid from the crew; Danbury and Stubbs were doubtless unconscious, if not dead, and he was left, the one man still free to act. Once the rifles were loaded a hundred men could not control this crowd, but before then––one man with a loaded weapon and with his wits about him, might make himself master. He groped his way down the stairs and into the midst of the tumult. No one had as yet obtained a light. The leader had succeeded in partly controlling his gang, but one man had only to brush the shoulder of another to start a fight. David elbowed through them, striking right and left in the endeavor to stir up anew the panic. He succeeded instantly. In 160 two minutes pandemonium reigned. Then a man scrambled in with a lantern and was greeted with a cheer. Wilson turned, shot twice, and ducked. The cabin was once more in darkness and confusion. “Wha’ th’ hell?” roared Splinter. Wilson plunged on until he stood facing the door which still barred the way to the cartridges. It was intact. At this point someone reached his side with an axe. Snatching it from the fellow’s hand he himself swung it against the lock. He had two things in mind; the act would turn away suspicion, and once within the small room, with his back to the cartridges, he could take the men one by one as they pressed through the narrow door. He had on his cartridge belt and ought to be able, not only to keep them at bay until possible aid arrived from the crew’s quarters, but might even be able to start sufficient panic to drive them out altogether. Wilson swung a couple of times until the lock weakened. Splinter shouted: “Fer Gawd’s sake, don’t act like frightened rats! Keep cool now an’ we have ’em.” One more blow and the door fell. With a jump Wilson scrambled in and, turning, fired four times in rapid succession. In the pause which ensued he refilled his weapon. There was a chorus of ugly growls and a concerted movement towards the door. He shot again, aiming low and relying as much on the flash and noise to frighten them as on actual killing. To those without it sounded as though there might be several 161 men. No one knew but what the man next to him had turned traitor. They groped for one another’s throats and finally, as though by one impulse, crowded for the exit. They fought and pounded and kicked at each other. It was every man for himself and the Devil take the hindmost. Wilson helped them along by continued shooting––aiming high and low. In five minutes the cabin was cleared save for the wounded, who managed, however, to drag themselves out of sight. As Wilson fell back exhausted and half choked from the smoke with which the room was filled, he heard the bark of pistols above and knew that the crew had reached the deck. He waited only long enough to recover strength to walk, and then moved cautiously forward. He was undisturbed. The mutineers had gone, to the last man able to stand. He groped his way to Danbury’s cabin and his hand fell upon a limp form in the bunk. But even as he recoiled the man moved and muttered feeble queries. “Are you safe, Danbury?” gasped Wilson. “What––what’s the trouble? Give me a drink––brandy.” Wilson turned to the wine closet just beyond the bunk and drew out the first bottle his fingers touched. He placed it to Danbury’s lips, and the latter took several deep swallows of it, spitting indignantly as he thrust it away. “Darned stuff––Martini cocktails. But––but–––” Wilson found himself laughing. Nothing Danbury 162 could have said would so prove the inconsequence of his injuries. It relieved his strained nerves until, in reaction, he became almost hysterical. “What’s the joke?” demanded Danbury, rising to a sitting posture and feeling at the cut in the back of his head. “Where’s the lights? What has happened?” “A bit of a fight. Can you make your feet?” Danbury groped for the side of the bunk, and with the help of Wilson stood up. He was at first dizzy, but he soon came to himself. “If you can walk, come on. I want to look for Stubbs.” Wilson groped his way into the smoke-filled passageway and across to the other cabin. They found Stubbs lying on the floor unconscious. A superficial examination revealed no serious wound and so, urged on by the increasing noise above, they left him and hurried to the deck. They found the second mate pushing the stubborn group nearer and nearer their own quarters. He was backed by only two men armed with knives and clubs. The gang was hesitating, evidently tempted to turn upon the tiny group, but with the appearance of Wilson and Danbury they pressed at once for the narrow opening. At sight of them Danbury completely lost his head. It was as though he then first realized what had actually been attempted. He raised his weapon and was upon the point of shooting into their midst when Wilson knocked up his hand and sent the revolver 163 spinning across the deck. But Danbury scarcely looked around to see who had foiled him. He rushed headlong into the group as though he were the center of a football team. He struck right and left with his naked fists and finally by chance fell upon Splinter. The two rolled upon the deck until the mate stooped and picked up Splinter bodily and, raising him above his head, fairly hurled him like a bag of grain down the ladder after the last of the mutineers. Danbury, in spite of his loss of blood, held himself together wonderfully. For the next hour all were busy, and between them placed Splinter in irons, and crowded the mutineers, a cowed lot, into the forward hold. They found Stubbs still unconscious, but he came around after a good swig of brandy. He rose to his elbow and blinked dazedly at Danbury. “What’s the trouble?” he demanded. “Mutiny,” answered Danbury, briefly. “And me laid up, an’ outer it. Jus’ my pizen luck,” he growled. <hr class='major' /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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