The Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson (books that read to you txt) 📕

over your hose, and stop talking about it. All we want is a little oil."

"Will you give me a written receipt?"

"Of course. Name your bill. We'll toss it up on a drift bolt. Pass over the hose."

"All right. Hook on your own reducer and suck it full with your pump; then it will siphon down."

"Got reducers, Sampson?"

"Got several. Guess we can start the flow."

The two craft drew close together, a hose was flung from the tanker to the destroyer, and the four machinists worked for a while with wrenches and pump fittings until the connection was made; then they started the pump, filled the hose, and, disconnecting, dropped their end into the tanks.

The oil, by the force of gravity, flowed from one craft to the other until the gauges showed a full supply. Then a written receipt for one hundred and twenty-five tons of oil was signed by the leaders, tied to a piece of iron, and tossed aboard the tanker, and the two craft separated, the pirate heading south, as Denman could see by the telltale.

Denman, his wounded scalp easier, lay down in his berth and smoked while he thought out his plans. Obviously the men were pirates, fully committed; they would probably repeat the performance; and as obviously they would surely be caught in time. There was nothing that he could do, except to heal his wound and wait.

He could not even assist Miss Florrie, no matter what peril might menace her; then, as he remembered a bunch of duplicate keys given him when he joined as executive officer, he thought that perhaps he might. They were in his desk, and, rolling out, he secured them.

He tried them in turn on his door lock, and finally found the one that fitted. This he took off the ring and secured with his own bunch of keys, placing the others—which he easily surmised belonged to all the locking doors in the boat—in another pocket. Then he lay back to finish his smoke. But Sampson opened his door, and interrupted.

"You'll excuse me, sir," he began, while Denman peered critically at him through the smoke. "But I suppose you know what we've just done?"

"Yes," he answered. "I could see a little and hear more. You've held up and robbed an oil steamer."

"And is it piracy, sir, in the old sense—a hanging matter if we're caught?"

"Hardly know," said Denman, after a moment's reflection. "Laws are repealed every now and then. Did you kill any one?"

"No, sir."

"Well, I judge that a pirate at sea is about on the same plane as a burglar on shore. If he kills any one while committing a felony, he is guilty of murder in the first degree. Better not kill any fellow men, then you'll only get a long term—perhaps for life—when you're nabbed."

"Thank you, Mr. Denman. They're talking big things on deck, but—there'll be no killing. Forsythe is something of a devil and will stop at nothing, but I'll—"

"Pardon me," said Denman, lazily, "he'll stop at me if you release me."

"Not yet, sir. It may be necessary, but at present we're thinking of ourselves."

"All right. But, tell me, how did you get a key to my door? How many keys are there?"

"Oh, from Billings, sir. Not with Forsythe's knowledge, however. Billings, and some others, think no more of him than I do."

"That's right," responded Denman. "I knew him at school. Look out for him. By the way, is the lady aft being attended to?"

"Yes, sir. Daniels, the other cook, brings her what she needs. She is not locked up, though."

"That's good. Give her the run of the deck, and take care of her."

"Yes, sir, we will," answered Sampson, as respectfully as though it were a legitimate order—for force of habit is strong. Then he left the room, locking the door behind him.

Denman smoked until he had finished the cigar, and, after he had eaten a supper brought by Billings, he smoked again until darkness closed down. And with the closing down of darkness came a plan.

CHAPTER X

Tossing his cigar through the opened deadlight, Denman arose and unlocked his door, passing into the small and empty wardroom. First, he tried the forward door leading into the petty officers' quarters and to the armroom, and, finding it locked, sought for the key which opened it, and passed through, closing the door softly behind him.

Farther forward he could hear the voice of Billings, singing cheerfully to himself in the galley; and, filtering through the galley hatch and open deadlights, the voice of Forsythe, uttering angry commands to some one on deck.

He had no personal design upon Billings, nor at present upon Forsythe, so he searched the armroom. As Forsythe and Daniels had found, there was nothing there more formidable than cutlasses, rifles, and torpedo heads; the pistols had been removed to some other place. So Denman went back and searched the wardroom, delving into closets and receptacles looking for arms; but he found none, and sat down on a chair to think. Presently he arose and tapped on the glazed glass door of the captain's apartment.

"Florrie," he said, in a half whisper. "Florrie, are you awake?"

There was no answer for a moment; then he saw a shadow move across the door.

"Florrie," he repeated, "are you awake?"

"Who is this?" came an answering whisper through the door.

"Denman—Billie Denman," he answered. "If you are awake and clothed, let me in. I have a key, and I want to talk with you."

"All right—yes. Come in. But—I have no key, and the door is locked."

Denman quickly found the key and opened the door. She stood there, with her face still tied up in cloths, and only her gray eyes showing in the light from the electric bulbs of the room.

"Florrie," he said, "will you do your part toward helping us out of our present trouble?"

"I'll do what I can, Billie; but I cannot do much."

"You can do a lot," he responded. "Just get up on deck, with your face tied up, and walk around. Speak to any man you meet, and go forward to the bridge. Ask any one you see, any question you like, as to where we are going, or what is to be done with us—anything at all which will justify your presence on deck. Just let them see that you are on deck, and will be on deck again. Will you, Florrie?"

"My face is still very bad, Billie; and the wind cuts like a knife. Why must I go up among those men?"

"I'll tell you afterward. Go along, Florrie. Just show yourself, and come down."

"I am in the dark. Why do you not tell me what is ahead? I would rather stay here and go to bed."

"You can go to bed in ten minutes," said Denman. "But go up first and show yourself, and come down. I will do the rest."

"Well, Billie, I will. I do not like to, but you seem to have some plan which you do not tell me of, so—well, all right. I will go up."

She put on a cloak and ascended the companion stairs, and Denman sat down to wait. He heard nothing, not even a voice of congratulation, and after a few moments Florrie came down.

"I met them all," she said, "and they were civil and polite. What more do you want of me, Billie?"

"Your cloak, your hat, and your skirt. I will furnish the bandage."

"What?"

"Exactly. I will go up, dressed like you, and catch them unawares, one by one."

"But, Billie, they will kill you, or—hurt you. Don't do it, Billie."

"Now, here, Florrie girl," he answered firmly. "I'll go into the wardroom, and you toss in the materials for my disguise. Then you go to bed. If I get into trouble they will return the clothes."

"But suppose they kill you! I will be at their mercy. Billie, I am alone here without you."

"Florrie, they are sailors; that means that they are men. If I win, you are all right, of course. Now let me have the things. I want to get command of this boat."

"Take them, Billie; but return to me and tell me. Don't leave me in suspense."

"I won't. I'll report, Florrie. Just wait and be patient."

He passed into the wardroom, and soon the skirt, hat, and cloak were thrown to him. He had some trouble in donning the garments; for, while the length of the skirt did not matter, the width certainly did, and he must needs piece out the waistband with a length of string, ruthlessly punching holes to receive it. The cloak was a tight squeeze for his broader shoulders, but he managed it; and, after he had thoroughly masked his face with bandages, he tried the hat. There were hatpins sticking to it, which he knew the utility of; but, as she had furnished him nothing of her thick crown of hair, he jabbed these through the bandage, and surveyed himself in the skipper's large mirror.

"Most ladylike," he muttered, squinting through the bandages. Then he went on deck.

His plan had progressed no further than this—to be able to reach the deck unrecognized, so that he could watch, listen to the talk, and decide what he might do later on.

Billings still sang cheeringly in the galley, and the voices forward were more articulate; chiefly concerned, it seemed, with the replenishing of the water and food supply, and the necessity of Forsythe's pursuing his studies so that they could know where they were. The talk ended by their driving their commander below; and, when the watches were set, Denman himself went down. He descended as he had come up, by the captain's companion, reported his safety to Florrie through the partly opened stateroom door, and also requested that, each night as she retired, she should toss the hat, cloak, and skirt into the wardroom. To this she agreed, and he discarded the uncomfortable rig and went to his room, locking the captain's door behind him, also his own.

His plan had not progressed. He had only found a way to see things from the deck instead of through a deadlight; and he went to sleep with the troubled thought that, even though he should master them all, as he had once nearly succeeded in doing, he would need to release them in order that they should "work ship." To put them on parole was out of the question.

The sudden stopping of the turbines woke him in the morning, and the sun shining into his deadlight apprised him that he had slept late. He looked out and ahead, and saw a large, white steam yacht resting quietly on the rolling ground swell, apparently waiting for the destroyer to creep up to her.

"Another holdup," he said; "and for grub and water this time, I suppose."

Wishing to see this from the deck, he rushed aft to the captain's room and tapped on the door, meanwhile fumbling for his keys. There was no answer, and, tapping again, he opened the door and entered.

"Florrie," he called, in a whisper, "are you awake?"

She did not reply, but he heard Sampson's voice from the deck.

"This is your chance, miss," he said. "We're going to get stores from that yacht; but no doubt she'll take you on board."

"Is she bound to New York, or some port where I may reach friends?" asked the girl.

"No; bound to the Mediterranean."

"Will you release Mr. Denman as well?"

"No. I'm pretty sure the boys will not. He knows our plans, and is a naval officer, you see, with a strong interest in landing us. Once on shore, he would have every warship in the world after us."

"Then I stay here with Mr. Denman. He is wounded, and is my friend."

Denman was on the point of calling up—to insist that she leave the yacht; but he thought, in time, that it would reveal his position, and leave him more helpless, while, perhaps, she