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

grunts answered him, and soon all were asleep.

They wakened, one by one, in the afternoon, to find the electric bulbs glowing, and the boat rolling heavily, while splashes of rain came in through the weather deadlights. These they closed; and, better humored after their sleep, and hungry as well, they attacked the barrel of bread and the water faucet.

"He's started the dynamo," remarked Riley, one of the engineers. "Why don't he start the engine and keep her head to the sea?"

"Because he knows too much," came a hoarse whisper, and they turned to Jenkins, who was sitting up, regarding them disapprovingly.

"Because he knows too much," he repeated, in the same hoarse whisper. "This is a so-called seagoing destroyer; but no one but a fool would buck one into a head sea; and that's what's coming, with a big blow, too. Remember the English boat that broke her back in the North Sea?"

"Hello, Jenkins—you alive?" answered one, and others asked of his health.

"I'm pretty near all right," he said to them. "I've been able to move and speak a little for twenty-four hours, but I saved my energy. I wasn't sure of myself, though, or I'd ha' nabbed Denman when he came in here for the pistols."

"Has he got them?" queried a few, and they examined the empty bunk.

"He sure has," they continued. "Got 'em all. Oh, we're in for it."

"Not necessarily," said Jenkins. "I've listened to all this powwow, and I gather that you got drunk to the last man, and he gathered you in."

"That's about it, Jenkins," assented Sampson. "We all got gloriously drunk."

"And before you got drunk you made this pin-headed, educated rat"—he jerked his thumb toward Forsythe—"your commander."

"Well—we needed a navigator, and you were out of commission, Jenkins."

"I'm in commission now, though, and when we get on deck, we'll still have a navigator, and it won't be Denman, either."

"D'you mean," began Forsythe, "that you'll take charge again, and make—"

"Yes," said Jenkins, "make you navigate. Make you navigate under orders and under fear of punishment. You're the worst-hammered man in this crowd; but hammering doesn't improve you. You'll be keelhauled, or triced up by the thumbs, or spread-eagled over a boiler—but you'll navigate. Now, shut up."

There was silence for a while, then one said: "You spoke about getting on deck again, Jenkins. Got any plan?"

"Want to go on deck now and stand watch in this storm?" Jenkins retorted.

"No; not unless necessary."

"Then get into your bunk and wait for this to blow over. If there is any real need of us, Denman will call us out."

This was good sailorly logic, and they climbed back into their bunks, to smoke, to read, or to talk themselves to sleep again. As the wind and sea arose they closed the other two deadlights, and when darkness closed down they turned out the dazzling bulbs, and slept through the night as only sailors can.

Just before daylight Jenkins lifted his big bulk out of the bunk, and, taking a key from his pocket, unlocked the forecastle door. He stepped into the passage, and found the hatch loose on the coamings, then came back and quietly wakened them all.

"I found this key on the deck near the door first day aboard," he volunteered; "but put it in my pocket instead of the door."

They softly crept out into the passage and lifted the hatch; but it was the irrepressible and most certainly courageous Forsythe who was first to climb up. He reached the deck just in time to dodge into the darkness behind the bridge ladder at the sight of Denman coming forward to attend to the lamps; and it was he who sent both fists into the side of Denman's face with force enough to knock him senseless. Then came the others.

CHAPTER XVIII

"That'll do, Forsythe," said Sampson, interrupting the flow of billingsgate. "We'll omit prayers and flowers at this funeral. Stand up."

Forsythe arose, waving two bunches of keys and Denman's revolver.

"Got him foul," he yelled, excitedly. "All the keys and his gun."

"All right. Just hand that gun to me—what! You won't?"

Forsythe had backed away at the command; but Sampson sprang upon him and easily disarmed him.

"Now, my lad," he said, sternly, "just find the key of these darbies and unlock us."

Forsythe, muttering, "Got one good smash at him, anyhow," found the key of the handcuffs, and, first unlocking his own, went the rounds. Then he found the key of the leg irons, and soon all were free, and the manacles tossed down the hatch to be gathered up later. Then big Jenkins reached his hand out to Forsythe—but not in token of amnesty.

"The keys," he said, in his hoarse whisper.

"Aren't they safe enough with me?" queried Forsythe, hotly.

Jenkins still maintained the outstretched hand, and Forsythe looked irresolutely around. He saw no signs of sympathy. They were all closing in on him, and he meekly handed the two bunches to Jenkins, who pocketed them.

Meanwhile, Sampson had lifted Denman to his feet; and, as the boat still rolled heavily, he assisted him to the bridge stairs, where he could get a grip on the railing with his fettered hands. Daylight had come, and Denman could see Florrie, still seated in the deck chair, looking forward with frightened eyes.

"Jenkins, step here a moment," said Sampson; "and you other fellows—keep back."

Jenkins drew near.

"Did you hear, in the fo'castle," Sampson went on, "what I said about Mr. Denman saving my life, and that I promised him parole and the possession of his gun in case we got charge again?"

Jenkins nodded, but said: "He broke his parole before."

"So would you under the same provocation. Forsythe called him a milk-fed thief. Wouldn't you have struck out?"

Jenkins nodded again, and Sampson continued:

"All right. My proposition is to place Mr. Denman under parole once more, to give him and the lady the run of the deck abaft the galley hatch, and to leave them both the possession of their guns for self-defense, in case"—he looked humorously around at the others—"these inebriates get drunk again."

"But the other guns. He has them somewhere. We want power of self-defense, too."

"Mr. Denman," said Sampson, turning to the prisoner, "you've heard the conditions. Will you tell us where the arms are, and will you keep aft of the galley hatch, you and the lady?"

"I will," answered Denman, "on condition that you all, and particularly your navigator, keep forward of the galley hatch."

"We'll do that, sir; except, of course, in case of working or fighting ship. Now, tell us where the guns are, and we'll release you."

"Haven't we something to say about this?" inquired Forsythe, while a few others grumbled their disapproval of the plan.

"No; you have not," answered Jenkins, his hoarse whisper becoming a voice. "Not a one of you. Sampson and I will be responsible for this."

"All right, then," responded Forsythe. "But I'll carry my gun all the time. I'm not going to be shot down without a white man's chance."

"You'll carry a gun, my son," said Sampson, "when we give it to you—and then it won't be to shoot Mr. Denman. It's on your account, remember, that we're giving him a gun. Now, Mr. Denman, where are the pistols and toothpicks?"

"The pistols are in my room, the cutlasses in the room opposite. You have the keys."

"Aft all hands," ordered Jenkins, fumbling in his pockets for the keys, "and get the weapons."

Away they trooped, and crowded down the wardroom companion, Sampson lifting his cap politely to the girl in the chair. In a short time they reappeared, each man loaded down with pistols and cutlasses. They placed them in the forecastle, and when they had come up Sampson released Denman's bonds.

"Now, sir," he said, "you are free. We'll keep our promises, and we expect you to keep yours. Here is your gun, Mr. Denman."

"Thank you, Sampson," said Denman, pocketing the revolver and shaking his aching hands to circulate the blood. "Of course, we are to keep our promises."

"Even though you see things done that will raise your hair, sir."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Denman, with sudden interest.

"Can't tell you anything, sir, except what you may know, or will know. This boat is not bound for the African coast. That's all, sir."

"Go below the watch," broke in Jenkins' husky voice. "To stations, the rest."

CHAPTER XIX

"What happened, Billie?" asked Florrie as Denman joined her.

"Not much, Florrie," he replied, as cheerfully as was possible in his mood. "Only a physical and practical demonstration that I am the two ends and the bight of a fool."

"You are not a fool, Billie; but what happened? How did they get out?"

"By picking the lock of the door, I suppose; or, perhaps, they had a key inside. That's where the fool comes in. I should have nailed the door on them."

"And what do they mean to do?"

"Don't know. They have some new project in mind. But we're better off than before, girl. We're at liberty to carry arms, and to go and come, provided we stay this side of the galley hatch. They are to let us alone and stay forward of the hatch. By the way," he added. "In view of the rather indeterminate outlook, let's carry our hardware outside."

He removed his belt from his waist and buckled it outside his oilskin coat. Then, when he had transferred the pistol from his pocket to the scabbard, he assisted the girl.

"There," he said, as he stood back and looked at her, admiringly, "with all due regard for your good looks, Florrie, you resemble a cross between a cowboy and a second mate."

"No more so than you," she retorted; "but I've lost my place as cook, I think." She pointed at the galley chimney, from which smoke was arising. Denman looked, and also became interested in an excited convention forward.

Though Jenkins had sent the watch below and the rest to stations, only the two cooks had obeyed. The others, with the boat still rolling in the heavy sea, had surrounded Jenkins, and seemed to be arguing with him. The big man, saving his voice, answered only by signs as yet; but the voices of the others soon became audible to the two aft.

"I tell you it's all worked out, Jenkins—all figured out while you were dopy in your bunk."

Jenkins shook his head.

Then followed an excited burst of reason and flow of words from which Denman could only gather a few disjointed phrases: "Dead easy, Jenkins—Run close and land—Casey's brother—Can hoof it to—Might get a job, which'd be better—Got a private code made up—Don't need money—Can beat his way in—My brother has a wireless—Take the dinghy; we don't need it—I'll take the chance if you have a life-buoy handy—Chance of a lifetime—Who wants beach combing in Africa—You see, he'll watch the financial news—I'll stow away in her—I tell you, Jenkins, there'll be no killing. I've made my mind up to that, and will see to it."

The last speech was from Sampson; and, on hearing it, Jenkins waved them all away. Then he used his voice.

"Get to stations," he said. "I'll think it out. Forsythe, take the bridge and dope out where we are."

They scattered, and Forsythe mounted to the bridge, while Jenkins, still a sick man, descended to the forecastle.

"What does it all mean, Billie?" asked the girl.

"Haven't the slightest idea," answered Denman, as he seated himself beside her. "They've been hinting at big things; and Sampson said that they might raise my hair. However, we'll know soon. The wind is going down. This was the outer fringe of a cyclone."

"Why don't they go ahead?"

"Too much sea. These boats are made for speed, not strength. You can break their backs by steaming into a head sea."

Daniels, the cook, came on deck and aft to the limits of the hatch, indicating by his face and manner that he wished to speak to Denman.

Denman arose and approached him.

"Will you and