The Mystery - Stewart Edward White and Samuel Hopkins Adams
Even Percy Darrow saw the surliness of the men's attitudes, and with
his usual good sense divined the cause.
"You chaps are getting lazy," said he, "why don't you do something?
Where's the captain?"
They growled something about there being nothing to do, and explained
that the captain preferred to live aboard.
"Don't blame him," said Darrow, "but he might give us a little of his
squeaky company occasionally. Boys, I'll tell you something about
seals. The old bull seals have long, stiff whiskers--a foot long. Do
you know there's a market for those whiskers? Well, there is. The
Chinese mount them in gold and use them for cleaners for their long
pipes. Each whisker is worth from six bits to a dollar and a quarter.
Why don't you kill a few bull seal for the 'trimmings'?"
"Nothin' to do with a voodoo?" grunted Handy Solomon.
Darrow laughed amusedly. "No, this is the truth," he assured. "I'll
tell you what: I'll give you boys six bits apiece for the whisker
hairs, and four bits for the galls. I expect to sell them at a
profit."
Next morning they shook off their lethargy and went seal-hunting.
I was practically commanded to attend. This attitude had been growing
of late: now it began to take a definite form.
"Mr. Eagan, don't you want to go hunting?" or "Mr. Eagen, I guess I'll
just go along with you to stretch my legs," had given way to, "We're
going fishing: you'd better come along."
I had known for a long time that I had lost any real control of them;
and that perhaps humiliated me a little. However, my inexperience at
handling such men, and the anomalous character of my position to some
extent consoled me. In the filaments brushed across the face of my
understanding I could discover none so strong as to support an overt
act on my part. I cannot doubt, that had the affair come to a focus,
I should have warned the scientists even at the risk of my life. In
fact, as I shall have occasion to show you, I did my best. But at the
moment, in all policy I could see my way to little besides
acquiescence.
We killed seals by sequestrating the bulls, surrounding them, and
clubbing them at a certain point of the forehead. It was surprising
to see how hard they fought, and how quickly they succumbed to a blow
properly directed. Then we stripped the mask with its bristle of long
whiskers, took the gall, and dragged the carcass into the surf where
it was devoured by fish. At first the men, pleased by the novelty,
stripped the skins. The blubber, often two or three inches in
thickness, had then to be cut away from the pelt, cube by cube. It
was a long, an oily, and odoriferous job. We stunk mightily of seal
oil; our garments were shiny with it, the very pores of our skins seemed
to ooze it. And even after the pelt was fairly well cleared, it had
still to be tanned. Percy Darrow suggested the method, but the process
was long, and generally unsatisfactory. With the acquisition of the
fifth greasy, heavy, and ill-smelling piece of fur the men's interest
in peltries waned. They confined themselves in all strictness to the
"trimmings."
Percy Darrow showed us how to clean the whiskers. The process was
evil. The masks were, quite simply, to be advanced so far in the way
of putrefaction that the bristles would part readily from their
sockets. The first batch the men hung out on a line. A few moments
later we heard a mighty squawking, and rushed out to find the island
ravens making off with the entire catch. Protection of netting had
to be rigged. We caught seals for a month or so. There was novelty
in it, and it satisfied the lust for killing. As time went on, the
bulls grew warier. Then we made expeditions to outlying rocks.
Later Handy Solomon approached me on another diplomatic errand.
"The seals is getting shy, sir," said he.
"They are," said I.
"The only way to do is to shoot them," said he.
"Quite like," I agreed.
A pause ensued.
"We've got no cartridges," he insinuated.
"And you've taken charge of my rifle," I pointed out.
"Oh, not a bit, sir," he cried. "Thrackles, he just took it to clean
it--you can have it whenever you want it, sir."
"I have no cartridges--as you have observed," said I.
"There's plenty aboard," he suggested.
"And they're in very good hands there," said I.
He ruminated a moment, polishing the steel of his hook against the
other arm of his shirt. Suddenly he looked up at me with a humorous
twinkle.
"You're afraid of us!" he accused.
I was silent, not knowing just how to meet so direct an attack.
"No need to be," he continued.
I said nothing.
He looked at me shrewdly; then stood off on another tack.
"Well, sir, I didn't mean just that. I didn't mean you was really
scared of us. But we're gettin' to know each other, livin' here on
this old island, brothers-like. There ain't no officers and men
ashore--is there, now, sir? When we gets back to the old _Laughing
Lass_, then we drops back into our dooty again all right and
proper. You can kiss the Book on that. Old Scrubs, he knows that. He
don't want no shore in his. _He_ knows enough to stay aboard,
where we'd all rather be."
He stopped abruptly, spat, and looked at me. I wondered whither this
devious diplomacy led us.
"Still, in one way, an officer's an officer, and a seaman's a seaman,
thinks you, and discipline must be held up among mates ashore or
afloat, thinks you. Quite proper, sir. And I can see you think that
the arms is for the afterguard except in case of trouble. Quite
proper. You can do the shooting, and you can keep the cartridges
always by you. Just for discipline, sir."
The man's boldness in so fully arming me was astonishing, and his
carelessness in allowing me aboard with Captain Selover astonished
me still more. Nevertheless I promised to go for the desired cartridges,
fully resolved to make an appeal.
A further consideration of the elements of the game convinced me,
however, of the fellow's shrewdness. It was no more dangerous to allow
me a rifle--under direct surveillance--for the purposes of hunting,
than to leave me my sawed--off revolver, which I still retained. The
arguments he had used against my shooting Perdosa were quite as cogent
now. As to the second point, I, finding the sun unexpectedly strong,
returned from the cove for my hat, and so overheard the following
between Thrackles and his leader:
"What's to keep him from staying aboard?" cried Thrackles, protesting.
"Well, he might," acknowledged Handy Solomon, "and then are we the
worse off? You ain't going to make a boat attack against Old Scrubs,
are you?"
Thrackles hesitated.
"You can kiss the Book on it, you ain't," went on Handy Solomon
easily, "nor me, nor Pulz, nor the Greaser, nor the Nigger, nor none
of us all together. We've had our dose of that. Well, if he goes
aboard and _stays_, where are we the worse off? I asks you that.
But he won't. This is w'ats goin' to happen. Says he to Old Scrubs,
'Sir, the men needs you to bash in their heads.' 'Bash 'em in
yourself,' says he, 'that's w'at you're for.' And if he should come
ashore, w'at could he do? I asks you that. We ain't disobeyed no
orders dooly delivered. We're ready to pull halliards at the word.
No, let him go aboard, and if he peaches to the Old Man, why all the
better, for it just gets the Old Man down on him."
"How about Old Scrubs----"
"Don't you believe none in luck?" asked Handy Solomon. "Aye."
"Well, so do I, with w'at that law-crimp used to call joodicious
assistance."
I rowed out to the _Laughing Lass_ very thoughtful, and a little
shaken by the plausible argument. Captain Selover was lying dead drunk
across the cabin table. I did my best to waken him, but failed, took
a score of cartridges--no more--and departed sadly. Nothing could be
gained by staying aboard; every chance might be lost. Besides, an
opening to escape in the direction of the laboratory might offer--I,
as well as they, believed in luck judiciously assisted.
In the ensuing days I learned much of the habits of seals. We sneaked
along the cliff tops until over the rookeries; then lay flat on our
stomachs and peered cautiously down on our quarry. The seals had
become very wary. A slight jar, the fall of a pebble, sometimes even
sounds unnoticed by ourselves, were enough to send them into the
water. There they lined up just outside the surf, their sleek heads
glossy with the wet, their calm, soft eyes fixed unblinkingly on us.
It was useless to shoot them in the water: they sank at once.
When, however, we succeeded in gaining an advantageous position, it
was necessary to shoot with extreme accuracy. A bullet directly
through the back of the head would kill cleanly. A hit anywhere else
was practically useless, for even in death the animals seemed to
retain enough blind instinctive vitality to flop them into the water.
There they were lost.
Each rookery consisted of one tremendous bull who officiated
apparently as the standing army; a number of smaller bulls, his direct
descendants; the cows, and the pups. The big bull held his position
by force of arms. Occasionally other, unattached, bulls would come
swimming by. On arriving opposite the rookery the stranger would utter
a peculiar challenge. It was never refused by the resident champion,
who promptly slid into the sea, and engaged battle. If he conquered,
the stranger went on his way. If, however, the stranger won, the big
bull immediately struck out to sea, abandoning his rookery, while the
new-comer swam in and attempted to make his title good with all the
younger bulls. I have seen some fierce combats out there in the blue
water. They gashed each other deep----
You can see by this how our hunting was never at an end. On Tuesday
we would kill the boss bull of a certain establishment. By Thursday,
at latest, another would be installed.
I learned curious facts about seals in those days. The hunting did
not appeal to me particularly, because it seemed to me useless to kill
so large an animal for so small a spoil. Still, it was a means to my
all-absorbing end, and I confess that the stalking, the lying belly
down on the sun-warmed grass over the surge and under the clear sky,
was extremely pleasant. While awaiting the return of the big bull often
we had opportunity to watch the others at their daily affairs, and
even the unresponsive Thrackles was struck with their almost human
intelligence. Did you know that seals kiss each other, and weep tears
when grieved?
The men often discussed among themselves the narrow, dry cave. There
the animals were practically penned in. They agreed that a great
killing could be made there, but the impossibility of distinguishing
between the bulls and the cows deterred them. The cave was quite dark.
Immerced in our own affairs thus, the days, weeks, and months went
by. Events had slipped beyond my control. I had embarked on a journalistic
enterprise, and now that purpose was entirely out of my reach.
Up the valley Dr. Schermerhorn and his assistant were engaged in some
experiment of whose very nature I was still ignorant. Also I was
likely to remain so. The precautions taken against interference by
the men were equally effective against me. As if that were not enough,
any move of investigation on my part would be radically misinterpreted,
and to my own danger, by the men. I might as well have been in London.
However, as to my first purpose in this adventure I had evolved
another plan, and therefore was content. I made up my mind that on
the voyage home, if nothing prevented, I would tell my story to Percy
Darrow, and throw myself on his mercy. The results of the experiment
would probably by then be ready for the public, and there was no
reason, as far as I could see, why I should not get the "scoop" at
first hand.
Certainly my sincerity would be without question; and I hoped that
two years or more of service such as I had rendered would tickle Dr.
Schermerhorn's sense of his own importance. So adequate did this plan
seem, that I gave up thought on the subject.
My whole life now lay on the shores. I was not again permitted to
board the _Laughing Lass_. Captain Selover I saw twice at a
distance. Both times he seemed to be rather uncertain. The men did
not remark it. The days went by. I relapsed into that state so well
known to you all, when one seems caught in the meshes of a dream existence
which has had no beginning and which is destined never to have an end.
We were to hunt seals, and fish, and pry bivalves from the rocks at
low tide, and build fires, and talk, and alternate between suspicion
and security, between the danger of sedition and the insanity of men
without defined purpose, world without end forever.
XII
"OLD SCRUBS" COMES ASHORE
The inevitable happened. One noon Pulz looked up from his labour of
pulling the whiskers from the evil-smelling masks.
"How many of these damn things we got?" he inquired.
"About three hunder' and fifty," Thrackles replied.
"Well, we've got enough for me. I'm sick of this job. It stinks."
They looked at each other. I could see the disgust rising in their
eyes, the reek of rotten blubber expanding their nostrils. With one
accord they cast aside the masks.
"It ain't such a hell of a fortune," growled Pulz, his evil little
white face thrust forward. "There's other things worth all the seal
trimmin's of the islands."
"Diamon's," gloomed the Nigger.
"You've hit it, Doctor," cut in Solomon.
There we were again, back to the old difficulty, only worse. Idleness
descended on us again. We grew touchy on little things, as a misplaced
plate, a shortage of firewood, too deep a draught at the nearly empty
bucket. The noise of bickering became as constant as the noise of the
surf. If we valued peace, we kept our mouths shut. The way a man spat,
or ate, or slept, or even breathed became a cause of irritation to
every other member of the company. We stood the outrage as long as
we could; then we objected in a wild and ridiculous explosion which
communicated its heat to the object of our wrath. Then there was a
fight. It needed only liquor to complete the deplorable state of
affairs.
Gradually the smaller things came to worry us more and more. A certain
harmless singer of the cricket or perhaps of the tree-toad variety
used to chirp his innocent note a short distance from our cabin. For
all I know he had done so from the moment of our installation, but
I had never noticed him before. Now I caught myself listening for his
irregular recurrence with every nerve on the quiver. If he delayed
by ever so little, it was an agony; yet when he did pipe up, his feeble
strain struck to my heart cold and paralysing like a dagger. And with
every advancing minute of the night I became broader awake, more
tense, fairly sweating with nervousness. One night--good God, was it
only last week? ... it seems ages ago, another existence ... a state
cut off from this by the wonder of a transmigration, at least ... Last
week!
I did not sleep at all. The moon had risen, had mounted the heavens,
and now was sailing overhead. By the fretwork of its radiance through
the chinks of our rudely-built cabin I had marked off the hours. A
thunderstorm rumbled and flashed, hull down over the horizon. It was
many miles distant, and yet I do not doubt that its electrical
influence had dried the moisture of our equanimity, leaving us
rattling husks for the winds of destiny to play upon. Certainly I can
remember no other time, in a rather wide experience, when I have felt
myself more on edge, more choked with the restless, purposeless
nervous energy that leaves a man's tongue parched and his eyes
staring. And still that infernal cricket, or whatever it was, chirped.
I had thought myself alone in my vigil, but when finally I could stand
it no longer, and kicked aside my covering with an oath of protest,
I was surprised to hear it echoed from all about me.
"Damn that cricket!" I cried.
And the dead shadows stirred from the bunks, and the hollow-eyed
victims of insomnia crept out to curse their tormentor. We organised
an expedition to hunt him down. It was ridiculous enough, six strong
men prowling for the life of one poor little insect. We did not find
him, however, though we succeeded in silencing him. But no sooner were
we back in our bunks than he began it again, and such was the turmoil
of our nerves that day found us sitting wan about a fire, hugging our
knees.
We were so genuinely emptied, not so much by the cricket as by the
two years of fermentation, that not one of us stirred toward breakfast,
in fact not one of us moved from the listless attitude in which day
found him, until after nine o'clock. Then we pulled ourselves together
and cooked coffee and salt horse. As a significant fact, the Nigger
left the dishes unwashed, and no one cared.
Handy Solomon finally shook himself and arose.
"I'm sick of this," said he, "I'm goin' seal-hunting."
They arose without a word. They were sick of it, too, sick to death.
We were a silent, gloomy crew indeed as we thrust the surf boat
afloat, clambered in, and shipped the oars. No one spoke a word; no
one had a comment to make, even when we saw the rookery slide into
the water while we were still fifty yards from the beach. We pulled
back slowly along the coast. Beyond the rock we made out the entrance
to the dry cave.
"There's seal in there," cried Handy Solomon, "lots of 'em!"
He thrust the rudder over, and we headed for the cave. No one
expressed an opinion.
As it was again high tide, we rowed in to the steep shore inside the
cave's mouth and beached the boat. The place was full of seals; we
could hear them bellowing.
"Two of you stand here," shouted Handy Solomon, "and take them as they
go out. We'll go in and scare 'em down to you."
"They'll run over us," screamed Pulz.
"No, they won't. You can dodge up the sides when they go by."
This was indeed well possible, so we gripped our clubs and ventured
into the darkness.
We advanced four abreast, for the cave was wide enough for that. As
we penetrated, the bellowing and barking became more deafening.
It was impossible to see anything, although we _felt_ an
indistinguishable tumbling mass receding before our footsteps.
Thrackles swore violently as he stumbled over a laggard. With uncanny
abruptness the black wall of darkness in front of us was alive with
fiery eyeballs. The seals had reached the end of the cave and had
turned toward us. We, too, stopped, a little uncertain as to how to
proceed.
The first plan had been to get behind the band and to drive it slowly
toward the entrance to the cave. This was now seen to be impossible.
The cavern was too narrow; its sides at this point too steep, and the
animals too thickly congested. Our eyes, becoming accustomed to the
twilight, now began to make out dimly the individual bodies of the
seals and the general configuration of the rocks. One big boulder lay
directly in our path, like an island in the shale of the cave's floor.
Perdosa stepped to the top of it for a better look. The men attempted
to communicate their ideas of what was to be done, but could not make
themselves heard above the uproar. I could see their faces contorting
with the fury of being baffled. A big bull made a dash to get by; all
the herd flippered after him. If he had won past they would have
followed as obstinately as sheep, and nothing could have stopped them,
but the big bull went down beneath the clubs. Thrackles hit the animal
two vindictive blows after it had succumbed.
This settled the revolt, and we stood as before. Pulz and Handy
Solomon tried to converse by signs, but evidently failed, for their
faces showed angry in the twilight. Perdosa, on his rock, rolled and
lit a cigarette. Thrackles paced to and fro, and the Nigger leaned
on his club, farther down the cave. They had been left at the entrance,
but now in lack of results had joined their companions.
Now Thrackles approached and screamed himself black trying to impart
some plan. He failed; but stooped and picked up a stone and threw it
into the mass of seals. The others understood. A shower of stones
followed. The animals milled like cattle, bellowed the louder, but
would not face their tormentors. Finally an old cow flopped by in a
panic. I thought they would have let her go, but she died a little
beyond the bull. No more followed, although the men threw stones as
fast and hard as they were able. Their faces were livid with anger,
like that of an evil-tempered man with an obstinate horse.
Suddenly Handy Solomon put his head down, and with a roar distinctly
audible even above the din that filled the cave, charged directly into
the herd. I saw the beasts cringe before him; I saw his club rising
and falling indiscriminately; and then the whole back of the cave
seemed to rise and come at us.
This was no chance of sport now, but a struggle for very life. We
realised that once down there would be no hope, for while the seals
were more anxious to escape than to fight, we knew that their jaws
were powerful. There was no time to pick and choose. We hit out with
all the strength and quickness we possessed. It was like a bad dream,
like struggling with an elusive hydra-headed monster, knee high,
invulnerable. We hit, but without apparent effect. New heads rose,
the press behind increased. We gave ground. We staggered, struggling
desperately to keep our feet.
How long this lasted I cannot tell. It seemed hours. I know my arms
became leaden from swinging my club; my eyes were full of sweat; my
breath gasped. A sharp pain in my knee nearly doubled me to the ground
and yet I remember clamping to the thought that I must keep my feet,
keep my feet at any cost. Then all at once I recalled the fact that
I was armed. I jerked out the short-barrelled Colt's 45 and turned
it loose in their faces.
Whether the flash and detonation frightened them; whether Perdosa,
still clinging to his rock, managed to turn their attention by his
flanking efforts, or whether, quite simply, the wall of dead finally
turned them back, I do not know, but with one accord they gave over
the attempt.
I looked at once for Handy Solomon, and was surprised to see him still
alive, standing upright on a ledge the other side of the herd. His
clothing was literally torn to shreds, and he was covered with blood.
But in this plight he was not alone, for when I turned toward my
companions they, too, were tattered, torn, and gory. We were a
dreadful crew, standing there in the half-light, our chests heaving,
our rags dripping red.
For perhaps ten seconds no one moved. Then with a yell of demoniac
rage my companions clambered over the rampart of dead seals and
attacked the herd.
The seals were now cowed and defenceless. It was a slaughter, and the
most debauching and brutal I have ever known. I had hit out with the
rest when it had been a question of defence, but from this I turned
aside in a sick loathing. The men seemed possessed of devils, and of
their unnatural energy. Perdosa cast aside the club and took to his
natural weapon, the knife.
I can see him yet rolling over and over embracing a big cow, his head
jammed in an ecstasy of ferocity between the animal's front flippers,
his legs clasped to hold her body, only his right arm rising and
falling as he plunged his knife again and again. She struggled,
turning him over and under, wept great tears, and fairly whined with
terror and pain. Finally she was still, and Perdosa staggered to his
feet, only to stare about him drunkenly for a moment before throwing
himself with a screech on another victim.
The Nigger alone did not jump into the turmoil. He stood just down
the cave, his club ready. Occasionally a disorganised rush to escape
would be made. The Nigger's lips snarled, and with a truly mad enjoyment
he beat the poor animals back.
I pressed against the wall horrified, fascinated, unable either to
interfere or to leave. A close, sticky smell took possession of the
air. After a little a tiny stream, growing each moment, began to flow
past my feet. It sought its channel daintily, as streamlets do,
feeling among the stones in eddies, quiet pools, miniature falls, and
rapids. For the moment I did not realise what it could be. Then the
light caught it down where the Nigger waited, and I saw it was red.
At first the racket of the seals was overpowering. Now, gradually,
it was losing volume. I began to hear the blasphemies, ferocious cries,
screams of anger hurled against the cave walls by the men. The thick,
sticky smell grew stronger; the light seemed to grow dimmer, as though
it could not burn in that fetid air. A seal came and looked up at me,
big tears rolling from her eyes; then she flippered aimlessly away,
out of her poor wits with terror. The sight finished me. I staggered
down the length of the black tunnel to the boat.
After a long interval a little three months' pup waddled down to the
water's edge, caught sight of me, and with a squeal of fright dived
far. Poor little devil! I would not have hurt him for worlds. As far
as I know this was the only survivor of all that herd.