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twg_000000036900 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036901 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036902 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036903 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036904 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036905 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036906 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036907 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036908 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036909 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036910 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036911 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036912 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036913 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036914 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036915 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036916 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036917 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036918 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036919 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036920 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036921 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036922 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036923 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036924 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036925 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036926 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036927 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036928 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036929 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036930 | ... 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036931 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036932 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036933 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036934 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036935 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036936 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036937 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036938 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036939 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036940 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036941 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036942 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036943 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036944 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036945 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036946 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036947 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036948 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036949 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036950 | 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 and turned it loose in their faces. Whether the flash and detonation frightened | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036951 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036952 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036953 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036954 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036955 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036956 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036957 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036958 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036959 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036960 | 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. The men soon appeared, one by one, tired, sleepy-eyed, glutted, walking in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036961 | a cat-like trance of satiety. They were blood and tatters from head to foot, and from drying red masks peered their bloodshot eyes. Not a word said they, but tumbled into the boat, pushed off, and in a moment we were floating in the full sunshine again. We rowed home in an abstraction. For the moment Berserker rage had burned | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036962 | itself out. Handy Solomon continually wetted his lips, like an animal licking its chops. Thrackles stared into space through eyes drugged with killing. No one spoke. We landed in the cove, and were surprised to find it in shadow. The afternoon was far advanced. Over the hill we dragged ourselves, and down to the spring. There the men threw themselves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036963 | flat and drank in great gulps until they could drink no more. We built a fire, but the Nigger refused to cook. "Someone else turn," he growled, "I cook aboard ship." Perdosa, who had hewed the fuel, at once became angry. "I cut heem de wood!" he said, "I do my share; eef I cut heem de wood you mus' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036964 | cook heem de grub!" But the Nigger shook his head, and Perdosa went into an ecstasy of rage. He kicked the fire to pieces; he scattered the unburned wood up and down the beach; he even threw some of it into the sea. "Eef you no cook heem de grub, you no hab my wood!" he shrieked, with enough oaths | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036965 | to sink his soul. Finally Pulz interfered. "Here you damn foreigners," said he, "quit it! Let up, I say! We got to eat. You let that wood alone, or you'll pick it up again!" Perdosa sprang at him with a screech. Pulz was small but nimble, and understood rough and tumble fighting. He met Perdosa's rush with two swift blows--a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036966 | short arm jab and an upper-cut. Then they clinched, and in a moment were rolling over and over just beyond the wash of the surf. The row waked the Nigger from his sullen abstraction. He seemed to come to himself with a start; his eye fell surprisedly on the combatants, then lit up with an unholy joy. He drew his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036967 | knife and crept down on the fighters. It was too good an opportunity to pay off the Mexican. But Thrackles interfered sharply. "Come off!" he commanded. "None o' that!" "Go to hell!" growled the Nigger. A great rage fell on them all, blind and terrible, like that leading to the slaughter of the seals. They fought indiscriminately, hitting at each | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036968 | other with fists and knives. It was difficult to tell who was against whom. The sound of heavy breathing, dull blows, the tear of cloth; and grunts of punishment received; the swirl of the sand, the heave of struggling bodies, all riveted my attention, so that I did not see Captain Ezra Selover until he stood almost at my elbow. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036969 | "Stop!" he shrieked in his high, falsetto voice. And would you believe it, even through the blood haze of their combat the men heard him, and heeded. They drew reluctantly apart, got to their feet, stood looking at him through reeking brows half submissive and half defiant. The bull-headed Thrackles even took a half step forward, but froze in his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036970 | tracks when Old Scrubs looked at him. "I hire you men to fight when I tell you to, and only then," said the captain sternly. "What does this mean?" He menaced them one after another with his eyes, and one after another they quailed. All their plottings, their threats, their dangerousness dissipated like mist before the command of this one | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036971 | resolute man. These pirates who had seemed so dreadful to me, now were nothing more than cringing schoolboys before their master. And then suddenly to my horror I, watching closely, saw the captain's eye turn blank. I am sure the men must have felt the change, though certainly they were too far away to see it, for they shifted by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036972 | ever so little from their first frozen attitude. The captain's hand sought his pocket, and they froze again, but instead of the expected revolver, he produced a half-full brandy bottle. The change in his eyes had crept into his features. They had turned foolishly amiable, vacant, confiding. "'llo boys," said he appealingly, "you good fellowsh, ain't you? Have a drink. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036973 | 'S good stuff. Good ol' bottl'," he lurched, caught himself, and advanced toward them, still with the empty smile. They stared at him for ten seconds, quite at a loss. Then: "By God, he's drunk!" Handy Solomon breathed, scarcely louder than a whisper. There was no other signal given. They sprang as with a single impulse. One instant I saw | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036974 | clear against the waning daylight the bulky, foolish-swaying form of Captain Selover: the next it had disappeared, carried down and obliterated by the rush of attacking bodies. Knives gleamed ruddy in the sunset. There was no struggle. I heard a deep groan. Then the murderers rose slowly to their feet. XIII I MAKE MY ESCAPE I had plenty of time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036975 | to run away. I do not know why I did not do so; but the fact stands that I remained where I was until they had finished Captain Selover. Then I took to my heels, but was soon cornered. I drew my revolver, remembered that I had emptied it in the seal cave--and had time for no more coherent mental | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036976 | processes. A smothering weight flung itself on me, against which I struggled as hard as I could, shrinking in anticipation from the thirsty plunge of the knives. However, though the weight increased until further struggle was impossible, I was not harmed, and in a few moments found myself, wrists and ankles tied, beside a roaring fire. While I collected myself | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036977 | I heard the grate of a boat being shoved off from the cove, and a few moments later made out lights aboard the _Laughing Lass_. The looting party returned very shortly. Their plundering had gone only as far as liquor and arms. Thrackles let down from the cliff top a keg at the end of a line. Perdosa and the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036978 | Nigger each carried an armful of the - rifles. The keg was rolled to the fire and broached. The men got drunk, wildly drunk, but not helplessly so. A flame communicated itself to them through the liquor. The ordinary characteristics of their composition sprung into sharper relief. The Nigger became more sullen; Perdosa more snake-like; Pulz more viciously evil; Thrackles | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036979 | more brutal; while Handy Solomon staggering from his seat to the open keg and back again, roaring fragments of a chanty, his red headgear contrasting with his smoky black hair and his swarthy hook-nosed countenance--he needed no further touch. Their evil passions were all awake, and the plan, so long indefinite, developed like a photographer's plate. "That's one," said Thrackles. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036980 | "One gone to hell." "And now the diamonds," muttered Pulz. "There's a ship upon the windward, a wreck upon the lee, _Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e_," roared Handy Solomon. "Damn it all, boys, it's the best night's work we ever did. The stuff's ours. Then it's me for a big stone house in Frisco O!" "Frisco, hell," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036981 | sneered Pulz, "that's all you know. You ought to travel. Paris for me and a little gal to learn the language from." "I get heem a fine _caballo_, an' fine saddle, an' fine clo's," breathed Perdosa sentimentally. "I ride, and the silver jingle, and the _seorita_ look----" Thrackles was for a ship and the China trade. "What you want, Doctor?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036982 | they demanded of the silent Nigger. But the Nigger only rolled his eyes and shook his head. By and by he arose and disappeared in the dusk and was no more seen. "Dam' fool," muttered Handy Solomon. "Well, here's to crime!" He drank a deep cup of the raw rum, and staggered back to his seat on the sands. "'I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036983 | am not a man-o'-war, nor a privateer,' said he. _Blow high, blow low! What care we_! 'But I am a jolly pirate and I'm sailing for my fee,' _Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e_." he sang. "We'll land in Valparaiso and we'll go every man his way; and we'll sink the old _Laughing Lass_ so deep the mermaids | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036984 | can't find her." Thrackles piled on more wood and the fire leaped high. "Let's get after 'em,' said he. "To-morrow's jes' 's good," muttered Pulz. "Les' hav' 'nother drink." "We'll stay here 'n see if our ol' frien' Percy don' show up," said Handy Solomon. He threw back his head and roared forth a volume of sound toward the dim | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036985 | stars. "Broadside to broadside the gallant ships did lay, _Blow high, blow low! What care we_? 'Til the jolly man-o'-war shot the pirate's mast away, _Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e_." I saw near me a live coal dislodged from the fire when Thrackles had thrown on the armful of wood. An idea came to me. I hitched | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036986 | myself to the spark, and laid across it the rope with which my wrists were tied. This, behind my back, was not easy to accomplish, and twice I burned my wrists before I succeeded. Fortunately I was at the edge of illumination, and behind the group. I turned over on my side so that my back was toward the fire. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036987 | Then rapidly I cast loose my ankle lashings. Thus I was free, and selecting a moment when universal attention was turned toward the rum barrel, I rolled over a sand dune, got to my hands and knees, and crept away. Through the coarse grass I crept thus, to the very entrance of the arroyo, then rose to my feet. In | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036988 | the middle distance the fire leaped red. Its glow fell intermittently on the surges rolling in. The men staggered or lay prone, either as gigantic silhouettes or as tatterdemalions painted by the light. The keg stood solid and substantial, the hub about which reeled the orgy. At the edge of the wash I could make out something prone, dim, limp, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036989 | thrown constantly in new positions of weariness as the water ebbed and flowed beneath it, now an arm thrown out, now cast back, as though Old Scrubs slept feverishly. The drunkards were getting noisy. Handy Solomon still reeled off the verses of, his song. The others joined in, frightfully off the key; or punctuated the performance by wild staccato yells. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036990 | "Their coffin was their ship and their grave it was the sea, _Blow high, blow low! What care we_? And the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea, _Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e,_" bellowed Handy Solomon. I turned and plunged into the cool darkness of the caon. XIV AN ADVENTURE IN THE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036991 | NIGHT Ten seconds after entering the arroyo I was stumbling along in an absolute blackness. It almost seemed to me that I could reach out my hands and touch it, as one would touch a wall. Or perhaps not exactly that, for a wall is hard, and this darkness was soft and yielding, in the manner of enveloping hangings. Directly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036992 | above me was a narrow, jagged, and irregular strip of sky with stars. I splashed in the brook, finding its waters strangely warm, rustled through the grasses, my head back, chin out, hands extended as one makes his way through a house at night. There were no sounds except the tinkle of the sulphurous stream: successive bends in the caon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036993 | wall had shut off even the faintest echoes of the bacchanalia on the beach. The way seemed much longer than by daylight. Already in my calculation I had traversed many times the distance, when, with a jump at the heart, I made out a glow ahead, and in front of it the upright logs of the stockade. To my surprise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036994 | the gate was open. I ascended the gentle slope to the valley's level--and stumbled over a man lying prostrate, shivering violently, and moaning. I bent over to discover whom it might be. As I did so a brilliant light seemed to fill the valley, throwing an illumination on the man at my feet. I saw it was the Nigger, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036995 | perceived at the same instant that he was almost beside himself with terror. His eyes rolled, his teeth chattered, his frame contracted in a strong convulsion, and the black of his complexion had faded to a washed-out dirty grey, revolting to contemplate. He felt my touch and sprang to his feet, clutching me by the shoulder as a man clutching | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036996 | rescue. "My Gawd!" he shivered. "Look! Dar it is again!" He fell to pattering in a tongue unknown to me--charms, spells, undoubtedly, to exorcise the devils that had hold of him. I followed the direction of his gaze, and myself cried out. The doctor's laboratory stood in plain sight between the two columns of steam blown straight upward through the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036997 | stillness of the evening. It seemed bursting with light. Every little crack leaked it in generous streams, while the main illumination appeared fairly to bulge the walls outward. This was in itself nothing extraordinary, and indicated only the activity of those within, but while I looked an irregular patch of incandescence suddenly splashed the cliff opposite. For a single instant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036998 | the very substance of the rock glowed white hot; then from the spot a shower of spiteful flakes shot as from a pyrotechnic, and the light was blotted out as suddenly as it came. At the same moment it appeared at another point, exhibited the same phenomena, died, flashed out at still a third place, and so was repeated here | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036999 | and there with bewildering rapidity until the walls of the valley crackled and spat sparks. Abruptly the darkness fell. As abruptly it was broken again by a similar exhibition; only this time the fire was blue. Blue was followed by purple, purple by red. Then ensued the briefest possible pause, in which a figure moved across the bars of light | 60 | gutenberg |
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