© Загородняя И. Б., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2022

© ООО «ИД «Антология», 2022

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Chapter 1
OUT TO SEA

I heard this story from a man who showed me a yellow manuscript, and dry official records of the British Colonial Office to support many of the striking features of his remarkable narrative.

I do not say the story is true, for I did not witness the events which it portrays, but the fact that in the telling of it to you I have taken fictitious names for the principal characters evidences the sincerity of my own belief that it MAY be true.

The pages of the diary of a man long dead, and the records of the Colonial Office fit together perfectly with the narrative of my friend, and so I give you the story as I made it from these several various sources.

If you do not find it credible, you will at least agree with me that it is unique, remarkable, and interesting.

From the records of the Colonial Office and from the dead man's diary we learn that a young English nobleman, whom we will call John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, was commissioned to make an investigation of conditions in a British West Coast African Colony. It was known that another European country was recruiting soldiers from the simple native inhabitants for its native army, used only for the aggressive collection of rubber^[1] and ivory from the savage tribes along the Congo and the Aruwimi.

The natives of the British Colony complained that many of their young men were attracted by fair promises, but that few of them returned to their families.

The Englishmen in Africa even said that these poor blacks were held in virtual slavery, since after their terms of recruitment expired, they were told that they had yet several years to serve.

And so the Colonial Office appointed John Clayton to a new post in British West Africa, but his confidential instructions centered on a thorough investigation of the unfair treatment of black British subjects^[2] by the officers of a friendly European country.

Clayton was a strong man – mentally, morally, and physically.

He was above the average height; his eyes were gray, his features regular and strong; his good health was influenced by his years of army training.

Political ambition had caused him to seek transference from the army to the Colonial Office and so we find him, still young, with a delicate and important commission in the service of the Queen.

When he received this appointment, he was both excited and appalled. The promotion seemed to him a reward for painstaking and intelligent service; but, on the other hand, he had been married to Alice Rutherford for three months, and the thought of taking this fair young girl into the dangers and isolation of tropical Africa appalled him.

For her sake^[3] he was ready to refuse the appointment, but she insisted that he accept it and take her with him.

So on a bright May morning in 1888, John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice sailed from Dover on their way to Africa.

A month later, they arrived at Freetown where they hired a small sailing vessel, the Fuwalda, which was to bear them to their final destination.

And here John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice, his wife, vanished from the eyes and from the knowledge of men.

Two months after they cleared from the port of Freetown, a half dozen British war vessels were looking for trace of them or their little vessel. Almost immediately, the wreckage was found upon the shores of St. Helena which convinced the world that the Fuwalda had gone down with all on board, and therefore the search was stopped.

The Fuwalda was a vessel of the type often seen in coastal trade^[4] in the far southern Atlantic. Their crews were composed of unhanged murderers of every race and every nation.

The Fuwalda was no exception to the rule. Her officers hated their crew and were hated by their crew.

The captain, while a competent seaman, was a brute in his treatment of his men. So from the second day out from Freetown John Clayton and his young wife witnessed scenes upon the deck of the Fuwalda such as they had believed were only in printed stories of the sea.

On the morning of the second day two sailors were washing down the decks of the Fuwalda, the first mate was on duty, and the captain had stopped to speak with John Clayton and Lady Alice.

The men were working backwards toward the little party who were facing away from the sailors. Closer and closer they came, until one of them was directly behind the captain.

Just that instant the officer turned to leave Lord and Lady Greystoke, and, as he did so, tripped against the sailor and fell upon the deck, overturning the water bucket so that he was drenched in its dirty contents.

For an instant, the scene was comical; but only for an instant.

With awful oaths, the captain regained his feet, and with a terrific blow knocked down the sailor to the deck.

The man was small and rather old, so that the brutality of the act was obvious. The other seaman, however, was neither old nor small – a huge man, with fierce black mustache, and a great bull neck set between massive shoulders.

As he saw his mate go down, he sprang upon the captain crushing him to his knees with a single mighty blow.

The officer's face went white, for this was mutiny; and mutiny he had met and subdued before in his brutal career. Without waiting to rise, he took a revolver from his pocket, and fired at the great mountain of muscle towering before him. But Lord Greystoke had struck down the captain's arm as he had seen the weapon flash in the sun, so the bullet which was intended for the sailor's heart stuck in the sailor's leg instead.

Words passed between Clayton and the captain. Clayton said that he was disgusted with the brutality displayed toward the crew, and that he was not going to tolerate such behavior while he and Lady Greystoke remained passengers.

The captain was about to make an angry reply, but, changing his mind, turned on his heel and strode aft^[5]. He did not want to antagonize an English official, for he feared England's far-reaching navy.

The two sailors got up – the older man assisted his wounded comrade to rise. The big fellow, who was known among his mates as Black Michael, turned to Clayton with a word of thanks and then limped off.

They did not see him again for several days.

They took their meals in captain's cabin, as they had before the unfortunate occurrence; but the captain was careful to see that his duties never permitted him to eat at the same time.

The other officers were coarse, illiterate fellows, and were only too glad to avoid social intercourse with the polished English noble and his lady, so that the Claytons were left very much to themselves.

This in itself accorded perfectly with their desires, but it also rather isolated them from the life of the little ship so that they were unable to keep in touch with the daily events which were to culminate so soon in bloody tragedy.

One day the little old sailor, who had been hit by the captain a few days before, was on the deck, polishing brasses^[6], and as he came close to Clayton, he said, in a low voice:

“He will pay, sir, mark my words^[7], sir. He will pay.”

“What do you mean, my good fellow?” asked Clayton.

“Why, can't you see what's going on? The captain and his mates are knocking lights out^[8] of the crew? Two men yesterday. And three today. Black Michael's as good as new, he's not going to stand it; and mark my words, sir.”

“You mean, my man, that the crew contemplates mutiny?” asked Clayton.

“Mutiny!” exclaimed the old fellow. “Mutiny! They mean murder, sir.”

“When?”

“Hit's coming, sir; hit's coming but I'm not saying when, and I've said too much now, but you were a good man the other day^[9] and I wanted to warn you. But keep a still tongue in your head^[10] and when you hear shooting, get below and stay there,” said the old man and went on with his polishing, which carried him away from where the Claytons were standing.

“You should warn the captain at once, John. Possibly the trouble may be prevented,” said Alice.

“I suppose I should, but if they find that I had betrayed them there would be no mercy shown us, Alice.”

“John, if you do not warn the captain you are as much a party to whatever follows as though you had helped to plot and carry it out with your own head and hands.”

“You do not understand, dear,” replied Clayton. “It is of you I am thinking.”

“Duty is duty, John. I realize the danger which must follow, but I can face it with you.”

“Have it as you will^[11] then, Alice,” he answered, smiling. “But there goes the captain to his cabin now. I am going to warn him.”

So saying, he strolled carelessly in the direction of the companionway^[12] through which the captain had passed, and a moment later was knocking at his door.

“Come in,” growled the deep tones of that rude officer.

And when Clayton had entered, and closed the door behind him:

“Well?”

“I have come to report the gist of a conversation I heard today. In short, the men contemplate mutiny and murder.”

“It's a lie!” roared the captain. “And if you have been interfering again with the discipline of this ship, or meddling in affairs that don't concern you, you can take the consequences^[13], and be damned. I don't care whether you are an English lord or not. I'm captain of this ship, and from now on keep your meddling nose out of my business.”

The captain shrieked the last words at the top of his voice, emphasizing his remarks by a loud thumping of the table with one huge fist, and shaking the other in Clayton's face.

Greystoke never turned a hair^[14], but stood calmly looking at the excited man.

“Captain Billings,” he said finally, “if you will pardon my frankness, I might remark that you are something of an ass.”

Then he turned and left the captain with the same indifferent ease that was habitual with him.

So, the last chance of their working together for their common good was gone.

“Well, Alice,” said Clayton, as he rejoined his wife, “The fellow proved most ungrateful. He jumped at me like a mad dog.

“So I will spend my energies in looking after our own welfare. And now I am going to our cabin to look over my revolvers.”

They found their cabin in disorder. Clothing from their open boxes and bags spread the little apartment, and even their beds had been torn to pieces.

“Evidently someone was more anxious about our belongings than we,” said Clayton. “Let's have a look around, Alice, and see what's missing.”

A thorough search revealed the fact that nothing had been taken but Clayton's two revolvers and the small supply of ammunition he had saved for them.

“Those are the things I most needed,” said Clayton, “and the fact that they wished for them is most sinister.”

“What are we to do, John?” asked his wife. “Perhaps you were right in that our best chance lies in maintaining a neutral position.

“If the officers are able to prevent a mutiny, we have nothing to fear, while if the mutineers are victorious, we may stay alive only because we didn't antagonize them.”

“Right you are, Alice. We'll keep in the middle of the road.”

As they started to straighten up their cabin, Clayton and his wife simultaneously noticed a piece of paper protruded from beneath the door.

Clayton picked it up. It was a bit of paper folded into a square.

Opening it, they found a warning to the Claytons to keep from reporting the loss of the revolvers, or from repeating what the old sailor had told them – if they wanted to be alive.

“I suppose we'll be good,” said Clayton with a sad smile. “About all we can do is to sit tight and wait for whatever may come.”