Tarzan of the Apes | Page 3

older man assisting his
wounded comrade to rise. The big fellow, who was known among his
mates as Black Michael, tried his leg gingerly, and, finding that it bore
his weight, turned to Clayton with a word of gruff thanks.
Though the fellow's tone was surly, his words were evidently well
meant. Ere he had scarce finished his little speech he had turned and
was limping off toward the forecastle with the very apparent intention
of forestalling any further conversation.
They did not see him again for several days, nor did the captain accord
them more than the surliest of grunts when he was forced to speak to
them.
They took their meals in his 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, but little above the
villainous crew they bullied, 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 happenings which were to culminate so
soon in bloody tragedy.
There was in the whole atmosphere of the craft that undefinable
something which presages disaster. Outwardly, to the knowledge of the
Claytons, all went on as before upon the little vessel; but that there was

an undertow leading them toward some unknown danger both felt,
though they did not speak of it to each other.
On the second day after the wounding of Black Michael, Clayton came
on deck just in time to see the limp body of one of the crew being
carried below by four of his fellows while the first mate, a heavy
belaying pin in his hand, stood glowering at the little party of sullen
sailors.
Clayton asked no questions--he did not need to--and the following day,
as the great lines of a British battleship grew out of the distant horizon,
he half determined to demand that he and Lady Alice be put aboard her,
for his fears were steadily increasing that nothing but harm could result
from remaining on the lowering, sullen Fuwalda.
Toward noon they were within speaking distance of the British vessel,
but when Clayton had nearly decided to ask the captain to put them
aboard her, the obvious ridiculousness of such a request became
suddenly apparent. What reason could he give the officer commanding
her majesty's ship for desiring to go back in the direction from which
he had just come!
What if he told them that two insubordinate seamen had been roughly
handled by their officers? They would but laugh in their sleeves and
attribute his reason for wishing to leave the ship to but one
thing--cowardice.
John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, did not ask to be transferred to the
British man-of-war. Late in the afternoon he saw her upper works fade
below the far horizon, but not before he learned that which confirmed
his greatest fears, and caused him to curse the false pride which had
restrained him from seeking safety for his young wife a few short hours
before, when safety was within reach--a safety which was now gone
forever.
It was mid-afternoon that brought the little old sailor, who had been
felled by the captain a few days before, to where Clayton and his wife
stood by the ship's side watching the ever diminishing outlines of the

great battleship. The old fellow was polishing brasses, and as he came
edging along until close to Clayton he said, in an undertone:
"'Ell's to pay, sir, on this 'ere craft, an' mark my word for it, sir. 'Ell's to
pay."
"What do you mean, my good fellow?" asked Clayton.
"Wy, hasn't ye seen wats goin' on? Hasn't ye 'eard that devil's spawn of
a capting an' is mates knockin' the bloomin' lights outen 'arf the crew?
"Two busted 'eads yeste'day, an' three to-day. Black Michael's as good
as new agin an' 'e's not the bully to stand fer it, not 'e; an' mark my
word for it, sir."
"You mean, my man, that the crew contemplates mutiny?" asked
Clayton.
"Mutiny!" exclaimed the old fellow. "Mutiny! They means murder, sir,
an' mark my word for it, sir."
"When?"
"Hit's comin', sir; hit's comin' but I'm not a-sayin' wen, an' I've said too
damned much now, but ye was a good sort t'other day an' I thought it
no more'n right to warn ye. But keep a still tongue in yer 'ead an' when
ye 'ear shootin' git below an' stay there.
"That's all, only keep a still