It seemed scarcely believable that the thing was mine, and I was all in a scutter to run away down to Falmouth and get to sea.
In old times, when my uncle had been more than usually gracious, he had invited me to accompany him for a trip round the coast or elsewhere, as the fit might take him; yet never, even in my most hopeful moments, had it occurred to me that ever she might be mine.
And now I was hurrying my preparations for a good long sea trip - for to me the sea is, and always has been, a comrade.
Still, with all the prospects before me, I was by no means completely satisfied, for I wanted Ned Barlow with me, and yet was afraid to ask him.
I had the feeling that, in view of his overwhelming loss, he must positively hate the sea; and yet I could not be happy at the thought of leaving him, and going alone.
He had not been well lately, and a sea voyage would be the very thing for him, if only it were not going to freshen painful memories.
Eventually I decided to suggest it, and this I did a couple of days before the date I had fixed for sailing.
‘Ned,’ I said, ‘you need a change.’
‘Yes,’ he assented wearily.
‘Come with me, old chap,’ I went on, growing bolder. ‘I’m taking a trip in the yacht. It would be splendid to have- ’
To my dismay, he jumped to his feet and came towards me excitedly.
We had been at sea a couple of weeks, and were alone upon the Atlantic - at least, so much of it as presented itself to our view.
I was leaning over the taffrail, staring down into the boil of the wake; yet I noticed nothing, for I was wrapped in a tissue of somewhat uncomfortable thought. It was about Ned Barlow.
He had been queer, decidedly queer, since leaving port. His whole attitude mentally had been that of a man under the influence of an all-pervading excitement. I had said that he was in need of a change, and had trusted that the splendid tonic of the sea breeze would serve to put him soon to rights mentally and physically; yet here was the poor old chap acting in a manner calculated to cause me anxiety as to his balance.
Scarcely a word had been spoken since leaving the Channel. When I ventured to speak to him, often he would take not the least notice, other times he would answer only by a brief word; but talk-never.
In addition, his whole time was spent on deck among the men, and with some of them he seemed to converse both long and earnestly; yet to me, his chum and true friend, not a word.
Another thing came to me as a surprise - Barlow betrayed the greatest interest in the position of the vessel, and the courses set, all in such a manner as left me no room to doubt but that his knowledge of navigation was considerable.
Once I ventured to express my astonishment at this knowledge, and ask a question or two as to the way in which he had gathered it, but had been treated with such an absurdly stony silence that since then I had not spoken to him.
With all this it may be easily conceived that my thoughts, as I stared down into the wake, were troublesome.
Suddenly I heard a voice at my elbow:
‘I should like to have a word with you, sir.’ I turned sharply. It was my skipper, and something in his face told me that all was not as it should be.
‘Well, Jenkins, fire away.’
He looked round, as if afraid of being overheard; then came closer to me.
‘Someone’s been messing with the compasses, sir,* he said in a low voice.
‘What?’ I asked sharply.
‘They’ve been meddled with, sir. The magnets have been shifted, and by someone who’s a good idea of what he’s doing.’
‘What on earth do you mean?* I inquired. ‘Why should anyone mess about with them? What good would it do them? You must be mistaken.’
‘No, sir, I’m not. They’ve been touched within the last forty-eight hours, and by someone that understands what he’s doing. ’
I stared at him. The man was so certain. I felt bewildered.
‘But why should they?’
‘That’s more than I can say, sir; but it’s a serious matter, and I want to know what I’m to do. It looks to me as though there were something funny going on. I’d give a month’s pay to know just who it was, for certain.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘if they have been touched, it can only be by one of the officers. You say the chap who has done it must understand what he is doing.’
He shook his head. ‘No sir - ’ he began, and then stopped abruptly. His gaze met mine. I think the same thought must have come to us simultaneously. I gave a little gasp of amazement.
He wagged his head at me. ‘I’ve had my suspicions for a bit, sir,’ he went on; ‘but seeing that he’s - he’s - ’ He was fairly struck for the moment.
I took my weight off the rail and stood upright.
‘To whom are you referring?’ I asked curtly.
‘Why, sir, to him - Mr Ned - ’
He would have gone on, but I cut him short.
‘That will do, Jenkins!’ I cried. ‘Mr Ned Barlow is my friend. You are forgetting yourself a little. You will accuse me of tampering with the compasses next!’
I turned away, leaving little Captain Jenkins speechless. I had spoken with an almost vehement over-loyalty, to quiet my own suspicions.
All the same, I was horribly bewildered, not knowing what to think or do or say, so that, eventually, I did just nothing.
It was early one morning, about a week later, that I opened my eyes abruptly. I was lying on my back in my bunk, and the daylight was beginning to creep wanly in through the ports.
I had a vague consciousness that all was not as it should be, and feeling thus, I made to grasp the edge of my bunk, and sit up, but failed, owing to the fact that my wrists were securely fastened by a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
Utterly confounded, I let my head fall back upon the pillow; and then, in the midst of my bewilderment, there sounded the sharp report of a pistol-shot somewhere on the decks over my head. There came a second, and the sound of voices and footsteps, and then a long spell of silence.
Into my mind had rushed the single word - mutiny! My temples throbbed a little, but I struggled to keep calm and think, and then, all adrift, I fell to searching round for a reason. Who was it? and why?
Perhaps an hour passed, during which I asked myself ten thousand vain questions. All at once I heard a key inserted in the door. So I had been locked in! It turned, and the steward walked into the cabin. He did not look at me, but went to the arm-rack and began to remove the various weapons.
‘What the devil is the meaning of all this, Jones?’ I roared, getting up a bit on one elbow. ‘What’s happening.?’
But the fool answered not a word - just went to and fro carrying out the weapons from my cabin into the next, so that at last I ceased from questioning him, and lay silent, promising myself future vengeance.
When he had removed the arms, the steward began to go through my table drawers, emptying them, so it appeared to me, of everything that could be used as a weapon or tool.
Having completed his task, he vanished, locking the door after him.
Some time passed, and at last, about seven bells, he reappeared, this time bringing a tray with my breakfast. Placing it upon the table, he came across to me and proceeded to unlock the cuffs from off my wrists. Then for the first time he spoke.
‘Mr Barlow desires me to say, sir, that you have the liberty of your cabin so long as you will agree not to cause any bother. Should you wish for anything, I am under his orders to supply you.’ He retreated hastily toward the door.
On my pan, I was almost speechless with astonishment and rage.
‘One minute, Jones!’ I shouted, just as he was in the act of leaving the cabin. ‘Kindly explain what you mean. You said Mr Barlow. Is it to him that I owe all this?’ And I waved my hand towards the irons which the man still held.