Wolves of the sea

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I Number 3216. 9

II In the Hold. 46

Chapter I Number 3216

“My own ambition has always been to be an honest man,” said Little Buddha, casting a glance in the direction of the convict guards who, revolver in hand, were walking between the cages.

“What for?” asked the Toper.

“What for? Why, to set up as the owner of a wine shop, of course.”

“We can’t all keep a wine shop,” said the Toper in a tone of philosophy, “life would be too easy. Every man who comes into the world has his work cut out for him. You, Little Buddha, were certainly intended to grind away in Cayenne. As Cheri-Bibi says, Fatalitas! What is written is written. We can’t cheat Providence. Talking of Cheri-Bibi, do you know what Carrots said to me? ”

“ I’m not bothering about what Carrots said to you,” replied Little Buddha, lowering his voice, “but it’s time we began to talk seriously. Now then: Is it for to-day or is it for to-morrow?”

The other outlaws repeated in the same tone, gathering round Little Buddha:

“He’s right. ... Is it for to-day? ... Is it for to-morrow?”

“Shut up!” growled the Toper. “It’s for whenever Cheri-Bibi pleases. But hang it all, shut'up!”

As a warder passed stealthily along the bars of the cage, bending his legs in order to counterbalance the rolling of the vessel which was particularly heavy that day, the Toper continued aloud:

“No, but didn’t you hear what Carrots said? How silly the fellow is to talk like a preacher. He’s very squeamish. The only thing that he’s got up against Cheri-Bibi is robbing the body of the Marchioness. He says that cemeteries should be sacred.”

“He makes us laugh,” chuckled Little Buddha, who was seated on his kit bag. “The rich have no occasion to take their trinkets to the grave with them.”

“You see this hand,” said Carrots. “It has made as many victims as there are fingers on it. Well, it wouldn’t have done that. It would loathe that.”

“Cheri-Bibi did what he wanted to do. If he wasn’t in irons you’d hold your jaw.”

“That’s a certainty.”

“Ask the Kanaka 1 if he played the fastidious in the dissecting-room.”

Carrots shook his head obstinately. Cheri-Bibi did

1 Kanaka, Canaque, Kanak, a native of New Caledonia and now applied to any native of the French colonies. Translator’s Note.

*vhat he wanted to do, used the knife, was a thief— and such a thief!—cheeked the judge and all the Court, cleared out ordinary people, but he did not approve of Cheri-Bibi robbing the dead. That brought bad luck. They mentioned the Kanaka, an ex-doctor who had been condemned to ten years’ hard labor because he would not say for what purpose he required the strips of flesh which he had cut out of one of his living patients whom he kept by main force in his house, bound to a leather couch. Well, the Kanaka drove his own trade. Dead meat or living flesh, doctors as well as murderers gambled in it; it didn’t frighten them. And turning to the Kanaka, Carrots added with a vicious laugh:

“They do with it what they like, and it’s not for nothing that they call him the Kanaka.”

At this terrible allusion to the notorious cannibal¬ ism of the aborigines of New Caledonia, the Kanaka, who was yellow, became green. The other, obsessed by the one idea, continued:

“Take it from me, Cheri-Bibi was not born for that. There were better things for him to do than that. He showed a lack of delicacy.”

“Cheri-Bibi is a giant and you are a set of pigmies,” rapped out the Kanaka in a voice of contempt, turning his back on them.

“That’s true,” said Little Buddha. “He robbed the dead, but he did it to help the poor.”

“I grant that,” said Carrots, firm in his opinions,

“but that throws discredit on the trade. That’s not the way to insure the progress of society. I’ve never read in Karl Marx or Kropotkine that you must do that sort of thing.”

Carrots had not read anything at all. But he never lost an opportunity of quoting the names of great men which were bandied about at public meetings, as if these important persons shared his views regarding the constitution of society.

“Cheri-Bibi has done everything in his time,” ex¬ plained Little Buddha. “He even began his career by being an innocent victim.”

More often than not Little Buddha expressed him¬ self in studied language, as became a man who had been clerk to a sheriff’s officer. He was nicknamed Little Buddha because with his thick-set, short-legged body as round as a barrel, his neck well sunk between his shoulders, and his arms folded across his chest, he resembled those little Asiatic gods which are to be found in second-hand dealers’ shops.

“Yes, he was innocent; at least that’s what he said,” he went on with a sigh, “and I quoted his case in my book on the ‘Reform of the Magistrature.’ Oh, the rotters ...”

Little Buddha sighed as he thought of the sentence of penal servitude for life to which “they” had con¬ demned him for having in “an attack of nerves”— so this sluggish person declared—taken the law into his own hands in a struggle with an old woman who had refused to hand over to him the key of her cash-box.

“That’s the way of the world now,” groaned Car¬ rots. “It’s enough for you to have done nothing for them to send you to a convict settlement. I have ‘done in’ five, I give you my word. Not one more and not one less. Well, it’s for the sixth whom I never saw that you have the pleasure of my company. I say what I think. I’ve never committed a useless crime. I’ve always had a conscience. I’m a miser¬ able wretch, ’tis true; a thief, ’tis true; I’ve used the knife, ’tis true; but that’s no reason why they should condemn an innocent man.”

“That’s the only thing society has ever done for you,” said Little Buddha in a tone of philosophy.

"“While Cheri-Bibi is always doing something for society,” broke in the Toper, who was nervously fol¬ lowing with a watchful eye the movements of the convict guard. “Did you see how he spat in the Commander’s face? There’s another man who gives me the hump with his doleful countenance. Do you know what he said to Cheri-Bibi?—‘Do you want anything, are you ill, Cheri-Bibi?’ And here was Cheri-Bibi spitting in his face! He did the right thing. We don’t want pity. What we want is jus¬ tice.”

“Is it for to-day, or is it for to-morrow?” came from the hoarse voices of the men at the back of the cage.

The Toper growled louder than ever so as to drown their murmurs:

“If the Captain sings small to Cheri-Bibi, it’s because he funks him, just as the juries were too funky to condemn him to death for fear of reprisals. Every¬ one funks Cheri-Bibi.”

At these words the shadows at the back of the cage who were reclining on their kit bags and hammocks, which were rolled up in accordance with regulations, rose to their feet, and a humming sound, soft and rhythmic at first, but soon growing in volume, came from between decks.

Who is it pads the hoof in gore,

And sets the dynamite a-roar,

And scares all Paris more and more?

Sing ho for Clieri!

The guv’ment will not leave us free,

From the Bois d’Boulogne to Gay Paree;

Who blows the blooming lot UP?

Sing ho for Cheri-Bibi!

Sing ho for Cheri-Bibi!

The Toper with a few blows of his fist and a few rough words imposed silence, rapping out in a hollow voice:

“Look out! . . . warder’s coming.”

“ Chouia , silence!” ordered the African, who was notorious for the extraordinary cruelty with which he had treated his mistress.

The overseers came hurrying up. They were furious. Keys grated in the locks. In the diffused light which feebly poured in from the railed portholes, the men could see through the bars, warders, re¬ volver in hand, surrounding the men who were carry¬ ing the mess.

“Eyes front!”

The cage which contained the Toper, Little Buddha, Carrots and the Kanaka was the first in the upper gun deck next to the Bayard's forecastle. She was an old cruiser which had been converted into a trans¬ port and commissioned recently to convey convicts and persons deported from their country, from the Isle de Re to Cayenne, since the Loire alone was not equal to the work.

The issue of rations began at this cage. As soon as the order “Eyes front” rang out the fifty convicts who crowded the cage leapt to their feet. There were tragic faces among them; pallid faces, faces tinged with green; hollow cheeks, feverish eyes. Their heads and faces were clean-shaven, and they were dressed alike in the same square cap, the same jacket and trousers of coarse brown cloth, the same heavy yellow shoes. Round their arms was a band on which a number was inscribed, for in the eyes of the author¬ ities these men no longer possessed a name. They lined up, elbowing each other so as to get in position, for they had caught sight of the second-in-command, a terrible martinet, who sent them to the cells, and put them in irons for next to nothing. The convict guards were subservient tools, cursing and swearing and striking hard at the men, ever ready with their “shooters,” as if the revolvers themselves were chok¬ ing with the shot that filled their mouths, and longed to be relieved of their powder and their “suppressed lightning.” The criminal fraternity were smartened up a little by the wards’ bullying methods.

The guards enter the cages like animal tamers going among wild beasts. With revolver cocked, erect and on the alert, they encounter the eyes of each man in turn, and read in them rebellion, fury, im¬ potent rage, and they compel them to shrink from the gleaming barrels. “Eyes front!”

The men who do not move to their places smartly enough with a click of the heels, their hands at their sides, are roughly hustled and soundly thrashed.

Nothing escaped the little piercing eyes of Lieuten¬ ant de Vilene, the second-in-command of the Bayard. There was but one word on his lips: “Cells.” He would have broken Cheri-Bibi if he had been in the Captain’s place. And nothing more would have been heard of the monster. The Captain and he would no longer have had to look after a man who had escaped from penal servitude once, from the lock-up twice, from a departmental prison thrice, and for whom doors seemed to have been built only to open of them¬ selves, and bars erected only to support the rope or the bedclothes which set him free. They could very well have done without such a charge; and they both lived in dread of letting this terror loose on society.

However, Cheri-Bibi was in irons. At any rate that was something. And he would remain in irons during the voyage on board ship. De Vilene had made Captain Barrachon swear it. The latter had not yet got over Cheri-Bibi’s gross insult to him—him who was always so considerate with the convicts and professed humanitarian sentiments.

“That will teach you a lesson,” de Vilene said to the Captain.

The Lieutenant entered the cage in a fury, behind the warders, accompanied by the Overseer General, who himself had come hurrying up on hearing the unusual noise from the lower deck.

“Suppose I stop your rations. You know well enough that you’re not allowed to sing,” said the Inspector.

“If anyone wants to join No. 3216 in the hold let him say so,” exclaimed de Vilene. “Two days in the cells for you, Corporal, for not rolling up Cheri- Bibi’s hammock.”

The Corporal was no other than the African and he was on the point of receiving three tubs, which were being delivered to his cage, containing rations for his hundred and fifty men, and slinging the “dishes” to the deck above by means of the chain.

When he heard the sentence he said like a school¬ boy:

“We’re going it!”

“Four days.”

He was silent. De Vilene shot a devastating look at him. He did not understand how a man with the African’s record could reply “We’re going it” to a naval lieutenant. He was beside himself. His wrath deprived everyone in the cage of the power of move¬ ment. The convicts around him held their breath. They knew that punishments incurred during the voy¬ age would have a terrible influence on the treatment which would be meted out to them when they arrived in Cayenne.

“You’re so happy here, you sing,” snarled the officer. “Apparently because the absence of No. 3216 gives you more room.”

It was true that the departure of Cheri-Bibi had given them more room for they were packed in the cage like sardines in a tin. When Cheri-Bibi was ordered below in irons, two warders, who never left him, went with him; for, of course, they did him the honor of keeping a special watch over him. To begin with, the convict guard had been doubled in the passage outside his cage; afterwards two warders kept their eyes on him day and night in the cage itself. And at the end of the passage near the hatchways, and at all the entrances leading to the cages, soldiers were posted ready to fire at the first alarm.

The Lieutenant made the tour of the cage, turning the kit bags upside down as though he scented a surprise of some sort, some malevolent trick, devised in the dreadful gloom of this corner of the infernal regions. He 'opened one at haphazard. He knew quite well that after the perfect search to which the men had been subjected on leaving, he would find in it only the regulation outfit; but, even then one could never be easy in one’s mind, never be sure of any¬ thing with such miscreants. Finding nothing out of the way in the kit bag, he vented his spleen on the floor which he considered had not been properly swabbed.

“Who swabbed the deck?” he shouted; and turning to his escort, “For the future the cleaning for the cages will be done by men told off for the purpose. The overseer in charge of the men on fatigue duty must be satisfied that the work has been properly done, and must report to the Overseer General, who will inform me or my assistant.”

Then turning on his heel he confronted the men:

“And you. . . . Listen to me. . . . The men on fatigue duty, doing their twenty-four hours service, will not be allowed to go on deck with the others for the daily half-hour’s exercise. They must wait till they’ve finished their work. You will receive some small scrapers for this work, in addition to the swabs, for you don’t wet them enough. Damme, I want your cages to be as clean as the Commander’s sitting-room. Do you follow me? Do you understand—you Chouia —you Corporal.”

“But the Commander said that . . murmured the African with a sigh.

“There’s the Commander,” interrupted the Lieutenant as he thrust his revolver in the man’s face.

The warders were in a state of immense elation. The Lieutenant was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet. But one of them, unluckily for him, laughed a little too loudly. The Lieutenant ordered him twenty-four hours in the cells, which would teach him to take the service seriously. It was the turn of the convicts to be delighted, and one of them cried out in the dusk:

“Bravo!”

On hearing this word of approval de Vilene, who was certainly very touchy, ordered one of the three dishes containing food for the cage to he taken away. It would make them tighten their belts. It would teach them to express an opinion when it wasn’t wanted.

He left them in a silence that could be felt.

After the convict guards went out and the bars were padlocked, the men snarled and gnashed their teeth. Once more a portion of the mess was taken away from them. And appalling in their rage, they surged round the Toper.

“Is it for to-day? ... Is it for to-morrow?”

“It’s for whenever Cheri-Bibi decides.”

On account of the rolling of the vessel the “dishes”—the two tubs—were suspended on a chain.

The Corporal was in charge of the first two parties of men who took their places round the tubs, and began to forage in the nauseous mixture which was simmer¬ ing in them. The mess cooks kept a sharp look out on the movements of the wooden spoons plunging in this glue-like skilly consisting of odds and ends of carrots, turnips and leeks that at the finish were done to rags, or rather the residue of the stuff containing haricots so hard that nothing could soften them or make them lose their shape and identity. Each tub had, on this occasion, to satisfy the hunger of seventyfive instead of fifty men, because of the “privation.” Fortunately some of them suffered from the rolling of the ship, and being in a state of collapse in the corners, near the buckets, refused to answer the call. The convicts ate their food with mouths bent over the tubs like pigs bending over troughs. As they ate they continued their growls against the Lieutenant and the convict guards; the “warders” as they called them, although these men had the title and rank of “Military Overseers.”

The overseers passed and repassed the cages rap¬ ping out frightful oaths and jeers and threats At one moment a loud clamor of slamming bars and a cry of pain could be heard from a distant cage on the gun deck. The convicts who were eating did not even look up. They knew the meaning of it. It was another old offender who had served his sentence in the cells, and on being brought back to his den had failed to enter it quickly enough. So they slammed the grille on his fingers.

The convict guards’ chief sport was this crushing of fingers. Oh, the warders were swine? Wait till they had one of them in their power. “When would it be—to-day or to-morrow?” It was for whenever Cheri-Bibi decided. Nevertheless let him hurry up!

Group succeeded group round the “tubs.” The men who were no longer eating watched the others eat. Each man was left his share. They showed a sense of fairness. And they stroked their stomachs with an air of satisfaction.

The rolling of the ship increased. Men slipped and lurched and cried out as others trod upon their feet. One blundering fool hung onto the “tub” and it began to bob up and down like a ship in distress. It was stopped too abruptly and there was a general shout. The haricots had made off! It was an unexpected bonus for the men who had finished their meal. They rushed forward and threw them¬ selves upon the loathsome mess scattered over the deck.

The sea was terribly rough. The kit bags rolled one over the other; and one caught the clatter of things falling from their places between decks. A warder was sent sprawling on his face between the cages, and his revolver went off. The convicts laughed as only convicts can laugh. The shot did not kill or wound anyone.

“I wish it had killed you,” exclaimed the warder in a rasping voice as he scrambled to his feet.

In one cage a convict complained that salt water had been given him to drink. 4nd the seas still mounted higher. . . . The waves sweeping against the ship’s waist and hurling themselves over the prow produced a thunder like the firing of heavy artillery.

At that moment the men who were eating at the “chain” with the Toper were listening to him with both ears. Carrots, the Kanaka, Little Buddha, and the African himself neglected their soup. But they pretended to be utterly intent on eating in the same gluttonous fashion.

“Don’t worry,” whispered the Toper. “As our curate said: ‘There’s a good time coming.’ It was not for nothing that Cheri-Bibi got himself put in irons. And the reason why he spat in the ‘Guv’nor’s’ face was that he didn’t want to be interfered with. He’s got his scheme. It’s a good ’un.”

“We’ll leave that to Cheri-Bibi. Seems we might in irons?” whispered Little Buddha. “I myself can do nothing without him. I’ve no confidence in anyone but him.”

“That’s his affair. He knows his business. There was no way of making our arrangements so long as the warders were in the cage watching him. That’s why he got himself put in irons. Do you understand now? He can talk.”

“I shall be in the cells to-morrow,” said the African. “Hurry up, so that I know what’s what. Is it a fact that we’re all agreed on a shindy?”

“Certain,” declared the Toper, nodding his head.

“All agreed to seize the ship.”

“Certain.”

“Is the lower gun deck in it?”

“The lower gun deck as well as the upper gun deck.”

“Aren’t there any police spies?”

“No, and no prison spies. All of us are in it quite openly. Ready to risk our skins if necessary. Win or die, what!”

“But what are we going to do when we’ve got the upper hand?”

“We’ll leave that to Cheri-Bibi. Seems we might turn pirates. We can please ourselves seeing that we shall be our own masters, what? Everything in the store-room will be ours, the whole caboodle, the ship and the government’s money.”

“We shall be masters of the Atlantic. Let those who come up against us look out!” said Little Buddha, and playing the gentleman he went on: “What awful weather! What a hustle! You’re treading on my foot, Toper. Did you ever see such a crowd packed into so small a space? We might be on the Boulevards on the fourteenth of July.” And he hummed as he cleaned out the bottom of the tub:

In Paris chock-a-block with troops.

“Sing! Sing!” ordered the Toper. “There’s the warder. Don’t let him suspect that we’re planning things. . . .”

Little Buddha wiped his mouth with his sleeve and finished:

In Paris chock-a-block with troops ,

Where 1 go for my little treat ,

There’ll be twenty million nincompoops A-treading on my feet.

The guard had passed. The Toper went on:

“Maybe we can go to Caracas where there’s a revolution on. We could offer our services to the revolutionary army, and then it would be our turn to become the government.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Little Buddha approv¬ ingly. “You shall be Minister of Justice and 1 Minister of Education. You’d see how I would educate the people. There would be no use for murderers.”

“Now you’ve talked enough rot,” said the Kanaka, who never allowed himself to take a cheerful view of anything, “can you explain, Monsieur the Toper, how we who are unarmed, locked up in cages, surrounded by warders and soldiers ready to search us, can get hold of the Bayard?”

“You want to know too much,” returned Carrots.

“That’s a fact, he’s too inquisitive,” insisted the Toper. “Cheri-Bibi doesn’t like it. I’ve told you he’s got his scheme.”

“Well, I tell you that without arms we can do nothing.”

“I agree with the Kanaka,” said the African.

“Who told you we shouldn’t have any arms?”

“Where are we to get ’em from?”

“Aren’t there any on board?”

“Yes, but we can’t get at ’em.”

“The scheme is a very simple one,” the Toper let slip at last, in a tone of irritation. And leaning towards his companions at the tub he continued: “We shall have arms ... as many as we want to make us masters of the lower deck. Do you follow me? We shall have arms . . . cutlasses, shooters . . . Excellent! At a given moment, when the cage is opened we shall make a rush at the guard, the Overseer General, the Inspector, the Lieutenant, in fact all the lot of them, and do for them. We shall open the other cages before the guards on the upper deck know what’s going on.”

“But the sentries will fire and the soldiers and sailors come hurrying up. We shall all be mas¬ sacred.”

“Silly fool!” returned the Toper in a tone of contempt. “It’s certain that many of us will have to pay for it. More than one of us will get shot. But you can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs, can you? The chief thing is not to funk it but to do the needful. Eight hundred pals on board will be armed. . . . We’ll make a dash for the hatchways, and it’s the sentries that’ll pay for it. And then we can barricade the hatchways in the gangways with kit bags and any stuff we may find in the hold. ... I tell you, there’ll be a devil of a racket. We’ll fight like they did in the days of the Revolution, what? It’s a bad look out for the funkers. For my part I’d rather go under in the attempt than snuff it at Bre slaving away for the Government.”

A murmur of approval greeted the orator’s last words. Nevertheless the Kanaka did not seem entirely convinced. He was a man with the scientific mind. He mistrusted the Toper’s enthusiasm, his impulsive, thoughtless temperament. Yet he realized that Cheri-Bibi had chosen him as the confidant of his plans because, owing to his herculean strength, his brutality and his exploits, the Toper exercised a real influence over the convicts; and Cheri-Bibi was confident that he would not betray him but would make short work of those false friends who when they had knowledge of his intentions did not regard them as wonderful.

“The proof that we shall have arms when he likes,” went on the Toper, getting up, a movement which was followed by the gaze of all the convicts who had been furtively watching Cheri-Bibi’s lieutenant as he talked, “the proof is that he wants us all to-day, in a body, to drink his health. We’ve had enough water. Come on, Carrots, have a look at the bottom of your bag.”

Carrots did as he was told and almost died on the spot from shock as his fingers came in contact with the agreeable chill of a glass bottle, and pulled it out with a trembling hand. All the men stared at it with the exception of the Lamb. There is always at least one Lamb in each cage who does not want to know anything of what is happening round him, and whose hypocritical attitude is allowed to pass because more often than not he is in a state of despair that prevents him from eating, and willingly foregoes his rations. With the exception, therefore, of the Lamb and the Toper, who started off on a tour of the grille just to keep the “deputy warders” under observation, every man had his eyes fixed on him, even the sick who pulled themselves together in order to see and under¬ stand. ... Was it then indeed true? ... A bottle. ... A really big fat-bellied bottle. ... A beautiful tickler. ... A liter such as they had not seen for many a long day, for they were not entitled to buy luxuries at the canteen like the old offenders who were allowed to have money and the happiness that money can buy They all stood up in spite of the pitching and rolling and their illness. . . .

Clutching one another, with a tremulous movement of the fingers, their eyes starting from their heads, they stared at the bottle.

Carrots, who trembled so greatly that he was afraid of dropping it, held it tightly clasped in his arms; and then he opened it with eyes closed, nostrils dilated and face transfixed. The bottle contained rum. They would be able to have a tot of rum. The mere thought of it excited their thirst. Men who no longer had the right to anything save blows and kicks like wild beasts, and to starve to death, suddenly saw the light! A bottle of rum! What a miracle and what a mystery. It was Cheri-Bibi’s doing. He alone was capable of such a stroke. He alone could explain the inexplicable—how this wonderful thing had come about in spite of perpetual searches and frightful and continuous supervision. The man who had smuggled in this bottle of rum would also smuggle in arms. That could be depended on. There was no longer room for any doubt. And the men in all their varied brutality passionately vowed themselves to him.

“What a piece of luck the Lieutenant didn’t fix on Carrots’ kit bag,” said Little Buddha.

“It proves that Providence is with us,” declared the Toper. “Come on, there’s a drink all round. There isn’t enough in this one for all of us.”

He took four large bottles of rum out of the bag at the moment when he felt that there would be a scrimmage round Carrots’ bottle, which would not go far among so many. Then there was a gloomy and mute delirium. They drank, they gurgled and choked with joy, their heads thrown hack a little, transported by the flow of the burning spirit. Those who had not yet drunk waited, their hands out¬ stretched, their fingers bent, growling impatiently, gasping painfully and heavily for breath. The Toper kept order, and when the warders walked down the alley-way he put the bottles out of sight. And then once again the men made a rush at them. When the unclean kiss on the mouth of the bottle continued too long, men cried out in muffled and threatening voices: “That’ll do!” and the drinker gave up the bottle with flaming eyes. When the bottles were empty there was at first a silence, a sort of physical exhaustion to which they yielded with one common accord. And then suddenly the same impulse of gratitude leapt forth from all their throats. And the hoarse voices rang out: