Over the Plum Pudding Part 19

"I was not aware that you were so clever a man," said he, after a moment, calming down. "I perceive that my attempt to ruin you interlopers at the outset is to be attended with some difficulty. You have individual resources upon which I had not counted."

"Ah!" said I. "It was you who turned the claret sour?"

"It was," he replied--"as a part of my revenge. And, mark you, Captain Hammerpestle, no cargo shall ever reach its destination unspoiled while I have a bit of the old spook left in me. Where are we bound now?"

"To Naples," said I, incautiously, and I further foolishly unfolded my plan to dispose of the cargo as Chianti.

"See here, captain," he said, pleadingly, "give up this honest seafaring business and come out as a pirate, won't you? You're too clever a chap to be honest. Keep the _Dutch Avenger_ going as a terror, and, by Jingo, sir, I'll stand by you to the last."

My answer was the lighting of a sulphur candle in the hope of exorcising him, and, going on deck, I ordered the name _Gretchen B._ restored, merely to emphasize my determination to have no part in his foul schemes of piracy.

I must now pause in my narrative for a moment, and see how far we have settled in the water. It may be I shall have to write somewhat less in detail so as to finish the tale before I am destroyed by the inrush of the sea.

It is as I feared. The rippling surface of the ocean is already lapping the lower edge of my circular port window, and one or two drops have leaked within. It will not be long, I fear, before the water from below will burst the decks and dash against my door, when, of course, we shall sink the more rapidly, but if the walls of my cabin, and they are unquestionably strong, Von Rotterdaam having had them made bullet-proof, of wrought-iron--if these can withstand the pressure of the water for a half-hour after we are submerged, I am quite confident I can finish the story in time to bottle it up and launch it safely through the port.

After many days of difficulty we pa.s.sed the Strait of Gibraltar, and on the 18th of July were safely anch.o.r.ed in the Bay of Naples, where I sold the claret, which Von Rotterdaam had changed into water, as the latest mineral product of the Schnitzelhammerstein Spa.

But from the hour of my refusal to compromise with my honor and become the successor and partner of Von Rotterdaam in the profession of piracy we had trouble on board.

Letting my cargo alone, he introduced a system of haunting my crew, so that at the end of several years not a German-speaking sailor was anxious to s.h.i.+p with me, except at ruinously high wages. I found some, but not many, and finally I was reduced to the followers of the two men I have already mentioned--Hans Stickenfurst and Diedrich Foutzenhickle--men who had never known fear, and who, when Von Rotterdaam haunted them, merely laughed and blew the vile-smelling smoke from their pipes into his face. But while the pirate ghost was powerless to fill the men with fear, he did arouse a great interest in the stories of his booty which he told. Night after night, lying in my cabin, I could hear him in the forecastle telling them tales of his prowess, and giving forth vague hints as to where vast treasure was hid which might become theirs if only I would come around and become his successor. The night we entered port I overheard a compact made between them, that on the next outward voyage they would first reason with me and persuade me, if possible, to accept his proposition, and, failing in that, to seize the s.h.i.+p, put me in the long-boat, turn me adrift, and place themselves subject to Von Rotterdaam's orders.

That was a year ago. Since then, until this ill-fated voyage (by-the-way, as I look up the water is clear over the port window, and is beginning to trickle in under the door, so I must again hasten)--until this ill-fated voyage, I was not again on the sea, and having in mind the threats of my crew, which they do not even now know that I overheard, I secured for this voyage the crew of an Irish bark, discharging all my previous men.

"I will at least have men who do not understand Dutch or German," I thought, "and for this voyage shall be comparatively safe. To insure against a possible turning adrift in the long-boat, I shall likewise sail without it."

Alas for all my expectations! While neither Sullivan nor O'Brien, as I had supposed, was acquainted with the native tongue of Von Rotterdaam, that talented ghost could speak English with as fine a brogue as ever gilded speech; and, worse than this, Sullivan, the carpenter, was a fly-away fool. Genial, full of good stories, and an excellent carpenter (the deck beneath my feet is bulging upward), he was absolutely without foresight, and it is to him I owe my present plight.

It happened this afternoon. The day had been absolutely calm and still.

Not a ripple on the sea, not a breath of wind to stir even the frayed hemp in the rigging, and yet down, down, down we are sinking, _for Sullivan has sawed a hole in our bottom big enough to let a man through_!

I didn't suppose he would do it, but he has; and because last night while he and Rafferty, my second mate, were smoking in the forecastle, Von Rotterdaam's spirit rose up before them, and, arousing their cupidity, led them astray.

"For the love of the shaints!" cried Rafferty, as the ghost appeared, "phwat are you?"

Rotterdaam replied, "A spherit of the poirate Von Rotterdaam; and here where I stand, directly below me, in five fathoms of water, lies a million in treasure."

"Go on!" cried Rafferty.

"'Tis true," retorted Von Rotterdaam. "And if at noon to-morrow you will cut away enough of the s.h.i.+p's bottom to let yourselves through the hole, with a rope tied about you so that you can be hauled back again, it will be yours."

"Blame good pay for a shwim," said Sullivan. "A million phwat--pounds or francs, sorr? They's some difference betune the two."

"Exactly," returned Von Rotterdaam. "And they're pounds sterling, ingots of gold, and priceless jewels."

"Phwy don't yees tell the ould man?" asked Rafferty, referring to me.

"Because," replied Von Rotterdaam, "he would keep it all for himself.

You gentlemen, I am sure, will divide it justly among all."

"Thrue for youse," said Sullivan, with a laugh. "And phwere do you come in?"

"I have no further use for dross," replied Von Rotterdaam; and I judge that at that moment he faded from their sight, for almost immediately he appeared in my cabin. I was tired and irritated, so I said nothing, pretending to be asleep, never for an instant believing that Sullivan would do so foolish a thing.

"He doesn't ever think of consequences; but he's not such an a.s.s as to cut a hole a yard square in the bottom of this s.h.i.+p," I said to myself; and then, worn out, I really slept. How it happened I do not know; possibly that infernal ghost in some manner drugged me; but it was not until five minutes after midday, just three hours ago, that I awoke, and my heart stood still as I heard the action of a saw deep down in the hold.

"Heavens!" I cried, starting up. "The idiot's at it!"

A deep, baleful laugh greeted the remark. It was from Von Rotterdaam.

"He is! And I am revenged!" he said, in tones which seemed to come from the centre of the earth, and then he vanished--I hope, forever.

I rushed madly out and called for Sullivan, but the only answer was the grating of the saw's teeth. (Dear me! how dark it is getting! I must really not linger with details.) My only answer was the grating of the saw's teeth upon the bottom of my devoted vessel. Shrieking, I clambered down into the hold, but too late. Just as I got there the yard square of planking was burst in by the waters, and the vessel was doomed.

"Well, captain," I said to myself, a great calm coming over my soul, "it's all up with you; now think of others. Those at home, not hearing from you, will be worried. Go to your cabin, and, like a dutiful man, make your report."

This I have done, and this narrative is my report. I hope it will reach its destination in safety, and that the world may yet learn that in the hour of peril, which has but one conclusion, I have been faithful and calm.

It is now the 16th day of June, 1640. I shall never see the 17th, and I am resigned to my fate. And now for the bottle ... now for the cork.... Blithering cyclones! the door is cracking open ... and now--one--two--three--to open the port ... wait. I must put in one final P.S. In case this story ever reaches the land, will the finder kindly be careful in correcting the proof and see that my name is spelled correctly? There is just a moment in which to write it plainly--RUDOLF--with an F, mark you, not a PH, and HAMMERPESTLE with two M's. And so--the port....

There the story ends, and here it is for the world to see. What followed Captain Hammerpestle's last word we can only surmise.

Pumpernickel and I have been faithful to the trust unwittingly committed to our care by one who has been dead for a trifle over two hundred and sixty years. We have only to add that those who do not believe that the story is true can see the water-bottle at the home of Herr Pumpernickel at Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz at any time; but as for the ma.n.u.script and the ghost of the pirate Von Rotterdaam, we do not know where they are. The latter we have ourselves never seen, and the former was, as usual, mislaid by the talented young person who undertook to make a type-written copy of it for us a few days after our discovery.

THE END