increase during the night, if casting off was impossible, would Harry Markel and his companions have to abandon the ship, board the rowboat, row to the back of the cove, run up into the countryside in the hope of escaping the police searches, and, if this attempt failed, try another? Perhaps, after having taken refuge in some shoreline cave for the day, they could perhaps wait for the wind to pick back up and, once night had fallen, return on board?
But when the passengers, early the next morning, would find the ship abandoned, they would return to Queenstown. Men would immediately be sent to seize the Alert and bring it to port.
It was then that Harry Markel, the boatswain, and Corty conversed about these different questions, while the others stayed together on the forecastle.
“Bloody breeze!” repeated John Carpenter. “There’s too much when you don’t want any, and not enough when you do!”
“And if the tide doesn’t bring any wind,” added Corty, “it isn’t with the ebb tide that it’ll blow from land.”
“And the skiff that’s going to arrive tomorrow morning with its passenger cargo!” exclaimed the boatswain. “Will we have to wait for them?”
“Who knows, John?”
“After all,” admitted John Carpenter, “there are only about ten of them, according to what the newspaper says. Young men with their professor! We were quite capable of getting rid of the Alert’s crew, and we’ll be able …”
Corty was shaking his head, not that he disagreed with John Carpenter, but he thought it necessary to voice this reflection:
“What was easy during the night will be less easy during the day. And then, these passengers will have been brought by people from the port who may know Captain Paxton! What will we answer when they ask why he isn’t on board?”
“We’ll tell them that he went ashore,” replied the boatswain. “They’ll come aboard. The skiff will return to Queenstown. And then …”
It is certain that, in this deserted Farmar Cove, at a moment when no ships would be in sight, these desperate men could easily have their way with the passengers. They would have no hesitation about committing this new crime. Mr. Patterson and his young companions would be massacred without even being able to defend themselves, as had the men of the Alert.
However, as was his custom, Harry Markel was letting them talk. He was reflecting on what had to be done about this very threatening situation in which they now found themselves because of the impossibility of reaching the open sea. He would not hesitate, but perhaps it would be necessary to wait until the following night, yet another twenty-some hours. And then, there was still the serious complication that Captain Paxton would be known by one of them, and how to explain his absence on the very day—one may say, at the very hour—when the Alert was supposed to cast off?
No, what was best would be for the weather to allow them to set sail and get away, in the darkness, some twenty miles to the south of Ireland. It was a great misfortune that they were prevented from raising anchor and escaping any pursuit.
After all, maybe it was only a matter of being patient. It was not eleven o’clock yet. Would not a modification in the atmospheric conditions occur before dawn? Yes, perhaps, even though Harry Markel and the other seamen, accustomed to observing the weather, could not make out any favorable signs. The persistent fog caused them very legitimate concerns. It indicated an atmosphere soaked in electricity, one of those “rotten weather” spells, as the sailors say, from which nothing can be hoped and which might last for several days.
Be that as it may, the only thing to do, for the moment, was to wait; Harry Markel responded no more than that. When the moment came, they would decide if it was best to abandon the Alert and seek refuge in some point of Farmar Cove in order to reach the countryside.
In any case, the fugitives were stocking up on food, after having helped themselves to the money locked in the Captain’s drawers and in the sailors’ bags. They would wear the crew’s clothes, found in their quarters—a less suspect attire than that of escapees from Queenstown.
Thus armed with money and provisions, who knows if they would not succeed in eluding the police searches, and in embarking on a ship at some other Irish port, and then in making themselves safe in another continent?
So, there were five or six hours yet to pass before a decision had to be made. Harry Markel and his gang, hunted by the constables, were exhausted when they arrived on board the Alert. In addition, they were dying of hunger. Consequently, as soon as they became masters of the ship, their first priority was to get themselves some food.
The one among them who was naturally designated for this task was Ranyah Cogh. He lit a lantern, searched the kitchen, then the storeroom, situated under the wardroom, to which there was access through a hatch. The hold was heavily stocked in view of the round-trip voyage and would be enough even if the Alert went as far as the Pacific waters.
Ranyah Cogh found everything that was needed to satisfy the hunger of his companions, and their thirst as well: there was no shortage of brandy, whisky, and gin.
That done, Harry Markel, who had eaten his share of the meal, gave John Carpenter and the others the order to go put on the clothes owned by the sailors whose bodies were lying on the bridge. Then, they would go to sleep in some corner, while waiting to be awakened if there was reason to hoist the sails and weigh anchor.
As for Harry Markel, he was not thinking about resting at all. What seemed urgent to him was to consult the navigational charts from which he would no doubt be able to gather certain pieces of information. He entered the captain’s cabin, lit a lamp, opened the drawers with the keys taken from the pockets of poor Captain Paxton and then, after having removed certain papers, he sat behind the table, all the while maintaining his sangfroid, which had been put to the test so many times before during his life of adventure.
Ranyah Cogh inspected the storeroom.
Understandably, the various papers were in order, since the casting off was supposed to take place the next day. By consulting the crew assignment sheet, Harry Markel was able to confirm that all the sailors were present when the ship had been taken over. There was then no reason to fear that some of them, on supply duty or on leave in Queens-town, would come back on board. The crew had been massacred down to the last man.
Harry Markel, checking the cargo manifest, noticed as well that the ship was stocked with enough preserved meats, dry vegetables, hard tack, salted meats and fish, flour, etc., to allow for at least three months of navigation. As for the sum of money that the cabin’s safe contained, it came to six hundred pounds.2
Now, Harry Markel thought that he had better know about Captain Paxton’s past voyages on the Alert. In the course of their future travels, it would be important for the ship not to go back to any ports in which it had already stopped over or where its commander may be known.
With his habit of trying to foresee all eventualities, Harry Markel was not a man to shy away from the most extreme caution.
An examination of the ship’s log provided him with information he needed.
The Alert was three years old, built in Birkenhead in the yards of Simpson and Company. It had only made two voyages to India, to Bombay, Ceylon, and Calcutta, and then had returned directly to Liverpool, its
