I had this story from one who had no business to tell it tome, or to any other. I may credit the seductive influenceof an old vintage upon the narrator for the beginning of it,and my own skeptical incredulity during the days that followedfor the balance of the strange tale.

When my convivial host discovered that he had told me somuch, and that I was prone to doubtfulness, his foolish prideassumed the task the old vintage had commenced, and so heunearthed written evidence in the form of musty manuscript,and dry official records of the British Colonial Office to supportmany of the salient features of his remarkable narrative.

I do not say the story is true, for I did not witness thehappenings which it portrays, but the fact that in the tellingof it to you I have taken fictitious names for the principalcharacters quite sufficiently evidences the sincerity of my ownbelief that it MAY be true.

The yellow, mildewed pages of the diary of a man long dead, andthe records of the Colonial Office dovetail perfectly with thenarrative of my convivial host, and so I give you the story asI painstakingly pieced it out from these several various agencies.

If you do not find it credible you will at least be as onewith me in acknowledging that it is unique, remarkable, andinteresting.

From the records of the Colonial Office and from the deadman's diary we learn that a certain young English nobleman,whom we shall call John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, wascommissioned to make a peculiarly delicate investigation ofconditions in a British West Coast African Colony from whosesimple native inhabitants another European power wasknown to be recruiting soldiers for its native army, which itused solely for the forcible collection of rubber and ivoryfrom the savage tribes along the Congo and the Aruwimi.The natives of the British Colony complained that many oftheir young men were enticed away through the medium offair and glowing promises, but that few if any ever returnedto their families.

The Englishmen in Africa went even further, saying thatthese poor blacks were held in virtual slavery, since aftertheir terms of enlistment expired their ignorance was imposedupon by their white officers, and they were told that they hadyet several years to serve.

And so the Colonial Office appointed John Clayton to a newpost in British West Africa, but his confidential instructionscentered on a thorough investigation of the unfair treatmentof black British subjects by the officers of a friendlyEuropean power. Why he was sent, is, however, of little momentto this story, for he never made an investigation, nor,in fact, did he ever reach his destination.

Clayton was the type of Englishman that one likes best toassociate with the noblest monuments of historic achievementupon a thousand victorious battlefields--a strong, virile man--mentally, morally, and physically.

In stature he was above the average height; his eyes weregray, his features regular and strong; his carriage that ofperfect, robust health influenced by his years of army training.

Political ambition had caused him to seek transferencefrom the army to the Colonial Office and so we find him, stillyoung, entrusted with a delicate and important commission inthe service of the Queen.

When he received this appointment he was both elated andappalled. The preferment seemed to him in the nature of awell-merited reward for painstaking and intelligent service,and as a stepping stone to posts of greater importance andresponsibility; but, on the other hand, he had been married tothe Hon. Alice Rutherford for scarce a three months, and itwas the thought of taking this fair young girl into the dangersand isolation of tropical Africa that appalled him.

For her sake he would have refused the appointment, but shewould not have it so. Instead she insisted that he accept,and, indeed, take her with him.

There were mothers and brothers and sisters, and auntsand cousins to express various opinions on the subject, but asto what they severally advised history is silent.

We know only that on a bright May morning in 1888,John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice sailed from Dover ontheir way to Africa.

A month later they arrived at Freetown where they chartereda small sailing vessel, the Fuwalda, which was to bearthem to their final destination.

And here John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice, his wife,vanished from the eyes and from the knowledge of men.

Two months after they weighed anchor and cleared fromthe port of Freetown a half dozen British war vessels werescouring the south Atlantic for trace of them or their littlevessel, and it was almost immediately that the wreckage wasfound upon the shores of St. Helena which convinced theworld that the Fuwalda had gone down with all on board,and hence the search was stopped ere it had scarce begun;though hope lingered in longing hearts for many years.

The Fuwalda, a barkentine of about one hundred tons,was a vessel of the type often seen in coastwise tradein the far southern Atlantic, their crews composed ofthe offscourings of the sea--unhanged murderers andcutthroats of every race and every nation.

The Fuwalda was no exception to the rule. Her officerswere swarthy bullies, hating and hated by their crew.The captain, while a competent seaman, was a brute in histreatment of his men. He knew, or at least he used, but twoarguments in his dealings with them--a belaying pin and arevolver--nor is it likely that the motley aggregationhe signed would have understood aught else.

So it was that from the second day out from FreetownJohn Clayton and his young wife witnessed scenes upon thedeck of the Fuwalda such as they had believed were neverenacted outside the covers of printed stories of the sea.

It was on the morning of the second day that the first linkwas forged in what was destined to form a chain of circumstancesending in a life for one then unborn such as has never beenparalleled in the history of man.

Two sailors were washing down the decks of the Fuwalda,the first mate was on duty, and the captain had stopped tospeak with John Clayton and Lady Alice.

The men were working backwards toward the little partywho were facing away from the sailors. Closer and closerthey came, until one of them was directly behind the captain.In another moment he would have passed by and this strangenarrative would never have been recorded.

But just that instant the officer turned to leave Lord andLady Greystoke, and, as he did so, tripped against the sailorand sprawled headlong upon the deck, overturning the water-pail so that he was drenched in its dirty contents.

For an instant the scene was ludicrous; but only for an instant.With a volley of awful oaths, his face suffused with thescarlet of mortification and rage, the captain regained hisfeet, and with a terrific blow felled the sailor to the deck.

The man was small and rather old, so that the brutality ofthe act was thus accentuated. The other seaman, however,was neither old nor small--a huge bear of a man, with fierceblack mustachios, and a great bull neck set between massiveshoulders.

As he saw his mate go down he crouched, and, with a lowsnarl, sprang upon the captain crushing him to his knees witha single mighty blow.

From scarlet the officer's face went white, for this was mutiny;and mutiny he had met and subdued before in his brutalcareer. Without waiting to rise he whipped a revolver fromhis pocket, firing point blank at the great mountain of muscletowering before him; but, quick as he was, John Clayton wasalmost as quick, so that the bullet which was intended for thesailor's heart lodged in the sailor's leg instead, for LordGreystoke had struck down the captain's arm as he had seenthe weapon flash in the sun.

Words passed between Clayton and the captain, the formermaking it plain that he was disgusted with the brutalitydisplayed toward the crew, nor would he countenance anythingfurther of the kind while he and Lady Greystoke remainedpassengers.

The captain was on the point of making an angry reply,but, thinking better of it, turned on his heel and black andscowling, strode aft.

He did not care to antagonize an English official, for theQueen's mighty arm wielded a punitive instrument which he couldappreciate, and which he feared--England's far-reaching navy.

The two sailors picked themselves up, the older man assistinghis wounded comrade to rise. The big fellow, who wasknown among his mates as Black Michael, tried his leg gingerly,and, finding that it bore his weight, turned to Claytonwith a word of gruff thanks.

Though the fellow's tone was surly, his words were evidentlywell meant. Ere he had scarce finished his little speech hehad turned and was limping off toward the forecastle with thevery apparent intention of forestalling any further conversation.

They did not see him again for several days, nor did thecaptain accord them more than the surliest of grunts when hewas forced to speak to them.

They took their meals in his cabin, as they had before theunfortunate occurrence; but the captain was careful to seethat his duties never permitted him to eat at the same time.

The other officers were coarse, illiterate fellows, but littleabove the villainous crew they bullied, and were only tooglad to avoid social intercourse with the polished Englishnoble and his lady, so that the Claytons were left very muchto themselves.

This in itself accorded perfectly with their desires, but italso rather isolated them from the life of the little ship sothat they were unable to keep in touch with the daily happeningswhich were to culminate so soon in bloody tragedy.

There was in the whole atmosphere of the craft that undefinablesomething which presages disaster. Outwardly, to theknowledge of the Claytons, all went on as before upon thelittle vessel; but that there was an undertow leading themtoward some unknown danger both felt, though they did notspeak 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 ofone of the crew being carried below by four of his fellowswhile the first mate, a heavy belaying pin in his hand, stoodglowering at the little party of sullen sailors.

Clayton asked no questions--he did not need to--and thefollowing day, as the great lines of a British battleship grewout of the distant horizon, he half determined to demand thathe and Lady Alice be put aboard her, for his fears weresteadily increasing that nothing but harm could result fromremaining on the lowering, sullen Fuwalda.

Toward noon they were within speaking distance of theBritish vessel, but when Clayton had nearly decided to askthe captain to put them aboard her, the obvious ridiculousnessof such a request became suddenly apparent. What reasoncould he give the officer commanding her majesty's shipfor desiring to go back in the direction from which he hadjust come!

What if he told them that two insubordinate seamen hadbeen roughly handled by their officers? They would but laughin their sleeves and attribute his reason for wishing to leavethe ship to but one thing--cowardice.

John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, did not ask to be transferredto the British man-of-war. Late in the afternoon he sawher upper works fade below the far horizon, but not beforehe learned that which confirmed his greatest fears, andcaused him to curse the false pride which had restrained himfrom seeking safety for his young wife a few short hoursbefore, when safety was within reach--a safety which was nowgone forever.

It was mid-afternoon that brought the little old sailor, whohad been felled by the captain a few days before, to whereClayton and his wife stood by the ship's side watching theever diminishing outlines of the great battleship. The oldfellow was polishing brasses, and as he came edging along untilclose to Clayton he said, in an undertone:

"'Ell's to pay, sir, on this 'ere craft, an' mark my word forit, 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 thatdevil'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. BlackMichael's as good as new agin an' 'e's not the bully tostand 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 meansmurder, 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 sortt'other day an' I thought it no more'n right to warn ye. Butkeep a still tongue in yer 'ead an' when ye 'ear shootin' gitbelow an' stay there.

"That's all, only keep a still tongue in yer 'ead, or they'llput a pill between yer ribs, an' mark my word for it, sir," andthe old fellow went on with his polishing, which carried himaway from where the Claytons were standing.

"Deuced cheerful outlook, Alice," said Clayton.

"You should warn the captain at once, John. Possibly thetrouble may yet be averted," she said.

"I suppose I should, but yet from purely selfish motives Iam almost prompted to `keep a still tongue in my 'ead.'Whatever they do now they will spare us in recognition ofmy stand for this fellow Black Michael, but should they findthat I had betrayed them there would be no mercy shown us, Alice."

"You have but one duty, John, and that lies in the interestof vested authority. If you do not warn the captain you areas much a party to whatever follows as though you had helpedto plot and carry it out with your own head and hands."

"You do not understand, dear," replied Clayton. "It is ofyou I am thinking--there lies my first duty. The captain hasbrought this condition upon himself, so why then should Irisk subjecting my wife to unthinkable horrors in a probablyfutile attempt to save him from his own brutal folly? Youhave no conception, dear, of what would follow were thispack of cutthroats to gain control of the Fuwalda."

"Duty is duty, John, and no amount of sophistries maychange it. I would be a poor wife for an English lord were Ito be responsible for his shirking a plain duty. I realize thedanger which must follow, but I can face it with you."

"Have it as you will then, Alice," he answered, smiling."Maybe we are borrowing trouble. While I do not like thelooks of things on board this ship, they may not be so badafter all, for it is possible that the `Ancient Mariner' was butvoicing the desires of his wicked old heart rather than speakingof real facts.

"Mutiny on the high sea may have been common a hundredyears ago, but in this good year 1888 it is the least likelyof happenings.

"But there goes the captain to his cabin now. If I am goingto warn him I might as well get the beastly job over for Ihave little stomach to talk with the brute at all."

So saying he strolled carelessly in the direction of thecompanionway through which the captain had passed, and amoment later was knocking at his door.

"Come in," growled the deep tones of that surly officer.

And when Clayton had entered, and closed the door behind him:

"Well?"

"I have come to report the gist of a conversation I heardto-day, because I feel that, while there may be nothing to it,it is as well that you be forearmed. In short, the mencontemplate mutiny and murder."

"It's a lie!" roared the captain. "And if you have beeninterfering again with the discipline of this ship, or meddlingin affairs that don't concern you you can take the consequences,and be damned. I don't care whether you are an English lordor not. I'm captain of this here ship, and from now on youkeep your meddling nose out of my business."

The captain had worked himself up to such a frenzy ofrage that he was fairly purple of face, and he shrieked thelast words at the top of his voice, emphasizing his remarks bya loud thumping of the table with one huge fist, and shakingthe other in Clayton's face.

Greystoke never turned a hair, but stood eying the excitedman with level gaze.

"Captain Billings," he drawled finally, "if you will pardonmy candor, I might remark that you are something of an ass."

Whereupon he turned and left the captain with the sameindifferent ease that was habitual with him, and which wasmore surely calculated to raise the ire of a man of Billings'class than a torrent of invective.

So, whereas the captain might easily have been brought toregret his hasty speech had Clayton attempted to conciliatehim, his temper was now irrevocably set in the mold in whichClayton had left it, and the last chance of their workingtogether for their common good was gone.

"Well, Alice," said Clayton, as he rejoined his wife, "I mighthave saved my breath. The fellow proved most ungrateful.Fairly jumped at me like a mad dog.

"He and his blasted old ship may hang, for aught I care;and until we are safely off the thing I shall spend my energiesin looking after our own welfare. And I rather fancy the firststep to that end should be to go to our cabin and look overmy revolvers. I am sorry now that we packed the larger gunsand the ammunition with the stuff below."

They found their quarters in a bad state of disorder. Clothingfrom their open boxes and bags strewed the little apartment,and even their beds had been torn to pieces.

"Evidently someone was more anxious about our belongingsthan we," said Clayton. "Let's have a look around, Alice,and see what's missing."

A thorough search revealed the fact that nothing had beentaken but Clayton's two revolvers and the small supply ofammunition he had saved out for them.

"Those are the very things I most wish they had left us,"said Clayton, "and the fact that they wished for them andthem alone is most sinister."

"What are we to do, John?" asked his wife. "Perhaps youwere right in that our best chance lies in maintaining aneutral position.

"If the officers are able to prevent a mutiny, we have nothingto fear, while if the mutineers are victorious our one slimhope lies in not having attempted to thwart or antagonize them."

"Right you are, Alice. We'll keep in the middle of the road."

As they started to straighten up their cabin, Clayton andhis wife simultaneously noticed the corner of a piece of paperprotruding from beneath the door of their quarters. As Claytonstooped to reach for it he was amazed to see it movefurther into the room, and then he realized that it was beingpushed inward by someone from without.

Quickly and silently he stepped toward the door, but, ashe reached for the knob to throw it open, his wife's hand fellupon his wrist.

"No, John," she whispered. "They do not wish to be seen,and so we cannot afford to see them. Do not forget that weare keeping to the middle of the road."

Clayton smiled and dropped his hand to his side. Thusthey stood watching the little bit of white paper until itfinally remained at rest upon the floor just inside the door.

Then Clayton stooped and picked it up. It was a bit ofgrimy, white paper roughly folded into a ragged square.Opening it they found a crude message printed almostillegibly, and with many evidences of an unaccustomed task.

Translated, it was a warning to the Claytons to refrainfrom reporting the loss of the revolvers, or from repeatingwhat the old sailor had told them--to refrain on pain of death.

"I rather imagine we'll be good," said Clayton with a ruefulsmile. "About all we can do is to sit tight and wait forwhatever may come."