Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1911 — A Deep Sea Tragedy [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A Deep Sea Tragedy

Taken from the Archive* of Bullivants, Limited, fiat | greatest Inquiry and detective agency of modern times Y

By FREDERICK. REDDALE

(OopyrlfbL. 1810, bj W. O. Chapman)

story opens tn King By William street, London, 1 within sound of Bow B I Bells and a stone’s ■ * throw from the Man- '.■■■■■■■ slon House, "The Old Lady of Threadneedle street," and the Royal I W*>W Exchange,amid the roar I and bustle of the old I city—«tliis modern tale I JaßSsl °* < l ueer doings on the I wMHWjr bigh seas. 1 Upon the entire secil|||||Bn j ond floor of a newish building were located the main offices of Bullivapts Lim-ltedr-a firm or organization, evolved through the ' exigencies of contemporary men and manners. And yet Bullivants dealt with the ever-old primeval passions of human weakness —misfortune, cupidity, envy, hatred, malice and ail uncharitableness. Before we reach the matter in hand, let us stroll through Bullivants’ Passing the plain-lettered glass door, we enter first the outer bailey, where a primly-coiffed young lady takes our names and inquires coldly if we have an appointment Passing this female Cerberus, we attain by successive degrees. like pilgrims bound from Purgatory to Paradise, the sanctum of the registrar, the secretary, and the manager, until, possessing the magic “Open Sesame” of a “Case," we reach the holy of holies presided over by Bullivant himself—or some one who represents the firm name. Everything speaks of quiet, orderliness, system and power. Somehow you feel that these people will help you where everyone elße has failed — which is really their raison d’etre, for Bullivants Limited is really a haven of forlorn hopes. There is no conceivable mystery which they will not attempt to unravel. Their integrity is anlmpeached and unimpeachable. Once they took hold of your case you might rest assured it \yas not hopeless, which was the chief reason why Philip Forster, Esq., of the Inner Temple, had requested a consultation on behalf of hla client, Lady Laura Melwood, relict of the late Sir . Charles Melwood of Barton-Melwood, Suffolk, whose only son, Arthur Melwood, heir to the baronetcy, had been missing for the last five years, despite scores of appealing advertisements and the best efforts of tiie smartest detectives. The only son of a widowed mother, Arthur Melwood was in great demand If alive; if dead, satisfactory proof of his demise must be obtained ere the estates could pass to his cousin; the law allowed but one year more of time for proof one way or the other, hence Bullivants was indeed a forlorn hope. Forster and his client speedily penetrated the various offices until they came to the den of the chief Inquisitor, Darrel Cal lister. “Tours is the case of a missing heir, fer. Forster?” said Callister, consulting the card index on his desk, after the necessary Introductions. “Yes. Let me have the bare facts, please, briefly and concisely.” Thus adjured. Solicitor Forster presented his oral brief, aa follows; "Five years ago Mr. Arthur Melwood sailed from the port of London as pasenger on the trading brig Calliope, bound for South American ports. The young man was of a roving disposition and left home with the full permission of his parents, although somewhat to their regret He has never' been heard of, dead or alive. "Three yean after he sailed, hia father, the late Sir Charles, died, leaving his son heir to the barony, one of the oldest in England. The estates are atrictiy entailed in the male line, and failing a direct heir must descend to a cousin. "Eight months after Bailing, the Calliope was sighted by the steam collier Beahorse abandoned in the South Atlantic with all sail set and apparently uninjured alow or aloft. A boat’s crew from the whaler boarded the brig, and found her totally deserted. She had left port with a crew of ten men. besides captain, mate and the captain's wife and child. Not a rope yarn was started; there were no signs of struggle or bloodshed, the quarters and clothing of the crew and the captain’s cabin were in apple-pie order; In the latter were the ships papers, some money, apparel and a sewing machine, on the latter a spool of thread, just as It had been left, proving that no rough wither had been encountered since the abandonment. Not a boat was missing from the davits—l#nce all hands must have been taken off by a passing §hip, even if It were conceivable that they had abandoned a perfectly sound and seaworthy ship—something unimaginable. The only thing out of the way was a Mae trolling over the stern which had , been severed by s knife cut "The Calliope was towed Into Port gtanley, in the- Falk lands, the nearest British port and there sold after the salvage claims were satisfied. Two jraars later aha foundered.. with all hands of aAw crew off the Horn.

discovered, although Lloyds has brought all its machinery to bear to solve the mystery. "We, of course, are mainly interested in the fate of Arthur —I should say Sir Arthur Melwood. We hope for the best, but fear the worst. If Bullivants cannot help us, - then —” •Mr. Forster broke off with a significant gesture. Lady Melwood, her bosom heaving, her eyes suffused with tears behind her veil, held out her hands in mute appeal. “Can you give me any hope, sir?” she implored. “Remember, he was my Boy,' my only child!" Callister had listened impassively to the solicitor’s bald narrative, betraying about as much emotion as a stone Buddha. "You tell me the young man had no reason for remaining away—no foolish entanglements?” he queried. “None whatever,” affirmed Lady Melwood. "Although his father and myself wished him to remain at home, we parted most affectionately. Indeed, Arthur promised us R should be his last trip,” and she collapsed sobbingly at the sinister recollection. “My poor boy, my Arthur!” Callister considerately waited a mo ment before proceeding with his analysis. “You give us a sufficiently difficult problem. Lady Melwood," he said gently. “It almost seems as if no newt would be good news. I mean,” he went on rather quickly, "that a certainty of the very worst that might happen would be better than further suspense. Is it not so?” Lady Melwood bowed her head In assent, yet immediately her mother heart forced her to vehement speech. „ “He’s not dead, sir! I feel it—l know if? Something tells me so! Never wili 1 believe it until the -sea gives up its dead!” To end a painful Interview Callister rose, saying: “We will do our best, Lady Melwood. We seldom fail, but do not build your hopes on that Send me a photograph of your son, with a full description of himself and bis personal "And when —?’’ Lady Melwood was beginning, when the master mind of Bullivants cut her short with a quiet smile and a wave of the hand. ‘‘The instant we have any news—good or bad—we will communicate with Mr. Forster. Good-morning!” And a page ushered them out through a private door. Callister was as good as his word. That same afternoon he was in consultation with one of the agency’s shrewdest investigators, a retired quartermaster of the royal navy, who presided over the department devoted to marine cases, John Tarbell by name. “You, of course, recall the Calliope case?” inquired Callister. “Quite so,” assented Tarbell. "There was an unsolved sea mystery for you! Always thought I’d like to run It down.” “Well, you may have your wish,” commented the other, drily. Tarbell raised his burly eyebrows questloningly, but waited for further details. / “Had you any theories?”, questioned his superior. "Flenty,” was the answer, "and so did every other sailor man; the trouble was that none of them fitted.” “All the better," commented Calllster. “Can’t you think of something new?" “Everything’s possible at sea," answered Tarbell. “At first sight you’re up against a muddle; nothing fits; then comes the explanation—simple as snow sliding off a roof—and there jou are!” “Yes, I understand; but about this Calliope now?” “Well, you see,” said Tarbell. counting off on his finger tips, “we can cut out the usual sea hazards—collision, tempest, mutiny, desertion and fire; none of those perils happen to fit the Calliope. There is a simple solution, of course, but it’ll be something out of the ordinary, or I miss my guess.” “Can’t you give It a name?” “Not now—perhaps nev< was Tar bell’s answer. “But I’m willing to try." x Callister nodded. “The case Is yours; you’ve got a year In which to make good. Take your own way, spare no expense, and report when ready. You’ll find all the facta in file O. M. 864. That’s all.” Probably there was never bo puzzling a case in the annals of maritime nations as that of the brig Calliope. There was absolutely not a single salient fact upon which to build a premise. As Tarbell had said, all plausible theories, based upon the usual hazards of the sea. failed to fit the case. Tboee who might have given a clew— captain, wife and child, passenger, crew—had vanished without apparent reason. So John Tarbell had a hard suit to crack in attempting to Usee the fata of Sir Arthur Melwood. He began his investigations at Lloyds; then he visited the owners. From each visit he drew a blank so i •

far as gleaning additional information was concerned. Then, by great good look, he learned that the Seahorse was In port, so he drove down to Victoria docks, where he interviewed her ■kipper and the mate, who had boarded the Calliope, and got the story <&t first hand. “What did you make of it all,’* queried Tarbell, "man to man, now, Mr. Bannon?" This to the mate of the Seahorse. “Why, ’twas th’ silliest, aggravatin’est job, I ever come across," was the disgusted answer. “Es th* crew was killed, ’oo killed ’em? They must ’a’ left th* brig in fine weather; was they took off by another weasel? Then w’y didn’t th* ol’ man take his instruments, the ship’s papers, an* th’ money? IT! take my h’oath there warn’t no sickness aboard, an* there was ne’er a sign of a fight W’y didn’t th’ mother take th’ baby’s cap an’ coat along wi’ her? An’ w’y was there no boats missin’? Aw,” and Mr,< Bannon expectorated disgustedly over th’ side, “there’s only one way t’ solve th’ blasted mystery, an* that’s t’ overhaul some o’ th’ brig’s people.” “Which is exactly what I propose to do if they’re on earth!” said Tarbell quietly. “You don’t say! Well, then, my advice is you’d better stayt at Port Stanley, go through th’ straits an’ work up Callao way along th’ west coast.” “I guA&a that’s pretty good talk," said Tarbell, nodding farewell. It was a peculiarity of Bullivants Limited that their agents, once intrusted with a case, were allowed to absolutely follow their own devices with a free hand. Likewise was it

understood that money need not be spared to achieve success. “Report when you’re ready and remember the firm’s motto, ‘Nil desperandum,’ ” were the twin watchwords. So to Port Stanley in the Falkland s went Tarbell for the real .starting point in his queer quest There at least he would be on the spot near where the people on the Calliope disappeared from human ken. But public. opinion in that remote crown colony was all adverse. From governor to beachcomber there was a singular unanimity of opinion that the mystery of the Calliope would never be solved until the day of judgment. From thence Tarbell went through the Straits of Magellan, literally combing, the squalid Chilean settlements without extracting a scrap of news good, bad or Indifferent. Me was just stepping on board a coasting steamer bound for Callao when the following message from the harbor master at Port Stanley was placed in his hands: “A whaling bark just in from the southern cruise reports touching at Tristan d’Acunha, and hearing that a crazy white man drifted ashore in an open boat three or four years ago, who is - still there. This may be worth looking into.” Tarbell whistled in amazement as he read. The clew, though faint, was worth following. But Tristan d’Acunha! That semi-desolate pile of volcanic rocks midway of the South Atlantic between Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope! It would take three weeks or a month to get there by sail, even If he were fortunate enough to find a ship at the Falklands bound that way, which‘was exceedingly doubtful. However, luck In this respect was on his side. Tugfcing at her anchor In Port Stanley he found H. M. S. Dart, a steam corvette, on the point of sailing for St. Helena. Upon, presenting his credentials to her captain and stating his errand —that he was In search of the missing Bir Arthur Melwood —the navy man decided as a dead-game sport he would have a look in at Tristan d’Acunha on his way east. So within twelve hours the Dart was plunging heavily into a gloomy and sullen head sea, steering east by north. On the sixth day the Dart slowed her engines and hove to a mile off a dirty gray mountain peak, there bftng no anchorage, only a atrip of rocky beach just about big enough for a boat ‘ ,|-|-|- „ | I “That’s as near aa I care to take my ship,” said the Dart’s captain. "Presume you’ll went to go ashore?"

“Thank yon, yee—that win be the quickest way," answered Tarbell. So a cutter was manned, four oars to a side, and being piped away in charge of a middy, off they went over the kelp-laden waves, making for a little green cove on the northwest angle of the island. Ten or a dozen of the hardy residents were malting to meet them and haul the cutter out of the back-wash. As ter the first salutations the middy inquired: "Any shipwrecked people here?” “One only," was the reply,'“but you won’t want him, poor fellow. He’s—" and a significant gesture, understood by all men,.;told the rest. “How did he come ashore?” asked Tarbell. “Just by his lone, in a leetle boat. Oh, but he was nigh dead wi* hunger and crazy wi’ fright.” “What’s his name?” The islanders shook their heads mutely, their leader* again pointing to his head. “Well, where’s his boat—any name on that?" The boat was yonder under a shed, but she bore no name. “When did he come ashore?” The native named a date, for these islanders keep close reckoning of times and seasons. Consulting his memoranda Tarbell found it was within four or five weeks of the time when the Calliope was found deserted. ’<‘We’d better see the man,” said the middy. “He may have been one of her crew, you know.” So they all trudged up the steep path to the summit of the cliff, where v*ere clustered the cottages and gar-

dens of the seventy or eighty sails that populate Tristan d’Acunha. Coming in sight of one of the neatest and largest, the chief nudged Tarbell’s arm. * “There’s ydur man,” he said, pointing to a bench outside the door, whereon sat a man with a long, fair beard sweeping his chest, and riding a two-year-old baby on his foot All hands trooped into the little door yard, the child crowing wlfh delight. “ ’Tis my grandchild he plays with all day long,” explained the chief. Tarbell nodded, but he had eyes only for the shipwrecked man, who, though clad in rags and with his fair skin browned almost black from exposure, was clearly no common sailor man. The slender, sinewy, wellshaped hands holding the crowing infant on his swaying foot told that Face to face with the castaway, Tarbell needed but a quick glance to know that his quest was ended, for, despite the rags, the tan and the beard, the man on the beach was the one he had come so far to find. Stepping forward he said clearly: “Good-morning, Mr. Melwood!” The effect was magical. Almost dropping the child, the man leaped to his feet “Who said that?” he yelled, his eyes rolling wildly. “That’s—oh! my God!" and with a shriek fell to the ground. "Is he —” the middy was beginning, when Tarbell cut him off. “Of course. Look here and Bee the likeness for yourself,” and he drew from his breast pocket the photograph of Arthur Melwood taken just before he left home on his fateful cruise. The middy handed it back. “No mistake about that, I should say. What’s the next move, Mr. Tarbell? I’m at your orders, you know." “Better carry him aboard ship,” said Bullivants’ emissary. "In all probability when he comes out of this fit he’ll be In his right mind. Besides the doctor should see him without delay." It waa a week era he was allowed on deck, and another before they dared question him. But then the tale he told was so weirdly strange as to almost pass credence, and the mystery of the Calliope was solved at last. “If we had had a white crew I feel certain that the tragedy would never have occurred. But fate willed that, owing to some trouble with the Seaman’s union, there was a hit of a ■trike on at the dock* and the Calliope** captain had a hard time shipping hands for the trip. Finally he managed to get hold of some Lascars who had been shipwrecked, picked up

at se«, and brought to London on a P. and O. liner. They were in hard •traits and glad of the chance to get a ship, even if it was not bound for their home port. '“We had a pleasant passage across the line and well into the South Atlantic. About thirty degrees south we one day sighted an open boat almost dead ahead.' Shifting our helm a couple of points, the wind being light, we presently brought the boat alongside. In her stern was the dead body of a seaman, while huddled in the bow was a huge gorilla almost lifeless from starvation and thirst. “At first sight I 'supposed the animal to be a giant baboon, but on closer inspection I became convinced that he belonged to the gorilla family. This discovery surprised me greatly, for I was fully aware that these fierce brutes could seldom, if ever, be captured alive, and that It was next to impossible to tame one of them. Yet this fellow must have been on good terms with his dead companion, for there were no marks of violence on the seaman’s body and it was evident that his death had been the result of exposure affli privation. At the same time I did not fancy the idea of coming into contact with the beast; and I strongly advised the captain to let him go adrift as he was, without trying any philanthropic experiments. But the skipper’s sense of humanity was more powerful than his discretion and, in spite of all my arguments to the contrary, he insisted upon rescuing the animal. “We caught the derelict with a boathook, and a couple of Lascars dropped into her. They tossed the dead man overboard —it was all that could be done—sent the gorilla on board in a bowline and towed the boat astern. The creature was so weak that he could hardly move, yet the appealing look in the brute’s eyes was almost hufhan. Well, we fed him sparingly on biscuit soaked in water and made him a bed under the break of the fo’ksle. It was astonishing how quickly he revived; In two days he was as strong as ever, though pretty gaunt, and took to roaming all over the ship. The way he climbed the rigging made the oldest sailor aboard open his eyes. He was an immense hairy brute, over six feet tall when he stretched himself, with arms that reached ’way below his hams, and only the God who made him knows what fiendish strength was in the creature’s thew 3 and sinews. “At first the gorilla was pretty docile, but as his terrible strength came back he developed an ugly temper, snarling and snapping at the men as they passed along the deck, but springing for the rigging at sight of a rope’s end or a belaying pin; there he would ait„ cursing,__chattering and showing his teeth. We began to think we had caught a Tartar, and Captain Graves talked of setting the devil adrift again, which was why we kept the boat towing astern. But the job was to catch and secure my gentleman. He never seemdd to sleep in the daytime, and at night the Lascar crew were too scared to attack him. The Lascars had made up their minds that there was something supernatural about the beast, and cowered like frightened rabbits whenever he approached them. Graves finally resolved to shoot him, but when he got his revolver—the only firearm, by the way, on board, he found that the mate, to whom he had intrusted the task of buying ammunition for it, had made a mistake and purchased 32caliber cartridges for a 38 gun. This left the weapon useless, and we were soon to find out that it was to be war to the death between the gorilla and the Calliope’s crew, with the chances largely in favor of the animal. “On the fifth night the horror began. Some time during the hours of darkness two of the crew disappeared —how, where or why, no one knew—except the gorilla, and at first we didn’t suspect him, but thought the men had fallen overboard. Gone they were, however, without sound or sign of a struggle. So it went on for a week —every night a man would disappear—until there remained only the atterguard—the captain, Kendall, the mate, myself, Mrs. Graves and. the baby. If the ship had been manned by American or British sailors we might have managed to rush the brute in a bunch and secure him, but, as I have said, Lascars are seldom of any use in an emergency where fighting courage is required, and our lot had submitted to their doom like the cowardly fatalists that they were. Even had we three men possessed average strength there might have been a chance for us to tackle the gorilla ourselves, but here again luck was against us. Two .days after sailing Kendall, the mate, slipped and fell, 'breaking his right arm, and though able to attend to his duties he would have been helpless in a hand-to-hand encounter. Graves was a small, sickly chap, brave enough, but without the physical powers necessary in the carrying out of such,a forlorn hope; while I, as you see, am of slight build and would have been like a child in the monster’s grasp. And that gorilla was easily a match for any four strong men. “We tried all sorts of schemes to snare the murderous devil, as we now knew him to be, but he was too cunning. With only two sound men and a cripple to work the brig we got mighty little sleep and all three of us had to keep the deck. On the eighth night I was at the wheel while the mate went on to the main deck to haul down a slatting staysalL He' never came back! I heard a faint scuffle, then a sullen splash alongside and knew that the killer had scored another victim. I yelled for the skipper, and he came running on deck, but his wife dung to him and begged him not to go forward. That left us only two, besides the baby and mother. We made them stay beibw, of coarse, but

the baby,grew fretful, tta cries seeming to madden the gorilla, for all the rest of that night we could hear him thrashing about up and down the rigging. Fortunately the weather was calm and the wind light. Then came the worst trouble of all-—our stock of water In the after scuttle butt ran out; there was plenty forward on the main deck, but all next day the gorilla seemed to sense our predicament, for he lay crouched on top of the deck house ready to spring on whoever atr tempted to reach the casks. “By nightfall Captain Graves was desperate with the crying and wailing of the boy, whose one cry was ‘thirsty, mummy! so thirsty!’ “I was at the wheel; the skipper was below. The gorilla, when I last saw him, was curled up in the foretop apparently asleep. Captain Graves came softly up the companion and whispered that he was going to steal out of the cabin door on to the main deck and make a dash for the sorely needed water. “ ‘Let me go, ckfrtain,’ I begged, but lie refused, saying that he could better locate the water casks In the darkness, while I might trip or stumble and bring the beast down on me. So I remained aft, listening intently. There was no moon and the night was pitch dark, the brig rolling heavily and making all the weird noises usual to a wooden vessel hi a seaway. "While I stood there I heard a quick rush, a smothered, choking cry, and the sudden splash of a body alongside. I knew what it meant —the captain had gone to his death like the rest of his unlucky crew. “Maddened with>.horror and rage I left the wheel and sprang for the main deck, seizing a belaying pin as I ran. But the grizzly gray devil eluded me, although I searched every nook and corner, even climbing on the bulwarks to look in the boats swinging in the davits. “Happening to look aft I spied the shaft of yellow light streaming from the open cabin door, and my heart gave a jump of dismay. In an instant I realized the utter futility of my rage, and what the consequences of it might be. Mrs. Graves and her baby had been left alone, exposed to the fury of that incarnate fiend had he chosen to pay them a visit. While I had been raving aloud, running to and fro and thrashing the empty deck it would have been easy for the gorilla to steal Into the cabin and wreak his ferocity on the defenseless mother and child within. It must have been a premonition, for even as I looked a dark shape •blurred the oblong of light and in two jumps reached the rail, where it tossed something overside. “My yqll startled fiend, for with a snarling yelp he sprang for the main rigging and vanished overhead in tha gloom, where I could hear him chattering and gnashing his great teeth. “I made a dive for the cabin, banging the door behind me, hurried to do likewise for the companion, and then called for Mrs. Graves. Too well 1 knew what the result would he. Only my own voice echoed in that silent cabin; mother and babe had gone to join father and husband, and I was alone on the brig! Then I must have swooned, for when I came to the morning sun was cutting zig-zag patterns on the floor as the ship swung aimlessly hither arid yon. “In a moment the dread happenings of the past night of horror flashed into memory, and in that same Instant I resolved to quit the brig, If possible; otherwise it would be my turn to feel the gorilla’s claws gripping my throat and in a trlee I’d be pitched overboard to join my shipmates. “Cautiously I peered out of the cabin windows along the main deck; the great hairy brute, as tall as a-full-grown man, was sunning himself on top of the galley, and, I hoped, asleep. My plan was to make a rush for the stern, where the boat was still towing, slide down the painter, cast off and trust to luck for being picked up. Better a slow death by exposure and starvation in an open boat than by strangulation with the hot and fetid breath of the ape in my nostrils. “Well, I stuffed some ship’s biscuits in my shirt, opened the companion doors very quietly and made a break for the taffrail. . It was only half a dozen strides, but quick as I moved the gorilla was quicker, for as I straddled the rail I heard the swift patter of his feet on the deck planks. I made a dive for the painter, fortunately caught it and landed In the boat “Looking upward, I saw the ape making to follow me, but hesitating at trusting his bulk to the light, swaying rope. To head him off I whipped out my knife and slashed at the painter, severing it with a single stroke. “But before I drifted clear the fiend leaped for the boat, struck Its bow, bounded off- into the sea, and came up sputtering alongside ready to clamber over the gunwale. With a cry of rage I seised an oar and let him have it with, the sharp edge of the blade squarely on top of his flat and ugly skull. Still snarling and snapping, the dirty carcass sank alongside, leaving but a ring of bubbles. Then for the second time I lost fny senses. “When next I opened my eyea I was alone on the limitless ocean. How long 1 drifted I don’t know; the memory of the tragedy I had been through, coupled with thirst and hunger, must have driven me mad. On the island I had no recollection of events on the brig, but when you called me by name something In my brain snapped, and the whole horrid tragedy came back to me as by a ligntning flash!’’, Bo John Tar bell’s quest wss aided; Sir Arthur Melwood was restored to his waiting mother and to his estates, while BvlHvanta Limited had seored a victory over seemingly impossible obstacles, and salved one of the greatest of modern mysteries.