Rolf Bennett

"Know all men that we do by these presents issue forth and grant Letters of Marque and reprisals to, and do license and authorise John Brighouse to set forth in a warlike manner the ship called the 'Hawk,' under his own command and therewith by force of arms to apprehend, seize and take the ships, vessels and goods belonging to the German Empire, wherefore it may and shall be lawful for the said John Brighouse to sell and dispose of such ships, vessels and goods adjudged and condemned in such sort and manner as by the course of Admiralty hath been adjudged."

The man who had been reading aloud from the closely written parchment laid it down on the table and glanced inquiringly at his companion. He was a man of between forty and fifty, a little over five feet in height, but so squarely built that, without exaggeration, he was well-nigh as broad as he was long. His head was small and bullet-shaped with a thatch of wiry black hair, and his face, bronzed to a copper-hue, was clean-shaven. A pair of thick, shaggy eyebrows brooded over eyes that usually produced a shock when first seen; for while one was steely-grey and possessed extraordinary mobility, the other was pale green and gazed upon the beholder with the fixed and stony stare of a dead fish. But this alarming optical phenomenon admitted of a simple explanation. At some period in his eventful career, Captain Calamity—for thus he was known throughout the length and breadth of the Pacific—had had the misfortune to lose an eye. After experiencing some difficulty in obtaining a glass substitute, he had at last managed to secure one second-hand from the relative of a gentleman who no longer required it.

The other man, Isaac Solomon by name, might have been any age from forty to sixty. He was lean and angular, with features of a pronounced Hebraic cast and a pair of beady black eyes that conveyed the impression of mingled cunning and humour. His upper lip was shaven, but he wore a beard which, like the few remaining hairs upon his head, was of a dingy grey colour.

This oddly assorted pair were seated in a small room, half parlour, half office, at the rear of the premises wherein Mr. Solomon carried on the business of ship-chandler. The one window, partly shuttered to keep out the fierce glare of the sun, looked out upon Singapore Harbour, with its forest of masts and busy fleet of small craft darting to and fro across the sparkling, unruffled surface of the water.

"That good enough for you, Solomon?" inquired Captain Calamity, tapping the parchment.

"Vell——" the other paused and meditatively rubbed the palms of his long, skinny hands together. "I suppose," he went on hesitatingly, "it is all O.K.; genuine—eh?"

"What; this letter of authority?"

Mr. Solomon nodded in a deprecating, half-apologetic sort of way.

"I thought that the British Government did not issue any Letters of——"

"Listen!" interrupted his companion, snatching up the document. "'In the name and on the behalf of His Britannic Majesty, King George the Fifth——'"

He stopped abruptly and, pushing the parchment across the table with an impatient gesture, pointed to a signature just above the large red seal.

"Look at that," he said.

Mr. Solomon scrutinised the signature as a bank clerk might scrutinise a doubtful cheque.

"Yes," he murmured at last, "it is not a forg—I mean," he corrected himself hastily, happening to catch the Captain's eye, "it seems quite genuine. Oh yes, quite. Still, I would like to know——"

"How I came by this authority—eh?" broke in the other with a contemptuous laugh. "And you'd like to know why I'm referred to there as John Brighouse and not as Captain Calamity. You're itching to know, aren't you, Solly?"

"Merely as a matter of pissness."

"Exactly. Well, as a matter of business, I'm not going to enlighten you. How I obtained the Letters of Marque is my concern; the reason why I am referred to therein as John Brighouse is not your concern. For the rest, to you and to every one else in these parts, my name remains what it always has been—Captain Calamity. Savvy?"

"A tree is known by its fruit—eh, Captain?" And Mr. Solomon laughed—that is to say, his throat emitted a strange, creaking noise which suggested that his vocal organs needed oiling, while his lips twitched convulsively.

"And your ship," he went on when this mirthful mood had passed, "vere is she?"

"That is a question which you can answer better than I."

Mr. Solomon's face was eloquently interrogative.

"I mean that, if you intend to join in this little venture with me, you must solve the problem."

"But I don't understand," said the other anxiously. "You tell me you have a ship called the Hawk, and now——" he shrugged his shoulders with a helpless gesture.

"I'm afraid your enthusiasm's carried you away, friend Solomon. I never said anything of the sort. The Hawk referred to in that document is a legal fiction—an illegal fiction some might call it. If you want to go in for pigeon-plucking, you must provide the bird of prey," and Captain Calamity chuckled grimly at his own facetiousness.

"Me! Provide a ship! Out of the question!" cried Mr. Solomon, backing nervously from the table as though the mere suggestion alarmed him.

Calamity reached across the table and took from a box a big, fat, Burmese cigar. This he proceeded to light, which done, he leaned back in his chair and emitted huge clouds of smoke with obvious satisfaction.

"You must think of something else, Captain," went on his companion, drawing still farther away from the table to escape being suffocated by the Captain's smoke.

"Now see here," said Calamity, taking the cigar from his mouth and speaking with great deliberation. "You're a clever business man; a damned clever business man, or you wouldn't have kept out of jail all these years. Well, here's a business proposition after your own heart. You provide the ship and fit her out, and I'll provide the crew. Then, within three months, I'll undertake to earn a bigger dividend for each of us than you, with all your rascality, could make in a year. Doesn't that tickle your palate, my friend?"

He paused and watched with a smile the obvious signs of perturbation on his companion's face. It was clear to him that in the mind of Mr. Solomon a terrific battle was in progress between exceeding avarice and excessive caution.

"Vat security could you give?" asked the Jew at last. The struggle must have been fierce, for he drew from his pocket a large, yellow silk handkerchief and mopped the beads of perspiration from his face.

"Security!" echoed Calamity fiercely. "Why, the security of my name. Have you ever known me break my word, Solomon? Is there, in the whole of the Pacific to-day, a man living whom I've sworn to kill?"

Mr. Solomon started uneasily and edged towards the window as though to be in readiness to call for help if necessary.

"But there aren't many enemy ships to capture now," he protested in a feeble voice. "They have all been driven off the seas."

"I'll wager there are enough ships left to pay a healthy dividend on your capital, Solomon. Besides, if the supply does run short we're not dainty and——" He concluded his sentence with a grimly significant laugh.

For some moments there was silence, broken only by the Captain's puffing as he exhaled cloud after cloud of fierce tobacco-smoke. Mr. Solomon's expressive countenance was again exhibiting signs of deep mental agitation, and his brow was wrinkled by a perplexed frown. Suddenly this cleared away and into his shifty eyes there came the triumphant look of one who has unexpectedly found the solution to a seemingly impossible problem. The change was so marked that Calamity regarded him with undisguised suspicion, for when Solomon looked like that it generally meant that somebody was going to be made wise by experience.

"I vill dink it over," he said at last.

A bland smile came over Calamity's face. He had not had intimate business relations with his companion during the past ten years for nothing, and knew that this was mere bluff, a sort of playful coquettishness on Mr. Solomon's part. But he, also, was an old hand at this game as his next remark proved.

"Please yourself," he answered indifferently, rising as if to go. "You think it over as you say, and in the meantime I'll trip over to Johore and see your pal Rossenbaum. He may be glad of the chance to——"

"Vait a minute! Vait a minute!" interrupted Mr. Solomon, starting to his feet. "Vat you in such a 'urry for?"

In moments of excitement he was apt to drop the h's which at other times he assiduously cultivated.

"Well, you don't suppose I'm going to hang about Singapore and get drunk on the local aperients while you make up your mind, do you?" inquired Calamity.

"Now just you sit down, Captain, and ve'll talk the matter over," said Mr. Solomon in a mollifying tone. "Make yourself at home now."

With an appearance of great reluctance, Captain Calamity reseated himself and took another big, rank cigar from the box on the table.

"Go ahead," he said laconically as he lit the poisonous weed.

"Vat I propose," began Mr. Solomon, "is that you give me a bond...."

He continued for over half an hour to state his conditions, Calamity never once interrupting him. When he had got through the Captain threw the stump of his third cigar out of the window and drew his chair closer to the table.

"Now you've used up your steam, and, I hope, feel better, we'll talk business," he said in a cool, determined voice.

Two hours elapsed before Captain Calamity rose to his feet and prepared for departure. It had been a tremendous battle, for Mr. Solomon's demands had continued to be outrageous and he had resisted every reduction tooth and nail. But they had at last come to an agreement, though, even so, each felt that he was conceding far too much to the other. The main points were, that Isaac Solomon was to procure a ship and fit her out; that the profits of each privateering expedition were to be divided into four equal shares, of which the partners each took one. The remaining two shares were to be used for refitting, victualling, bonuses for the crew, wages, and so forth. Mr. Solomon's connection with the venture was to be kept secret from every one but his partner, for, with a modesty that had its root in wisdom, the ship-chandler avoided publicity as much as possible.

"I suppose you're going to wet the contract?" remarked Calamity as he picked up his hat.

Mr. Solomon affected not to understand.

"Vet it?" he inquired innocently.

"Yes, drink to the prosperity of the venture, partner."

With no great show of alacrity, Mr. Solomon crossed to a cupboard and was about to bring out a bottle of red wine, when Calamity stopped him.

"Damn you!" he cried. "I'm not going to drink that purple purgative; save it for your fellow Sheenies. Come, out with that bottle of rum, you old skinflint!"

Mr. Solomon made a chuckling noise in his throat, and, replacing the red fluid, brought forth a square bottle and two glasses. He was about to dole out a modest measure, when Calamity took the bottle from him and more than half filled one of the glasses.

"Now help yourself, partner," he said, handing back the bottle.

The other carefully poured out about a teaspoonful of the spirit, deluged it with water, and then held up his glass.

"Long life and success to Calamity and Co!" cried the Captain, and tossed off the raw spirit with no more ado than if it had been milk.

"Calamity and Co!" echoed Mr. Solomon in a thin, shrill voice.