During the twelve years or so that the Imogene kept the seas and ruled them, there were few Governments interested in shipping who had not posted large rewards for her captain. But Clegg and his loyal rascals went on plundering and outwitting all their enemies. All those years he had counted upon the good faith of his crew. Believing in each man, who, to his profit, had sailed so long with him, he had only once been troubled with mutiny. On that occasion, off Anastasia, he ran the ringleader through the neck in fair fight. He heard no more of it after that. The only other case of treachery was the negro who stole his Virgil, thinking it a book of magic, and deserted. Against this he had had twelve years of faithful service, until a mysterious discontent arose, and he demanded explanation.
“This ship is haunted by a devil,” faltered a spokesman. “He speaks to us in the night watches, warning us against you for our safety. He says you once blew up your own ship, sacrificing all to steal their treasure. He says you will do it again to us.” Mipps answered this. “Clegg never blew up his own ship in his life. You might as well accuse me of such a thing. Who is this funny croaker?”
“He comes at night from the hold, like a stowaway, and we fear him,” replied the man nervously. “He says we must maroon the captain or die.”
“I'll have neither ghost, devil nor stowaway aboard my ship unless he signs our articles,” cried Syn. “Down to the hold, you dog, and rout him out. I have a wish to see this devil face to face.”
“Here, and you remember me. I speak now.” Syn turned at the dreadful voice behind him, and faced the mulatto. He recognized him at once as the sole survivor of the Sulphur Pit. Immediately the rascal began to prophesy dreadful things against the ship and crew unless they disposed of their captain by making him walk the plank or by marooning.
“Seize him and lash him to the mast,” cried Syn.
Shuhshuhgah and Mipps were on him in a second, and Syn helped them bind him to the mainmast.
“Give me your scalping-knife, and I'll cut the rascal's lying tongue out,” he cried.
Shuhshuhgah drew his knife and forced the mulatto's mouth open.
“I'll do my own dirty work,” said Syn.
“I am so skilled at it,” answered the Redskin.
To the astonished and terrified crew there seemed to be three quick movements of the Indian's arm, and three things fell behind him on the deck. A tongue cut out at the root, and two severed ears.
“No talk. No hear,” said the Indian grimly.
Mipps picked up the grisly objects and threw them overboard.
“Make for that coral reef. We'll put him ashore there,” said Syn.
He cut the man's bonds, and ordered a boat to be lowered. It was Mipps and the Indian who went with him, while Syn kept the ship, facing his cowed crew.
“That's the uncharted reef where the tide rises fathoms deep,” said one of them.
“It will be the more merciful,” said Syn. “Water and sharks.” They watched the marooning in silence, every man aboard. When the boat was once more hoisted, and Mipps with Shuhshuhgah were aboard, the crew pushed forward Pete, the Chinese cook, to be their spokesman. He stammered out that they wished to put the ship back, so that they could rescue the marooned man. In a blind rage, Clegg snatched a marine-spike from Mipps, and broke the yellow dog's back with it. Pete fell dead upon the deck, and as Mipps and Shuhshuhgah tossed him overboard the mad captain, with drawn sword, drove the men to the rigging as he roared:
“Get up aloft, you dogs. Cram on the canvas. Every stitch. I'll have no mutiny aboard my ship. No, nor devils neither, other than myself.” The ship leapt on through the lashing foam, while the sinister wailing of the marooned man's tongueless voice echoed in the rigging, and long after he had disappeared below the skyline they all seemed to see his tall, weird figure rising up into the sky and following the ship. But Syn saw more. Wherever he looked into the waters, he had to shut his eyes against the grinning face of yellow Pete.
