I knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped
a harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me.
That's how he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd as
soon die with a rope round my neck as with Black Peter's knife
in my heart."
"How came you there?" asked Holmes.
"I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little
so as I can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened --
August of that year. Peter Carey was master of the SEA UNICORN,
and I was spare harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-pack
on our way home, with head winds and a week's southerly gale,
when we picked up a little craft that had been blown north.
There was one man on her -- a landsman. The crew had thought
she would founder, and had made for the Norwegian coast in the
dinghy. I guess they were all drowned. Well, we took him on
board, this man, and he and the skipper had some long talks in
the cabin. All the baggage we took off with him was one tin box.
So far as I know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on the
second night he disappeared as if he had never been. It was
given out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen
overboard in the heavy weather that we were having.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273