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Long one of my favorite authors, Mr. Alistair MacLean
outdoes even himself here. It would be impossible for anyone but Mr. MacLean to
have written this story. I hope you
enjoy it as much as I always have.
"The Gold Watch" by Alistair
MacLean
His watch was the pride of our captain’s life. It was of
massive construction, being no less than 3 inches in diameter; it was made of
solid gold; it was beautifully engraved with cabalistic designs of
extraordinary intricacy; and finally, it was attached to a chain, whose
dimensions, with regard to both length and circumference, had to be seen to be
believed. The chain also, needless to say, was made of gold. Anyone who had the
temerity to doubt this last fact, was handed the chain and coldly asked to observe
for himself that it was stamped on every link.
In addition to the aforementioned merits, the watch, our
captain claimed, was completely moisture proof. We had, on several occasions,
urged him to prove his words by submerging the subject of discussion in a basin
of water, but on each occasion, the captain’s reply, uttered in a very injured
tone, was to the same effect, namely, that if we did not believe his statement,
he was not going to stoop to demonstrate its truth to us. From this, we could
only conclude that the captain, like ourselves, had his doubts as to his
watch’s ability to defy the ravages of water. It was indeed, we knew, a very,
very sore point with our captain, one which he longed, with all his heart and
soul, to prove, but lacked the courage to put it to the final test.
Usually, this watch was hidden from the plebian gaze- and
fingers- in a locked case, which in its turn, lay in a locked drawer in the
captain’s cabin. But today, it reposed in the captain’s waistcoat pocket, while
the chain, such was its length, seemed almost to girdle the area of the
captain’s maximum circumference. Waistcoats are very uncommon with “whites”,
and it was maliciously rumored that the captain had had his specially made for
the purpose of accommodating and displaying the watch and its accessories. Be
that as it may, here was our captain, this blistering June afternoon, going
ashore for his last interview with his Basrah agents, wearing a genial smile on
his face, and, about two feet further south, his beloved time keeper.
When he came back a bare two hours later, his launch
nosing its way through the date laden lighters surrounding our vessel which was
anchored in mid-river, his genial expression was no longer there. Neither was
his watch, and our deduction, that the latter accounted for the former, proved
to be correct. Having solicitously helped the red faced, perspiring captain on
board, we waited patiently.
He was, at first, incoherent with rage, with his clearly
visible, ever mounting blood pressure, we feared an apoplectic stroke.
Fortunately for him, he at last recovered the power of speech, and this
undoubtedly relieved, to a great extent, his almost over powering feelings. He
was very bitter. His language, in addition, was shocking, but we had to admit
that he had full justification for it.
He had, apparently, been walking peacefully back to the
ship from his agents, with malice in his heart towards none, but nevertheless,
taking due and proper precautions for the safe guarding of wallet and watch,
when among the riff raff of the street bazaars. Once clear of them, he had
dropped these precautions, deeming them needless, and, at the entrance to the
docks, he had had to push his way through a group of Arab sailors, whom he, in
his great and regrettable ignorance, had thought to be as honest as himself.
(His bitterness, at this juncture, was truly remarkable) Suddenly, he had been
jostled in the rear with great violence, and on turning to remonstrate with the
discourteous one, had not felt his watch and chain being slipped from their
moorings, with that dexterity and efficiency which bespoke of long and arduous
practice, so that, when about to resume his journey, he found his watch no
longer there.
At this point he again lost the power of speech, and to
our fearful and dreading eyes, his entire disintegration appeared not only
probable, but imminent. Recovering himself with a masterly effort, however, he
resumed his narrative. Although unable to espy the actual perpetrator of the
theft, who had, with commendable discretion and alacrity, completely vanished,
he had realized that the jostler must have been his confederate, and had
pursued the said confederate for over half a mile, before being eluded by the
Arab in a crowded thoroughfare. This, we realized, accounted for our captain’s
complexion and superabundance of perspiration.
Here again, having once more relapsed into incoherency,
he was left to his vengeful meditations, alternately muttering “My watch” and
“the villain”, the former with a touching pathos, and the latter, preceded by
some highly descriptive adjectives, with an extraordinary depth of feeling.
Thirty hours later found no appreciable dimunition in our
captain’s just and righteous anger, although he could now speak like a rational
being, albeit forcefully, concerning his grievous misfortunes of the previous
afternoon. We had loaded our last case of dates just on sunset, and, early that
morning, even as the first faint streak of grey in the eastern sky heralded the
burning day, had gratefully cleared the malodorous port of Basrah. We were, by
this time, fairly into the Gulf and proceeding serenely on our way, South by
East, through the stifling tropical night, the darkness of which was but
infinitesimally relived by the cold, unthinkably distant pinpoints of stars in
the moonless night sky.
Our captain, whose outraged feelings evidently refused
him the blessed solace of slumber, had recently come up to the bridge, which he
was now ceaselessly pacing, very much after the manner of a caged leopard, all
the time informing us as to the dire retribution which he intended meting out
to the present illegal possessor of his watch, should he ever be fortunate
enough to lay hands on him. The lascar Quartermaster, very zealous in our
captain’s presence, was poring over the compass box, while in the bows, the
lookout man was either thinking of his native village in far off Bombay, or had
found sleep vastly easier to come by than our captain.
This last, was of course, pure conjecture, but it must
have approximated very closely to the truth, for the first the lookout knew of
the dhow lying dead in our path, was when a loud splintering crash, accompanied
by even louder frenzied yells, informed him that our steel bows had smashed the
unfortunate dhow to matchwood.
“Don’t say we’ve run down another of these bloody dhows,”
groaned our captain wearily (it is a surprisingly common occurrence), ringing
the engines down to Stop, and bellowing for a boat to be lowered with the
utmost expedition. This was done, and then minutes later the lifeboat returned
with the shivering, brine soaked crew of the erstwhile dhow; the captain, duty
bound, went down on deck to inspect them, as they came on board.
The rope ladder twitched, and as the first luckless
victim- how luckless, he did not then completely realize- appeared over the
side, the captain’s jaw dropped fully two inches, and he stood as if
transfixed.
“That’s the gentleman I chased yesterday,” he ejaculated
joyfully (“gentleman”, as will be readily understood, is employed
euphemistically) then stopped, staring, with rapidly glazing eyes, at the
second apparition, who had just then topped the railing. Dependent from this,
the second, “gentleman’s” undeniably filthy neck, and reaching to his waist,
was a most unusual ornament for an impoverished Arab- no less an object than
our captain’s purloined watch and chain, thus miraculously restored to him, by
the joyful caprices of Fortune.
With drawn breath, and with sincere pity in our hearts,
we waited for the heavens to fall, for the captain to execute the oft repeated,
blood thirsty promises, for, in short, the instant and complete annihilation of
the Arabs (four in all) who were regarding the captain with the utmost
trepidation, which they were at no pains to conceal.
To our small astonishment- and it may be added, relief-
the expected Arab massacre failed to materialize. Instead, stepping quietly
forward and lovingly removing his watch and chain from the neck of the
cringing, violently shivering Arab, the captain, in a strangely gentle tone, in
which there seemed, to us, to be a barely repressed inflection of triumph,
merely said, “Take these men below and give them something warm to eat; we’ll
hand them over to the Bahrain police, in the morning.”
We were astounded. We were amazed. We were utterly and
completely dumbfounded.
Our modest comprehension could not grasp it. What, we
asked ourselves, wonderingly, was the reason for this incredible change of
front? We were not left long in ignorance.
Swinging round on us, and brandishing his watch on high,
the captain shouted: “See!- er, I mean, hear!” We heard. The clamorous tick
tock, tick tock of his watch would have put any self respecting alarm clock to
shame.
“Waterproof!” he cried exultingly. “Waterproof, you
blasted unbelievers! Waterproof!”
It was, I believe, the supreme moment of our captain’s
life.
