Whole book · 23 sections
By
FLOYD AKERS
Author of
The Boy Fortune Hunters in Alaska,
The Boy Fortune Hunters in Panama,
The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt,
The Boy Fortune Hunters in China,
and The Boy Fortune Hunters in Yucatan
PUBLISHERS
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
CHICAGO
Copyright, 1911
By
The Reilly & Britton Co.
“There’s one thing certain,” said my uncle, Naboth Perkins, banging his fist on the table for emphasis. “If we don’t manage get a cargo in ten days we’ll up anchor an’ quit this bloomin’ island.”
My father the skipper, leaning back in his easy-chair with his legs—one of them cork—stretched upon the table and his pipe in his mouth, nodded assent as he replied:
“Very good.”
“Here it is five weeks since we finished unloadin’ that machinery,” went on Uncle Naboth, “an’ since then the Seagull’s been floatin’ like a swan in the waters o’ Port Phillip an’ lettin’ the barnacles nip her. There ain’t a shipper in Melbourne as’ll give us an ounce o’ cargo; an’ why? Jest because we’re American an’ float the Stars an’ Stripes—that’s why. There’s a deep-seated conspiracy agin American shipping in Australia, an’ what little truck they’ve got to send to America goes in British ships or it don’t go at all.”
Again Captain Steele nodded.
“S’pose we try Adelaide,” suggested big Ned Britton, our first mate.
“That’s jest as bad,” declared Uncle Naboth. “It’s an off season, they say; but the fact is, Australia sends mighty little to the United States, an’ those that ship anything prefer English bottoms to ours. Everything’s been contracted for months ahead, and the only chance the Seagull has of going home freighted is to grab some emergency deal—where time counts—an’ load an’ skip before any Britisher comes into port.”
“Well?” said my father, inquiringly.
“Well, that’s what we’ve been waitin’ for, an’ I’m gettin’ desprit tired o’ the job. So now I’ll give these folks jest ten days to rustle up a cargo for us, an’ if they don’t do it, away we goes in ballast.”
I laughed at his earnestness.
“Why, Uncle Naboth, it won’t hurt us to go home without freight,” said I. “In fact, we’ll make better time, and for my part I see no use in waiting ten days longer for such a ghostly chance.”
“Don’t be foolish, Sam,” returned my uncle, impatiently. “Boys never have any business instincts, anyhow. It’s our business to carry cargoes, so to make the long voyage back home light-waisted is a howlin’ shame—that’s what it is!”
“We were paid so much for the cargo we brought that we can well afford to run home in ballast,” I remarked.
“There you go—jest like a boy. You’ve got a fat bank account, Sam Steele; an’ so hev I; an’ so’s the Cap’n, your father. An’ we three own the Seagull an’ can do as we blame please with her. But business is business, as Shylock says to the lawyers. We’re runnin’ this schooner to make money—not one way, but both ways—an’ our business is to see that every league she travels counts in dollars an’ cents. Nice merchantmen we’d be to float off home in ballast, jest ’cause we got a big lump fer bringin’ a load of farm machinery here; wouldn’t we, now?”
“Oh, I don’t object to your trying for a cargo, Uncle Naboth. That’s your part of the business, and if any man could make a contract you can do so; but I see no use in getting annoyed or worried in case we find it impossible to secure a consignment of freight.”
Uncle Naboth smiled grimly.
“I ain’t worried, Sam,” he said more mildly. “I’m only tellin’ you an’ the Cap’n what my sentiments is.”
We were seated in our pleasant sitting-room at the Radley Arms, one of the cosiest inns I ever stopped at. It was a place much patronized by mariners of the better class and Mrs. Wimp, our landlady, was certainly a wonderful cook. Joe Herring, my chum and a lad who, although only about my own age, served as second mate of the Seagull, had aroused my uncle to speech by remarking that as far as he was concerned he wouldn’t mind boarding all winter at the Radley Arms. But Joe was a silent fellow, as was my father Captain Steele, and having evoked the above tirade he said nothing further. Uncle Naboth had a perfect right to issue his ultimatum concerning our freight, being supercargo and part owner, and as our recent voyages had been fairly prosperous and we were already amply paid for our present trip to Australia we were all in a mood to take things philosophically.
I think Ned Britton, the mate, was the most uneasy of our party, but that was because he disliked the land and was only comfortable when afloat. Ned even now lived on shipboard and kept everything taut and in running order, while my father, Uncle Naboth and I had rooms at Mrs. Wimp’s admirable inn. I am free to confess that I like a bit of land loafing now and then, while poor Ned is never happy unless he knows the water is sliding under the keel.
Joe and I had ransacked sleepy old Melbourne pretty well by this time and had enjoyed every day of the five weeks we had been ashore. There wasn’t a great deal of excitement in town, but we managed to have a good time and to keep amused. Our little group had sat in silent meditation for a few moments following my uncle’s last remark, when Mrs. Wimp stuck her head in the door and said:
“’Ow’d yer loike to see a gent as wants to see yer?”
We looked at one another inquiringly.
“Who is it?” demanded Uncle Naboth.
“’E didn’t say.”
“Didn’t say what, Mrs. Wimp?”
“Didn’t say ’oo ’e were.”
“Did he say who he wanted to see?”
“No sir.”
“Then never mind. Tell him to call again, Mrs. Wimp,” I ventured to say, amused at the landlady’s noncommittal manner.
“No, no!” exclaimed my uncle. “It may be somethin’ about a cargo. Who did he ask for, Mrs. Wimp?”
“’E jus’ dropped in an’ said: ‘Is the Seagull people stoppin’ ’ere?’ ‘They is,’ says I. ‘Then I wants to see ’em,’ says ’e. So I comes up to see if it’s agreeable.”
“It is, Mrs. Wimp,” asserted Uncle Naboth. “Be kind enough to show the gentleman up.”
Thereat Mrs. Wimp withdrew her head and closed the door. My father filled his pipe anew and relighted it. Joe looked thoughtfully out of the window into the alley below. I turned over a newspaper that lay upon the table, while Ned and my uncle indulged in a few remarks about the repairs recently made to the ship’s engines. Not one of us realized that the next few minutes were destined to alter the trend of all our lives.
Then came the visitor. He silently opened the door, closed it swiftly behind him and stood with his back to it shrewdly eyeing us each one in turn.
The man’s stature was quite short and he was of slight build. His hair, coarse in texture, sprinkled with gray and cropped close, stood straight up on his forehead like a scrubbing brush. His eyes were black and piercing in expression; his nose rather too fat; his chin square and firm; his face long and lean, and his skin of the dusky olive hue peculiar to natives of southern climes. His apparel was magnificent. The velvet coat had gold buttons; he sported a loud checked vest of purple and orange, and his cravat was a broad bow of soft white ribbon with gold fringe at the edges.
At once I began speculating whether he was a vaudeville actor or a circus barker; but either idea was dispelled when I noticed his diamonds. These were enormous, and had a luster that defied imitation. His shirt buttons were diamonds as big around as my little finger nail; he had another monster in the center of his bow tie and his fingers fairly glittered with gems of the same character. Every link of a huge watch guard was set with diamonds, and his cuff buttons were evidently worth a small fortune.
The appearance of this small but gorgeous individual in our dingy sitting-room produced an incongruous effect. The air was fogged with tobacco smoke; my father still lazily rested his legs across the table-top; the rest of us lounged in unconventional attitudes. However, being Americans we were more astonished than impressed by the vision that burst upon us and did not rise nor alter our positions in any way.
“Which it is the gentleman who the ship Seagull owns?” demanded the stranger, mixing his English in his agitation, although he spoke it very clearly for a foreigner.
Uncle Naboth became our spokesman.
“There are three owners,” said he.
“Ah! where they are?”
“All in this room,” replied my uncle.
“Excellent!” exclaimed our visitor, evidently pleased. He glanced around him, drew a chair to the table and sat down. My father moved his wooden leg a bit to give the stranger more room.
“What is price?” he inquired, looking at Mr. Perkins, whom he faced.
“Price for what, sir?”
“Ship,” said the man.
“Oh, you want to buy the ship?” gasped my uncle, fairly staggered by the suggestion.
“If you please, if you like; if it is rais—rais—raison—a—ble.”
Uncle Naboth stared at him. My father coolly filled his pipe again. The man’s quick eye caught Joe and I exchanging smiling glances, and he frowned slightly.
“At what price you hold your ship?” he persisted, turning again to my uncle.
“My dear sir,” was the perplexed reply, “we’ve never figured on selling the Seagull. We built it to keep—to have for our own use. We’re seamen, and it’s our home. If you’d ask us offhand what we’d sell our ears for, we’d know just as well what to answer.”
The man nodded, looking thoughtful.
“What the ship cost?” he asked.
“Something over two hundred thousand dollars.”
“United State America dollars?”
“Of course.”
Our visitor drew an envelope from his pocket; laid it on the table and scribbled some figures upon the back.
“Ver’ well,” he said, presently; “I take him at two hunder thousan’ dollar, American.”
“But—”
“It is bargain. What your terms?”
“Cash!” snapped Uncle Naboth, laughing at the man’s obstinacy.
The diamond-bedecked man leaned his elbow on the table and his head on his hand in a reflective pose. Then he straightened up and nodded his head vigorously.
“Why not?” he exclaimed. “Of course it must the cash be. You will know, sir, that a gentleman does not carry two hunder’ thousan’ dollar about his person, and although I have had more than that sum on deposit in Bank of Melbourne, it have been expend in recent purchases. However, nevertheless, in spite of, I may say, I have ample fund in Bogota. I will make you draft on my bank there, and you may sail with me in my ship and collect the money in gold when we arrive. That is cash payment, Señor; is not?”
“Bogota!” remarked my uncle, by this time thoroughly bewildered. “That is a long way off.”
“Merely across Pacific,” said the other easily. “There is direct route to it through the South Seas.”
My father nodded in confirmation of this statement. He knew his charts by heart.
“Sir,” said Uncle Naboth, sitting up and heaving a deep sigh, “I have not the honor of knowing who the blazes you are.”
The stranger cast a stealthy glance around the room. Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice:
“I am Jiminez.”
This impressive statement failed to enlighten my uncle.
“Jiminez who?” he inquired.
For an instant the man seemed offended. Then he smiled condescendingly.
“To be sure!” he replied. “You are of United State and have no interest in South American affairs. It is natural you have ignorance regarding our politics. In Bogota the name of De Jiminez stands for reform; and reform stands for—” He hesitated.
“What?” asked my uncle.
“Revolution!”
“That’s only nat’ral,” observed Mr. Perkins complacently. “I hear revolutions are your reg’lar diet down in South America. If there didn’t happen to be a revolution on tap your people wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.”
Señor de Jiminez frowned at this.
“We will not politic discuss, if you please,” he rejoined stiffly. “We will discuss ship.”
“We don’t want to sell,” said my uncle positively.
De Jiminez looked at him speculatively.
“I tell you with frankness, I must have ship,” said he.
“What for?”
“I will tell you that—but in more privacy,” with a wave of his hand toward our interested group.
“Oh, these are all Seagull men,” announced Uncle Naboth. “I’ll introduce you, Mr. Yim—Him—Jim—”
“Jiminez.” He pronounced it “He-ma-noth” now, in Spanish fashion.
“This is Captain Steele, our skipper and part owner,” continued my uncle. “This young man is Sam Steele, his son, and also part owner. Sam is purser and assistant supercargo of the Seagull. I’m supercargo, the third owner, and uncle to Sam an’ brother-in-law to the Cap’n. Is that all clear to you?”
De Jiminez bowed.
“Here is Ned Britton, our first mate; and also Joe Herring, our second mate. Both are trusted comrades and always know as much as we know. So what you say, stranger, is as private before these people as if you spoke to but one of us. Therefore, fire ahead.”
The man considered a moment; then he said slowly:
“You must know there are spies upon me here in Melbourne, as there are everywhere, whichever I go; so I cannot too careful be. You ask me why I want ship. I answer: to carry supplies of war to Colombia—arms and ammunition for the Cause—all of which I have successful purchase here in Australia.”
“Oh; you’re going to start something, are you?” inquired Uncle Naboth.
“It is already start, sir,” was the dignified response. “I am to complete the revolution. As you do not understan’ ver’ well, I will the explanation make that my country is rule by a bad president—a dictator—an autocrat! We call ourselves republic, Señor Americaine; but see! we are not now a republic; we are under despotism. My belove people are all slave to tyrant, who heeds no law but his own evil desire. Is it not my duty to break his power—to free my country?”
“Perhaps,” answered Mr. Perkins, his calmness in sharp contrast to the other’s agitation. “But I can’t see as it’s any of our bread-and-butter. It’s your country, sir, but you must remember it’s not ours; and to tell you the cold fact, we don’t propose to sell the Seagull.”
At this Señor de Jiminez looked a bit worried. But the little Spaniard was game, and did not give up easily.
“I must have ship!” he asserted. “I am rich—have much money entrusted to me for the Cause—my estate is ver’ large. The best families of Colombia are all with me; now and always, whatever I do. See, Señor; it was my ancestor who discover South America! who discover the River Orinoco! who was first governor of my country under the Queen of Spain! Yes, yes. I am descend direct from the great navigator Gonzalo Quesada de Jiminez, of whom you read in history.”
“I congratulate you,” said Uncle Naboth dryly.
“I have here in Melbourne congregate the means to carry on the war, which is now languish for want of arms and ammunition. It is all ready to send to Bogota. Therefore, you see, I must really have ship.”
“But why buy one?” asked my uncle. “Why not send your stuff as freight?”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the other. “You are United State. Well, United State forbid any merchant ship to carry arms to friendly state for starting revolution. If I hire you to do so I get you in trouble, and myself in trouble. I want no quarrel with United State, for when I am myself President of Colombia I must stand well with other powers. So it is same with every nation. I cannot hire a ship. I must buy one and take responsibility myself.”
This frank and friendly explanation led me to regard the flashy little man more kindly than before. I had been busy thinking, knowing that Uncle Naboth had set his heart on making some money on the return voyage. So, during the pause that followed the speech of Señor de Jiminez, I turned the matter over in my mind and said:
“Tell me, sir, what you propose doing with the ship after you get to Colombia with it?”
He stared at me a moment.
“It is of little use then,” said he, “unless I could put some cannon on board and use him for gunboat.”
“Have you ever been aboard the Seagull?” I continued.
He shook his head.
“I have inquire about every ship now in Port Phillip,” he said. “Not one is available but yours that is big enough to carry my cargo—all others are owned in foreign lands and cannot be bought. But I see your ship, and it look like a good ship; I inquire and am told by my friends here it is famous for speed and safety.”
“It is all that,” agreed my uncle heartily.
“We have a couple of guns on board already,” I continued; “for sometimes we sail in seas where it is necessary for us to protect ourselves. But as a matter of fact the Seagull would make a poor gunboat, because she has no protective armor. So it seems all you could use her for would be to carry your revolutionary supplies to Colombia and land them secretly.”
“That is all that I require!” he said quickly, giving me a keen look.
“Sam,” said my uncle, “you’re goin’ to make a durn fool of yourself; I kin see it in your eye!”
By this time all eyes were upon my face, and realizing that I was about to suggest a bold undertaking I was a little embarrassed how to continue.
“For our part, sir,” said I, addressing Señor de Jiminez and keeping my gaze averted from the others, “it is our intention to sail for America presently, and we would like to carry a good paying cargo with us. So it strikes me we ought to find a way to get together. Have you spent all your funds here in purchases, or have you some left?”
He figured on the envelope again—eagerly now, for his quick brain had already grasped my forthcoming proposition.
“I have still in bank here equal to nine thousan’ dollar United State money,” said he.
“Very well,” I rejoined. “Now suppose you purchase from us the Seagull for two hundred thousand dollars, and pay down nine thousand in cash, agreeing to resell the ship to us as soon as we are free of the cargo for the sum of one hundred and ninety-one thousand dollars, accepting your own draft, which you are to give us, in full payment. In that way the thing might be arranged.”
He had brightened up wonderfully during my speech and was about to reply when Uncle Naboth, who had been shaking his head discontentedly, broke in with:
“No, Sam, it won’t do. It ain’t enough by half. Your scheme is jest a makeshift an’ I kin see where we might get into a peck o’ trouble aidin’ an’ abettin’ a rebellion agin a friendly country. Moreover, you don’t take into account the fact that we’ve got to operate the ship across the South Seas, an’ the salaries an’ wages fer such a long voyage amounts to considerable.”
I have respect for Uncle Naboth’s judgment, so was rather crestfallen at his disapproval. But Señor de Jiminez, who was alert to every phase of the argument, said quickly:
“It is true. Nine thousan’ dollar is too much for an ordinary voyage, and too little for such voyage as I propose. I will pay fifteen thousan’ dollar.”
“You haven’t the cash,” remarked my uncle, “and revolutions are uncertain things.”
Jiminez took time to muse over the problem, evidently considering his dilemma from every viewpoint. Then he began to shed his diamonds. He took out his jeweled cuff buttons, his studs, pin and watch guard, and laid them on the table.
“Here,” said he, “are twenty thousan’ dollar worth of jewels—the finest and purest diamonds in all the world. I offer them as security. You take my nine thousan’ dollar in gold, and my personal note for six thousan’, which I pay as soon as in Colombia we land. If I do not, you keep the diamonds, which bring you much more in your own country. You see, gentlemen, I trust you. You are honest, but you make a hard bargain—hard for the man who must use you in spite of difficulty. But I have no complaint. I am in emergency; I must pay liberally to accomplish my great purpose. So then, what is result? Do I purchase the ship as Señor Sam Steele he describe?”
Uncle Naboth hesitated and looked at my father, who had listened with his usual composure to all this but said not a word. Now he removed his pipe, cleared his throat and said:
“I’m agree’ble. Colombia ain’t so blame much out’n our way, Naboth. An’ the pay’s lib’ral enough.”
“What do you think, Ned?” asked my uncle.
“The Cap’n’s said it,” answered the mate, briefly.
“Joe?”
Joe started and looked around at being thus appealed to. He was only a boy; but Uncle Naboth knew from experience that Joe never spoke without thinking and that his thoughts were fairly logical ones.
“The deal looks all right on the face of it, sir,” said he. “But before you sign a contract I’d know something more of this gentleman and his prospects of landing his arms in safety, so we can get away from Colombia without a fight. Let Sam find out all he can about this revolution and its justice, and get posted thoroughly. Then, if it still seems a safe proposition, go ahead, for the terms are fair enough.”
“Of course,” answered Uncle Naboth, “we don’t mean to jump before we look. Other things bein’ equal an’ satisfaction guaranteed, I’ll say to you, Mr. Jim—Yim—Jiminez, that I b’lieve we can strike a bargain.”
The little man’s face had seemed careworn as he listened intently to this exchange of ideas. Evidently he was desperately anxious to get the Seagull to deliver his contraband goods. But he offered no objection to Joe’s cautious suggestion. Instead he turned to me, after a little thought, and said:
“Time is with me very precious. I must get to Bogota as soon as possible—to the patriots awaiting me. So to satisfy your doubts I will quickly try. It is my request, Señor Sam, that you accompany me to my hotel, and the evening spend in my society—you and your friend Señor Joe. Then to-morrow morning we will sign the papers and begin to load at once the ship. Do you then accept my hospitality?”
I turned to Uncle Naboth.
“Do you think you can trust Joe and me?” I asked.
“Guess so,” he responded. “Your jedgment’s as good as mine in this deal, which is a gamble anyway you put it. Go with Mr. Jiminez, if you like, and find out all he’ll let you. Mostly about him, though; nobody knows anything about a revolution.”
“Very well, Uncle,” I answered. Then I turned to the Colombian. “Sir,” said I, “we cordially accept your invitation. You seem fair and just in your dealings and for the present, at least, I’m glad to have formed your acquaintance. Keep your diamonds until we ask for the security. As you sail in our company you may as well wear them until circumstances require us to demand them of you.”
He bowed and restored the gems to their former places. Then he rose and took his hat.
“You will return with me to my apartments?”
“If you desire it,” said I.
“Then, Señors, I am at your service.”
Joe quietly left his seat, saying: “I’ll be ready in a jiffy, Sam,” and started for his room—a room we shared together. After a moment’s hesitation I followed him.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Slick up a bit and pack my toothbrush. Didn’t you hear De Jiminez speak of his ‘apartments’ at the hotel? And we’re to stay all night it seems.”
“True enough,” I exclaimed. “We must look decent, old man,” and I quickly changed my clothing and threw into a small grip such articles as I thought might be needed. Joe was ready before me, and I saw him quietly slip a revolver into his hip pocket; so I did the same, smiling at the incongruity of going armed to make a semisocial visit.
We found Señor de Jiminez slightly impatient when we returned to the sitting-room, so we merely said good-bye to our friends and followed him out to the street. The Radley Arms was situated in a retired and very quiet district, and our exit seemed entirely unobserved except by our curious landlady. A sleepy beggar was sitting on the corner, and before him the Colombian paused and said in a calm tone:
“What will your report be, then? That I have visited the Radley Arms? Well, let me give you help. I had friends there—these young gentlemen—who are returning with me to my hotel. You will find us there this evening and until morning. Will such information assist you, my good spy?”
The beggar grinned and replied:
“You’re a rare one, De Jiminez. But don’t blame me; I’m only earnin’ my grub.”
“I know,” said the other, gravely. “You do the dirty work for my countryman, the chief spy. But I do not care; you are both powerless to injure me, or to interfere with my plans.”
Then he walked on, and a short distance down the street hailed a cab that was rolling by. We three entered the vehicle and were driven directly into the busiest section of the city.
“The driver of this cab,” remarked De Jiminez, “is also a spy; and if you could behind us see you would find the beggar riding with us.”
“They seem to keep good track of you, Señor,” said Joe.
“I do not mind,” answered the man. “If my arrangement with you succeeds I shall be able to get away from here before my enemies can interfere.”
It was already growing late in the day and the streets were lighted as we entered the main thoroughfares. Our host seemed lost in thought and few remarks were exchanged between us during the long ride.
Finally we drew up before an imposing looking edifice which I quickly recognized as the Hotel Markham, quite the swellest public house in all Melbourne. It cost one a lot to stop at such a place I well knew, but reflected that Señor de Jiminez, if important enough to conduct a revolution, might be expected to live in decent style—especially if the “patriots” paid his expenses.
I suppose it would be becomingly modest to admit right here that Joe and I were rather young to be sent on such an errand. Perhaps Señor de Jiminez recognized this fact even more fully than we did. But in justice to ourselves I must add that we were boys of more than ordinary experience, our adventures on many voyages having taught us to think quickly, act coolly and carefully consider every motive presented to us. Predisposed as I was in favor of this queer Colombian, who interested me because he was playing a desperate game and had the nerve to play it well, I had no intention of deceiving myself or allowing him to deceive me in regard to his standing and responsibility. It was my business to find out all I could about the man, and I fully intended to keep my eyes and ears wide open.
The first thing I noticed as we entered the hotel was the respectful deference paid our conductor by the servants, who seemed eager to wait upon him. The manager came from his little booth with a smile and bow for Señor de Jiminez and promptly assigned Joe and me to a large room which he said was connected with the “suite” of our host. De Jiminez himself conducted us to this room, a very luxurious chamber, and then excused himself, saying:
“You will wish to prepare for dinner and I must the same do also. When you are ready, be kind to come into my apartments, Number 18, which is the first door at your left. Have you necessaries in everything?”
We assured him we were amply provided for and he left us with a courteous bow. There wasn’t much for us to do, except to wash and brush ourselves and examine the rich furnishings of the place. Neither Joe nor I was an utter stranger to luxurious living, although our ordinary quarters were commonplace enough and our mode of life extremely simple. We have seen palaces of great magnificence, and therefore the handsome room assigned us did not impress us as much as it interested us.
We whiled away half or three-quarters of an hour in order not to crowd our host too closely, and then we knocked at the door of room Number 18.
A servant in private livery admitted us to a spacious drawing-room and Señor de Jiminez, arrayed in a regulation dress suit, in which he appeared far more imposing than in the flashy attire he had before worn, advanced quickly to greet us. At a center table sat an aged, pleasant faced lady and crouching in a chair by the fireplace was a youth of about my own age, who bore so strong a facial resemblance to De Jiminez that it needed no shrewdness to guess he was his son.
Our host led us first to the lady.
“Young gentlemen,” said he, as with profound deference he bowed before her, “I have the honor to present my mother, Señora de Jiminez.”
She smiled graciously and extended her hands to us.
“It is unfortune,” he added, “that she is not with your English language familiar.”
“Oh, but I speak Spanish—a little,” said I; for I had learned it during a sojourn in Panama. Then I told the lady I was glad to meet her, speaking in her own tongue, and she bade me welcome.
De Jiminez seemed pleased. He next led me to the young fellow by the fire, who had not risen nor even glanced toward us, but seemed tremendously interested in his own thoughts. These could not have been very pleasant, judging from the somber expression of his face.
“My son Alfonso,” said our host, introducing us. “Alfonso, I present Mr. Steele and Mr. Herring, two young American gentlemen I have recently met.”
The boy looked up quickly.
“Not of the Seagull!” he exclaimed in English.
“Yes.”
“Then—” he began eagerly; but his father stopped him with a gesture.
“I am making consideration of a proposition they have made to me,” he observed with dignity.
“Perhaps, Alfonso, we may sail back to Colombia in the Seagull.”
The boy’s eyes glistened. They were dark and restless eyes, very like those of his parent. He rose from his chair and shook hands with us with an appearance of cordiality. We now saw he was remarkably short of stature. Although he was sixteen the crown of his head scarcely reached to my shoulder. But he assumed the airs and dress of a man and I noticed he possessed his father’s inordinate love for jewelry.
“Would you prefer in the hotel restaurant to dine, or in our private salon?” inquired the elder De Jiminez.
“It is unimportant to us, sir,” I returned. “Do not alter your usual custom on our account, I beg of you.”
“Then,” said he, “I will order service in the salon.” He seemed relieved and went to consult his servant.
Meantime young Alfonso looked at us curiously.
“You do not own the Seagull, I suppose,” he remarked.
“Why not?” I asked with a smile.
“It’s a fine ship. I’ve been over to look at it this afternoon—”
“Oh; you have!”
“Yes. They would not let me go aboard, but I saw all I wished to. It is swift and trim—what is called ‘yacht built.’ It can sail or go by steam. Your crew looks like a good one.”
“That is all true, sir,” I agreed, amused at his observations.
“And you young fellows own it?”
“I don’t,” said Joe. “I’m second mate, that’s all. But Mr. Steele here is one-third owner, with his father and uncle owning the other two-thirds.”
Alfonso looked at me intently.
“Have you sold it to my father?” he asked in a low voice.
“Not yet,” said I, laughing. “But, as Señor de Jiminez told you, we are considering the matter.”
“You know why we want it?”
“‘We’?” I repeated. “Are you also a conspirator—pardon me, a patriot—then?”
“I am a De Jiminez,” he returned proudly. “After my father I am entitled to rule over Colombia.”
“To rule? That savors of monarchy. I thought Colombia is a republic.”
“You are quite right. It is a republic—as Mexico is; as Venezuela and Costa Rica are. But the president has great power. Is not Diaz equal to a king?”
“I am not very well posted on South American or Mexican politics,” I replied evasively. “But from what your father said I imagine there is already a president in Colombia.”
He gave a frown at this, amusingly like his father’s frown. Then his face cleared and he said:
“Permit me to explain. The family of De Jiminez has controlled Colombian politics ever since my great ancestor discovered the country and called it New Grenada. But a few years ago, while my father was traveling in Europe, the opposition obtained control and still has the presidency. The important and wealthy class, however, resented the usurpation, and even before my father alarmed at the situation hurried back home, a revolution had begun. I say a revolution, because the opposition had firmly established themselves. We are really attempting a restoration of the rightful party to its former power.”
“In our own republic,” I said thoughtfully, “the votes of the majority rule. Why do you not resort to the ballot instead of to arms?”
“I have visited your country,” he said. “The conditions there are different. In Colombia we have a small class of wealthy and influential people and a horde of vulgar laborers who are little more than slaves. They have small intelligence, no education, and work for a bare living. My father tried to establish a school system that would enable them to rise above such conditions. They would not send their children to the schools. Then he tried to force them by law—compulsory education you know, copied from your own and other countries—but they rebelled at this and the opposition made capital out of their resentment. The result was the overthrow of the De Jiminez party as I have stated.”
This seemed to put a new aspect on the revolution. I began to approve the action of the De Jiminez party and to sympathize with their “cause.”
“Has your father many followers in Colombia?” I asked.
“The intelligent class is of course with him; small in numbers but controlling the wealth of the country. We ourselves are coffee planters and bankers, and we employ several hundred laborers who will do whatever we may direct—and do it willingly. Many of the families in sympathy with us can also control their servants; but we have found great difficulty in securing arms and ammunition for them. We have organized and drilled several regiments—I have drilled our own men myself—but they cannot fight without weapons. That is why we are so eager to ship our cargo of arms to Colombia.”
The elder De Jiminez had returned in time to hear the conclusion of this speech, and he nodded approval. It seemed to me that the little fellow really talked remarkably well. He spoke better English than his father and expressed himself in well chosen language. It at once occurred to me why Joe and I had been invited here. The young De Jiminez was a rabid partisan of “the Cause” and his clever father imagined that an enthusiastic boy would be more apt to impress boys of his own age than his senior might impress men. The thought put me somewhat on my guard and made me inquire into things more carefully.
“Australia seems a queer place to obtain a cargo of arms,” I remarked. “There are no factories here I believe.”
“No,” said our host, “the arms I purchased came from England consigned to a local firm. We could not purchase direct for it would result in international complications; but we have many friends here in Australia. It is a favorite resort for exiles from my country, and that is why I arranged the purchase here. But come; dinner is served and I hope you have good appetites.”
He gave his arm to his old mother, who was remarkably active for her years, and led the way to a connecting room where the dinner was served. It was a fine spread, and Joe and I did full justice to the many courses.
Afterward we returned to the drawing-room, where the old lady read a Spanish periodical while we chatted in English concerning Colombian affairs and the revolution.
I learned that the De Jiminez family was considered among the wealthiest of the republic. Our host conducted an important banking business in Bogota and had extensive coffee plantations in the foothills. He was not directly known as the leader of the revolutionists, but would be chosen the new president by the insurgents if they succeeded in overturning the present government. Yet De Jiminez was scarcely safe in his own country just at present and intended to land in a secret cove on the coast and transport his cargo of arms inland to one of the rendezvous of the revolutionists.
Young Alfonso was as ardent a partisan as his father. He was tremendously ambitious and it seemed his father encouraged this, telling his son many times that the future of his country would some day be dependent upon the boy’s ability and courage and that he must uphold the honorable name of De Jiminez.
Their assumed importance was of course amusing to me, who looked upon their seven by nine country with tolerant disdain; but to them Colombia and the revolution were the most tremendous things in the world. And, after all they were simple, kindly people, honestly inclined and desirous of improving the conditions in their native land if this “tempest in a teapot” resulted in their favor. I had already decided that we would be justified in concluding the deal with Señor de Jiminez when a diversion was created by the arrival of visitors.
The servant ushered two ladies into the room. One was a beautiful woman of middle age and the other a tall, slim girl who was evidently her daughter. Both were exquisitely dressed and impressed me as persons of importance even before I noticed the extreme courtesy with which our host greeted them.
Introductions followed. The elder lady was Señora de Alcantara of Bogota, and the younger her daughter Lucia. At once Madam inquired in an eager tone:
“Well, De Jiminez, have you succeeded in getting a ship?”
“I think so,” he replied, glancing at me a bit doubtfully. “The only thing still to be settled is the matter of terms. I have not much money left to satisfy the owners, who have no confidence in their being able to collect when we arrive at Colombia. But I hope it can yet be arranged in a satisfactory manner.”
“I also hope so,” she returned, “for I am anxious to travel home in your company.”
“You!” he exclaimed in unfeigned astonishment.
“Yes. I have just received letters of absolute pardon from the government. I am free to return to my home in Bogota whenever I please.”
“You surprise me, Señora,” he said, evidently disturbed by the news. Then he took the lady aside, and while they were conversing privately Alfonso said to us:
“De Alcantara, her husband, was the first leader of the revolution, and was killed in battle two years ago. His wife and daughter fled to Australia and their estates were confiscated. This is indeed surprising news; but I think the government wishes to placate the wealthy classes by this lenient action.”
Señor de Jiminez returned to our group smiling and content. I overheard Madam de Alcantara say in Spanish to Madam de Jiminez. “Never, under any circumstances, will I abandon the Cause. I shall return to my estates, because here I am an exile and dependent upon our friends for maintenance. There I may intrigue to advance the revolution, although I am warned against mixing in politics if I accept the government’s amnesty.”
“The Cause is sacred to us all,” was the calm reply.
Lucia de Alcantara was at once monopolized by Alfonso, who deserted us to pay the young girl marked attention. She did not appear to resent this; neither did she respond with much enthusiasm. She was really a beautiful girl, not more than fifteen or sixteen years of age, and her slender, willowy form towered so far above the undersized Alfonso that I remarked to Joe, aside: “That certainly is the long and short of it old man, isn’t it?”
“I suppose there will be accommodations in the Seagull for the ladies?” inquired Señor de Jiminez.
“Yes,” said I; “they might be made fairly comfortable.”
He said no more then, but presently sat down to a quiet game of bezique with Madam de Alcantara, leaving Alfonso to entertain us as well as Lucia. We found that the girl spoke English, and she became so interested in our accounts of the United States that she fairly ignored the youthful Colombian to question us about our country, our ship, and the chances of our sailing together across the South Seas.
It was quite late when they left, Alfonso and his father both escorting their guests to the carriage, and on their return Joe and I pleaded fatigue and retired to our rooms.
“Well, Joe,” I said, when we were alone, “what do you think now?”
“Mighty pretty girl,” he returned musingly.
“But about the business deal?”
“Oh, that,” he responded, waking up, “I’m in favor of it, taking it all around. We get well paid and run no especial chances except when we land the goods. We’ve done harder things than that, Sam, for less money; so it needn’t bother us much. You see the Alcantaras can have the for’ard cabin and—”
“Bother the Alcantaras!” I exclaimed impatiently. “You’re usually opposed to passengers, Joe.”
“I know; but they’re anxious to get home and Lucia said—”
“‘Lucia!’”
“Isn’t that her name?” he demanded.
“I believe it is.”
“She’s a clever sort of a girl. Usually, Sam, girls are dubs; but this Spanish creature has lots of ‘go’ to her and won’t make bad company on the voyage.”
I let him alone, then, and went to bed. Joe Herring was a silent fellow at ordinary times, but if I had let him ramble on about this girl I am sure he’d have kept me awake half the night. It didn’t strike me there was anything remarkable about her either.
Our report seemed to satisfy my uncle and my father when we returned to the Radley Arms at ten o’clock the next morning. At twelve Señor de Jiminez appeared in his checked vest and diamonds and signed the contract, paying us nine thousand dollars in gold and giving us a draft on his own bank in Bogota for six thousand. We also secured papers granting us the right to repurchase the Seagull by returning the notes we accepted for the sale price, which notes we believed not worth the paper they were written on. Then, all business details being completed and the ship formally turned over to its new owner, the early afternoon saw us all aboard the Seagull engaged in stowing the cases of arms and ammunition which had already begun to arrive. De Jiminez did not intend to waste any time, that was certain, and one dray after another brought our freight to the lighter, which transferred it to the ship.
The boxes were of all sizes and shapes, being labeled in big black letters “Machinery.” They were consigned to the coffee plantation of De Jiminez. There were a lot of them and they were tremendously heavy things; but we stowed them in the hold as rapidly as they arrived and two days sufficed to get the entire cargo aboard.
On the evening of the second day our passengers boarded us. There were five of them including the elder De Jiminez, his mother and son, and Madam de Alcantara and her daughter. They were accompanied by trunks and bandboxes galore; enough to make my father grunt disdainfully and Uncle Naboth look glum. I think none of us—except perhaps our erratic second mate, Joe—was greatly delighted at the prospect of female passengers on a long voyage; but we had made our bargain and must abide by it.
De Jiminez had bustled around all day getting the ship’s papers in shape and preparing for the voyage, while young Alfonso, whom Uncle Naboth had promptly dubbed “Little Jim,” attended to the loading of the boxes with the coolness and care of a veteran. They couldn’t wait a moment after the last case of arms was aboard. Bill Brace, the engineer, had steam up long ahead of time; so at dusk we hoisted anchor and slowly steamed out of Port Phillip into the calm blue waters of the South Pacific. If any government spies watched De Jiminez depart he was indifferent to them, and they were now powerless to interfere with his plans.
The comfort of our passengers depended wholly upon two men of our crew whom I have not yet had the opportunity of introducing to you. Our own personal comfort had depended upon them for years, so I am justified in making the above statement. They were gigantic blacks; not negroes of the African type, but straight-haired ebony fellows who were natives of some island in these very seas where we were now sailing. Their names were Nux and Bryonia, and one was our steward and the other our cook—fairly entitled, indeed, to be called our “chef.”
Concerning these curious names there is a serio-comic story which I will briefly relate.
A number of years ago, while Uncle Naboth Perkins was sailing an old tub he and my father jointly owned on a voyage from New Zealand to San Francisco, he encountered somewhere in the South Seas a native canoe drifting upon the waves. It seemed at first to be vacant, but as it passed close to the lee of the slow-going sailing vessel the seamen noticed something lying flat in the bottom of the dugout. They threw a grappling hook and drew the little boat alongside, when they discovered two black men lying bound hand and foot and senseless from lack of food and water. How many days they had drifted about in that condition no one could tell, least of all the poor victims. Being hoisted aboard the bodies were laid side by side upon the deck and Uncle Naboth, who was the only excuse for a physician there was aboard, examined them and found that both were still alive. But the condition of the poor fellows was exceedingly precarious. Had they not possessed such stalwart frames and splendid constitutions they would have been dead long before.
So Uncle Naboth brought out the ship’s medicine chest and found it rather shy of restoratives. Aside from calomel and quinine, neither of which seemed appropriate for the case, the only remedies the chest contained were two bottles of homeopathic pills—one of nux vomica and the other of bryonia.
My uncle pondered a time between these unknown medicines and decided to give one black the nux and the other the bryonia, hoping thus to save at least one of the disabled castaways. So a course of treatment began. Both were liberally fed brandy and water and one was given six pills of nux vomica and the other six pills of bryonia, the doses being administered every hour. Mr. Perkins became intensely interested in the results, and that no mistake might be made he labeled one black boy “Nux” and the other “Bryonia.” “Nux” regained consciousness first, and while the amateur physician was regretting that he had not fed them both the same dope “Bryonia” opened his eyes to the world again.
I have always suspected the brandy and water really did the job, but Uncle Naboth was so proud of his medical skill that he will never admit that possibility.
“It’s a doctor’s duty to guess,” he has said more than once referring to this occasion, “an’ I managed to guess right because I only had two medicines an’ both of ’em was recommended to kill or cure. The dog-gone little sugar pills must ’a’ had extract o’ magic in ’em; that’s what I think.”
Anyhow, Nux and Bryonia got well and regained their strength, and more grateful fellows never lived. Neither could understand a word of English, while their own language was a puzzle to all the crew; but they were quick to observe and ready to undertake any work that lay at hand.
Not knowing where to drop the castaways, nor wishing to delay the voyage because of two black men, my uncle decided to carry them along with him, and their intelligence and devotion so won him that before the voyage ended he prized Nux and Bryonia more than all the rest of the crew put together. They gradually picked up a word of English here and there until they were able to make themselves understood, and in time they learned to speak it fluently. But they had never a word to say of their experiences or past life and we really knew little about their antecedents.
The following year we had another ship in which I sailed my first voyage with Uncle Naboth, and Nux and Bryonia watched over me so faithfully—saving my life on one important occasion—that I learned to regard them both very highly and a friendship was formed between us that time has only strengthened. So of course when we built our fine new ship the Seagull, Nux and Bry became fixtures in it as much as we were ourselves, and I must admit that no owners ever had more faithful or capable servants.
Bryonia was the taller of the two, although both were stalwart fellows, and perhaps he was a bit more shrewd and active than Nux. He became our cook, learning the art with amazing rapidity, and I am positive that no ship’s cook ever lived who was his superior. Nux, a jolly good-natured fellow who was strong as an ox, was our steward and cared for the after cabin perfectly. They did other tasks when occasion required, and the two have accompanied me in more than one hair-raising adventure, proving themselves plucky, intelligent and true to the bone. Somehow we had all come to depend greatly upon our black South Sea Islanders, and they in turn were very fond of us—especially of Uncle Naboth and myself.
It so happened that this was the first voyage since they were picked up that had taken us to the South Seas. We had been to Alaska, to Panama, to Egypt, China and Yucatan, but the fortune of commerce now led us for the first time into the South Pacific. When first we headed for Australia I had said to them:
“Well, boys, you’re going somewhere near your native land on this voyage.”
They exchanged a quick glance but said nothing in reply. They seemed neither overjoyed nor sorry, but accepted this journey with the same calm philosophy they had the others. In mentioning the incident to Uncle Naboth he said:
“I don’t see why our going through the South Seas should make any difference to them. Why, Sam, the South Pacific has a million little islands in it, none of which amounts to a row of pins. Nux and Bry were natives of one of these dinky islands an’ I guess they had a hard, wild life of it judging from the condition they was in when I found ’em. My pickin’ ’em up was great luck for the pair an’ no mistake. They’re civilized Injuns, now, an’ their life on shipboard is luxury compared to what they used to have. Besides we’ve treated ’em well an’ they’ve grown fond of us; I doubt if we landed plump on their native island they’d ever leave the ship an’ go back to their old life.”
“I should hope not!” I exclaimed. “How old do you think they are, Uncle Naboth? Whenever I ask them they shake their heads and say they do not know.”
“Perhaps they don’t; many of the savage races never keep track of their age; they think it’s bad luck to count the years. But I should judge these fellows are about twenty-five years old. Nux may be a little older, but not much.”
Perhaps it was natural that these native islanders should be a source of much curiosity to Alfonso de Jiminez and Lucia de Alcantara. They were accustomed to seeing dark-skinned races, and in Australia one meets Borneans, Samoans, the East India and native Malay tribes, Philippinos, Japs and Chinese; but such handsome and dignified blacks as Nux and Bryonia were different, indeed, and I have often thought the desert Moors the nearest approach to them of any people I have ever seen.
Our islanders wore neat uniforms of gray and gold, which rendered their appearance the more striking. They would never accept money for their service, saying they owed their lives and happiness to us and could never repay us. Moreover they declared they had no use for money. But they delighted in their uniforms, so we kept them well supplied and they wore them at all times.
The addition of five passengers to our complement did not phase Bry in the least. On the contrary it gave him a chance to cook some of the delicious dishes for which he was famous among ourselves, and so to extend his reputation. Nux had more extra work than his comrade, looking after the cabins and serving the meals; but he had a great capacity for work and made no complaint whatever.
Captain Steele had been a mariner all his life and was no stranger to the South Seas; but this course from Melbourne to the coast of Colombia, while not unknown to the charts, was strange to him and he had to put in a lot of study before he got his lines properly marked and knew exactly where to travel.
“Ye see, Sam,” he said to me one evening as I sat in his cabin watching him figure, “it would be all plain sailin’ if it warn’t fer them measley little islands—hundreds of ’em the chart shows, an’ there’s indycations of hundreds more that ain’t been located. If we get a hair’s breadth off our course we’ll have to do a good bit of dodgin’. The spots on the chart marked islands means a lot of rocks in plain English, an’ rocks won’t do the Seagull any good if we happen to bump agin ’em.”
“Isn’t there a way to avoid most of the islands?” I asked.
“Not that anyone knows of. The South Seas is spotted with ’em most everywheres an’ it’s better to keep in your reg’lar course, where you know your soundin’s, than to try findin’ a clearer track over to Colombia.”
“Let’s see,” I said, tracing the chart with my finger; “our course lies directly through the Low Archipelago. What a lot of islands there are! But there seems to be plenty of room between them.”
“Certainly,” agreed my father. “Give us weather like this an’ we’ll dodge every rock in our way.”
I understood what he meant. The weather is treacherous in these seas near the equator, and it would be bad for us to encounter a storm among the rocky shoals of the islands. Just now the weather was magnificent and the sea as smooth as glass. Our engines were in fine working order and we made sufficient speed to satisfy even the restless new “owner,” Señor de Jiminez.
A piano was in the main cabin and Lucia played and sang very agreeably. Her songs were mostly those dreamy Spanish things with melody enough to haunt you long afterward, and Joe especially listened with eagerness to every note, although “Little Jim” was always on hand to turn the music. Joe couldn’t do that, not being able to read a note and he was often on duty besides; but Lucia knew he appreciated her music and whether our boy mate was in the cabin or tramping the deck overhead she played to please him more than she did Alfonso.
Now that all the hurly-burly of stowing the cargo and getting under way was over, our passengers settled down to enjoy the voyage, and it was then that the peculiar traits in their various characters became noticeable. I admit that we are all peculiar in one way or another, as some clever student of human nature has observed and recorded before my time. Perhaps, therefore, our new acquaintances were no more odd in their ways than the ordinary run of humanity.
Madam de Jiminez was as placid and contented as the day was long. She required little amusement and was no bother at all. Madam de Alcantara, on the contrary, proved fussy and exacting. She led poor Nux a dog’s life, waiting on her whims, and her daughter had no easy time of it either. Lucia was very dutiful and obedient and ran at once when summoned by her mother—which was every fifteen minutes on a fair average. Yet the Señora was quite gracious to all about her and never lost her temper or said unkind things. Being as beautiful as she was gracious we had not the heart to blame her. I believe her fussiness was a nervous affliction and that the lady really had a kindly nature. Lucia was devoted to her and tenderly loved her.
This girl, the third of our female passengers, was always bright and cheery and the life of the party. She accepted Alfonso’s marked attentions with absolute indifference. Being accustomed to them she evidently considered them characteristic of the boy and to be borne with patience while in his society. Joe pleased her better; but she was not the least bit a flirt and had no thought as yet of falling in love with anyone. Her feeling for Joe was one of good comradeship.
Little Jim would have been a very decent fellow could he have modified his airs of importance and curbed his excessive vanity. He was really a bright, clever boy, and the son of a man somewhat distinguished in his own country. But the youth’s patronizing manner was intolerable, and one evening when he had joined Joe and me and we were leaning over the rail together I was obliged to “call him down” in no gentle manner.
“I don’t mind associating with you here where there is no formality, you know,” he said; “but if you ever come to Bogota you must not expect me to be quite so free with you.”
“If ever we come to Bogota,” I remarked, “we are liable to find you in jail or in hiding among the mountains. These petty South American revolutions take queer turns sometimes and are liable to become dangerous.”
“Petty!” he exclaimed. “Petty revolutions!”
“That is certainly what they are,” I returned. “Your country is so small and insignificant that we seldom hear of it in the big world; and your revolution is so absurdly unimportant that we never hear of it at all.”
“But you will!” he cried. “When we have won and my father is made president the world will ring with our victory.”
“Nonsense,” said I. “The newspapers in the United States will give it about an inch of space, and the people who read that inch will wonder where on earth Colombia is.”
He seemed nettled at this, and a little crestfallen.
“That inch of publicity,” I continued, “you will perhaps get in case you win. But if you lose you remain unnoticed. There are lots of Central and South American republics, and plenty of revolutions in them at all times. To be frank with you, Alfonso, the people of more important nations are weary of reading about them.”
He hardly knew what to reply, but his humiliation was of short duration. After strutting up and down the deck a few turns he rejoined us and said:
“You may sneer at Colombia—and at her great revolution—but you cannot sneer at the family of De Jiminez. We are very ancient.”
“You are, indeed,” I assented. “You have had a great many ancestors; but they are mostly dead, are they not?”
“How far back can you trace your descent?” he asked.
“As far as my father. Those before him we’ve lost track of. They are also dead, and therefore of no importance to us just now.”
“The family of De Jiminez,” he stated proudly, “is very wealthy.”
“Why mention so common a thing?” I responded. “There are thousands of big fortunes in the world. Joe Herring, who stands there beside you and is our second mate, is a millionaire; yet he lacks distinction on that account because there happen to be so many other millionaires in the world.”
He turned and stared at Joe by the light of the swinging lantern.
“You a millionaire!” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps a little better than that,” admitted Joe, quietly. “I’m a seaman and pretty nearly a man.”
“But you have money—a million?”
“My agent says it’s getting to be nearly twice that; it grows so tremendously while I’m away.”
“Then why do you sail in a ship as second mate?”
“Mainly because I love the life, and secondly because I love Sam, here,” returned Joe gravely. “The adventure and companionship give me more pleasure than to pose in a big city as a rich young kid. As a matter of fact the money is a nuisance to me.”
“Why don’t you buy a ship of your own and hire Sam to sail with you?” asked Little Jim.
“Hire Sam! Why Sam is worth more of that dreadful money than I am. I’m sure he could buy the De Jiminez estates with the bank thrown in and still be rich.”
The statement dazed Alfonso.
“Is it true? Is it possible?” he asked. “Or are you joking?”
“It is true,” said Joe. “The surprising thing is that you have not heard of the Seagull and its adventures before this. The ship has made several fortunes for its owners, and in the United States and Europe it is famous. But I suppose that inasmuch as we hear little of the Colombians they hear little of us.”
Alfonso did not try to patronize us so extensively after this conversation, but he patronized others and I was sorry he could not remedy so great a defect in his character. His father was just as important in his way, but not so officious. A passion for display in dress and jewelry possessed the elder De Jiminez and he spent most of his spare time in changing his clothes, appearing before us in a succession of dazzling costumes that made us fairly gasp for breath. He had other jewels beside the diamonds. Sometimes he wore rubies, and sometimes emeralds; but he was never as proud as when sporting his glittering assortment of diamonds. I think he imagined their sparkle rendered him personally admirable and the envy of all beholders, and the poor man never knew we callous Americans were laughing at him.
Señor de Jiminez was very happy to have succeeded at last in accomplishing his great mission. The arms and munitions of war had been secured with great difficulty and after many disappointments. Best of all, a ship had been chartered to carry the stores to Colombia. With such reinforcements the languishing revolution would receive new impetus—sufficient, he fondly hoped, to render it successful.
Our fine weather held for five days. Then, just as we were approaching the dangerous district Captain Steele had spoken of to me, the sky lowered, a stiff breeze came out of the northwest and the waves began to pile up as only the waves of the South Pacific can.
By night it was blowing a gale; but our passengers, with the exception of Lucia and Alfonso, had taken to their berths long before this. The Seagull behaves beautifully in a storm. An ordinary gale does not disturb her coolness in the least. She merely tosses her head, takes the bit in her teeth, so to speak, and prances a trifle instead of gliding.
But this was no ordinary storm. We who had experienced all sorts of weather in our voyages were soon forced to admit that fact. The wind veered every hour or so; it blew steadily for a time and then came in gusts—“pushes,” Uncle Naboth called them—that were exceedingly trying to both the ship and crew. We would no sooner find our sea legs on one slant of the deck when over she flopped and we had to seek a new angle to cling to. The waves were tremendous and the wind seized their curling edges and scattered them in foamy spray over the ship. The sky became black as ink; the gale roared and shrieked with maddening intensity; yet we bore it all stolidly enough for a time, confident of the staunchness of our bark and the skill of her captain.
My father had put on his pea-jacket and helmet at the beginning of the storm and kept his station on deck sturdily. He assured us he knew exactly where we were and that we had a clear sea ahead of us; but when the Seagull began to swerve here and there, driven by the irresistible power of the gale, even he became bewildered and uncertain of his bearings.
All that night the ship fought bravely. It kept up the fight throughout the long succeeding day. Perhaps it was because all hands were weary that the ship seemed to head into the storm of the second night with less than her usual energy and spirit.
Drenched to the skin I crept along the deck to where my father stood. I am no seaman and have no business on deck at such a time, but I will own that for the first time in my experience at sea I had become nervous, and I wanted the captain to reassure me.
I found him near the bow, clinging to the rail and trying to peer into the night. He was dripping with spray and had to wipe his eyes every few moments to enable him to see at all.
“How’s everything, father?” I asked, my mouth to his ear.
He shook his head.
“All right if we don’t bump something,” he managed to say when a brief lull came. “We’ve veered an’ sliced an’ slipped around so much that I don’t just know where we’re at; ’cept we’re way off our course.”
That was bad; very bad. We hadn’t sighted an island since the storm began, but that was no evidence we were not near a group of them. There was a fairly good searchlight aboard the ship, and it was now being worked every minute from the lookout; but it couldn’t do more on a night like this than warn us of any near by danger.
“Go back!” roared my father in my ear. “Go to bed an’ save your strength. You may need it afore long.”
That was the most fearful speech I ever heard him utter. Nothing had ever disturbed his supreme confidence before. I crept away heartsick and awed, and managed to get safely below, where I found Uncle Naboth smoking his pipe in the main cabin.
“Where yer been, Sam?” he inquired.
“Talking to father.”
“What does he say?”
“We’ve lost our bearings and the sea is full of islands. The ship is all right, you know. It’s only the water that’s dangerous.”
He gave a grunt and looked thoughtful.
“I’ve seen gales, ’n’ gales,” he remarked presently. “Usually they’re respectable critters an’ you know what to expect of ’em. But this sort of a jugglin’ wind beats all figgerin’. Fer me, Sam, I fall back on our luck. It’s stayed by us so far, an’ I don’t see no reason fer it to change front. Eh?”
“I agree with you, Uncle,” I replied, and was about to add another optimistic remark when in rushed—or tumbled, rather—Señor de Jiminez, his face white and his teeth chattering. He had shed his gorgeous raiment and was attired merely in a dark brown bath robe.
“Tell me,” he said, steadying himself by the table as the ship lurched to leeward, “is there—can there be—any danger?”
“Danger of what?” I asked, not knowing just how to reply to him.
“To the cargo—to the arms!” he gasped in choking tones. Then I saw he was not frightened about the safety of the people, or even the ship, but was exercised solely on account of those precious arms.
“Why, if we go down, the cargo goes with us,” I returned, smiling in spite of the gravity of the situation. “But I imagine we’ll all float long enough to—”
The Seagull lurched the other way as a great wave caught her, and while we clung to the furniture for support there came a sharp crack and the ship staggered and keeled well over.
She lay there a long time, trembling slightly. I could hear the waves dash against her with the force of a trip hammer. The door of the stateroom opposite flew open and Madam de Alcantara came rolling into the cabin and landed at my feet. I managed to seize her and drag her to a chair beside me; but she clung round my neck sobbing and crying out:
“What is it? Oh, what is it? Are we sinking? Is all lost?” This in Spanish was quite impressive.
“Be calm, Madam,” I replied, noticing that she was robed in a charming dressing gown and had not been injured by her dash across the cabin floor. “There’s nothing serious the matter, you may be sure.”
I was not really confident of this. Never had I known the Seagull to behave in such a manner before. She rolled terribly, and the waves were dealing her sides thundering blows, one after another.
Uncle Naboth was endeavoring to gain the door to get on deck when Joe came in, water running from his slicker in floods and his face covered with grease and grime.
“What’s up, old man?” I demanded.
“Screw snapped and tore away the rudder,” said Joe. “I was in the engine-room when it happened. It sent the wheels whirling, I can tell you, before we could shut down.”
“Then we’re now drifting?”
He nodded.
“If there was any chance at all we could ship a new rudder. That would serve to keep us straight, anyhow, and we could use the sails as soon as the wind moderates. But the gale’s as crazy as a bedbug, and I can’t see that anything can be done just now.”
“Nothing but wait,” said I. “Where’s father?”
“Trying to lash a rudder to the stern; but it’s hopeless.”
“And Ned?”
“Ned’s with him, of course. I wanted to help but they ordered me below.”
By this time all of our passengers had gathered in the cabin listening to Joe’s dismal report. Nux was there, too, tying Madam de Jiminez fast in a big chair so she would not fall out and then tendering his services wherever they were needed.
For a wonder the ship became a bit steadier now that she was absolutely helpless. She got into the trough of the sea where the wind did not buffet her so badly, and although the waves washed over her constantly she was so tight and staunch that she shed the water like a duck. I do not remember ever to have passed a more uneasy hour than the one that followed the cracking of the screw and the loss of our rudder. Had it not been for the women it is likely I would have regarded our predicament in the light of an adventure, and been excited and elated over the danger. But the presence of our female passengers altered the case entirely and rendered it far more serious.
We were a glum lot, if I may except Uncle Naboth, who still strove to smoke his pipe and remain philosophic. Alfonso was calm and endeavored to comfort his father by saying that as long as we floated the arms were safe. Lucia devoted herself to her mother with a coolness that was admirable, and Madam de Jiminez was as quiet and contented as ever, not making any sort of a fuss and proving her courage in a way that quite won us all. I do not know just what hysterics are; but if they’re a sort of a wild fit that induces one to run amuck, then Madam de Alcantara had them—and had them badly. She screeched, and kicked and howled and wailed that she was too young to die; although for that matter she hadn’t the advantage of many of us, and I don’t see that youth has any special show in a South Sea gale, anyhow.
At the end of an hour my father came stumping in on his wooden leg, looking haggard and weary.
“Brandy, Sam!” he said, tumbling into a chair.
I brought him the bottle and a glass and he took a good swig.
“Bry can’t make coffee. The galley’s washed out,” continued the captain. And then he drew his hand across his forehead with a gesture that I well knew, and that always betokened perturbation of an unusual sort.
“Did you fail to ship the rudder?” I asked.
“’Tain’t that, Sam. There wasn’t much chance, anyhow. But Billy Burke an’ Dick Leavenworth is washed away—gone—done for!”
My heart gave a thump of dismay. Two of our finest seamen lost; fellows I had earnestly respected and admired. It was the first fatality our crew had ever experienced, so no wonder my father was broken-hearted over it. I remembered that Leavenworth had a family, and the thought made me shudder.
“The ship will the storm stand, and be all good—will it not?” asked De Jiminez, by this time thoroughly unstrung and despairing. There was something almost pitiful in the question—hoping against hope—and of course Captain Steele lied to reassure him.
“The Seagull’s all right,” he asserted. “She’ll stand a much worse knockin’ around than this, an’ be none the worse for it. You’d better all go to bed an’ try to sleep. If only we had a clear sea I’d turn in myself.”
“But it is said we are drifting, Captain! A propeller we have not; a rudder we have not! We have no defense against the sea—we are impotent—helpless!” wailed De Jiminez.
“Why, yes; that’s a fact,” admitted the captain. “We’re jest like a chip, floatin’ whichever way the wind blows. But you never heard of a chip sinkin’, did you?”
“N—no,” was the doubting reply.
“What do you mean by saying there’s not a clear sea?” asked young Alfonso.
“Study yer jogerfy,” said my father gruffly. “You’ll find the South Seas specked with islands everywheres. I don’t jest know where we are at this minute, but I’ll gamble there’s islands not far away.”
“Oh. Then if the ship happens to break up we can easily get to land, and perhaps save the cargo,” remarked Little Jim complacently.
My father stared at him, muttered some inaudible remark and rose to return to the deck.
“Must you go?” I asked.
“It’s my place, Sam,” said he.
“But you’ll be careful?” I never said such a thing to him before, but I had poor Dick and Billy Burke in my mind—cautious fellows, both of them—and my father had a wooden leg.
“I’ll lash myself to the riggin’ when I get to it,” he returned, and disappeared up the companionway.
We sat in dismal silence for a time. The wind seemed to be abating, but the waves continued their mad rolling as vigorously as ever. Finally Madam de Jiminez expressed a wish to return to her stateroom. Nux understood Spanish, for our blacks were marvels at acquiring languages and could speak half a dozen tongues; so the steward assisted the old lady to her berth and made her as comfortable as possible. After a long argument Lucia prevailed upon her mother to go to bed, and the moaning, despairing woman was led to her room. Perhaps inspired by this example Uncle Naboth decided to “turn in,” but the two De Jiminez stuck it out and remained all night in the cabin, deploring their hard luck in choicest Spanish. As much to escape their moody companionship as anything else I went to my own room and lay down upon the bunk without removing my clothing. It was then about three o’clock, and although the motion of the vessel had greatly moderated I found it no easy task to stay in my berth. Being at the mercy of the waves the Seagull performed some queer antics, and once or twice I wondered if she wouldn’t “turn turtle,” so far over did the waves keel her. But, queerly enough, we get used to anything in time, and as I was much exhausted I finally fell into a doze, and then into a deep slumber.
Joe wakened me at early dawn, laying a wet, clammy hand in mine and jerking me to a sitting position.
“Get up, Sam!” he said. “Something’s going to happen pretty quick.”
“Are we leaking?” I asked as I tumbled from the berth.
“Yes; but that isn’t it. Come on deck; and step lively while you’ve got the chance.”
He rushed away with the words and I followed him closely.
The sky was gray and overcast, and although it was so early there was light enough to observe distinctly our surroundings. The waves were simply gigantic and the disabled Seagull was like a fisherman’s bob in their grasp. The cargo had not shifted, fortunately, owing to its being so heavy and so carefully stowed, so we kept on our keel as well as the sea would allow us. I found nothing terrifying in the view from the deck until my eye caught sight of a dark object looming ahead, which I instantly recognized as the rocky shore of an island. The waves were bearing us rapidly toward it, and we were helpless to resist.
“See there! and there!” cried Joe, pointing to right and left.
I saw. Rocks were everywhere, on all sides of us. We were right in the heart of a group of South Sea islands—what group, we had no idea. My father’s stern, set face showed from the poop; the sailors stood motionless at the rail. The two De Jiminez, father and son, clung together and stared with blanched faces at the threatening coast.
There was scarcely any wind, as we were partially sheltered in this location. A wind might possibly have saved us; but as it was, and in our crippled condition, there was absolutely no hope.
Uncle Naboth stumbled toward us and said to Joe:
“Call the passengers. Get ’em all on deck an’ see that there are plenty of life preservers. Ned’s getting the boats ready to launch.”
I went with Joe, for there was nothing I could do on deck. Madam de Alcantara began to scream again, but she was not slow in grabbing her jewels and gaining the deck, where she collapsed at once and sobbed like a baby. We got the old lady up easily, and she was as cheerful as anyone could be under such trying circumstances. I had Lucia search for all the cloaks and warm clothing she could lay hands on and Joe and I brought up a lot of blankets; for the air was chilly, even in this tropical clime, and I knew we would all be soaked if we managed to get ashore in the boats.
Bryonia provided a lot of food for us—tinned meats, biscuits and various edibles that might be eaten uncooked—and had the forethought to add some utensils for cooking, as well. A keg of fresh water was deposited in each of the boats. By this time the grim island ahead was very near, and Captain Steele shouted his orders to have the boats lowered.
We put the women into the first, while it still swung at the davits, and Ned Britton, cool as a cucumber, picked a crew to man it. He watched his chance and dropped the longboat neatly on the crest of a high wave, casting loose as the ship rolled heavily in the opposite direction. A little cheer arose from our men as they saw Ned’s boat floating safely, and at once Joe began loading the gig. The two De Jiminez and Uncle Naboth were with this lot; but Joe was not so fortunate as Ned had been. He dropped the boat all right into the gulf between two big waves, but a line got tangled, somehow, and in a jiffy the gig was over and her occupants struggling frantically in the water. The boatswain dropped the third boat quick as a flash, got free from the ship and began picking up the swimmers. Ned also came to the rescue, at the peril of capsizing his own frail craft, and he drew Little Jim aboard as the boy was sinking for the third time. His father was hauled in by a boat hook wielded by the sturdy boatswain, and fortunately Uncle Naboth was spilled so close to the side that he was able to seize a rope and hold fast until rescued. Not a life was lost and the third boat, the cutter, carried its double load easily.
There remained to us but one more boat to launch, and I went to my father and said:
“Come, sir; there’s nothing to be gained by waiting.”
He shook his head.
“Get aboard, Sam,” said he, “and take all the men that’s left with you. I’m goin’ to stay here.”
“But that is folly!” I cried. “It’s a useless sacrifice, father. You can’t help the poor Seagull by staying.”
“It’s my ship—part o’ her, anyhow—an’ I’ll stay by her like she’s always stayed by me,” he returned obstinately.
I was in despair and for a moment knew not what to do. Turning half around I found the two big blacks, Nux and Bryonia, standing just behind me. The remaining sailors were already in the boat, looking anxiously towards us.
I caught Bry’s eye and there was an inquiring look in it that could not be misunderstood.
“Take him, boys!” I exclaimed, and at the word the two promptly caught my father up and bore him kicking and struggling to the boat, where they dumped him on the bottom and then sat upon him.
The lines were quickly cast off and we floated squarely upon the brow of a wave. The men at the oars pulled lustily and we increased our distance from the ship with steady strokes. They then lay to, merely trying to keep a balance as we slid down the side of one wave and up the slope of another.
I had my eyes fastened on the Seagull, and presently a huge mountain of water came sweeping along, caught her full on its crest and rushed with her upon the rocks of the island, now very near to us.
The ship went ashore stern foremost, upright as a die and riding the top of the great wave like a swan. It tucked her into a cove between two elevated points of rock and then receded and left her perched there. There was no crash of splintering timbers—no sound at all. The foremast swayed, cracked off and tumbled over the side; but the other masts stood firmly and it seemed to our wondering eyes as if some monster had grabbed the ship from the sea and set it high on the rocks to dry. Our oarsmen had plenty to do just then to keep us from swamping, for although we were not directly in the track of the monster wave we were near enough to feel a portion of its resistless power and were nearly sucked in upon the reefs ourselves. But I shouted as frantically as a madman, and from the other boats, which were at the right of us, arose a hearty cheer that made our seamen pause long enough to stare over their shoulders at the marvelous sight. Then they cheered too, for we all loved the dear old Seagull.
Instead of a wreck—the fatal smash-up that had seemed imminent and was expected by all—the good ship was suddenly rendered safe from further harm, for no other wave that followed was powerful enough to dislodge her.
Nux and Bryonia allowed the captain to sit up to view the wonderful sight, and my father stared until his eyes bulged from their sockets. He said nothing, however, but turned his attention to our personal dilemma, for there was no surety that we could manage to gain the shore alive. A forbidding line of rocky reefs faced us and should we attempt to land among them our frail boats would be instantly dashed to pieces. Bryonia, who had stood up to look at the ship when he released my father, remained for some time upright, shading his eyes with his hand and peering attentively at the coast. Presently he gave a grunt and muttered something to Nux in their native language. I caught the words, for long ago they had taught me, merely as a pastime, their peculiar dialect.
“Faytan!” he said. “Look, Ketaha, is it not so?”
Ketaha was Nux’s original name, never used since Uncle Naboth had picked him up. He too stared at the coast line steadily, and then nodded his head.
“It may be Faytan, my Louiki. Perhaps we are wrong. But it surely looks like Faytan.”
“Do you know this island, then?” I asked, speaking their own language.
“If it is Faytan, we have been very near to it; but we have never landed upon the island,” replied Bry. “The Pearl People live in Faytan, and they are the enemies of all the other islanders—of all the world. If it is Faytan, we are risking our lives to land there.”
“It is risking our lives to try to keep afloat in this sea,” I replied. “Our men cannot fight these waves for long, Bry.”
He turned away and whispered to Nux. After a brief confab the latter said to us in English:
“Jus’ try to turn dat point o’ rock yonder, Cap’n Steele. Den I guess you find a cove to land, where dere am no rocks.”
The English of the blacks was somewhat imperfect, although they spoke their own language with excellent expression. But you must remember they had acquired our language on shipboard, from all classes of people, and seamen are not noted for grammatical precision.
Captain Steele at once took command of our boat and directed the men to pull around the point of rock. They obeyed with a will and, although they found it a desperately hard task in such a raging sea, finally succeeded in breasting the waves and making the point. Immediately we found ourselves sheltered from the force of the waves and, sure enough, a strip of white sand lined the shore of a small cove just ahead.
“Faytan!” cried Bry, and covered his face with his hands.
“Faytan!” echoed Nux; but he frowned and said nothing more.
The other boats had followed our lead and, heavily laden though they were, managed to round the point. Within half an hour we had run all three boats upon the tiny beach, pulled them out of reach of the sea, and stood wet and despondent in a dismal group upon this unknown isle.
“This is a terrible experience,” said De Jiminez in a gloomy voice. “A nation’s fate has been decided by a South Sea typhoon!”
“All is not lost,” replied Little Jim, attempting to console him. “The ship is high on the rocks yonder, and all the arms and ammunition may yet be saved. Perhaps the natives of this island are civilized and friendly, and will care for us until we can find another ship to take us to Colombia.”
His father shook his head disconsolately.
“I doubt if any people at all live on these rocks,” he said. “The place seems absolutely barren.”
“Why, there is a grove of big trees a quarter of a mile back,” declared Alfonso, “and the island is surely big enough to support many inhabitants. Wherever there are trees we are likely to find fields of grain and fruits. Come; let us go inland and explore the place.”
During this conversation the three women had huddled under their wet cloaks, terrified and trembling. To them this adventure was a dreadful thing. To be shipwrecked upon a barren island is not wholly unknown to mankind but may well be regarded at all times with foreboding and horror.
“Come, then,” said the elder De Jiminez; “let us walk to the forest yonder. We shall find better shelter there, if nothing more.”
“Wait a moment, please!” I exclaimed, for I had been watching Bryonia and Nux, who stood apart eagerly conversing together.
“Why should we wait?” demanded Alfonso, annoyed at my interference.
“Because these blacks are natives of the South Seas,” I replied, “and they think they recognize this island. Let us therefore counsel with them before we act.”
“Bah! Any of these islands is safe enough,” persisted the boy.
“I am not sure of that,” I responded. “We are far from the usual path of ships as we have been blown from our course by the gale. This island is not marked upon any chart, I am sure, which means that there is no record of a white man having ever visited it.”
This statement had its influence upon our passengers, for they cast uneasy glances around and I am sure De Jiminez had no desire to risk the safety of the women by acting recklessly.
Presently our blacks came toward us with grave faces. Bryonia approached my father and said:
“We pretty sure this Faytan Island, the home of the cruel Pearl People. If that is so, we no safe here, and better go away.”
“What, and leave the Seagull!” exclaimed my father.
“If no go away,” returned Bry in solemn tones, “we soon be dead.”
“Why?”
“Pearl People never let people come to their island. If people come, they kill ’em quick. Nux and I, we once live on island near here. Twice the young men of my people make a war party to conquer Pearl People. The first time none ever came back. The second time Nux and I we go with them. We have many hundred fighting men—warriors. We come to other side of island, where is big city. Pearl People see us and send many hundred boats to meet us on the water. We make brave fight. All our warriors die. Nux and me, we bound and put in bottom of canoe. Pearl People king say he take us to city and kill us with fire to honor his great Pearl God, who win him the fight. But sudden storm come up; very bad storm; our boat break away and drift out to sea; we nearly die from thirst and pain when you pick us up and save us. That the story of the Pearl People. They very bad, cruel blacks.”
Bry’s dramatic recital gave us all food for thought, as may well be imagined. The sailors and passengers formed an eager group around him and listened intently to the tale; but there was little of comfort in it for anyone.
Uncle Naboth, my father and I, Joe and Ned Britton, went a little apart from the others and held a council. After considering the situation we favored Joe’s advice, which was to cut across the end of the island to where the Seagull was perched upon the rocks, enter the ship and take possession of it before our enemies did. We could be more comfortable there than elsewhere on this bleak shore. Our supplies were there, probably uninjured; moreover, we could use it as a fort and defend it successfully against a horde if attacked.
If Bry and Nux were correct about this being Faytan, then this was the safest plan we could adopt. If our blacks were wrong we would soon discover the fact and could later decide on a definite plan of action.
It would be impossible to launch the boats again and return around the point to the ship, for the sea was yet in fearful turmoil; so we decided to leave the boats where they were, and try to find our way across the rocks.
Our passengers, when this was explained to them, readily agreed to the plan, provided the ship proved to be in a safe position and we were able to get aboard. Of course our crew, all old and tried men, were ready to obey any orders they received, so we lost no time in making the start and our promptness doubtless saved our lives.
There was a gloomy sky and the wind howled mournfully among the rocks. We appointed two men to assist Madam de Jiminez and two others to aid Madam de Alcantara who, since a real calamity had befallen us, had ceased to wail and settled into a state of helpless stupor. Alfonso and Joe walked with Lucia, but the girl was fully as active as they were and could climb the rocks like a mountain goat.
There was a fairly level country between the forest and the cove, but in order to reach the ship we had to clamber over a mass of jagged rocks that proved exceedingly difficult. There were high peaks with deep ravines between them, for the point we were crossing was of volcanic formation and some eruption had tossed the huge stones helter-skelter in a confused mass. At one time we were high enough to see the ocean—still rolling wildly—and at its feet the dear old Seagull perched like a monument on the rocks. Then we got tangled up with the ravines again and when next we emerged we were across the point, and only a hundred rods or so from the jagged coast where the ship was.
It was a marvelous thing, this high beaching of the Seagull. The wave that carried her ashore must have been a monster, for the ship stood at least twenty feet above the water level and she had been gently placed between two huge rocks in a cavity that seemed especially made to receive her. She stood level as a die, stern to the island and bow to the sea—the sea that she was likely never to sail again; for no human agency could ever launch her from that altitude, with a double row of sharp reefs between her and the deep water. As a seagoing vessel we admitted that the career of the Seagull was ended; but as a place of refuge—a residence and a fort—the ship in its present location would prove invaluable to us as long as we were obliged to remain upon the island.
We found the rocks that supported her so steep and difficult to climb that we sent Joe and Ned Britton ahead, they being as sure-footed as cats. On reaching the ship they found only a loose rope hanging over the side to enable them to get aboard; but Joe managed to mount by this means and at once let down a ladder. A few minutes sufficed to gather ropes enough for their purpose, which was to furnish something to assist us in mounting to the ship. It was not easy to get the two ladies up, but Lucia was as active as a boy and assisted her mother even better than we could.
Soon we were all aboard, and to us who had always trod the decks when the Seagull lay upon the bosom of the water it was a peculiar experience to find her stationary and wedged tight between two big rocks. There was more or less disorder on board, as was natural when you consider we had deserted the ship in a panic of fear; but there seemed no especial damage of any port and the men set to work and quickly put things to rights again.
The sea was falling rapidly. After we reached the ship there was no wave of sufficient magnitude to dash the spray over her side, and few that even wetted her. The passengers at once sought their staterooms and put them in order for further occupancy. De Jiminez was delighted at the thought that he had saved his precious cargo, although what good the guns and truck could do the revolution in Colombia was a mystery to the rest of us. Little Jim was in a sullen, silent mood and seemed to think fate was playing him a sorry trick. Perhaps she was; but my opinion is we were lucky to come out of the typhoon as well as we did. It was assuredly the worst storm I have ever experienced.
So far we had seen no natives at all, and Uncle Naboth said to Bryonia:
“Perhaps you’re mistaken about this being the island of the Pearl People. For if them natives you’ve described are as careful as you say they are about guarding their coast, they would have been after us long before this.”
“We quite sure we right,” answered Bry. “But you see, in such storm as this they think no natives of other islands can come here to attack, so they stay at home in their big city. To-morrow they come here, plenty of them; and then we must fight hard.”
This set my father thinking. He turned to Ned Britton and said:
“Do you s’pose we could get the boats around to-night? The sea’s easier now and if we wait till to-morrow we may have the natives on us. We can’t very well afford to lose the boats, for without ’em we’d have no way to leave this island.”
Ned cast a look over the water and then nodded.
“All right, Cap’n,” he said. “We’ll try it.”
He went away to pick his men, and Bry returned to the kitchen galley and started dinner. Fortunately the Seagull was well provisioned and we had enough supplies to last our party for several months.
As Nux was laying the cabin table for the noonday meal I said to him:
“Why are the natives of Faytan called the Pearl People—and why should your tribe make such a desperate effort to conquer them?”
“’Roun’ dis island, Mars Sam,” said he, “is de fines’ pearls in all de world. Dey grow in a certain sort o’ clamshell what can’t be foun’ anywhere else. An’ de Faytan natives dey jus’ crazy ’bout dem pearls, an’ fish fer ’em all de time. But dey won’t sell none nor give ’em away; dey jus’ keeps ’em all heaped up in de Pearl City, an’ wears ’em on deyre bodies fer orn’ments. Dey worship de pearls in de great temple an’ believes dey gives ’em strength an’ health an’ makes ’em defeat all deyre enemies. If any boat comes here an’ sends anyone ashore dey kill ’em quick. Sometimes de tribes of other islands come in big numbers to try to get de pearls; but Faytans always too strong for ’em an’ kill ’em all.”
“Then how do you know about the pearls, and the Pearl City, and the Pearl Temple, and all that?” I inquired.
“How we know?”
“Yes. If no one ever gets away alive, how did you find out about these people?”
“I tell you,” said Nux. “Bry’s father he great chief of our people—what you call king. One day when he go with many canoe to fight the Grinto Islanders, a storm come up an’ drive him far away. All de canoe keep together with lines, an’ lay still on de water all night, floatin’ wherever de wind drive ’em. When day break in mornin’ he find two canoe from Faytan have drift in among ’em. When Faytan people see our canoe dey go fast to escape; but our warriors go faster. Dey catch Faytan canoe an’ de Pearl People fight us. Dey kill twenty-two of our warriors an’ we kill six Faytan people an’ make two prisoners. The prisoners we carry back home. Dey big fellows an’ don’t talk much; but dey brag of de Pearl People an’ say they rich an’ strong, an’ nobody can ever conquer dem an’ get de pearls. Sometimes dey tell us all about de Pearl City an’ de great temple, an’ all dat; an’ our chief ask ’em to show de way to Faytan an’ he prove he can conquer de Pearl People. Dey tell chief dey hate us so bad dey will show de way. So many young men of our tribe go in canoe, an’ de two Faytan natives go an’ show dem de way. I guess ’bout four hundred went, but only seven came back. All de res’ was murdered by de Pearl People. De prisoners try to escape in de fight an’ get to land; but our chief he kill ’em both an’ den escape himself an’ come home with six others.”
“That was hard luck,” I remarked.
“My father,” said Nux, “was kill in dat fight.”
“But you tried it again?”
“Many years after. Chief he old, den, an’ his son grow up an’ want to go to Faytan. De chief’s son is Bry. He my cousin. We hear much talk about Pearl People, an’ Bry—his right name Louiki—he beg chief to go. So we get a thousan’ warriors with spear, ax an’ bow ’n’ arrow, and go in many canoe to Faytan. Bry told you what happen. I think we two the only ones that escape.”
I thought over this story with much care.
“Do you believe all that rubbish about the pearls, Nux?” I asked.
“Why not, Mars Sam? I see de Pearl People when I fight ’em. All have their bodies covered wid strings of fine pearls. Big pearls. Some white, some blue, some pink. I see de pearls. Why do I not believe?”
“Did you see the big city?”
“I see part of it from de sea. We couldn’t get on shore. It mighty fine city, Mars Sam—over on de odder side dis island.”
“Then how did you happen to recognize the back end of the island where we are now?”
“Before we fight we come close, in de night, to see if we can land here an’ not be seen. We think if we can fight on land we beat de Faytans, who fight best on water. But when we row up an’ down dis coast we find we cannot land. We try de little cove; but dey on watch. Dey on watch all aroun’ de island; so we go bold to de front an’ fight in sight of de city.”
“Seems to me, Nux,” I observed, turning this over in my mind, “we’re likely to have some lively times with these natives.”
The black nodded very soberly.
“Pearl People very big; very dang’rous,” he replied. “They thick as leaves on the trees. If we go ’way alive, Mars Sam, it’s cause we have a ship full o’ guns an’ ca’tridges, which shoot better than bow ’n’ arrow can.”
“Yes, indeed,” I said, smiling; “it is certainly fortunate we have such a cargo. And the ship, cast ashore in this place, is a splendid fort. We won’t despair yet, Nux.”
The ladies did not appear at dinner, all three having gone to bed to rest after their dreadful night. Nux carried coffee and toast to them, and the rest of us dined at the cabin table in rather solemn fashion. There was little in the situation to cheer any of us.
Toward evening Ned and his men left the ship and began their tedious climb over the rocky point to the cove where we had left the boats. I saw that all of them were well armed and warned them of the warlike disposition of the natives. The sea was now smooth enough to render the journey around by boat practical, and as we had seen no sign of any inhabitants, so far, we hoped we were as yet unobserved. But that thick forest ahead of us might be harboring a hundred watching eyes.
They failed to discover themselves, in that case, then or afterward. It grew dark quickly and I feared our boys would not reach the boats until long after nightfall. But the sky was clearing, in patches, and in places we could see thousands of stars glittering dimly.
We had established a good watch on deck and drawn up all the ladders, so that a surprise was well-nigh impossible. Joe and I paced up and down in the dusk, for we were careful not to show any lights, and talked about the queer stories we had heard of the Pearl People.
“If half these tales are true, Joe,” said I, “I mean to have a try at some of those pearls before we leave here.”
“Of course,” he returned. “It would be foolish for us not to land such a rare treasure when it’s right at hand—hunting for us, so to speak. But what interests me most, Sam, is the Pearl City, with its palaces and temples. That might be worth seeing.”
“Nux says the natives number many thousands, and they have decreed death to all strangers. But who knows, Joe? We may see the city after all.”
As he was about to reply we heard the far-off crack of rifles—a regular volley—and knew the sound came from the cove. After that there was deep silence.
The struggle had begun.
Because no sound of any sort now came to our ears we were beginning to worry about the fate of our men when Bry joined us on deck. He said the Faytans did not shout when they fought. They uttered no war cry of any sort, but went into battle silently and if slain died without a murmur. Victory was accepted with the same stoicism, so it was impossible for us to tell how the battle had gone. That Ned Britton’s party had met the natives there was no doubt. The shots told us that. Only time could disclose the result.
My father and Uncle Naboth had come on deck and soon young Alfonso joined our anxious group.
“I hope your men didn’t provoke a battle with the islanders,” said the latter. “My father and I depend on them for assistance in getting away from here.”
“They’ll be glad to assist you to get to glory,” replied Uncle Naboth, “for that’s their best stunt. Haven’t you been told these Faytans, or Pearl People, as our blacks call ’em, decree death to any who land on this island?”
“Oh, that’s Nux’s story; but I don’t believe it,” said the boy. “When we tell them who we are they’ll be sure to treat us decently.”
“Do you suppose they’ve ever heard of Colombia?” I asked.
“Why not?” he retorted. “They must have some intercourse with the outside world. Ships visit every known island, nowadays.”
“I doubt if a ship has ever been here before,” said I. “This isn’t a known island; it’s not on any map or chart or other record. There are plenty of such islands in the South Seas, I suppose. Bryonia and Nux happen to know this place, for their own native island is only about a hundred leagues away; but my father and uncle, who have sailed all the traveled paths in the South Pacific, have never heard of Faytan before.”
Alfonso became silent at this; but he remained on deck, and it was after midnight before our anxiety was satisfied.
Ned’s signal came as a joyful surprise to us, and we hastily threw down the ladders and ropes to assist the fugitives in gaining the deck, in case they were pursued. The mate leaped on board first of all, saying:
“Let down the davits; and lively, too, lads! We’ve got the boats; but Lord only knows what else we’ve brought with us.”
In the hurry that followed no questions were asked. It was better to work first and talk afterward. The davits were swung out and the ropes lowered; but after that it was some time before we got the first signal to haul away, for the men had to carry the heavy boats up the slanting rocks before they could be attached. Pretty soon the longboat came swinging up; then the gig, and finally the cutter. We had lost the fourth boat, the whaler, in launching it in the storm, but all the boats left on the shore of the cove, with their contents, were now secured. We had to work by the light of the stars, which was dim enough; for until the boats and all the men were under shelter we dared not show a light.
Finally three of our men were hoisted over the side moaning with pain. These were tenderly received by their fellows and stowed below, while Bry, the best surgeon on the ship, hurried after to see what could be done for them. When we got Ned into the cabin to spin his yarn we found his left hand covered with a bloodsoaked bandage torn from his shirt, yet he had been working so industriously we had not suspected he was wounded.
“We got to the cove, all right,” he said, “though it were a bitter climb over them sharp rocks. We didn’t wait a minute after gett’n’ thar, but run the boats down the beach into deep water an’ prepared to get away at once. Part of us were still waist deep in the water an’ the others gett’n’ the oars shipped, when without warnin’ a hail of arrers fell among us. It was dark, a’most, but when I glanced at the shore I could see the white sand covered with scores o’ black natives; so I knew our first move was to dig out lively. Yaller Tom were bleedin’ beside me in the water, an’ I had to pull an arrer out’n my own hand afore I could help him; but in a jiffy we were aboard an’ rowin’ like mad. The arrers kept fallin’ ’round us, but didn’t do any more damage, so afore we got out o’ rifle range I let the boys drop oars an’ fire one round into that black line o’ savages. Some of ’em must have dropped, but they never give a whimper; so we rowed on agin an’ soon lost sight of ’em. The waves rolled us ’round some, for the storm left a heavy swell, an’ to keep from grindin’ on the reefs we had to pick our way mighty careful. There ain’t no decent water anywhere near this ship, an’ at first I thought we’d never get the boats to it; but a mile or so north we found an openin’ in the first reef, an’ half a mile or so south o’ here we got through the second reef. We had to keep quiet, for fear the savages had followed us along the shore, so they could drop on us when we tried to land; but they failed to connect. Seen anything of ’em?”
“No,” replied Uncle Naboth. “Who’s hurt, Ned, besides yourself?”
“I guess Yaller Tom is done fer. The arrer’s broke off in his chest an’ he wouldn’t let us pull it out. Nicodemus Brown’s got a splinter through his shoulder, an’ young Dipps got an ugly gash in the leg. That’s the worst o’ the story, although several of us’ll carry scars to remind us of this night’s work.”
“I think,” said I, “you owe your escape to the fact that the natives had no canoes on this end of the island. They must have discovered you while you were climbing the point, but got to the cove just a little too late to meet you.”
“Perhaps,” said Captain Steele, “it would have been a more even fight if you could have faced them on land.”
“I’m satisfied as it was,” returned Ned, shaking his head doubtfully. “They were thick as fleas, Cap’n, an’ if we hadn’t got away in the boats when we did we could have shot ’em down till our cartridges give out, an’ then there’d have been enough left to have murdered us neat an’ quiet. We must get ready for them folks, sir; they’re sure to be on us in the mornin’, if they don’t arrive sooner. But I count myself lucky to have got back with the boats with no worse calamities than we really had.”
“So do I,” said my father. “I’m much obliged, Ned.”
I went to the forecastle to inquire about the wounded. Bry looked grave over Yellow Tom’s case, but said the others would quickly recover. Our islander knew all about arrow wounds, such as these, and could treat them more successfully than a regular surgeon might have done.
“Do you suppose the arrows were poisoned?” I asked.
“No,” he replied; “South Sea natives do not poison arrows. We leave that to the Negritos of the Philippines and inland tribes of Australia. We islanders fight like men, not like cowards.”
“I fear we shall find plenty of fighting ahead of us,” I remarked, rather gloomily.
The black nodded.
“If we stay here we must fight,” said he. “I think it better to take the women away in the boats, and trust the sea. From here I am sure I can find the way to my own island, where I am a chief.”
I made no comment on this suggestion and returned thoughtfully to the deck. I knew Bryonia’s advice was sound enough; but I hated to leave without an attempt to see the Pearl City and get some of the big pearls I had heard of. The result proved, however, that we could not have taken to the boats had we decided to.
We kept an alert watch that night, you may be sure, but not a sound did we hear except the sullen roar of the breakers against the reefs. As dawn broke the lookout made a discovery. About a quarter of a mile away, between the first and second reefs, was a solid line of canoes, each carrying from three to six native Faytans. This line extended from the point to half a mile down the coast, and the patrol so established was sufficient to render our escape in the boats impossible.
There was no sign of activity among the natives. They sat stolidly in their canoes, their eyes bent upon the ship, perched high before them, and these sentries were destined to remain at their posts for many days to come.
Now that we were discovered we experienced a feeling of relief. Whatever might happen from this time on we could accept calmly and with our eyes wide open. It was no game of hide and seek, but open defiance.
“I suppose we must accept this as a declaration of war,” remarked Señor de Jiminez at the breakfast table. The ladies had all risen early to go on deck and examine the canoe patrol, so for once we were a complete assemblage.
“It certainly is no peaceful demonstration,” I replied.
“Still, we may be able to treat with them and peace establish,” continued the Colombian. “Let us offer to give them a few guns if they will let us go.”
I noticed Nux grinning in a corner of the cabin and was at once reminded of the humor of the suggestion advanced.
“Do they know about guns, Nux?” I asked.
“No, Mars Sam.”
“If they did,” I asserted, “they’d realize their ability to capture all we have. But I understand these people never treat with intruders.”
“We did not mean to intrude!” exclaimed Madam de Alcantara in a frightened voice.
“No; it was forced upon us,” I agreed. “I wonder if these fellows, to whom a ship like ours is unknown, are not amazed to find the Seagull set high upon the rocks of their coast.”
“All savage tribes,” remarked Señor de Jiminez, reverting to the former subject, “are said to deal with foreigners as they are dealt with. These people may be inimical to other native tribes, who sometimes come to fight and rob them, but it seems to me if we treat them politely they will become friendly in return.”
“You may try it, if you like,” said Uncle Naboth dryly. “They didn’t wait to discover whether Ned Britton’s party were polite or not; they jest shot ’em up an’ asked no questions.”
“Oh, dear!” wailed Madam de Alcantara. “I’m sure we shall all be murdered by these heathen brutes. Why—oh, why—did I ever sail on your ill-fated ship!” and the poor lady began to shed real tears.
Lucia’s mother had a weak character, in spite of her proud and haughty airs when safe ashore in a civilized community. Any adverse fortune floored her at once and I am sure she had already suffered agonies such as ordinary death could not equal. Her daughter, attentive and sympathetic in a charming, unobtrusive way, sought to console and encourage her parent; but it was a hopeless task. The sight of the natives had completely unnerved Madam de Alcantara, and she sobbed so bitterly that Lucia had to lead her to her room.
Madam de Jiminez had nothing to say. She seldom asked a question, and knowing she would be cared for as well as circumstances would permit, showed us always a benign and cheerful face. She was never in the way, and we all so admired the old lady’s courage that she suffered no lack of attention. The one beautiful thing about her son and grandson was the devotion they lavished upon her. Selfish they might be in all other ways, but both were willing at all times to sacrifice their pleasure to insure her comfort. Misadventures such as this are sure to bring out the good and bad in one’s nature, and we learned to gauge one another quite correctly during this period of mutual danger and suffering.
On gaining the deck after breakfast we found that the idea of turning the ship into a fort was being carried out in a practical manner. We always carried a supply of rifles and cutlasses in the gun room, in case of an emergency such as this. These had been brought out and distributed lavishly along the deck, where one could conveniently seize them. We had plenty of ammunition without having recourse to the revolutionary supplies, and we judged that from the shelter of our bulwarks we could repel any horde of savages attempting to clamber up the rocks. Even if we allowed them to reach the summits of the twin peaks unmolested they could not scale the ship’s side; so, with plenty of provisions and an arsenal to fight with, we felt fairly safe for the present. In addition to the small arms, we had two brass howitzers mounted at the bow and stern of the Seagull. These were usually masked with canvas sacks, designed to disguise them so the ordinary observer would not notice our armament; but they were now uncovered and put in order for action, our men training them so as to command the open space between us and the edge of the dark forest.
We had ample time for these preparations. The canoes guarding the reef passages lay motionless and no sign of life was observable on the land side. We hardly knew how to account for this; whether they were tempting us to leave the ship or were themselves preparing for an assault. However, it was our business to “stand pat” and await results.
The day passed tediously. Lounging by the rail we looked down upon the grim line of warriors, so silent and motionless, and they looked up at us. Fortunately for them they were beyond the range of our rifles. I brought up my glasses and focused them so the natives were distinctly visible in every detail. They were handsome, stalwart fellows, averaging fully six feet in height I judged, although now all were crouching in the canoes. They were not black, as were Nux and Bryonia, but a dark chocolate brown. Their hair seemed straight and fine of texture and was allowed to grow long and be curled into a knot at the back of the head, as women often wear it. Their only article of dress was a loin cloth, made of a dark colored material on which were sewn curious designs in pearls. All wore ornaments of pearls, such as necklaces, armlets and anklets, the gems being of such size and color that I believe the humblest native in the line carried the equivalent of a fortune upon his person.
I watched the Pearl People for hours. Their marked characteristic seemed to be patience. Their features seemed finely cut and intelligent, but the members of the patrol were just now very apathetic, seldom changing their positions or indulging in the interchange of remarks. Their business was simply to wait, and they displayed marvelous resignation to duty. If they were curious they did not show it; if they resented this inactivity they gave the resentment no expression. Automatons could not have been more docile. Yet the Faytans struck me as being dignified, reserved and most admirably trained to obedience, while their stern countenances marked them as cold and cruel.
In the afternoon, while a dismal silence pervaded the ship, I was startled by hearing the clear tones of our piano. Some one began to play a spirited march, and of course I knew it was Lucia. The brave girl was trying to cheer us all with her music, and I am bound to admit it had an animating effect. For an hour she played and sang, choosing the most stirring tunes she knew, and when I finally went below I found all the passengers had gathered in the cabin with Joe and Uncle Naboth, while young Alfonso was joining in a Spanish madrigal that was popular in his own country and all thoughts of our precarious position seemed thrust into the background.
That evening De Jiminez played écarté with his mother while Madam de Alcantara was led to forget her fears far enough to read a book. We lighted the cabin brilliantly, making no further attempt to evade the watching eyes of the natives, and enjoyed a few hours of solace if not of pleasure.
Next day the waiting game was continued. South Sea natives seldom or never attack at night, according to Nux; but these Faytans were so unlike other savage tribes that we could not be sure this was one of their customs. So we divided the watch and kept a sharp lookout night and day.
Nothing happened this second day of our imprisonment. The Faytans evidently had some plan of campaign mapped out, or they would not have established the patrol of canoes. We began to consider what their intentions could be.
“Let’s give ’em credit for a leetle intelligence,” said Uncle Naboth, who had been studying the natives through his binoculars. “The chief that runs this place must have some ability, and as soon as he discovered us here he must ’a’ thought it all out. Mebbe he lay awake doin’ it, for next mornin’ we found them canoes on guard. That was the first trick in the game.”
“Not a bad one, either,” I remarked.
“Not from the chief’s standpoint. It kept us from escapin’ in the boats, which is the one thing, it seems, he don’t intend to let happen. Now, our boys here,” pointing to Bryonia and Nux, “have a notion that the Pearl People don’t want any strangers around. They never let ’em land, if they can help it, and drive ’em away or kill ’em. Accordin’ to that theory the Faytans ought to be glad to have us go. But here they are, keepin’ us fast prisoners. Why’s that, Bry?”
Bryonia had stood moodily silent. He now looked up and shook his head.
“Can’t say, Mars Nabot’,” he answered. But he spoke in a hesitating way that led me to think he preferred not to speak frankly.
“It’s really a puzzler,” resumed Uncle Naboth. “If they mean to kill us, why don’t they start in and fight it out?”
“Perhaps they realize our position is impregnable,” I suggested.
“It ain’t exactly that,” declared my uncle. “If they happen to think to shoot some burnin’ arrers at us, they can easily set fire to the ship, an’ then we’re done for.”
“Not knowin’ about ships, they may not think of that,” said my father, uneasily.
“Well, what then?” asked De Jiminez.
“Then,” replied Joe, “the wily islanders expect to conquer us in one of two ways. First to starve us out, and—”
“They can’t do that in a hurry,” muttered the Captain.
“And second to let us die of thirst,” continued Joe.
We all became thoughtful at this suggestion. I knew we had supplies of fresh water sufficient for an ordinary voyage, and an aërator to doctor it with if it became stagnant and unpalatable; but barreled water is not the safest thing to depend upon, and thirst was a greater menace than lack of food. Yet it seemed improbable that a savage chieftain would have thought this all out and determined upon so tedious and unwarlike a plan of conquest.
Afterward I found Bryonia alone and said to him:
“Why do you think the Faytans wish to keep us here?”
“Don’ know, Mars Sam.”
“Yes you do, Bry. Anyhow, you’ve some idea.”
“I may be wrong.”
“This is in confidence, Bry. You may trust me.”
He hesitated a moment.
“I wish, Mars Sam,” he said in a low voice, speaking his native tongue, “that the lady passengers had not showed themselves.”
“Oh, that’s it!” I exclaimed. “Are the natives partial to white women, Bry?”
“I know other chiefs,” he said, “and I know they like to take women of other nations for wives. In my own island it is like that. I think if we were only warriors the Faytans would drive us away, or let us take the boats out. That is the only way I can explain the strange manner in which they are acting.”
“You may be right,” I returned, and walked away to think it over.
The third day brought no more incident than the others that preceded it. I had abandoned the idea that the Faytans intended to besiege us until we succumbed to hunger or thirst, and told Joe so. Also I confided to my chum Bry’s theory that they were concocting a plan to get our women. This made Joe look grave and anxious.
When Alfonso joined us, presently, I thought it best to acquaint him with our fears.
“If that is so,” said the boy, “we will see that the women never fall into their hands alive. But I am confident there will be some way of escape open to us before our condition gets desperate.”
“What is your father doing?” I asked, thinking I would like a conference with Señor de Jiminez.
“He is writing a speech to deliver before the Colombian Congress when he becomes president,” replied Alfonso with a smile. “Poor father! He doesn’t know what despair means. I’m sure he has no real conception of our present position.”
“I wish,” said Joe, musingly, as he stared out over the island, “that I could see into that forest yonder. I wonder if it’s full of watching natives, or if they’re all lying snug in the big Pearl City we’ve heard about.”
Alfonso was thoughtful. For awhile he, too, stared at the forest. Then a sudden idea occurred to him, for his face brightened and he laughed aloud.
“Fellows,” said he, “I’ve a notion to go over to that city and see what it looks like. Also, I’ll take a peep into the forest as I pass by.”
I looked at him in amazement, saying:
“Have you gone crazy, then?”
Again he laughed, quite gleefully.
“I don’t wonder you suspect my sanity,” he answered; “but the truth is that I had forgotten all about a certain important shipment of mine that is now in the hold of this ship and may be of great help to us in our present emergency. However,” he added, more soberly, “the thing was intended for a far different purpose.”
“A shipment? What is it?” I inquired.
“Why, nothing more nor less than one of those new fashioned biplanes. I bought one of the latest improved Antoinettes when I went over to Paris, during the time father was purchasing the arms in Australia. He sent me there on some banking business, you know, and I naturally took in the aviation exhibition. It did not take me long to decide that a biplane would be of great assistance to the revolution and I induced the great Bleriot himself to teach me how to work it. Before I left Paris I could manage the thing beautifully, and I’ve made a good many successful flights. It is all packed in three cases, with bands of red paint around them so they can be identified from the arms, and I have many extra parts in separate cases. It must seem queer to you to realize I have a flying machine in this out-of-the-way place—where we’re shipwrecked on a savage island.”
“It is strange,” I admitted.
“The Antoinette would make even you fellows stare, I guess,” continued Alfonso.
“Oh, as for that,” said Joe, “both Sam and I have done some aërial stunts in our time, and made some pretty long flights. But a biplane’s a new invention to us.”
“It occurred to me that I could put the machine together here on deck,” announced Alfonso, “and make a trip over the forest to the Pearl City. I won’t land there, of course, but I’ll circle around and find out what we want to know, and then come back again. What do you think?” he asked a little anxiously.
“Seems like a brilliant idea,” I said approvingly.
“Will you fellows help me to get it together?”
“Of course,” said Joe. “And the sooner the better.”
“Then order your men to fetch up the boxes with the red bands. There are three of them.”
I went to Uncle Naboth and my father and explained what Little Jim wanted to do. They both considered the thing impracticable and foolhardy, but said we could give the young Colombian whatever assistance he needed.
So the boxes were sent for and presently hoisted from the hold by means of the cranes provided for such purposes. Only one was at all heavy, and that contained the motor and tools.
The carpenter unscrewed the covers and soon a confused mass of canvas planes, braces, platforms and other odds and ends lay upon the deck. Alfonso, with his coat off and sleeves rolled up, began to select the pieces and connect them. He had written instructions for setting up the machine, but did not need to refer to them often, being evidently quite familiar with the details of its mechanism.
It did not seem to me that the thing was at all serviceable; it was very frail and more like a toy than a flying machine; but the boy assured me it was an exact duplicate of the one that held the world’s record for altitude and speed.
“Aren’t you afraid to trust yourself to it?” asked Joe.
“Afraid! Of course not,” was the reply. “It is perfectly safe if operated intelligently—barring unavoidable accidents.”
We both assisted, being guided by his directions, and all three of us worked the remainder of that day. Lucia discovered us at about the time we began assembling the airship, and was so fascinated by the proposition that she remained constantly by our side, watching every move we made. She made no remarks, but her dark eyes missed no detail, and whenever Alfonso instructed us she listened as carefully as we did. It seemed queer for a girl to take such an interest in a flying machine—a thing that some men do not care to fool with. In addition to the girl a curious group of the sailors surrounded us, for I have found that those who sail the seas have a certain sympathy for those who sail the air.
I had myself become enthusiastic over the machine, as I began to understand the theory of its operation. The Antoinette was as scientifically constructed as it was delicate and graceful. I could see possibilities in the thing, now, and that night was a sleepless one for me, so eager was I to continue our work the next morning. We got the frame complete the second day, and set the engines in position.
By evening the biplane seemed all ready to fly, but Alfonso asserted it must be adjusted and tested with the utmost care, as all depended on the tenseness and equalization of the planes. He told us, however, he hoped to make the flight the following morning.
Our relations with the natives had remained unchanged. The only event of each day was the arrival of food and supplies for the floating besiegers. These were brought in canoes around the island and a share distributed to each of the line of boats. Then the commissary department silently withdrew and the excitement was over. As for the guard, their patience seemed untiring. The warriors must have been more or less cramped in their canoes. If some of them were relieved at times, it was during the nights, for darkness fell upon the silent line and daybreak found it still unbroken. Perhaps some slept, lying in the bottoms of the canoes, while others watched. I have no means of knowing.
Finally our youthful and adventurous Colombian got his machine adjusted to suit him, explaining to Joe and me, as he worked, all the details of equilibrium and shifting the balance, and how to handle the wheel and run the motors. The engines were not unlike those used on automobiles, yet lighter in weight and made as delicately as a watch. The wheel answered the slightest touch, and any change in direction required a quick eye and quick thought. Indeed, to fly in a biplane is no dreamy man’s job, for every nerve and muscle must be tense and responsive and lend life to the inanimate thing he directs.
Alfonso was cool as a cucumber while making his tests and I could see that his eager enthusiasm was due more to the delights of an exhilarating flight through the air than a desire to see the Pearl City, or discover what our enemies were doing. Doubtless he had for some time been aching for an opportunity to use his novel machine, and his present attempt was mainly due to this wish.
Being of a mechanical turn of mind and interested in all such propositions, I followed intently every movement that Alfonso made in putting the biplane together, adjusting it and preparing for the flight.
“I almost believe I could work it myself,” I remarked with a smile.
“That ‘almost’ qualifies your egotism,” replied Little Jim, with assurance. “It is the flight itself—the management of the machine in the air—that really requires knowledge and skill.”
“But that can only come with experience,” I said. “How many flights have you made?”
“Several,” he declared proudly. “Once I remained in the air for thirty-seven minutes. I can do better than that, now, for I have here an improved machine and the condition of the atmosphere in these latitudes is almost perfect, since the storm cleared.”
He took his seat in the machine. We had cleared a long run along the deck, from stern to stem, for his use in starting.
“First,” said he, “I’ll take a turn among those boats over the reefs. I may land here on my return, or I may keep on over the island; it will depend upon circumstances.”
Every soul aboard had gathered to watch this interesting attempt, and I noticed that Lucia’s eyes were big and sparkling with excitement. Alfonso was quite the hero of the hour and it filled him with pride and elation to be the observed of all observers. His father, who had always vigorously opposed his son’s experiments with airships, but realized the fact that the biplane might be of much service to the revolution, was a curious and silent spectator. He had indulged in a stiff argument with Alfonso the night before, but had met defeat at the hands of his wayward son. The boy’s courage and confidence were indisputable, and perhaps Señor de Jiminez was a bit proud of his son’s progressive ideas.
“The airship is bound to be a great factor in the future history of nations,” asserted Alfonso, and this could not be successfully controverted until the future revealed itself and became history.
Joe and I followed directions in turning the motor and running the machine along the deck for a start. It rose just before it reached the bow, soared over the rail and headed straight out to sea, still ascending. Absolute silence pervaded the anxious group on deck. We could plainly hear the whir of the motors as the biplane, swift as a dart, flew over the reefs, descried a graceful curve and circled around the boats a hundred feet or more in the air.
The Faytans were certainly a stolid lot, as we afterward proved; but the flight of the airship was so startling that they craned their necks to watch it, and some rose in the canoes while others ducked down and covered their heads as if in terror. Fear was unknown to this people, but superstition bound them in chains, and this surely seemed like a demonstration of the gods.
I must admit the boy handled the machine beautifully, and it responded to his touch like a thing of life. Several times he circled around, then swept out to sea until he was a mere birdlike speck, and finally came back and headed directly for the ship. Perhaps it had been five or six minutes since he left us, but to us it seemed an hour, so excited were we by his daring and his success.
We kept the deck clear, pressing close to the rail, and it seemed Alfonso’s intention to land. He came toward us in a straight line; then the machine dipped, for as it neared us it was fully three hundred feet above the sea. Now the aëronaut shut down the motors and glided gracefully downward at an angle of nearly forty degrees. We were preparing to shout our applause, when like a great bird the biplane swept over the deck, struck the mainmast at about its middle and came crashing down in a heap—operator and aëroplane being mixed in a confused jumble.
Joe and I rushed in first of all and pulled Alfonso out of the wreck. He was insensible and bleeding profusely from a cut across the forehead. Others eagerly took the boy from us and carried him below, his father sobbing that his son was dead, dead, dead! and now could never become the president of Colombia.
I knew well enough Alfonso wasn’t dead, and told Lucia so when she asked me with a white, startled face.
“A little damaged, that’s all,” said I, and watched her as she hurried away, womanlike, to render what assistance she could.
“It were surely wonderful!” cried Uncle Naboth, viewing the mangled biplane that lay at the foot of the mast; “but he’s spoilt his flying machine the first trip.”
“Oh, I’m not at all sure about that,” I replied. “What do you think, Joe?”
“Why, it’s like Alfonso—a little damaged, that’s all,” he answered with a grin. “The motor seems all right, and that’s the main thing.”
We made an examination, then, and found some of the framework of the planes splintered. Otherwise nothing was injured and a little work would soon restore the thing to good working order.
Bryonia and “Capstan Bob,” the latter having been a poor doctor before he became a good sailor, attended the injured boy, and soon word came up that Alfonso had regained consciousness. He had broken his left arm and cut his scalp open, but was not seriously injured. Late in the afternoon he asked to see me, and when I went down to his room I found him quite cheerful over his personal mishap, but worried about the condition of his biplane. This I assured him could easily be repaired, and he told me there was a supply of extra frames in one of the boxes, and asked me to look after the airship and rig it up again.
“I want to make another trip in it as soon as I am able,” he told me. “This broken arm is an unfortunate thing, but I guess I can manage the wheel with my right hand. Are you sure the motor is uninjured?”
“It worked smoothly when I tested it,” I answered; “but I’ll go over it again more carefully and make sure.”
“Do,” he urged. “You and Joe can do the work, and to-morrow I’ll come on deck and direct you. I’ll be all right by that time.”
The morning, however, found Alfonso so stiff and sore from his bruises, his gashed forehead and his cracked arm, that he could not leave his berth. The women waited upon him tirelessly and Joe and I, left to our own devices, decided to get to work on the biplane without the owner’s assistance. It interested us more than ever, now that we had seen what the thing could do, and I had acquired a powerful desire to test its virtues myself. If we could restore the machine to good condition, and should our safety demand knowledge of the movements of the natives, I felt I would not hesitate to undertake a flight.
All that day we worked, finding spare parts to replace those that had been damaged. It was evident that accidents to the frame were expected and anticipated, since duplicates of almost every part of them had been furnished. Only the motor and steering gear were without duplicate parts; but these were little likely to become injured, even by a direct fall.
On the following morning Joe and I arose before daybreak and got Bry to make us some coffee while we finally adjusted the biplane. I had decided to attempt a flight secretly, as I feared Señor de Jiminez or his son would refuse us permission had we asked to go. The seat was so arranged that it would carry two; so, both Joe and I being light in weight ought not to prove too great a burden for the machine. I had intended to go alone, at first, but Joe begged so hard that I did not like to refuse him, and he agreed to allow me to manage it without interference.
We instructed Bry and Ned Britton how to start us, but we took our run on the deck from stem to stern, so as to head over the island.
The Antoinette rose like a bird—just as the sun came up—and with a sense of elation and delight I realized we were actually flying. Up we shot, right over the forest, which came beneath us so suddenly that for the first time I recognized the marvelous speed of the machine.
Determined to investigate this threatening barrier, I turned the wheel so as to descry a succession of circles and descended until we were just above the tallest tree tops. Joe had a pair of powerful glasses, and while I watched the biplane he examined the forest.
“The woods are full of savages,” he remarked, attentively looking downward; “but most of them are lined up facing the ship.”
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Stripping the trees of bark, and flattening it out. That’s queer. All are working at this except the double line of sentries at the edge of the forest.”
“Perhaps they’re making shields of the bark,” I suggested; “in which case they intend to attack us presently. But if they think we use bows and arrows, which a bark shield will stop, they’re much mistaken.”
“Who knows what they think?” muttered my companion.
“And who cares? Keep your balance, Joe; I’m going to explore the rest of the island.”
First I rose to quite an altitude, so that we might determine the extent of the island. Then I spied a large settlement at the far east of us—the farthest point from the ship—and deciding that this was the Pearl City I headed directly for it.
A few moments only sufficed to bring us above the city, a journey of perhaps ten miles from our starting point. Here again I circled while we inspected the place.
The city was of tremendous extent; for here, we afterward learned, resided every inhabitant of Faytan. There was a pretty landlocked bay before it, and the water front was thick with craft, mostly with canoes such as we had seen, although there were some ponderous flat-bottomed boats that resembled rafts more than ships. These I thought might be used for the pearl fishing, although they were gaudily decorated and had many seats with rudely carved backs.
Between the forest and the city were large cultivated fields, with groups of cocoanut and date palms showing here and there, and we discovered several bands of workers on these farms, all calmly engaged in performing their proper tasks.
But the city itself was far more interesting than its surroundings. The buildings were of clay bricks, of a light gray color, little wood being used in their construction. They were of great size and laid out in regular order, forming streets that radiated in all directions from a central square. Directly in the middle of this space was a great circular building which was painted a dark blue color—the only painted building in the city—and lavishly decorated with pearls. The doorways, windows and cornices, and even portions of the dome, were thickly set with these precious gems, only pearls of great size and luster being chosen for the purpose. This was the temple; but I ought to explain that many of these details were not perceived by us at that time, while we circled in the biplane over the city and looked curiously down upon it. Perhaps it was this very curiosity that was our undoing, for I must have neglected the machine in some way to send it suddenly swerving, first to one side and then the other, in an erratic motion that was bewildering and instantly destroyed my cool confidence. The strain on the planes was dangerous, and although we managed to keep our balance I could not steady the thing nor bring it to a stable equilibrium. We were at a dangerous elevation should we fall, and to avoid this catastrophe I involuntarily descended, without any regard as to where we might land.
It was almost a fall, as it was. We first dove headlong, at a dangerous angle, and then I swung her head up, shut off the motor, and she fluttered, rocked and came to a sudden stop with a jolt that well nigh drove the breath from our bodies. Joe pitched from the seat and rolled over a few times; then he sat up and looked at me in a dazed way that would have made me laugh had I not been wondering just then how many bones I had broken. But after the jar on my nerves had subsided I crawled out of the machine, which dropped its planes as if ashamed of its rude action, and found we were on the flat top of one of the high buildings that overlooked the place of the Pearl Temple.
I crawled to the edge, which had a low parapet, and looked over. A hundred eyes met mine, staring at me with wonder in spite of the stoic nature of these remarkable islanders.
It was not strange that they marveled. Airships are not yet everyday affairs in our own country, so this one might well startle the natives of a secluded South Sea island which even ships do not sight. I am not certain which party was at first most bewildered, Joe and I or the Faytans; but we were first to recover, and our desperate situation called for decisive thought.
Hastily I ran over the machine. A guide rope had parted, and I promptly knotted it together again. In all other respects the Antoinette seemed uninjured.
“Get aboard, Joe!” I cried; “we must make a run for it the best way we can.”
“Someone has to push the thing,” he returned. “I’ll start it and you take it away, Sam. If you reach the ship safely you can come back with a rescue party.”
“That’s nonsense!” I exclaimed. “I won’t go without you, and you know it. Here, help me run it over to the edge, and we’ll see what we can do. It may dip at first, but there is lots of room in the square down there for us to get a start and rise again.”
“And lots of savages to grab us if we bump the ground. My way’s best, Sam.”
“Your way is impossible!” said I. “We will either go together, or we’ll both stay right here.”
The speech was prophetic. Before I had the words well out of my mouth the natives began to pour in a stream out upon the roof, coming through a square hole in the center which we had not thought to guard.
Each of us was armed with a brace of revolvers, but we hesitated to use them. As we backed away to the furthermost edge I said to Joe:
“Don’t shoot. They’ll capture us anyhow by force of numbers, and we’ll stand better with them if we don’t hurt anyone. Keep your pistols out of sight, for a better time may come to use them.”
Joe nodded.
“You’re right,” he said briefly.
The Faytans lined up before us, a score of great muscular fellows with singularly intelligent features and of grave, dignified demeanor. As I looked upon them I decided to adopt a certain plan of action. Extending my hand and smiling in a fearless, friendly manner, I slowly advanced toward the man directly in front of me. There seemed to be no captain or leader among them.
“Greeting, good friends,” I said in the language of Tuamotu, the island Nux and Bry had come from, and which they had long ago taught me to speak. All the natives of the South Seas have, I believe, a common language, although each island seems to use a dialect or “brogue” of its own. At any rate the islanders seem able to understand one another when they meet in peace or war, and for that reason I hoped to make myself understood.
That I succeeded was soon apparent. The man did not take my extended hand, but he said in a deep, musical voice:
“We are not friends. It is not possible.”
“No?” I returned, as if astonished. And, indeed, his frankness was surprising, for these islanders are usually subtle and deceptive, claiming friendship when they intend murder. “Why is it not possible for us to be friends?”
“Because you come unasked. Because we do not harbor strangers. Because intruders deserve death, and the laws of the Faytans decree it.”
This was not at all pleasant.
“We came not here of our own will,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “The gods of the Storm and Wind thrust us upon your island. We wish to go away; to return to our own country.”
“That cannot be,” said another standing near the first speaker. “To allow a stranger from the world beyond the sea to escape would be to allow him to carry tales of Faytan to his countrymen. Then they would send many boats here to rob us of our pearls and make us trouble.”
“Therefore,” added another, “you must die to save Faytan.”
“In what way?” I asked, more to gain time than because the mode of dying interested me just then.
“The King will determine that. We will take you to the King.”
“Very well,” I responded cheerfully. “Come, Joe; let’s visit the King.”
He grinned at this, for Joe isn’t easily scared, and we allowed the Faytans to escort us from the roof, going so docilely that they did not bind us or even touch our bodies. They merely surrounded us in a dense mass, and since they were of gigantic size and strong as bulls that was as secure a method as any.
The house through which we passed was not badly arranged or furnished. We saw numerous rooms from the corridors we traversed, and they were more pleasant and homelike than you might suppose, considering this to be an uncivilized island which the world’s progress had never yet thought of.
The square outside—it was a circle, really—was thronged with men, women and children, all scantily clad as far as clothing was concerned, but the humblest wearing a fortune in pearl ornaments.
This island of Faytan must be very populous. There were at least two hundred men in the boats guarding the reefs; the forest was full of them; many were working in the fields, and still the Pearl City was packed full, as far as we could see. The natives were of superior physique and intelligence. We had thought Nux and Bry exceptionally well built fellows, for South Sea Islanders, and we had often proved their fidelity and keenness of intellect; but the Faytans were fully their equals in every respect, and I knew from the reports of Tuamotu that they had no such capital as the Pearl City and lived in a more primitive manner.
Crossing the square between close ranks of silent, staring natives, we were escorted to the steps of the Great Temple and in through a high arched doorway.
To our surprise there was no great hall of concourse before us, but an entrance hall from which opened several doorways hung with finely woven mats, all of which were lavishly decorated with conventional designs in pearls. Before each doorway stood a guard, armed with a spear and a double-edged battle-ax, the latter fashioned from gypsum by the method employed by the North American Indians.
There was a captain of these guards and when one of our conductors spoke to him in a low voice this official disappeared through a central doorway. He returned presently and Joe and I were told to follow him. After us came merely a half dozen of our captors, closing the rear, and so in stately procession we tramped down a long corridor and came to the throne room.
It was a high, spacious apartment, having many windows covered with translucent fish-skin dyed in various colors. These had the appearance of stained glass and were quite effective. Around three sides of the room ran a stone bench covered with mattings and in the center was a raised place, or dais, with a broad, pearl-encrusted seat.
Heaped upon the royal bench were many gay colored blankets woven from a soft cocoanut fibre, and lying flat upon these, face downward, was the mighty King of Faytan.
His Majesty was only a boy. His copper-colored form was lean and slender, but no greater in length than my own.
He did not move for a time and I had opportunity to examine him curiously. The knot of hair twisted upon the back of his head was decorated with five monstrous black pearls—the rarest and most valuable sort known. Around his waist was a broad belt on which exquisite rose pearls were thickly clustered. Over his shoulder was draped a short cloak sewn thick with the same precious gems. But aside from this richness of decoration there was nothing to distinguish the youthful king from his subjects, unless it was his attitude. This might indicate grief, despair or suffering, for though he moved not a muscle there was such utter abandon in his pose that I caught myself feeling sorry for the youth’s misery without knowing why or how he was miserable.
We stood motionless, awaiting his royal pleasure. After a time, with a slow, writhing motion he raised himself to a sitting position and showed his face to us.
I was born and bred in a democratic republic, and believe that all men are free and equal; nevertheless there was a serene dignity in this boy’s countenance that plainly marked him royal. Wherever I might have met him I should have recognized in him the king; yet he was a mere savage secluded on an unknown island.
The unhappiness that had marked his former attitude showed plainly in his face, but its proud regard seemed to demand no pity from anyone. Whatever it was, the king was strong enough to bear it alone.
He eyed Joe and me with calm interest, his look flashing over us from head to heel and noting every detail of our appearance. Then he turned to the captain of the guard and nodded permission for him to speak.
“Flying through the air on a thing with wings,” began the man, “these two intruders alighted upon the top of the house of Aza, where they were captured. They are brought before your Majesty for judgment.”
The king passed his hand across his eyes with a wearied gesture. Then he looked toward us again and said:
“They are young.” His voice was low and soft.
“You are also young, your Majesty,” I ventured to state.
“Then you understand our tongue?” he said quickly.
“Imperfectly. I was taught to speak it by a native of Tuamotu.”
“Tuamotu! So you have come here to get our pearls?”
“No, indeed. We were shipwrecked, having been driven out of our course by the storm. We are not robbers, your Majesty, but only unfortunate voyagers.”
He nodded.
“You are indeed unfortunate to land upon the shore of Faytan,” said he. “It means death to all of you.”
“Not necessarily,” I returned, coolly. “For my part, I expect to live a long time yet.”
“You do not understand,” he persisted gently. “It is the law of the island—the law of my forefathers—that all strangers who land upon Faytan shall be put to death.”
“A cruel law,” I remarked; “and an unjust one.”
“It is to protect us from invasion,” he explained in a kindly tone. “This is the richest island in all the world, and the most favored by nature. My people are the bravest and strongest of mankind. No other nation can at all compare with this, for we are protected and favored by the powerful Pearl God.” As he mentioned this deity all the Faytans present prostrated themselves, muttering:
“The King is the Priest of the Pearl God. Through him we acquire power and protection!”
The king had also bowed his head, reverently and with no hint of self-adulation. When the chant ended he turned to us and continued:
“Strangers, it is not through hatred that your death is decreed. There is no hate in my breast, although you have killed my father, the late King of Faytan.”
His voice faltered, and I exclaimed:
“Killed the King! We? It is impossible.”
His grief was readily explained now, but although these people posed as our enemies I was really shocked at the assertion that we had rendered this boy fatherless.
“I do not think the deed was intentional,” he returned, musingly, “for it was dark and your weapons could single out no man. But my noble father’s death was the result of your coming here. When runners from the other end of the island brought the news of your arrival, my father the King set out at once with a band of chosen warriors to capture you. He arrived at the cove at nightfall, in time to see your people leap into your boats and start out to sea. Our warriors sent arrows after you, and you replied with the weapons that sting. One stung my father and he fell dead. The warriors brought him back to the Pearl City, where I slept, and I was awakened to be told I had lost my dearest friend and was now the King of Faytan.”
He bowed his head again and for a time remained motionless.
“I am sorry,” I said quietly. “It was the fortune of war.”
“Yes,” he returned, raising his head to look at me curiously; “the fortune of war; the same fate that led you here in the storm to meet your death.”
I began to feel a little uneasy.
“Is there no way of evading that foolish law of yours?” I asked.
“No. Away from Faytan every stranger is safe. He is nothing to us then. But when a stranger comes to Faytan the law decrees his death. There is no escape.”
“Does the law say in what manner we are to die?” I inquired.
“No. The King determines that. But it is our custom to grant our prisoners the easiest death of which we have knowledge, which is by drowning. The only demand of the law is that every invader shall die. There is no desire on our part to be cruel.”
I pondered the matter.
“Does the law state how soon the prisoner shall die?” was my next inquiry.
“No. That would, of course, depend upon circumstances,” he admitted.
“In that case, there is no need for us to worry over my death for the present, or over that of this friend who is with me,” said I in my easiest manner. “I begin to admire your law, your Majesty. It says very truly that every intruder upon your island shall die. But every native of Faytan, too, must die—in time.”
He saw my point, but was not impressed.
“The law says you shall be put to death, not that you will be permitted to die in time,” said he.
“Oh; very well, let it be that way,” I agreed. “But I am innocent of any intent to wrong you, or any of your people, your Majesty; so I appeal to you to postpone putting me to death as long as possible.”
He stared at me in a puzzled way.
“It is not fear,” he muttered, “that drives you to beg for your life—for a few brief hours or days. What is it, then?”
“I’ve acquired a habit of living,” said I, “and I hate to break it. Also I have a duty to perform—to instruct you in the truth concerning the great world outside of Faytan, of which I find you are very ignorant. I must show you how far behind other nations you are; how much you have yet to learn. You cannot gain this information from your own people, who are as ignorant as you are; you must gain it from me, before I am put to death. You say proudly that you rule a great country, but there is a way for you to make it a far greater country. You say your people are happy and prosperous, but I can teach you how to give them many comforts they are now without.”
At last I had interested him, for he was an intelligent youth. His eyes flashed. He rose to his feet, facing me, and asked:
“Can you do this?”
“Yes; and more. I can tell you of things you have never even dreamed of, which will make Faytan greater and more powerful than it has ever been—since the beginning of time.”
“Then,” said he, “your death shall wait until I have listened to your teachings. But do not misunderstand me. I grant you neither pardon nor life. I merely postpone your death.”
“That is fair enough,” I answered. “I am satisfied.”
Deliberately and with dignity he again seated himself, turning toward my captors, who had heard all this conversation plainly.
“You may go,” said he.
Evidently the king had no thought of asking anyone’s advice as to his actions. He told the captain of the guard to take us to a certain room and keep us safely until he sent for us, and as we bowed low and left the youthful monarch he turned and cast himself prone upon the blankets of the throne again. When I looked back over my shoulder I found he had buried his face in his hands and his attitude was one of great dejection.
The Pearl Temple was also the Royal Palace, for as the king was the sole priest of the Pearl God it was fitting that his abode should be in this sacred place. Seldom has a nation placed the supreme power, both religious and political, in the hands of one person. It is concrete autocracy and usually a priesthood protects a country from its king while the king protects it from the priests. But here was decidedly a one-man rule—and the man was a boy. If we could win the boy’s friendship there were no complications to thwart his will, and therein lay our sole chance of salvation.
Joe and I talked it over in our prison, a fine big room in the rear portion of the temple, with windows opening on the square. There were no guards, nor were we bound or otherwise restrained except by the command of the king to remain in the room until sent for. We might easily have dropped from one of the windows to the crowded streets; but that would have availed us nothing. We might have walked out by way of the corridors, and met the guards at the other end. Really, we were safe enough, and our captors knew it.
Our unfortunate mishap caused us considerable uneasiness. It was not so much on account of our personal safety, although of that we had ample cause to fear; but I worried lest my father or Uncle Naboth, suspecting we were captured, should send out a party to attempt to rescue us. From my present information I knew that would mean death to them all; only while in the ship fort, with ample supplies of guns and ammunition, could they successfully oppose these numerous and powerful Faytans.
At noon we were given ample rations of excellent food; fish, turtle and lobster forming the chief dishes. The drinking water, almost ice-cold from earthen jars, was the finest I ever tasted. Women waited upon us, but when I spoke to them in their native tongue they refused to answer.
After the meal the king came in, unannounced and alone. The youth walked with great dignity and his face was very sad. Sitting upon a bench beside us he said:
“You will tell me of the world beyond the sea, and I will listen. But first tell me your names, and what island you come from.”
We introduced ourselves and said we were Americans, but of course that meant nothing to him.
“I am Attero, the twentieth of that name who has ruled in Faytan,” said he proudly. Then he began to examine our clothing and to feel the texture of the cloth, asking us how it was made and of what use the various garments might be.
Joe is not much of a talker, so I spent several hours giving the king the most primitive sort of information, taking care to so explain our machinery and inventions as to set him wondering at our cleverness. He was more interested at first in “the weapon that stings” than in any other mechanical contrivance, and you may be sure I explained the death-dealing character of our guns in a most impressive manner.
“Your people are many, oh King,” said I; “but our rifles and revolvers have more stings in them than you have people, although our own numbers are so few.”
He pondered this a moment.
“I thought that might be so,” he returned. “That is a reason why I did not sooner send my people to capture you. My chief Medicine Man, Kuru, has been studying this matter, and Kuru has found that while the metal stings enter human flesh, and pass through it, they do not go far into the bark of the trees. For when my father and some of his people were stung, many other stings flew over their heads and reached the forest, where we found the marks they made. This is the first time such weapons have been used by invaders into Faytan. All others have had spears and arrows like our own. Also you are the only pale-skins who have come to Faytan.”
“The pale-skins have more wisdom than the dark-skins,” I asserted. “They have conquered all the known world. The reason Faytan has not yet been conquered by us is that until the storm drove us upon your coast we did not know such an island existed.”
He bowed gravely.
“That proves how wise my forefathers were in making our laws,” said he. “We have been left in peace because the restless pale-skins, who love to conquer what does not belong to them, did not know where to find Faytan. Had we permitted any to leave our shores alive you would then have heard of us. Also my forefathers declared that other nations would want our pearls, which have brought good luck to us for many years. Is that also true?”
“It is,” I replied frankly. “My people like all pretty things, and you must know that pearls are found not alone in Faytan, but in many other parts of the world.”
He seemed surprised.
“As many as we have?” he asked.
“Perhaps not. But pearls are not unknown to us. See,” and I showed him my watch fob, which was set with a large diamond surrounded by small pearls. He paid no attention to the diamond but examined the pearls carefully. Then he smiled.
“Have you seen any so small, so dull and colorless in my kingdom?” he asked.
“No, your Majesty.”
“Such trifles grow in small shellfish, which we do not open, but throw back into the sea to allow them to grow. Those which you have are dead. The life is gone from them. We know how to keep all our pearls alive by bathing them in the salt water,” he said. Then he asked. “What is on the other end of this yellow chain?”
I exhibited my watch and explained its use. He was greatly excited over this trinket, especially when I showed him the wheels and how to keep them going by winding. I thought it good policy to make him a present of the watch, which was a cheap affair, and he accepted it with evidences of joy and gave me in return a necklace of pearls worth a fortune.
When he left us he said:
“You must tell me more of your wonderful land and your wise people, for truly you are able to teach me much.”
He paused on his way out and came slowly back to us.
“Tell me how my people can be safe from your stings,” he begged.
“By keeping a long distance away from them,” I replied promptly.
“Is there no other way?”
“None, your Majesty.”
“My chief Medicine Man, Kuru, thought that if we made shields of bark, and carried them before us, the stings would not hurt.”
That explained the work we had seen the natives doing in the forest. But I hastened to assure King Attero that such shields were useless, as when they came neat to our guns the bullets would go through them easily.
“Then,” said he, in a grieved tone, “many of my people will die, for they will make the attack to-morrow morning.”
“Can you not send swift messengers and stop them?” I asked anxiously.
“I will not do that,” he answered, “for it is not good to give one order to change another. But I will spend the night in beseeching the great Pearl God to protect my people from the pale-skins. Our god has never yet failed us.”
With that he left us and we saw no more of him until the following afternoon. When he entered our room then, the boy king was more cheerful of countenance and stepped more firmly and proudly than ever.
“The Pearl God told me not to fear, for all would be well with my people,” he announced.
I looked at him curiously. Could one so naturally intelligent really believe some mythical god had spoken to him? But it is not safe to question anyone’s religion. Ignoring the point I asked:
“Have you heard news of the battle?”
“Yes. Many of my warriors have been killed, and your ship has not yet been captured. But they are still fighting.”
I heard this report with pleasure, and Joe shouted: “Hooray!”
The king did not seem annoyed.
“If we do not succeed to-day, we will to-morrow,” he prophesied, with cool assurance. “For to-morrow I shall go to the battle myself, and carry with me our greatest Chieftain, known as the Crooked One.”
“May we go, also?” I inquired, eagerly.
He considered the request thoughtfully. Then he replied:
“It would seem best to drown you both this evening, before I leave for the fight. The Crooked One has advised that, and his wisdom is great. But I wish to be taught more of your knowledge, so I will let you live until my return.”
“But why must we stay here?” I asked.
“Would you assist me in defeating your people, if I took you with me?”
“No,” said I.
He took my hand and touched it lightly to his breast.
“What I like in the pale-skins,” he said, “is the truth-tongue. You do not try to deceive me. That is why I have let you live to teach me. From a lying teacher I would gain but little knowledge.”
I have said before that this boy was remarkably intelligent for a savage. There was also a nobility in his nature that was admirable and noteworthy. I am no more truthful than the average American, but it was not easy to try to deceive one of so simple and frank a character. From the first I had thought it the best policy to be honest with him. Had the pale-skins always been honest in their dealings with the dark-skinned races many national tragedies would have been averted.
We passed several hours in conversation, Joe taking a part in the talk, now and then, but leaving most of it to me. Finally the king withdrew, saying he would not see us again until after his return from the “war.”
It was getting dark and we were thinking of going to bed on our benches—which were plentifully supplied with soft blankets—when a sound of slow and dragging footsteps along the corridor aroused us. A light flickered across the doorway and was followed by a native bearing a torch of rottenwood.
At once I knew who it was. The shrewd, withered features, iron-gray locks and penetrating glance; the humpbacked frame, long arms and spindle legs could belong to none but the “Crooked One,” of whom the king had spoken. I wondered if he came with his Majesty’s permission, for he shielded the torch with a portion of an ample robe that partially covered his misshapen body and peered at us silently a while before addressing us.
Then he said, speaking in a low, soft voice:
“Strangers, I am here to assist you. Our mighty King, the wise Attero, has accepted you as his friends; but that will not save you from the death which the law decrees.”
He paused impressively, and I asked:
“What will save us, then?”
“Perhaps nothing at all,” he returned, evasively. “But I am the King’s adviser, even as I was his father’s adviser, and I command all the warriors of Faytan. If King Attero listens to anyone, he will listen to me.”
“And you will try to save us?”
“If you will do what I am about to ask.”
I reflected.
“There seems no way to evade the law,” said I. “The law is as old as Faytan, I am told, and demands the death of every stranger landing upon your shores. The King has himself informed us that he is powerless to evade the law, even if he desired to.”
The Crooked One smiled sardonically.
“Who makes the laws of Faytan?” he demanded.
“The King’s forefathers made this law, it seems,” I returned.
“True. Only the King can make a law in Faytan. And—only the King can unmake it.”
I sprang to my feet, inspired by a new hope. Of course the king had power to abrogate the present law! Why had I not thought of this before? It was an absurd law. The king was our friend.
The Crooked One, having spoken so impressively, was now regarding us with marked attention. The look enabled me to recover my composure quickly.
“Well, then?” said I.
He sat down upon a bench, looking more crooked than ever.
“I am Chief of the Warriors of Faytan,” he repeated. “I have fought many invaders, and all are dead. For it is true that until now none has been able to resist the number and power of the Faytans I have led. Your own people cannot resist them for long; yet they are more terrible in a fight than any we have ever met. There are perhaps as many persons in your ship as I have fingers and toes; there are more Faytans than the hairs of my head. In time, in spite of your stinging weapons, which the King says are called guns, we shall surely capture you all. But if there is much fighting many of my warriors will have died before we conquer and destroy the pale-skins. I do not wish to have my warriors die. Why is it necessary? So I have come to you, the King’s teachers, to say this: Teach me, also. Teach me how to capture your people, and in return I will ask the King to make a new law and cancel the old one, so that you two will be permitted to remain in Faytan as long as you live, not only safe from harm but honored by the King and all his people.”
“Chief,” I returned, amused but angry, “we could not be honored by anyone if we proved ourselves dishonorable. Will any of your warriors betray you, or your King, to save their own lives? I do not think they would. Nor will we be less noble than the Faytans. But I will give you this answer: We could not betray our people if we would; for there is no way you or your warriors can avoid death if you fight with the pale-skins. Had you made them your friends they would have gone away and left you in peace. But if you foolishly continue to make war upon them, you and your island are lost forever, for no human power can save you.”
“A man is but a man,” he returned, “whether his skin be pale or brown. You have powerful weapons, but you are few in numbers. If you could kill half my warriors the other half would finally conquer you.”
“That remains to be proven,” I said.
He arose from the bench and paced up and down, the light of the torch making him appear like some huge goblin.
“So you would sacrifice your own lives to save your friends?” he asked.
“Willingly, if it is necessary.”
“And are they as loyal to you?”
“Any one of them would die to save us,” I asserted proudly.
He laughed at this; a low, cackling laugh that was not pleasant to hear.
“Then they must be allowed to do so,” he said, and picking up the torch left the room without another word or even a parting glance in our direction.
“I don’t like that,” growled Joe. “He’s up to some deviltry, I’m sure.”
“The same thing has occurred to me,” I replied. “Let us remember his words. He will allow our friends to die to save our lives. It’s a trick of some sort, Joe. The Crooked One is far more dangerous than the King himself.”
“What can he do?” inquired my friend.
“I don’t know; but that clever old head has conceived some shrewd idea, or I’m greatly mistaken. We must be on our guard, Joe. I wish we had some way of warning our people.”
“Might send them a wireless,” said Joe, grinning.
“Well, let’s go to bed and forget it,” I suggested. “Nothing can happen before morning, anyhow.”
But in this declaration I was wrong. Something happened within the hour—a summons to attend the king. We had gone to bed but had not fallen asleep when the messenger came, so in a few moments we were ready to follow the captain of the guard to the throne room.
His Majesty was ready for the field. He bore a short spear with rows of pearls set in the shaft, and over his shoulder was slung a bow and sheaf of arrows. In his belt was the native two-edged tomahawk, and the young fellow looked fit to render a good account of himself, had he been going to fight savages like himself.
Beside the king stood the Crooked One, who bore no arms at all. We afterward learned that this famous chieftain, contrary to the custom of these islanders, never fought in person but contented himself planning the battle and directing his men. In this he was unconsciously imitating the great generals of the civilized world.
“Come,” said Attero. “We are ready for the journey.”
“Oh! are we to go along?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes,” said he, and marched out into the square. We followed. It was pitch dark, but a group of men outside bore torches. Several litters had been provided, similar to the “stretchers” we carry wounded men on. The king took possession of one of these, the Crooked One of another. A third and fourth were for the use of Joe and myself. As soon as I had reclined upon the litter four men started away with it, going on a jog trot, and I found it by no means uncomfortable.
It was a queer procession. Half a dozen runners carried torches ahead of us to light the way. The king’s litter came first; then the chieftain’s, followed by mine and Joe’s. More torchbearers closed the line. And so we proceeded at a rapid pace over hill and dale through the black night to the opposite end of the island.
As we came to the further edge of the forest, dawn broke. It was a gray, dismal day and I thought the sky threatened rain.
A great assemblage of warriors met us and welcomed the king and the Crooked One with evident satisfaction. I stood by and listened while several leaders made their reports. It seemed the fighting had been constant the day before, and time and again the natives had been repulsed with heavy loss. The “stinging things” went straight through the bark shields, which the wise Kuru had recommended, and they had therefore been abandoned. Between the forest and the ship the plain was strewn with dead and wounded Faytans, and their friends could only go under cover of darkness to reclaim their bodies, as whenever they showed themselves a hail of bullets greeted them.
I was very proud to learn that my friends were doing such excellent work. Against their rapid-fire guns the poor natives with their primitive weapons had no show whatever. Yet the simple creatures had persisted in sacrificing themselves uselessly.
The Crooked One listened calmly to the reports. Then he asked:
“Have any of the invaders left the ship?”
Not any, they told him, since the two who were prisoners had flown away through the air.
“Very good,” said he. “To-day, my warriors, we will capture all the pale-skins.”
I was curious to learn how he would do it; but breakfast seemed the first thing on the programme, and of this meal Joe and I were given an ample share.
Afterwards the king walked aside with his chieftain while they conferred together privately, speaking in low tones. The natives, stolid and calm, obeying implicitly—and indifferent to life or death—awaited their pleasure in silence. Then Joe and I were led to the edge of the forest and permitted to step out into the open and observe the ship. There was no sign of life on board at first, and rather anxiously I pulled out my handkerchief and waved it to and fro, regardless of the Faytans just behind me. Joe imitated my example and after a moment a flag was run up on the mainmast and ducked once or twice to show we had been recognized.
To find only that short distance separating us from our friends was distinctly aggravating and I was almost tempted to cut and run for the ship and chance a spear thrust between my shoulders. Turning my head to see how near the natives were I found the Crooked One grinning with much satisfaction, and saw him exchange a triumphant glance with the youthful king.
This nettled me, for I at once suspected we had been playing into the hands of our enemies and for some reason had been placed where we were in order that our friends on the ship might recognize us. A moment later the chieftain gave a signal and we were seized by strong natives and our hands bound firmly behind our backs.
Then the mystery was explained.
The Faytan warriors, fully armed, formed in two long lines just behind us, Joe being placed in front of one line and I before another. It was easy to guess their plan then. They intended to use us for living shields, believing our friends would not dare to fire upon us, and so advance near enough to the ship to board it with a rush and slay the pale-skins by sheer force of numbers.
It was a desperate attempt, cleverly conceived, and based upon my assertion to the Crooked One that our friends would sacrifice themselves for our sakes.
But nature took a hand in the game just then. The sky had been overcast since daybreak, and just as the two lines were advancing into the open, pushing Joe and me before them, the clouds opened and immense drops of rain came pattering down. It grew dark, too, so that we could scarcely see the ship, and the Faytans hesitated and looked inquiringly at their chieftain.
The Crooked One eyed the sky, listened to the low growl of thunder, and ordered his men back to the forest. Next moment the rain came down in floods, and a bolt of lightning crashed overhead and sent a tall tree toppling down upon us. No one was hurt, but it was now so dark we could not see one another, and the great battle of the elements seemed to render our puny human war insignificant.
I realized this would be a good time to make a break for liberty, but our hands were tied and the cords held by stalwart Faytans, so that we were unable to take advantage of the opportunity.
Crash after crash succeeded, and the thunder was deafening, while around us the lightning darted like angry serpents. They have terrible storms in these tropics, at times, and it is no unusual thing for an island to suddenly disappear and never be heard of again. The tempest we now experienced was so extraordinary that I believe it awed even the natives.
I could hear the sea pounding against the rocks and wondered if the boats patrolling the reefs could survive. An hour, perhaps, the storm lasted; but it broke almost as suddenly as it began, and while the trees still dripped rivulets upon us, who were drenched to the skin already, the sun came out brilliantly, shining for the first time that day. The clouds tumbled away hurriedly, as if they had business elsewhere; the wind hushed and was still and only the fierce boom of the breakers remained to remind us of our late fearful experience.
The Faytans also recovered quickly. A few moments sufficed to turn the hundreds of dusky dripping statues into eager, alert warriors, and again the Crooked One ordered the advance—in the same manner previously attempted.
Neither Joe nor I was big enough to fully cover the lines of gigantic warriors crowding behind us; but the idea was that our friends would not dare fire for fear of hitting us. If the natives could in this manner advance close enough to stampede up the rocks to the ship, they hoped to get enough men aboard to conquer our small party very quickly. For at close range the savages had no doubt of their own superiority.
For a time it seemed their plot would be successful. Joe and I held back as much as we could, with that pushing crowd behind us, but steadily we approached the ship and no sign came from those on board. I began to be worried. Surely Uncle Naboth and Ned Britton were too clever to allow a lot of half naked islanders to outwit them; yet not a head appeared above the bulwarks, not a puff of smoke or rifle ball proved that our tried and trusty seamen were prepared to sell their lives dearly and defend the women to the last.
We had reached the first of the rocks that clustered above the shore and had began to stumble over them when, with an abruptness that fairly made me jump, a near by crack of firearms saluted us and a straggling volley was poured upon the devoted natives. Not from the ship, however; the shots came from a ridge of rocks directly to the left of us, and the Faytans began falling by the dozens.
“Drop, Joe!” I cried, and at the same time fell flat upon my face between two protecting rocks and lay there while the slaughter continued.
I was exulting in the strategy that had outflanked the Faytans and reflecting that our boys had made a dash for those rocks during the darkness of the storm, when their movements could not be observed, when two stout arms seized me and raised me bodily from the ground. I thought at first some of our own people had rescued me, but being turned face down over a broad shoulder I saw the dusky skin of a savage below me and knew that I had been taken by a Faytan.
Instantly I began to struggle and cry out, but bound as I was I could offer no serious resistance and my howls were almost drowned by the crack of rifles, which continued unabated. I know now that my friends saw my plight and Ned and Señor de Jiminez, who were both splendid shots, made one or two attempts to bring down my captor; but my sprawling body so covered him that only his head and legs were free, and to fire at him at all was to put me in imminent danger.
He was a powerful fellow, and fairly ran with me—no light burden, if I am small—back to the forest. There were few of his band as successful and he doubtless owed his own safety to the fact that he bore me upon his back.
The “stinging weapons” had played fearful havoc with the attacking party, and even as the few stragglers who survived—most of them wounded—crept back to the protecting forest, our men sallied from the rocks, hastily stripped the pearl ornaments from the fallen, and regained the ship without a single casualty.
I stood among the trees watching them, with the king at one side of me and the Crooked One on the other side. My joy was equaled by the chagrin of my enemies when we saw Joe was safe with his comrades and being complimented on all sides, while the ladies waved their handkerchiefs to him from the deck of the ship.
We were a silent party. I, because I was so disappointed and disgusted at my hard luck that I could almost have cried, and the others because their prettily conceived plan of attack had been thwarted and their warriors mowed down by scores.
“It is useless, your Majesty,” announced the Crooked One, regretfully; “the weapons of the pale-skins are too bitter for us to face. The other plan is best. It will require time and patience; but it is best.”
“Come, then,” replied the King, briefly. “We will return to the city.”
“What is the other plan?” I inquired, as we were conducted to our litters.
“We shall let thirst and hunger fight for us,” answered Attero, readily. “Your people will soon need fresh water; but they cannot get it without entering the forest, where my warriors will patiently await them.”
I got into my litter, where my bonds were removed and I was borne along by my bearers beside the king.
“Did the boats escape the storm?” I asked presently.
He nodded.
“Of course. There was less danger to them on the water than to us in the forest.”
“But the reefs—”
“My men are fishes first, and warriors afterward. They are used to storms and do not dread them.”
I did not see how any living thing could withstand the breakers on the reefs, but said nothing more on that subject.
The king was unusually quiet and seemed not to wish to converse with me. I could not well blame him, seeing he had just witnessed the destruction of many of his choicest fighting men.
Dismally enough we made our way back to the Pearl City, where to my satisfaction I was taken to my old room at the back of the temple. I missed Joe, but was glad he was safe with his friends. It was not the room that I cared especially for, but the evidence that I still retained the young king’s good will. Had he ordered me to some other place in close confinement, I might know my end was not very far off.
Attero sent for me the following day and asked me to continue my descriptions of American life. In view of the fact that he was determined upon the destruction of our entire band I thought best to impress upon him our national importance and to assure him that, as our ships sailed every sea, it was only a question of time when others would discover Faytan and come in such numbers that they could not be successfully opposed. Also I explained many of the luxuries and conveniences we enjoyed, of which the Faytans were wholly ignorant, and informed the king that he and his people could readily secure them all in exchange for a portion of their pearls.
“At present the pearls are of no value to you,” said I, “as you can use them only as ornaments. But by disposing of even your smallest ones you can secure practical inventions and manufactured goods that would have the effect of civilizing your people and render their lives far more pleasant and useful.”
Attero thought deeply upon this matter, and I could see my arguments tempted him; but neither during this interview nor others could I overthrow the prejudices inherited from a long line of exclusive ancestors, who believed Faytan was the important portion of the world and none but Faytans must ever be permitted to live upon the island.
“I would like the good things the pale-skins have,” he admitted, “but not at the price we would have to pay. Our riches lie in our pearls; not because they could be exchanged for so many other things, but because they bring us good luck, and the vast collection we have keeps the Pearl God here among us, and thus insures his protection. We are now prosperous and do not miss your great inventions because we have never had them. But if we allowed you to go away and return with more of your people, think what would happen! Our happy life would become one of turmoil and eagerness to gain worldly goods. Some of my people would want more than their share, and that would lead to envy and quarrels. At present all property belongs to the King, and each of his subjects is given what he requires. My people are content with this condition and it would be foolish for me to change it.”
“Then,” said I, “I have another proposition. Allow us to leave this island, and do you come with us as our guest. We will take you to America and show you our cities and our great civilization. You will acquire much wisdom, much learning and experience. And afterward, if you still desire it, we will bring you back here, land you upon your island, and go away without telling anyone of Faytan or its king. We will faithfully keep your secret, your Majesty, and you will be no worse off than before we came, but far richer in knowledge of the world.”
I thought this would win him, for a time; but finally he rejected the plan, as he did all others I suggested. We talked together on several days, but my stories of our life and the wonders of our civilization seemed to content him. One evening he said to me:
“You have given me much to think of, Steele; and after you are dead I shall remember you as a good teacher. I am even sorry the law compels me to put you to death; but it does, and my chiefs and medicine men are beginning to reproach me for the delay.”
“The King is supreme,” I said rather uneasily.
“Because he obeys the same laws his subjects do,” was the answer. “Were I to disobey the laws of my great ancestors there would soon be rebels and traitors in Faytan.”
I remembered the suggestion of the Crooked One.
“The King who makes the laws has power to change them,” I asserted. “If you proclaim a new law, saying that I, your friend, must be permitted to live, your subjects will accept it willingly.”
He smiled and looked at me rather pityingly.
“It would please me to do that,” said he; “but it would be wrong. I must not, for my own pleasure, disobey my forefathers, who in their wisdom said that all strangers must be put to death. Is my own judgment so perfect that I dare oppose that of twenty noble rulers of Faytan? No. I have the power to save you in that way; but I will not do so.”
“Never mind,” said I; “we will speak of this matter again, some other time.”
He gave me a steady look.
“There will be no opportunity,” was his reply. “I like you, Steele. I am glad you have been my friend. But to-morrow you will be put to death.”
“To-morrow!”
“I have waited too long already. My people are unhappy to see a pale-skin alive when the law condemns him to death. It will be to-morrow.”
He turned away.
“Wait, your Majesty—hear me!” I pleaded.
He waved me aside with a haughty gesture and left the room. The Faytans are philosophers and accept death without a murmur. The king, my friend, could not understand my protest.
Friend? Well, it was a queer sort of friendship that made no effort to save me; that had no sympathy for my unhappy fate.
I am a good deal of a coward at times. That night I could not sleep. Thinking over my predicament with sober care I could see no possible way of escape. My prison was well guarded. If I managed to leave it there was no chance of my being able to pass through the native city and gain the ship unchallenged. Still, desperate conditions require desperate remedies, and I had my two revolvers in my pocket, both fully loaded. About midnight it occurred to me to make a bold dash for liberty. If I failed I could be no worse off than now, since I was condemned to die the next morning.
The windows of my room were not glazed or barred. They were big square openings placed about five feet above the floor. By standing on the stone bench that ran around the room I could look out upon the square at the rear of the temple. I had no light; neither was there any light burned outside; but the stars were bright enough for me to observe all surrounding objects distinctly. I found the square deserted save by a solitary form standing almost directly beneath my window, his back toward me. A blanket covered his head and shoulders, for the natives dread the chill night air and usually wear a blanket in this manner when abroad at night.
I waited for the man to move away, but when a half hour passed and he did not stir I decided he was a sentry placed there to prevent my escape. It was the first time a guard of any sort had been set to watch over me.
The sight of his blanket gave me an idea. I gathered up one of the heaviest of those with which my bench was provided and creeping into the thick embrasure of the window I spread the blanket, dropped it swiftly over the head of the sentry, and then leaped down and caught him firmly around the arms, bearing him to the ground with my weight.
Although muffled in the blanket, which obstructed free action, the fellow struggled desperately, and I soon realized I could not subdue him. I dared not fire a revolver, as the sound would bring a horde upon me; so I managed to draw my pocket knife and open the blade. With this I stabbed repeatedly at the blanket, trying to reach the man’s heart, but the cloth was so thick and closely woven that the rather blunt end of my knife would not penetrate it, and all the while I was having greater difficulty in holding him down.
Rendered desperate by this condition I suddenly sprang away and made for the nearest alley that led out of the square, leaving the sentry to fumble with the blanket until he could free his head.
Before he could do this I had entered a narrow street, up which I ran at my best speed. By good luck it led westward, and I had visions of making a successful run across the island when suddenly in the darkness a pair of strong arms were flung around me and I was pinioned in a viselike grip.
“Pardon me,” said a low, sneering voice, in the native tongue. “It is not wise to walk out at night. The dews of Faytan are dangerous.”
It was the Crooked One.
Panting and breathless I stood an unresisting prisoner, for I knew the game was up. But I did not reply, understanding that any remark would only call forth more triumphant sneers. As we stood there footsteps hastily approached and another joined us.
“Have you got him?” asked the newcomer.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Good,” said Attero. “He nearly smothered me.”
“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” said I. “I had no idea it was you.”
“And had you known—what then?” he asked.
“I believe I should have acted in the same way.”
The Crooked One laughed, and said:
“While I hold him, your Majesty will do well to search him. He may carry dangerous weapons.”
Attero had no hesitation in obeying this request. He took away my revolvers. My knife I had dropped in the square. Then I was led back to my prison.
“I suspected,” said the Crooked One as he thrust me into my old room, “that on this night you would attempt to escape, knowing you are to die to-morrow.”
“It was but natural,” added the king, calmly. “So we watched, my chieftain and I, that we might prevent it. Good night, Steele. Myself, I cannot sleep because of your impending doom. It makes me very unhappy. But die you must.”
With these words he left me, but the Crooked One remained to say:
“Every street is well guarded. Escape is impossible. Be patient, therefore, for no man can evade his fate.”
He shuffled after the king, and left alone I threw myself upon the bench and waited for daylight.
I have several times been in danger of a violent death, and yet I still survive. “No man can evade his fate,” said the Crooked One; yet it is equally true that no man knows or can foresee his fate. One who frequently escapes death learns to fall back upon philosophy and ceases to worry overmuch.
I must have fallen asleep after a time, for when I opened my eyes the sun was flooding the room and my usual breakfast of milk and fruits stood upon the bench near me. I had scarcely finished the meal when in came a dozen Faytan warriors, headed by the Crooked One himself.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“What if I am not?” I retorted. “You intend I shall go with you, of course.”
He inclined his head gravely—not mockingly. Even he, standing in the presence of death, respected my feelings.
They did not bind me, but led me out between close files of the warriors. In the square was a vast crowd, silent and attentive. With my guard I passed to the east and took the broadest thoroughfare—that leading to the bay.
I had never been in this direction before, but I remembered seeing the water front from the airship when Joe and I first entered the city. The crowd swayed back to let us pass and then closed up behind us, following after in a long procession.
It was not far to the beautiful landlocked bay before which the Pearl City had been built, and when it came into full view I found the water thickly covered with boats of every description. The entire populace seemed to have turned out to witness my execution, and the occasion partook of the nature of a festival, for boats, barges and buildings were gay with the peculiar banners these people use for decoration. They were of all colors and shapes, and every one was bordered with pearls.
One of the biggest flat-bottomed barges, manned by a score of oarsmen, lay at the foot of the street waiting to receive us. I stepped aboard, the guards followed and the Crooked One took a seat beside me. Then, while the crowd scrambled for all the empty boats remaining, our oarsmen dipped their paddles and we moved slowly away toward the center of the bay.
A clear space, several hundred feet in diameter, had been left for my exclusive use, and I looked at it rather disapprovingly because the clear, smooth stretch of water was destined, seemingly, to extinguish all my future hopes and ambitions. Death by drowning may be a merciful mode of execution, but I do not think any condemned person can look with composure upon death in any form. For my part I took a sudden aversion to water, although I had always loved it before.
First we drew up before the royal barge, in which sat the young king upon a high seat. Around this place, and indeed all around the clear space in the bay, were clustered hundreds of boats, so densely packed that their sides touched. Every boat had as many passengers as it would hold, but the natives were quiet and no shouts nor jeering did I hear.
Standing up beside me the Crooked One bowed low before the king and said in a loud voice:
“Here is a stranger who has dared to land upon the shores of Faytan. What shall be done with him, King of Faytan?”
“Let him die,” answered the king, speaking so that all might hear.
With an abruptness that startled me, all that vast concourse repeated the sentence after him:
“Let him die!”
It was a veritable roar of voices, expressing all the restrained repugnance of the people for a stranger and their demand for vengeance. It was not so much personal hatred on their part as a desire that I should pay the long deferred penalty for my crime—the crime of being shipwrecked on their coast.
The chieftain resumed his seat and motioned to the oarsmen. With their former deliberation they paddled us out into the clear space, until we had reached the very center of it. Quite naturally I had expected to be bound and have a weight attached to me before I was thrown overboard to drown, but it transpired that this was not the Faytan custom. The king had said he was merciful and did not torture his victims, yet it was with a thrill of horror that I realized my death was to be made a spectacle for the delectation of the natives, who were assembled to watch and enjoy my struggles as I slowly drowned.
Two strong warriors caught me up and tossed me into the water without any warning or preparation. Then the barge receded to a position beside that of the king, leaving me to my fate.
I am a good swimmer, having lived on the water all my life. After the plunge I arose to the surface, supported myself and looked about me. My clothes were a drag upon me, so I managed to divest myself of my coat and my shoes while I trod water.
Why I should make what appeared a useless struggle for a brief period of life was not clear to my mind just then. I was the center of a great theater and thousands of eyes watched me with grave interest. At the edge of the clearing a man was stationed in the prow of every boat with an uplifted spear to prevent my clinging to the side. They wanted me to struggle. The longer I tried to keep above water the longer the spectacle would last. No matter how powerful a swimmer I might prove I would wear out my strength in time, and they were prepared to wait patiently to witness my antics and my final conquest.
The thought came to me to disappoint them by letting myself quietly drown at once; but so strong is hope in the human breast that I abandoned the idea and determined, instead, to fight it out to the very end.
I rested leisurely upon my back, trying to avoid giving way to excitement and wondering how long I could last, when suddenly a dark object swept across the sky, approaching me with marvelous rapidity. In an instant I knew it was the biplane, and the knowledge so excited me that it was almost fatal. I rolled over and began to sink; then I struggled to the surface to find the airship just over me.
“Catch hold of the frame—here—anywhere!” called an eager voice—eager though it strove to be calm.
I raised myself and made a frantic effort to obey, but failed and sank again. When I came to the surface a moment later the biplane was circling over the bay. Again it came toward me, and this time it dipped until it nearly touched the water. I grabbed the frame as it passed by and clung to it desperately, for it nearly jerked my arms from their sockets.
Arrows were whizzing about me in a cloud; the natives were shouting angrily and a thousand boats were rushing toward us; but the next instant I was high in the air, dangling from the frail crossbar of the lower plane, and my safety was only a question of whether I could hang on or not.
A face bent over me from the seat and stared into mine—a girl’s face.
“Lucia!” I cried in wonder.
“Save your breath and hold on!” she returned. “Can you manage it, Sam?”
“I’ll try—for awhile.”
“Till we get to the ship?”
“I—I’m afraid not.”
Indeed, this rush through the air was fast driving the life out of me. My arms and hands were so numb there was no feeling in them at all. Lucia had straightened up to attend to the machine, and the next thing I knew I bumped the earth, lost my hold, and went rolling over and over.
“Quick!” cried the girl. “Let me help you.”
I sat up, quite dazed, and glanced about me. We were in an open field, just now deserted by the natives, and Alfonso’s Antoinette rested upon the ground a short distance away. I could not have stood alone, but Lucia dragged me to my feet and half supported me while I tottered to the machine. It was a great effort to climb aboard, but the girl, naturally strong and rendered doubly so by excitement, got me into the seat and then deftly started the motors as she sprang up beside me.
The machine rolled along the ground a little way, lifted its nose and then soared into the air like a bird. I was still marveling at the girl’s wonderful control of the aëroplane when the ship came in sight. We dipped downward, the motor ceased to whir and the next moment we gracefully alighted full upon the deck of the ship.
A mighty cheer rang in my ears. Then all turned black and I lost consciousness.
When I recovered I was surrounded by my friends. Father and Uncle Naboth were administering restoratives while Ned Britton, Alfonso and Señor de Jiminez stood by in a sympathetic group with the sailors for a background. Lucia, squatted in a heap upon the deck, was sobbing into a wet handkerchief. Evidently, now that the adventure was over, the brave girl was wholly unnerved.
Still dazed, but trying to collect my thoughts, I sat up.
“Where’s Joe?” I asked.
My father was silent and Uncle Naboth shook his head. Lucia redoubled her sobs. This made me anxious. I got upon my feet with an effort and said:
“Isn’t he here?”
“No,” said Lucia, spreading out her hands with a piteous gesture. “He is in the Pearl City. I left him there.”
Then, by degrees, they explained it all to me. Joe could not rest contented while he knew I was in danger, and from his knowledge of King Attero he believed the savage ruler would drown me as soon as I ceased to interest him in my tales of the civilized world. He confided his fears to Lucia, and suggested that as the biplane was still reposing upon the roof of the house in the Pearl City, he might rescue me by its aid if he could succeed in getting there. He had already crossed the island twice, and believed he could make the trip in a single night. Lucia encouraged him to make the attempt, and offered to go with him; but he would not allow her to do that. When Joe mentioned the matter to father and Uncle Naboth they both disapproved the idea, considering it a hopeless and foolhardy adventure. They did not forbid him to go, however, but said if he undertook the thing he must do so on his own responsibility.
My friend would not be dissuaded, but he confided no further in my relatives and went about his preparations in his own way. With Lucia’s aid he made a stain that dyed his skin to a copper color, and then stripped himself of all clothing except a loin cloth such as the Faytans wore. He took a blanket and his revolvers and then, when all was ready and night came, Lucia let down a knotted rope for him and he climbed down the side unobserved and began his journey.
The girl, meantime, had made up her mind not to be deprived of the glory of a share in the adventure. With the impulsiveness of a Spaniard in her was united the athletic training of an American girl, and her romantic nature impelled her to an act that was no less than folly. She silently followed Joe and tracked him more than half way across the island before he discovered her. Then he was in a dilemma. She positively refused to return to the ship, and he did not like to have her do so unattended. On the other hand he had an intuition that I was in immediate danger and time pressed, so he dared not go back and postpone the event. Therefore he unwillingly permitted the girl to accompany him.
After they had succeeded in passing the warriors in the forest they met no delays on their journey and before daybreak arrived at the city. Joe found the house where we had left the airship, but could not get in. He secreted himself and Lucia in a nook between two rear buildings until morning, when the family that inhabited the place arose. By good luck they managed to creep in unobserved and made their way to the roof, where they found the biplane had been left undisturbed. The natives knew nothing of its operation and perhaps regarded the machine with superstitious awe.
In overhauling the machine Joe discovered that Lucia understood it as well as he did. She had watched us put it together and repair it after Alfonso’s accident and had listened carefully and intelligently while we were instructed in its use. Now she helped Joe adjust it, and they got it in order just as I was led out for my execution.
Peering over the edge of the roof Joe watched me being led away and at first could not understand what was up. But when the entire population not already gathered at the water front hurried after us, he gave a shrewd guess that the hour of my execution was at hand.
He knew pretty well what the programme would be. I was to be drowned in sight of the watching Faytans. The water front was not visible from their station on the housetop, but Lucia proposed she should take a flight in the airship and find out how seriously I was in danger.
He allowed her to go for two reasons. One was that he believed he could start the machine all right from the roof, which she could not do. And then, if she found a chance to rescue me, we could go back to the ship in the biplane and Lucia and I would both be saved. To go himself meant to leave her there alone upon the roof, in a strange city and surrounded by enemies.
Of course her mission was a desperate one at the best; but Joe considered it less hazardous than for her to be left upon the roof, and the biplane could not be trusted to carry three.
He questioned Lucia closely, and her knowledge of the machine was more accurate than his own. She had never operated it, but neither had he, for that matter, so in the end he let her go.
The biplane was started safely at the first attempt, and Lucia rose well into the air and circled around until she got her bearings and could overlook the tragedy being enacted on the bay. Then, seeing my danger, she headed directly for me—and the result you know.
“Where is he now?” I asked Lucia.
“Still in the Pearl City,” she replied. “Before I left him he said he would hide until to-night and then make his way back across the island.”
“Did he say where he would hide?”
“Yes. He was afraid some one would visit the roof as soon as the natives found that the airship had been taken away. So, while every one was on the water front, he intended to steal away and hide in the room that used to be your prison, at the back of the temple. He said no one would think of looking for him there, and he could get in through the windows and get out again when it grew dark.”
I didn’t like that plan very well, and began to be worried about my friend. I found my strength returning rapidly and as soon as I could get about I began to examine the airship, to see if it was in proper order. Alfonso, his arm in a sling and his head well bandaged, sauntered up to me and said:
“You fellows seem to have little respect for the property of others. See what trouble you’ve caused by stealing my Antoinette.”
“You are right,” I admitted. “What will you take for the machine?”
“I won’t sell it. It belongs to the revolution.”
“Well, the revolution can’t use it just now, and I can,” I returned. “So if you won’t sell it I’ll borrow it.”
“What are you going to do?” he inquired.
“I’m going to look for Joe. Those Faytans are in an ugly temper just now, and they’ll make a quick end of him if they find him.”
“Don’t be a fool, Sam,” cautioned Uncle Naboth.
“Joe can take care of himself,” added my father.
“I thought I could, too; but if Joe hadn’t tried to help me I’d be drowned by this time. Do you think I ought to desert a comrade, father?”
He looked at me thoughtfully a moment. Then he muttered as he turned away:
“Do as you like, Sam. You know best.”
I turned to Alfonso.
“How about the biplane?” I asked. “Can I borrow it, or must I steal it again?”
“Take it and welcome,” he replied. “Joe’s a good fellow. I wish I could go after him myself.”
Alfonso wasn’t half bad for a South American. He had his faults, but a lot of good qualities with them.
“You can’t go just now,” warned Lucia, who had been listening to us with nervous attention.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Look!” She pointed to the sky, and for the first time I noticed that it was a leaden gray. The sun had not wholly disappeared, but was a half luminous ball glowing through murky clouds.
“Another of them blamed storms is comin’,” remarked Uncle Naboth; “but we don’t have to shorten sail for ’em while we’re floatin’ on dry land.”
“The other storm didn’t come that way, sir,” observed Ned Britton, gravely.
We were silent now, for darkness fell upon us suddenly. It was almost as if a light had been extinguished at night. There wasn’t a breath of air stirring and the sea was like glass, but a queer moaning sound came to our ears and we could not discover what caused it.
“Better get below, Lucia, and look after your mother,” said Alfonso.
I could hear her move away obediently, but was unable to see any of the forms that stood around me.
We waited for we knew not what, and the unseen but recognized danger filled us with awe.
Suddenly the deck slid from beneath my feet and I fell flat upon my face. The ship heaved and rolled as if it were tossing upon the waves of the ocean, and her timbers creaked and groaned mournfully. At the same time crash after crash echoed around us, accompanied by a strange rending sound, as if all creation was being torn asunder.
Then the ship stood firm, as it had been before, trembling slightly at times but no longer tossing at its rock anchorage. The blackness continued, however, and our men lighted the lanterns, disclosing our white, pallid faces as we peered at one another questioningly.
Black Nux had raised me to my feet and was even yet partially supporting me.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Eart’quake, Mars Sam,” he replied in a calm voice. “Guess it all over now.”
There were a few more trembles, and then came the rain—in a deluge, as it had rained before. We were all driven to seek shelter below, and there we waited anxiously for the sky to clear, that we might discover what cataclysms the quake had wrought.
It rained for two solid hours. The darkness continued for an hour or so longer. It lightened gradually, so that the first intimation I had of it was the clearing away of the shadows that had lurked in the corners of the cabin, where the lamplight did not penetrate. I went on deck, where I found Ned, with Nux and Bryonia and most of the crew, all peering anxiously through the dim light in the direction of the sea.
“What is it, Ned?” I asked, joining them.
“The reefs!” he said, pointing with a trembling finger. “Where are they, Sam?”
I also looked, straining my eyes to discover the two jagged lines of rock jutting out of the sea between us and the open water, as well as the boat patrol that had guarded them ever since the day of our shipwreck. But through the gray atmosphere I could see nothing but the broad expanse of ocean. The waves rolled in, one after another, and broke against the very rocks that held the Seagull a prisoner.
There was something queer about the position of the ship, too. Heretofore we had been perched between the two points of rock, full twenty feet above the sea. Now the waves almost lapped our sides, and instead of the rocky points being below us, they reared themselves far above the deck on either side.
I turned toward the island, from whence not a sound was heard. The light had strengthened sufficiently for me to see the forest line, and presently I was aware that some of the trees near the edge had tottered and fallen their length upon the plain. Otherwise the landscape seemed unchanged, and the open space between us and the forest, which had been the scene of such deadly conflict, looked just as it had before.
Truly the earthquake had wrought wonders, and in some ways had benefited us. The most startling change was the destruction of the reefs, leaving the sea free before us. The boats filled with warriors, placed to guard us from escaping, had been swallowed up with the reefs, and no vestige of that formidable array remained except a few fragments of the canoes which washed ashore.
Perhaps inspired by a common hope we all descended the ladders to the ground. There we were better able to appreciate all that had happened. Except that the sky was still gray and forbidding, we now had plenty of light to examine our surroundings clearly.
One glance at the Seagull dispelled our half formed hopes. Although her keel was now on a level with the ocean, which even lapped her bow, the ship was wedged fast between the two huge rocks. These must have separated during the earthquake and allowed her to settle down into her present position; but they still held her as in a vise.
“If another quake comes, which ain’t unlikely,” observed Uncle Naboth, “them rocks is liable to come together again, in which case they’d crack the Seagull’s sides like a nut in the jaws of a nutcracker.”
It was quite possible, and the statement did not reassure us in the least.
“If we could but manage to launch her,” said Alfonso, “we have now plenty of deep water for her to slide into.”
My uncle looked at the young Colombian reproachfully.
“Them ‘ifs’ seem to excuse a lot of fool remarks,” he said. “The only way to launch the Seagull would be with dynamite, and after that she wouldn’t be likely to float.”
It was now the middle of the afternoon, and although the sky continued gloomy there was no air stirring and I dared not wait longer if I meant to rescue Joe. I was very uneasy about my old chum, for the earthquake was likely to have created as much havoc at the Pearl City as it had at this end of the island.
My father had gone into the hold with the carpenter and Ned to examine the condition of the ship. The little damage we had sustained from the typhoon which had tossed the ship to her elevated perch had already been repaired—quite foolishly we thought. But the Seagull was still dear to the heart of Captain Steele, and he took as much care of her now that she was useless as when she was proudly riding the waves.
“What’s the programme?” asked Uncle Naboth, as I prepared to start.
“I’m going to try to get to the city and find Joe. If possible I’ll get him aboard and fetch him back with me. That’s as far as I can plan now, Uncle.”
“You won’t be foolhardy?”
“I’ll try not to be.”
Then I took my seat, Lucia started the motors, and a moment later I was flying over the forest.
Ascending to an altitude of several hundred feet I attempted what is called the “spiral dip,” circling, in the air while gradually descending. But the shadows lay so thick in the forest that I could not tell whether any Faytans remained there or not. So I rose again and headed east across the island in the direction of the Pearl City.
I must have covered five of the ten miles in the next five minutes, and the machine was working perfectly, when on glancing down I discovered a native sprinting across the fields at a rapid pace. After him, but nearly a quarter of a mile away, rushed a horde of savages. There must have been at least two thousand of them, all intent upon the chase.
This was so peculiar that I did another spiral dip to get a little closer to the scene of action, and as I neared the ground and could see more plainly it suddenly flashed upon me that the flying native was Joe. Lucia had said that he had stained his skin and dressed himself in the native loin cloth, but I had forgotten that until now. It explained the scene perfectly. Joe had been discovered in the Pearl City, but had managed to escape and was now heading for the ship, followed by a host of pursuers.
My friend was a mighty runner; I knew that. It was Joe’s especial athletic accomplishment, and with such a lead I believed he could keep the Faytans behind him until he reached the ship, unless—unless the forest still harbored an army of warriors, in which case they could easily head him off.
With this contingency in mind I resolved to pick him up and take him with me; so, judging the distance as accurately as I could, I swooped downward and landed about a hundred yards ahead of the fugitive.
“Climb aboard, Joe!” I called. “Take it easy, old man. We’re safe enough now.”
He dashed up, panting but still full of energy, and said:
“How can we start her, Sam?”
“Take your seat, and I’ll show you,” I replied. I had seen Lucia do the trick and thought I could repeat it. The motor started, but the machine would not rise. It bumped along the rough ground a way until I became alarmed and stopped it.
“Try again,” said Joe, coolly.
I glanced over my shoulder and found the Faytans were getting uncomfortably near. But I kept my wits and took time to readjust the machine a little, so it would rise more quickly. A half dozen or so of the pursuers were well in advance of the others, and I suspected they might interfere with our start. So I faced about and carefully emptied my revolvers at them, halting all but one. Then I turned back to the machine, started the motor and ran beside it a few paces before I sprang into the seat.
Just then I heard a revolver crack beside me, but could pay no attention to it because the biplane was speeding into the air at a tremendous clip. It persisted in mounting upward, because I had adjusted it that way, and in working the steering gear to obviate this the machine got a side motion that was both unpleasant and dangerous.
“Steady her, Sam!” called Joe; but I couldn’t.
To add to my perplexity it grew dark again; the moaning sound was repeated, and looking down I saw the earth shaking under me like a bowl full of jelly. It was a horrible sight, and in my agitation I must have bungled in some way, for the fearful side motion increased, and both of us had to hold fast to keep from being hurled from our seats.
Suddenly the biplane took a dive—swift as a bullet, but was supported from falling by the outstretched planes. I lost all control, but managed to shut off the motor and then cling to the frame with all my might.
Down, down we went, but fortunately still gliding diagonally in the direction of the ship. It was a regular tumble by this time, and I am positive the biplane turned over and over several times. We just skipped the further edge of the forest and crashed into the branches of a fallen tree—one of those felled by the earthquake. With a jar that drove the breath out of me I bounded from the branches and fell prone upon the ground. Joe landed near me, and aside from the severe shock we both escaped serious injury or the breaking of bones and soon scrambled to our feet.
I had turned to glance at the biplane, now a hopeless mass of junk, when Joe suddenly caught my hand and said:
“We must run for it, Sam!”
Bursting in a stream from the forest came hundreds of Faytan warriors, brandishing their weapons as they ran. They were so near that an arrow or a well thrown spear might have caught us easily, but the savages seemed intent on capturing us.
I am not a great runner, but on this occasion, at least, I did myself credit as a sprinter. Joe’s hand in mine and his superior swiftness helped, of course, and we managed to keep a lead till we were near the ship, when a volley from the deck effectually halted our pursuers.
Even as we clambered up the side by means of the ladders they let down, the sky darkened again and another tremble shook the earth. It made us totter, but was not severe enough to cause any especial damage, and we were all getting used to the quakes by this time, so were not much frightened. Scientists have told me they are puzzled to explain this apparent connection between the sky and the earthquakes. Atmospheric conditions have nothing to do with earth convulsions, and vice versa, they say. Yet it is a fact that in Faytan we could tell when a “tremble” was coming by the sudden darkening of the sky.
The Faytans were learning a few lessons by experience. When the light became strong enough for us to see again we found the plain fairly alive with natives, and more were constantly pouring in from the forest.
At once all hands were assembled at the rail and our men lost no time in opening fire, for we did not dare give our enemies time to attempt to board us in such numbers, and it was now much easier to scale our sides since the ship had settled down to the sea level.
“Train the howitzers!” called my father, and the gunners leaped to their posts. We had not used the cannon before, as they had not been required, but now the savages were massed before us on the plain and a charge of grape and canister was more effective than many rifle balls.
We took the aggressive and without waiting to be attacked fired the two cannon, one after another, point blank into the mass of Faytans.
It was still too dark for us to see just what had been accomplished, but I shudder to think of the wholesale destruction we must have caused. They were doggedly determined, however, to get the “pale-skins” at any cost, and if we destroyed hundreds there were hundreds more to take their places.
Presently they were swarming below us so close that the cannon were only effective in slaughtering those crowding the plain behind them, and every one of us able to hold a rifle stood at the rail and picked off the nearest of our enemies. Their method of getting aboard was curiously primitive. One man clung to the end of a long pole, which others raised in the air and lifted so he could catch our rail. We had little difficulty at first in shooting these down as fast as they were raised to our level; but the attack was concerted with some skill, and every inch of the rail needed to be guarded.
“It must be the young king who is directing this battle,” I said to Joe as we stood side by side, firing whenever we saw a head appear.
“It can’t be the king,” he replied. “I shot him just as you carried me off in the biplane.”
“You shot the king!” I exclaimed.
“Yes. He was right upon us and about to grab the frame when I let go at him. Didn’t you hear me shoot?”
“Yes, but I was busy with the machine. I’m rather sorry for Attero,” I answered, regretfully.
“My opinion is that the Crooked One has planned this onslaught,” continued Joe, “and that he is bound to get us this time at any sacrifice. He’s a wily old fox.”
We were too busy after that for further conversation. The smoke and din of battle was something terrifying, and even now I wonder that the savages were not disheartened by the noise and the sight of their comrades falling on all sides of them. When we consider how unused they were to firearms we must admit their courage was wonderful.
I think we all began to realize that the situation was serious. On deck Alfonso was fighting as well as he could with his broken arm, while his father stood at his side and rendered an excellent account of himself. Below in the cabin Madam de Alcantara had first fainted and then gone into convulsions. Her shrill screams were not the least disheartening sounds that reached our ears, yet I knew Lucia and Madam de Jiminez were with her and that the poor lady was only frightened and not in a dying condition.
The constant tax on our nerves and the need to be constantly alert was fast wearing out the strongest of us. Bryonia, who had fought nobly, came over to me presently and suggested that we get the women into one of the small boats and launch it while all of us covered the retreat with our guns. He thought they might escape in that way, whereas we were almost certain to be overcome at length by sheer force of numbers, and then all would be doomed.
I did not approve of the attempt myself, but counseled with my father and Uncle Naboth, who promptly turned down the proposition. Just then four Faytans succeeded in leaping aboard, and were engaged in a hand to hand fight with Nux and Bry, who met them, when Ned got a sword through one and Joe disposed of another with a pistol shot. That evened the numbers and our blades were not long in ridding themselves of their opponents.
But this temporary invasion was a warning that we were losing ground and our enemies gaining confidence, so we redoubled our activity and found plenty to do in protecting ourselves from the boarders.
The fight was still raging fiercely when blackness fell upon us once more, and for the first time I became panic-stricken. The sky had not been clear all day, but we had managed to see until now, ever since the fight began, but with a black pall hanging all around us and thousands of enemies marking us for death the outlook was absolutely terrifying. The Faytans had not been afraid of the dark before, and if now they had the temerity to continue the attack we could not hope to resist them long.
My fears were soon justified. I heard Joe cry: “Look out, Sam!” and felt rather than saw a big warrior standing before me. The moaning sound that preceded a quake sang in my ears as I struck out furiously with my cutlass, and then the ship reared her stem and pitched us all in a struggling mass down the incline of the deck to the bow.
I struck against a naked body and two hands grasped my throat and effectually stopped my breath until I got a pistol out and shot my assailant dead. At least he relaxed his hold and slid away from me—and I slid too, rolling and bumping against obstacles of every sort till my bones cracked. And now through the pitch darkness everything seemed to go—ship and all—and a sheet of water struck me and made me gasp.
The Seagull was level now, but rolled from side to side while big waves dashed over her and rushed out of the scuppers in a perpetual stream. I heard a faint cheer from the forecastle; but now the elements were in a wild turmoil and I was too utterly bewildered to think.
The wind had instantly risen to a gale; the waves beat upon us in fury, and through the darkness the Seagull floundered here and there in an aimless way that was puzzling and perilous.
While I clung to a bit of rigging and tried to get my breath I realized but one thing clearly—that the ship was afloat again. An earthquake more severe than any that had previously occurred had split the two rocks asunder and allowed her to slide into the sea. But where were we now? And where were the Faytans?
It takes a good deal to phase Captain Steele. Even while I stood marveling my father had grasped the wheel, and, as our rudder and screw had been fully repaired the aimless pitching of the ship was rectified as soon as her head was brought to the wind and she faced the waves. Then suddenly the sky brightened sufficiently for us to see one another again.
In the bow stood huddled a group of nearly a dozen Faytan warriors, while our men were scattered here and there clinging to whatever support they could find. I found that Joe wasn’t a dozen yards away from me. The Seagull was floating serenely on a rather turbulent sea and the coast of Faytan was a quarter of a mile on our lee.
We stared at the warriors a moment, and they stared at us. Then with one accord we all made an advance toward the savages, determined to settle the fight the first thing we did. They did not wait for us, but leaped the rail into the sea and began swimming toward their island.
“Let ’em go!” shouted my father. “And some of you get busy and toss those bodies overboard. Where’s the firemen? Step lively, lads, and get up steam as soon as the Lord’ll let you.”
The men gave a cheer and responded with alacrity. We stripped all the pearl ornaments from the dead natives that cluttered the deck, and afterward threw the bodies overboard. During this operation I came upon Señor de Jiminez seated in the scupper with his back to the bulwark and sobbing like a baby.
“Is anything wrong, sir?” I asked anxiously.
“No—no! Everything is right,” he answered. “We are saved—the revolution is saved! Hurrah for the revolution!”
Joy affects some people that way, but I have no patience with men who cry.
We got up steam presently, but found the Seagull was leaking like a sieve. It took all the power of our engines to keep the pumps going; so my father ordered sail hoisted, and as the wind had moderated to a stiff breeze we were soon bowling along with the mainsail and jib set. The mizzenmast had gone by the board at the time of the wreck.
My father’s face wore an anxious expression and he called Uncle Naboth and me into the cabin for a consultation.
“We can keep afloat this way for a time—perhaps for days, if the leaks don’t get worse,” he said; “but it’s foolish to take such chances. There are islands near by, I’m sure. Shall we stop at the first one we sight?”
“H-m. It might prove to be another Faytan,” said my uncle, doubtfully. “I’ve had enough fighting to last me for a while.”
“Wait a moment,” said I. “I want to get Bry.”
“What for?” demanded my father.
“He’s the only one aboard who knows these seas,” I replied.
Bryonia came to the cabin and being questioned declared that he knew the way to his own island of Tuamotu from here, but could not tell how to get from there back to our regular course.
“I know, though,” said Captain Steele, “for Tuamotu is marked on my chart. It seems a French ship stopped there once, and did some trading with the natives, so I’ve got it pretty fairly located.”
“But what sort of a reception will your people give us, Bry?” I asked.
He smiled.
“I am Chief of Tuamotu,” he answered proudly. “I am equal to a king. My friends will be welcome.”
“All right,” said my father. “Take the wheel, Bry, and steer us towards Tuamotu.”
Bry became navigator then, and although he knew nothing of the science he possessed an instinct that guided him correctly. Having once been over the course from Tuamotu to Faytan he had the points firmly fixed in his mind, and as the distance was only about a hundred miles and the breeze held finely, on the second day we sighted a big island which both Bry and Nux declared to be Tuamotu.
Meantime a semblance of order had been restored to the ship. From being in the depths of despair our passengers were now elated with hope. They paid little heed to the fact that water was pouring into our hold as fast as the engines could pump it out, for having escaped the more tangible dangers of Faytan they believed our luck had changed and all would now be well with us.
Our men realized the situation and wore grave looks. But Lucia pounded the piano and sang her Spanish songs; Señor de Jiminez resumed his writing of the speech to be delivered before the Colombian Congress, and Madam de Alcantara dressed herself in her most gorgeous robes and declared she had enjoyed her recent adventure except for a sad attack of “nerves.”
Joe and I made a list of the pearls we had secured at Faytan, including those rifled from the dead bodies of our enemies. They made so large a collection and were of such extraordinary size and color that we knew they would sell for an immense sum in America. All of our men were to participate in the “prize money,” for all had helped to earn it.
Joe, however, was richer in pearls than all the rest of us. When left by Lucia at the Pearl City he had easily made his way unobserved to the temple and crept through the window into our old room. Here he remained quietly secreted for a time, but the silence throughout the great building was so profound that he ventured to explore some of the passages that were unknown to him. One of them led him to the inner shrine of the temple, where an ugly image of the Pearl God was installed. At the feet of this deity had been placed the most splendid pearls found by the Faytans for many generations past, and Joe calmly filled the folds of his loin cloth as full as they would hold of the choicest gems.
At that moment he was discovered by an attendant, who raised a hue and cry just as the king was returning from the bay at the head of his people, all heartily disgusted by my escape. Joe managed to leap from the window and speed away before the Faytans fully recovered from their astonishment, and then began the race which I had ended by taking Joe aboard the airship.
Next to Joe’s splendid pearls, the value of which would make any man rich, however greedy he might be, my own string of gems, presented me by Attero, was of prime importance. Tiffany has since valued them at forty thousand dollars, but I will not part with them. I liked Attero and have always regretted that Joe had to kill him.
When we sighted Tuamotu it occurred to us that the most important person in our company was now our cook Bryonia—or rather Louiki, as he was called by his people. We had to depend upon the hospitality of these natives for some time to come; or until we had fully repaired the leaks in the Seagull for the long voyage still before us. Therefore we held a consultation and decided to appoint Bry to the temporary office of High Admiral, and to defer to him most respectfully while we lay at the island. For if his people found their chief occupying a menial position they might lose respect for him, and cause us a lot of trouble, whereas if he arrived clothed with grandeur and power his prestige would be increased. Nux also must be an important personage, for he was the chief’s cousin and close comrade. It was all explained to our passengers and crew, and so popular were the two faithful blacks that every one entered into the spirit of the deception with glee, expecting much amusement as the result.
Tuamotu we found a beautiful island, finely wooded, with a range of mountains in the center, and altogether somewhat larger than was Faytan. As Bry had declared, there was a fine harbor, with a shelving beach upon which we proposed to run the Seagull at high tide, so as to get at her leaks most conveniently.
As we entered this harbor on a bright, sunny morning we found the shore thickly clustered with natives, all as black as the ace of spades. They were not, as a class, so intelligent looking as the Faytans; neither were they so big and powerful of frame; but comparing them with other South Sea Islanders I must admit they were vastly superior to the general run. There was little ferocity about them, although I know they can fight and are brave and sturdy warriors. Just now they were merely curious and excited, for ours was the first ship but one to anchor in their bay. We had made a brave display of bunting and flags, and when we dropped anchor and furled our sails we fired a single shot from the bow by way of salute.
After many conferences with Bry we had decided upon our course of action, so at once the gig was lowered and manned by a chosen crew, while Bry and Nux, arrayed in their best gray and gold uniforms, gravely descended the ladder and took their seats in the stern. I most admit they moved with admirable dignity, and their great size lent them an impressive appearance. No one but us could know that the uniforms were those of servants.
They were received in silence when first they landed, but then we saw Bry stand before his people and begin a speech, and presently a shout arose so prolonged and loud that it was fairly deafening. Those nearest Bry fell on their knees and tried to kiss his feet, while those on the outskirts leaped about, performing antics of joy. Then a tall native advanced and folded Bry in a cordial embrace, afterward embracing Nux in like manner.
We knew then that our men had been recognized and loyally welcomed home. A procession was formed to the village on the hill, and Bry and Nux marched ahead of it while the shouts and gambols continued unabated. The ship seemed no longer the center of interest to the natives, although scattered bands of them soon began to saunter back to the shore to gaze upon the unusual spectacle.
Much entertained by the reception and satisfied that our black friends were having a good time, we patiently awaited their return, listening the while to the monotonous “chug-chug” of the pumps as they drove out the water that persistently rushed into the hold.
After a couple of hours the procession reappeared, Bry and Nux again at the head. They marched down to the shore and while the chief and his cousin reëntered the gig, accompanied by two other blacks, three canoe loads of favored individuals clung to their wake and followed them to the ship as invited guests. At a respectful distance a swarm of other canoes came toward us, but they kept their distance from the ship and had no disposition to intrude.
We received the visitors with great ceremony. Nux told us that the tall black—he who had first embraced them—was his own brother. When the old chief, Bry’s father, had passed away, this man became the successor to the rule of the island, as all thought that the legitimate heir, Louiki, had perished in the battle with the Faytans. So Nux’s brother had been chief until Bry’s return when, being a good fellow at heart, he welcomed the long lost one and gladly resigned the royal office in his favor.
In this party were the principal men and officials of the island, and Bry showed them all over “his” ship, afterward giving them a plentiful feast in the main cabin. Joe and I waited upon them, and it was fun to see Bry at one end of the table and Nux at the other, posing as the ruling spirits of the Seagull. My father and Uncle Naboth kept out of sight, as did all our passengers, although Alfonso and Lucia hid on deck and looked through the cabin windows at the savage feasters. The natives of Tuamotu were duly impressed by the magnificent surroundings of their chief, and when, he told them his ship needed repairs and tinkering they gladly volunteered to render him every assistance in their power.
So his Majesty dismissed them and sent them back to land, and when they were gone he put on his apron and cooked our dinner.
At five o’clock it was high tide, so we ran the Seagull as far upon the sandy beach as she would go, using the engines to propel her, and then the natives swarmed into the water and braced her sides securely with long poles. As the tide receded it left us high and dry, and by daybreak our men were able to begin work. They found several planks badly sprung and one gaping hole torn in the bottom by the sharp rocks as we slid into the sea during the earthquake at Faytan. It would take several days to repair the damage, because we could only work part of the time, while the tide was out.
Meantime, we were entertained by Bry in the chief’s house. It was the best in the village, or on the island, but made of logs with a palm thatched roof and far inferior in all ways to the houses of Faytan. Bry gave us a native repast, consisting mainly of roast goat and cheese, with a variety of delicious fruits. There was constant feasting and a succession of dances and ceremonies in honor of the chief’s return, and I was curious to know how all this would affect Bry, and whether he would leave us to rule over his native island, or not.
But when the repairs were completed Bry announced his intention of sailing with us.
“Allola, who is the brother of Nux, will make my people a good chief,” he said, “and my life with you has spoiled me to be now an ignorant islander. I could not be contented here any more; so I will go with you, and stay with you always.”
There had never been any question about Nux. He had always said he preferred the life on our ship to being a big man in Tuamotu.
All being ready, hundreds of natives waded into the water at high tide and by sheer force of numbers pushed the Seagull off the sands till she floated. This operation was assisted by our propeller, but we could not have moved the heavy ship without the aid of Bry’s subjects.
The chief held a final farewell celebration, and distributed among his people many beads and trinkets, a stock of which we always carried with us. Then, amid the shouts of the multitude, who were all really sorry to see us go, we started our engines, whistled three times and fired a gun, and steamed out of the hospitable harbor.
The voyage to Colombia was without important event. We soon got upon our course again and encountered no more bad weather.
But at our destination Señor de Jiminez received some startling news. The revolution had, by a clever coup, overthrown the unpopular government and won without bloodshed. As De Jiminez did not happen to be present, another patriot was elected to the presidency, and was doing his duty ably when we arrived.
So the feelings of young Alfonso and his father were a combination of both joy and sadness; but the joy predominated when they were greeted enthusiastically by their political friends and De Jiminez was publicly thanked for his services to his party.
We were able to unload the guns and ammunition without danger, after which we settled our accounts in a satisfactory manner with the revolutionists, who recognized all of De Jiminez’ obligations. Then, being once more the legal owners of the Seagull, we bade good-bye to our passengers, who had shared with us the dangerous adventure at Faytan, and steamed northward toward San Francisco.
I noticed that Joe and Lucia exchanged rings, and overheard him promise to see her again. I wonder if he ever will?
A new and exciting story of the adventures of “The Boy Fortune Hunters” is added each year. These thrilling stories can be bought wherever books are sold. The full list of title is given on page 2 of this volume.
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