A KNIFE-THRUST IN THE DARK
More than once Blight bent over the array of death-dealing weapons, but
on each occasion his nerve failed him.
Accustomed as he was to deal swiftly with the natives, never hesitating
to shoot down any black creature that thwarted him, he shrank from
tackling his intended victims.
Not from feelings of compunction did he pause; he was a coward at
heart, and the thought of a possible failure filled him with a horrible
dread. So, nervously sawing at the tiller, he gnawed his lower lip and
formed fresh plans for evil.
Meanwhile Mr. McKay, unconscious of his peril, proceeded with his
preparations. He deeply regretted the fact that the case of surgical
instruments salved from the _San Martin_ was at that moment--like the
Dutchman's anchor--left at home, or rather on McKay's Island. In the
final hurry of embarkation that important item had been overlooked.
Grasping the glowing portion of the cleaning rod, Mr. McKay approached
the unconscious lad. Once more telling the other two lads to hold the
patient's arm firmly, he inserted the red-hot metal into the wound.
It was the work of a few seconds, but the operation of cauterising the
wound was accomplished. Time alone would tell whether this rude
surgery was a success or not.
An hour later the low-lying island of Ni Atong was in sight, and just
before sunset the yawl and her two native consorts entered the lagoon.
It was a pitiful home-coming. The miserable remnant of the fleet of
canoes told the tale, and already the beach was lined with a crowd of
wailing women and crying children, with a sprinkling of old men, whose
services had been dispensed with on the fatal expedition.
The latter had good cause for being cast down.
In many of the Pacific Islands old age is looked upon as a useless
qualification, and, failing a crowd of prisoners to serve as sacrifices
and to appease the warriors' appetites, it was their aged and infirm
fellow-tribesmen who were doomed to die to keep the angry gods
good-tempered.
"Coming ashore, boss?" asked Blight, as if he did not care one way or
the other. "I can give you a shakedown in my hut."
"I'm afraid we cannot manage it," was the reply. "You see, with our
two patients it is out of the question."
"Well, well! Maybe it will be best, 'specially as them natives are
going to have a bit of a bust-up to-night. You mayn't like it, though
I'm used to it. When do you set sail for your own island?"
"To-morrow at dawn."
"Oh!"
Mr. McKay looked up sharply. There was a strange sound about that
"Oh!" The ex-pearler realised that the exclamation was a weak
expression of regret, and hastened to explain.
"I thought as how you would be wanting fresh water, 'specially for your
two young chaps. Make a day of it, and have a spell ashore. One more
day won't make no difference like."
"Possibly not," assented Mr. McKay.
"Then there are yams and plantains. They'll be rare good for feverish
fellows. You're welcome, you know."
"I'll see what the others say. So now, Blight, my son can row you
ashore."
"This is a present, isn't it, boss?" asked Blight, pointing to the
revolver that he had used to such good purpose at Ahii.
"Certainly, I gave it you," was the reply.
"Thanks!"
Blight picked up the weapon and thrust it with assumed carelessness
into his belt; then, bidding the crew of the yawl good night, he
stepped into the dinghy.
Hardly had the sun set, than the wearied crew retired to the cabin for
rest and refreshment.
Ellerton was awake, feverish, and at intervals in great pain. Quexo
still slumbered. Andy and Terence were sleepily nodding their heads in
an almost vain endeavour to keep awake.
Mr. McKay, though utterly done up, announced his intention of keeping
watch on deck the moment he had finished supper.
Just as the moon rose, a blood-curdling roar came from the island.
Instantly the two McKays and Terence rushed on deck. Fires gleamed in
the centre of the wretched village, and around the flames danced a
hundred natives, yelling, screaming, and invoking their idols.
"What are they up to, pater?" asked Andy, as his father scanned the
shore with a pair of night-glasses. "Let me have a look when you've
finished."
"You had better not," was the reply. "Take my word for it."
The lads understood. They were fairly well acquainted with the hideous
orgies that are practised on these islands.
"And to think we helped those villains," remarked Andy.
"Well," admitted his father, "it was, as I said before, the only course
open to us. Now, I think all danger is past. They are not strong
enough to attempt to seize our island, so we can go back with easy
minds."
"I hope so," returned his son. "But my word, it's cost us something!"
"I can't understand that chap Blight," said Terence. "He seemed mighty
curious to know how many of us lived on the island."
"You told him?"
"Yes! I let the cat out of the bag, I fear."
"You did?" replied Mi. McKay gravely. "I'm sorry; but perhaps there's
no harm done. However, we'll set sail to-morrow morning in any case.
I, for one, will not be sorry to say good-bye to Mr. Blight. Now,
lads, you must turn in. I'll be all right here; and to-morrow, all
being well, I'll make up arrears of sleep."
Left to himself, Mr. McKay sat in the cockpit and watched the orgies
ashore till the fires died out and the sounds of the worshippers
ceased. Half-an-hour later he appeared, to all intents and purposes,
to be lying in the stern sheets fast asleep.
At about three in the morning the moon, now high in the heavens, threw
her beams upon a strange drama.
Swimming with eel-like swiftness and silence towards the unguarded yawl
came three men. Two were natives, the third a white man, and each had
a glittering knife betwixt his teeth.
Grasping the boat's stern, Blight (for it was he) listened intently.
Then, hearing only the sounds of deep slumber arising from the cabin,
he cautiously placed his foot over the bobstay, and with slow and
stealthy movement hoisted himself clear of the water.
Having made sure that the deck was deserted, he climbed softly upon the
fo'c'sle and proceeded to unfasten his revolver, which he had secured
to the top of his head by means of a strip of cocoa fibre.
Presently he was joined by one of the natives, and at a short interval
by the second. Creeping towards the open skylight the miscreant
listened once more. The loud ticking of the cabin chronometer and the
deep, regular breathing of the sleepers, alone broke the stillness.
Suddenly Blight perceived Mr. McKay's form lying with his head buried
in his arm upon one of the seats of the cockpit. This was awkward. He
raised his revolver, then reflected that ere he could reach the cabin
after firing the fatal shot the occupants would be aroused.
Sprawling full length upon the cabin-top, Blight watched the slumbering
victim with considerable misgivings, till realising that Mr. McKay was
sound asleep, he raised himself upon his elbow, and beckoned to the two
natives. Uplifting his knife, Blight made an imaginary thrust, then
pointed meaningly towards the sleeper.
Just then a shark glided past the boat at barely an oar's length.
Rising to the surface it turned on its back and snapped at some
floating object. The sharp, almost metallic snap of those powerful
jaws filled the would-be murderer with alarm. He realised that the
sleeper might awake, and also that his own retreat was cut off.
The sweat poured in torrents from his brow and ran down his chalky
cheeks. But the sleeping man stirred not.
Reassured, Blight again signed to the natives. Knife in hand the two
glided along the narrow waterways, dropping noiselessly into the
cockpit, and crept towards their unsuspecting prey.
Blight, revolver in hand, followed, stopping by the side of the cabin
bulkhead, ready to dive into the cabin and complete the murderous
business the moment the fatal blow was struck.
Like panthers the two natives launched themselves upon their victim,
their knives flashed in the moonlight; the next instant they were
buried to the hilt in the body of the sleeper.
Ere the weapons could be withdrawn, two shots rang out in quick
succession. One of the natives fell face foremost across the coaming
of the cockpit, the other gave a spring and plunged lifeless into the
sea.
Then, before Blight could realise the sudden turn of affairs, he felt
the contact of the muzzle of a smoking revolver against his temple.
"Hands up, Blight!" exclaimed Mr. McKay resolutely.
The would-be murderer's weapon fell from his nerveless grasp and
immediately his hands were raised high above his head.
The noise of the firing had aroused the sleeping inmates of the cabin,
and Andy, Terence, and even Ellerton rushed through the narrow doorway
into the well.
"Get hold of a few pieces of lashing and secure the rascal," said Mr.
McKay calmly.
"You are not hurt?" asked his son anxiously.
"Hurt? Not a bit of it. No thanks to this beauty, though. See!"
And, still keeping the weapon at the would-be assassin's head, he
pointed to the made-up figure of himself, in which the hilts of the two
knives glittered in the moonlight.
Andy and Terence lost no time in securing the ankles of the prisoner.
Then ordering him to lower his hands, the lads deftly lashed his elbows
together behind his back.
"So, Mr. James Blight, alias 'Chinese Pork,' I find your delightful
character has undergone little change during the last twenty years.
One would have thought that your unpleasant experiences in connection
with the _Sea Belle_----"
"What d'ye mean?" gasped the prisoner, his eyes rolling heavily in his
terror.
"I beg you not to interrupt. A connection with the _Sea Belle_ would
have taught anyone but an utter villain or a fool a lifelong lesson. I
will pass over those minor affairs at Boni Harbour and Fortescue
Strait, though by mentioning them you can realise that I know a good
deal of your former career. What you've been doing since is of little
consequence, though I'll wager that your existence will not bear
investigation. Now, to complete your record, you've been caught in the
act of attempting to treacherously slay your white--well, I won't say
friends. Thanks to a merciful Providence, your schemes were thwarted.
I am now going to keep you in custody till I can hand you over to
justice at Brisbane, where you will have a fair trial and be allowed to
answer to a number of various crimes."
Mr. McKay paused to note the effect of his accusation, then he
continued:
"I am going to keep you a close prisoner in the fo'c'sle till we return
to our island. You will then be kept in confinement ashore till such
time as we are able to reach some island under the control of a
recognised British governor. Have you anything to say?"
The ex-pearler maintained a sullen silence, and, without offering any
resistance, he was carried into the fo'c'sle and locked in, there to
meditate on the fate in store for him.
"Ellerton, go back to your bunk. You ought not to be here," exclaimed
Mr. McKay.
"But I feel all right again," replied the youth.
"Probably you do, but with your arm in that state absolute rest is
essential. So go. Andy, we've had enough of this island, so let's
clap on all sail and shape a course for home."
In the moonlight the entrance through the reef was plainly visible.
There was a favourable breeze, so that the yawl could lay on her course
without having to tack.
As the anchor rose, a long-drawn chorus of shouts of rage came from the
beach, and a swarm of arrows, all of which fell short, hurtled through
the air.
"So much for our native allies," observed Mr. McKay. "They are all in
the swim in this business. No matter, they can do us no harm."
To the accompaniment of a farewell shout of anger from the baffled
inhabitants of Ni Atong, the yawl glided swiftly across the moonlit sea.