THE FAR SEAS
Honolulu Bay, with its beautiful shores and white houses with red roofs,
faded out behind the _Seamew_ one sunny morning, and the two boys, up in
the chart house with the captain, began to see wild visions of what lay
before them. Taking a chart, Captain Hollinger traced out their future
course across the Pacific.
"You see, boys, we can take a straight course east-south-east from the
Islands. That brings us here, to the Philippines, but we'll not stop.
Going right ahead under Mindanao, we'll round up into the Sulu Sea and
cut through Balabac Straits, north of Bornea. That brings us in among
the coral reefs--see how thick they're marked on the chart?--and so
straight across the south China Sea to Tringanu."
"And this here's Kuala Besut, eh?" Mart placed his finger on the Malay
coast, just inside the Redang Islands.
"Right you are, Mart! You see how the coast is low all along there, with
lagoons? Wait a minute--here's a larger chart."
Bringing out another chart showing the Malay coasts, the captain pointed
to the river mouth in question.
"You see, there's a lagoon inside the entrance, about nine miles long,
and closed in from the sea by this island. Jerry says that the lagoon
makes a fine harbor, and is deep enough for the yacht. There are no
hills close to the coast, but there's plenty of jungle, and we'll find
some tigers without trouble."
"Sure?" asked Bob skeptically. His father laughed.
"Why, until late years they used to shoot them down at the city of
Singapore itself! I'll take a trip in first, to make sure it'll be all
right for you to come along, and while I'm gone you can take care of the
yacht. Then we'll make up a grand hunting party, and everybody will get
a tiger, eh?"
"Bully!" exclaimed Mart eagerly, and departed to his wireless with a
sheaf of messages to be sent off via Honolulu. Having sent them and
arranged for answers to be sent at two o'clock that afternoon, he
rejoined Bob and went down to mess.
That afternoon they gained their last sight of land for many days, as
the _Seamew_ entered the Kamukahi Channel, passing between the
green-clad hills of Niihau and Kauai, and then struck out on her
straight course for the southernmost of the Philippines, with nearly
five thousand miles of sea before her and seventeen days of journeying,
if all went well.
For two days all went well, indeed, and then came on what Liverpool
Peters described as a moderate gale, but which seemed like a hurricane
to Mart. They had had fine weather so far, and Mart had long ago
dismissed all thoughts of seasickness, but now he gave up completely.
Bob had long since been seasoned, of course, and poor Mart suffered
alone for three terrible days.
On the third day he felt sure that he was dying, but when Bob came down
to the stateroom and grinningly offered him a big chunk of raw fat pork,
Mart forgot his symptoms suddenly. Flinging himself out, he caught his
tormentor and bore him to the floor. Bob rose with a bleeding nose,
wiped the pork from his face, and fled; and Mart found that he had
recovered his health suddenly. After a good meal he was himself again,
and the two boys were too firm in friendship to be shaken by a
good-humored "scrap" of such a nature.
Then ensued such days as Mart Judson had never dreamed of, when they got
into the doldrums, the powerful engines of the yacht forcing her ahead
at a steady fifteen knots through calm and glassy waters. The sun was
tremendously hot, of course, but the yacht's motion created a perpetual
breeze, while her awnings kept the bridge and lower decks cool.
They were far out of the course of steamers, and saw no craft of any
kind, save fleets of "Portuguese men-o'-war," as Joe Swanson and the
others called the jellyfish squadrons. Indeed, there was no lack of sea
life all about them. Mart ate fried flying-fish for the first time in
his life, and one day the Kanakas on watch set up a yell of "Shark! Him
shark!"
All hands rushed out on deck for the fun. Getting in the extreme stern,
Mart and Bob thrilled at sight of the dorsal fin cutting the water
twenty feet astern, while the shark could plainly be seen gobbling the
refuse which the cook had just flung out from the galley. His long,
dirty-white body was anything but pleasant, and when he turned over to
catch a morsel and his V-shaped mouth became evident, Mart felt a
repulsion that was little short of fear.
The whole crew came aft in high glee, while "Liverpool" Peters, the
second officer, bore an immense hook made fast to a line. Having baited
the hook with a lump of pork, he flung it over the rail; the boys craned
forward eagerly, and an instant later they saw the floating pork vanish
in the maw of the shark.
"Pull!" yelled Peters, and the men made fast to the line. Then ensued an
hour of the wildest excitement, for the shark fought gamely, but he
could not bite through the big steel shank of the hook, and was finally
drawn alongside. Peters finished him with a revolver bullet, and the
Kanakas dined on roast shark that night.
More than once after that they caught sharks, as well as several of the
pilot fish which were continually leaping beneath the bows of the yacht,
while the boys managed to get good sport with smaller fish. Best of all,
however, was the shooting at porpoises.
Every morning Captain Hollinger would fetch his rifles up to the chart
house, and the boys would join him. There, sitting in their deck chairs
beneath the awnings, they would load up the rifles and sit watching.
Suddenly, leaping out of the sea abruptly, perhaps half a mile off and
perhaps fifty feet away, something would break the water. Up would shoot
the great dark body, the whole fish darting clear in the air to fall
back with hardly a splash, in a graceful curve. When he first saw the
sight, Mart could hardly contain himself; the thrill of seeing that
great body swirl up into the air in plain sight was wonderful. Over and
over again it would be repeated, as the huge fish circled the vessel;
then it would vanish as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come.
"But s'pose we wounded 'em?" asked Bob hesitatingly the first morning.
"Nonsense!" laughed the captain, taking a quick shot at one of the
flashing bodies a hundred yards away. "In the first place, you're not
likely to score a hit, Bob. In the next place, these are little
twenty-two caliber bullets; unless it happened to penetrate a vital
part, one of these little pellets won't bother a ten or fifteen-foot
porpoise. It might sting him a little, if it penetrated his hide, but
that's all. It'll give you the best kind of shooting practice, too."
Reassured by this speech, the two boys pitched in. There was no lack of
ammunition aboard the _Seamew_, and there seemed to be no lack of
porpoises anxious to serve as moving targets. And, indeed, Mart soon
found that he need spend no worry over leaving wounded fish to flounder
out their lives.
So rapidly did he have to shoot, so quickly did he have to meet the
unexpected risings of the porpoises, that it was several days before he
could begin to come anywhere near the mark. Bob did better, having had
more practice in shooting, and the captain proved himself a past master.
But at no time did any thought of cruelty occur to either of the boys
again, since it proved to be exactly as Captain Hollinger had said, and
they saw no sign of dead or wounded fish in their wake.
"I wouldn't mind shooting a shark," declared Mart one morning to his
chum. "Do you s'pose one of these rifles would kill one?"
"What--twenty-twos? Not much!" and Bob laughed scornfully. "They can
stand an awful lot o' bullets, Mart. I tell you--next time you sight a
shark after us, I'll get a couple o' dad's thirty-thirty rifles and
we'll have some real shooting."
Two days after this, indeed, a shark was attracted under their counter,
and each boy got a shot at him. What effect the bullets had, they never
knew, for the shark turned and disappeared rapidly. Mart had missed, not
allowing for refraction, while Bob's shot had gone true, but they had
learned their lesson. The next time a shark showed up, they hooked him
first, then began target-practice with the heavy rifles.
The shark, while having comparative freedom of action, was forced to
follow the ship, and the two boys pumped bullet after bullet, while the
crew cheered or mocked their efforts in impartial criticism. Mart was
amazed to find that after scoring twenty or thirty hits, the shark still
plunged and leaped as strongly as ever, although a red trail was seeping
out into the water behind him. Finally Captain Hollinger took a hand in
the game and with three well-placed bullets killed the shark.
"That's enough for me," declared Mart disgustedly putting down his
rifle. "It doesn't give the brute a fair show and it's too much like
butchery. I'm satisfied."
"Here too," nodded Bob, disdaining his father's laughter. "I guess I'll
stick to the twenty-twos and porpoises. Too much blood in sharks."
So that, after this, there was no more shooting at sharks. And for that
matter, something occurred the very next day that served to take the
boys' minds off sharks for some time to come.
Up until now there had been no trouble whatever aboard the _Seamew_. The
crew were paid good wages, and their food was far superior to that of
the ordinary forecastle galley. The engine-room crew was composed of two
Scotch engineers and a gang of Kanakas, and the brown-skinned sailors
were all willing and cheerful workers.
The second mate, however, did not get on well with the men who had been
shipped by old Jerry Smith. Peters was an excellent seaman, and was far
easier on the men than was the first mate, Swanson. Yet Swanson was
obeyed with great alacrity, probably because he did not hesitate to
bully the men, while Peters had some difficulty in making the men adopt
what he considered their proper attitude. With Captain Hollinger there
was of course no trouble whatever.
The day after they had shot the shark, the boys were waiting for
mess-call, and were looking over some magazines in the library saloon.
Suddenly they heard voices in altercation on the deck, and the tramp of
feet, while the angry tones of Peters rose deep and vehement.
"Something wrong!" exclaimed Mart, springing to the companionway.
"Hold on," cried Bob hastily, joining him. "Don't get mixed up in any
row, Mart."
"No danger," chuckled the other. "Hello! By golly, Liverpool's mad for
fair!"
And so he was. Looking out the door of the companionway on to the
starboard deck-alley of the yacht, they saw that the awnings were up and
the decks were being holystoned. Outside the door stood a bucket of
water, a big holystone beside it, while the one-eyed seaman Birch was
just rising to his feet from the deck. Peters was standing over him, his
face dark.
"Don't go to sleep, there," commanded the mate sharply. "If I catch you
again with a pipe alight aft of the fo'c'sle, you'll get worse than
that. Move lively!"
Birch wiped his cheek, where the second officer's fist had evidently
landed, his one eye flamed angrily and his hand dropped to his sheath
knife.
"Blast you!" he muttered thickly. "I'll have the law on you--"
Without a word Peters' fist shot out, caught the evil-faced seaman full
on the jaw, and Birch went back with a crash. Peters looked calmly at
him as he rose.
"Say 'sir' when you talk to an officer, an' no back talk either,"
ordered the mate. "And you get gay with that knife again, Birch, and
I'll give you what-for! Now move lively with that work, you lazy dog."
Birch stooped over his holystone, and Peters turned to go forward again.
As he did so, Birch straightened up suddenly. Gazing malevolently at the
broad back of the retreating mate, the one-eyed seaman whipped out his
sheath knife, a wild spasm of fury contracting his wrinkled face.
Instinctively Mart took a step forward, but Bob caught his arm and held
him back with a muttered word. Before Birch could move, a shadow fell
across the deck and old Jerry Smith came padding along in his bare feet,
his white hair flying in the wind. He caught Birch's arm, and for a
second the two men stared into each other's faces. And when Mart saw the
features of old Jerry, he did not wonder that Birch paused, for the
quartermaster's face was absolutely livid with mingled fear and anger,
while his blue eyes shone out clear and baleful.
"You fool!" muttered Jerry, as Peters disappeared forward. "You fool!"
"Mebbe I'm a fool an' mebbe I ain't," responded Birch sullenly. "But I'm
goin' to git that bucko mate yet, Shark Smith!"
"Stow your jaw and get to work!" snapped Jerry, and passed on like a
shadow.
Mart drew back and looked at his chum. Bob's face was white.
"That's no way to treat men," exclaimed Mart softly. "If I was Birch--"
"Oh, shucks--what's the matter with you?" Bob's eyes blazed excitedly.
"That's nothin'--you've got to handle sailors like that. But did you
hear what he said to Jerry? Called him 'Shark Smith'--and Jerry heard
him make threats and said nothing!"
"It's funny discipline," admitted Mart slowly. "But a quartermaster
ain't an officer, remember. And I don't blame Birch for being mad."
So the incident passed, for indeed it was a mere incident in the
sea-routine. Officers are quick to exact instant obedience, and the
least show of rebellion or "back talk" is answered with a blow. But even
so, the evil face of the one-eyed seaman flitted through Mart's dreams
for many a night thereafter, although Birch seemed doubly respectful
toward the second mate, as indeed did all the crew.