The early morning found the _Wonder_ laying close-hauled along the coast
of Guadalcanal She moved lazily through the water under the dying breath
of the land breeze. To the east, heavy masses of clouds promised a
renewal of the southeast trades, accompanied by sharp puffs and rain
squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast on the same course as the
_Wonder_, and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketch. It was not the
_Willi-Waw_, however, and Captain Ward, on the _Wonder_, putting down
his glasses, named it the _Kauri_.
Grief, just on deck from below, sighed regretfully.
“If it had only been the _Willi-Waw_” he said.
“You do hate to be beaten,” Denby, the supercargo, remarked
sympathetically.
“I certainly do.” Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. “It's my
firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite
scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and
date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank
piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again.”
“If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of
my mind,” Captain Ward broke in.
“Go on and spit it out,” Grief encouraged.
“Well, then--” The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. “With all
the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with those
two curs. What do you do it for?”
“Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you
give any better reason for anything you do?”
“You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day,” Captain Ward
growled in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing
of a peak which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered
Guadalcanar.
The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the _Wonder_,
slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the _Kauri_ and
began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called
out:
“Seen anything of the _Willi-Waw_?”
The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched
the faded blue _lava-lava_ tighter around his waist and spat tobacco
juice overside.
“Sure,” he answered. “Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs
and yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a
long cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?”
“Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me.”
The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to
keep abreast of the faster vessel.
“Say!” he called. “Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon
to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet
potatoes.”
“Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons,” Grief said, when
his schooner had drawn well ahead. “Is that right, Captain Ward?”
The captain nodded.
“And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten
anchorage, isn't it?”
“No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's
where the _Molly_ went to pieces three years ago.”
Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute,
as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his
eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile.
“We'll anchor at Gabera,” he said. “And run in close to the little bight
this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also,
give me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before
morning.”
The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly
slid into one of reproach.
“Oh, just a little fun, skipper,” Grief protested with the apologetic
air of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder.
Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness.
“I'd like to go along, Mr. Grief,” he said.
Grief nodded consent.
“Bring some axes and bush-knives,” he said. “And, oh, by the way, a
couple of bright lanterns. See they've got oil in them.”
V
An hour before sunset the _Wonder_ tore by the little bight. The wind
had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals
toward the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those
farther out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As
the schooner went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the
whaleboat was swung out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz
boys, each armed with a rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped
into the stern-sheets. Grief, following, paused on the rail.
“Pray for a dark night, skipper,” he pleaded.
“You'll get it,” Captain Ward answered. “There's no moon anyway, and
there won't be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too.”
The forecast sent a radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced
the golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo.
“Cast off!” Captain Ward ordered. “Draw the headsails! Put your wheel
over! There! Steady! Take that course!”
The _Wonder_ filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, while
the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the
beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel
which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals
and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling
beach.
The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild
cocoanuts and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees.
“Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree,” he told his blacks. “No
chop that other fella,” he said, with a shake of head.
In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the
beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another.
Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two
trees, and made fast.
“That outer lantern is too high.” David Grief studied it critically.
“Put it down about ten feet, Denby.”