Bosun Jones was right in his hint. The captain forgot all about Don's
offence as soon as he was comfortable and rested. He had struck out in
his hasty irritation, but his anger soon passed, and had the matter been
brought to his notice again, he would have laughed, and said that it was
the boy's nature to resent being struck, and that he would make the
better sailor.
The time passed pleasantly enough in the beautiful harbour, and every
day a boat went ashore with a surveying or exploring party, all of whom
were examined and cross-examined by their messmates on their return, as
to the habits of the New Zealand savages, and many a yarn was invented
about the Maoris' acts.
Both Don and Jem found their messmates rough, but good-tempered enough,
and the days glided by rapidly; but the opportunity was never given Don
for joining one of the exploring parties. In every case he was told he
was too much of a boy.
"Never mind, Mas' Don. You'll grow into a man some day," Jem used to
say.
The Maoris were quite friendly, and the very stringent rules made at
first were relaxed. The officers and men who went ashore were always
armed, and limits were placed to the number of savages allowed to visit
the ship; but the boarding netting was dispensed with, and it was not
deemed necessary to double the sentries.
More than once parties of men were allowed on shore, and upon these
occasions Don and Jem encountered the tattooed Englishman.
"Haven't made up your minds to come and join us?" he said, laughing; and
Don shook his head.
"Ah, well! I won't persuade you, my lad. P'r'aps you're best where you
are. But if you do make up your mind, come to me."
"How should we find you?" said Jem, who was careful to acquire knowledge
that might be useful.
"Ask the first man you see for Tomati Paroni, and he'll bring you to
me."
"Tomati Paroni," said Don thoughtfully; "is that New Zealand for Tom--
Tom--?"
"Tom Brown," said the chief, laughing. "They have all sorts of English
words like that."
The country was so beautiful, and the shore presented so many
attractions, that the officers kept a strict watch over the men for fear
of desertion; but there was something which acted more as a deterrent
than anything that the officers could say or do, and that was the report
that the natives were cannibals.
"Lots of 'em would desert," Jem said one night, as he lay in his hammock
so close to Don's that they touched, "only--"
"Well, only what?" said Don.
"They say they'd rather stick on board, and be roasted and basted by the
captain and officers, than by the blacks."
"They're not blacks, Jem; and I don't believe about the cannibal work."
"Well, they arn't blacks certainly, Mas' Don; but I'm pretty suspicious
about the other thing. I once thought as Tomati was laughing at us, but
it's all true. Why, what d'yer think I see only yes'day?"
"Numbers of things. But what in particular?"
"Why, one of the big chiefs who come ashore in that long canoe. You
know; the one with a figure-head with its tongue sticking out?"
"Yes; I know."
"Well, he'd got a flute."
"What of that? Men have flutes at home. Uncle Josiah had one."
"What was it made on?" whispered Jem.
"Box-wood, with ivory mountings."
"Well, this chiefs flute was of ivory altogether--I mean, of bone."
"Well?"
"Guess what bone it was."
"How can I tell?"
"Bone of a man's leg, Mas' Don; and he killed the man whose bone it
was."
"How do you know?"
"Why, Tomati telled me."
"Yes, but it might not be true; perhaps the man was boasting."
Don was wearied out with a long day's work, and soon dropped off asleep,
to be roused up by the men to take the morning watch.
Jem and he rolled unwillingly out of their hammocks, and went on deck,
to find all dark; and soon after, cold and uncomfortable, they were
leaning over the bulwarks together, talking as they scanned the smooth
black sea, and the faint outlines of forest and mountain along the
silent shore.
"This is what I hate in being a sailor," grumbled Jem. "No sooner have
you got comfortably off to sleep, and begun giving your mind to it, than
you're roused up to keep some watch."
"Yes, it is wearisome, Jem."
"Wearisome's nothing to it. I was dreaming, Mas' Don, when they routed
us up."
"So was I, Jem."
"What was you dreaming about, Mas' Don?"
"Home."
"Hah!" said Jem, with a sigh; "so was I. Wonder what my Sally's doing
now."
"Sitting down to tea, Jem."
"What! In the middle of the night?"
"It's the middle of the afternoon now, perhaps, Jem, on the other side
of the world."
"Dessay it is, sir, if you says so; but I never can understand that kind
of talk. Say, my lad, how dark it is! Why if four or five of those
great war canoes liked to come out now, with a lot of fighting men
aboard, they could take this here ship before we could cry Jack
Robinson. Look yonder. Isn't that one stealing out from behind that
island?"
"No, Jem; I see nothing but shadow."
"Then p'r'aps it arn't; but I'm always thinking I see 'em coming out
full of men."
"Fancy, Jem."
"So it is, I s'pose. Know how long we're going to stop here, Mas' Don?"
"No, Jem. Getting tired of it?"
"Tired? Ay, lad. I want to go home."
That morning, about a couple of hours after the watch had been relieved,
Don was on deck, when he saw one of the long war canoes, with its
hideously carved prow and feather-decorated occupants, come sweeping
along close to the shore and dash right away at great speed.
"Wish we was in her," sighed a voice at his ear.
Don turned sharply, to find Jem gazing longingly after the flashing
paddles of the canoe, one of which was waved at him as they passed.
"What for, Jem?"
"To get away from here, Mas' Don. Wish you'd alter your mind. I want
to see my Sally once more."
"Here, you two! This way," said a severe voice; and the stern-looking
master came up. "This way. The captain wants a word with both of you."
"The captain?" began Don, as his old trouble flashed into his mind.
"That will do. Now then, this way," said the master sternly; and he led
them to the quarter-deck, where the captain was standing, with a couple
of the officers by his side, and, a little distance in front, Ramsden,
the sinister-looking seaman who, since the night they were pressed, had
always seemed to bear the two Bristolians ill-will.
Don and Jem saluted, and stood before their officer, who looked them
over searchingly, his eyes resting on theirs in a fierce, penetrating
way that was far from pleasant.
Then, turning from them contemptuously, he signed to Ramsden to come
forward.
"Now," he said sharply, "repeat what you told me just now."
"Yes, sir. I had to go below yes'day evening when, as I was going along
'tween the 'ammocks, I hears the word _desert_ and I was that took
aback, sir, I--"
"Ah! You are the sort of man who would be took aback on hearing such a
word," said the first lieutenant, with a sneer.
"Yes, sir," said Ramsden.
"Let him speak," said the captain, scowling to hide a smile.
"Soon as I heard that word _desert_, I felt stopped short like; and then
I heard voices making plans for going ashore."
"What did they say?"
"Can't rec'lect what they said exactly, sir; only as one talked about a
boat, and the other about a canoe. It was Lavington as asked about the
canoe; and just now, sir, they was watching a canoe that went by, and
they exchanged signals."
"Yes, I saw them watching that canoe," said the captain, fixing his eyes
on Jem.
"Yes, sir; and one of the chiefs waved a paddle to them."
The captain nodded, and Ramsden was going on with his charge, when he
was stopped.
"That will do, my man," said the captain; "I know quite enough. Now
look here," he continued, turning to Don and Jem, "I am compelled to
believe what this man says, for I saw enough to corroborate his
testimony; but I will give you an opportunity for defending yourselves.
Is what he says true?"
Don's lips parted to say it was only about half true; but a feeling of
agonised shame checked his words. There was too much truth in it for
him to make a bold denial, so he remained silent; and Jem, taking his
cue from his companion, was silent too.
"Come," said the captain, "I like that. There is honesty in it, my
lads; and as you are both young, and pressed men, I will not be so
severe as I might for such an offence as yours."
"Didn't commit no offence," said Jem sturdily.
"Silence, sir! Now then, you know, I suppose, that though we are living
a peaceful life out here, these are war times, and the punishment of
deserters is--death."
Jem started, but Don did not stir.
"Now you are both very young, and you have worked so well, and with so
much promise of making yourselves sailors, that I should be sorry for
you--either of you--to be guilty of such a mad trick as desertion. If
you tried it, you would almost certainly be retaken, and--the punishment
must follow. If, on the other hand, you escaped, it would be into the
savage country before you, where you would fall into the hands of some
enemy tribe, who would kill you both like dogs. I daresay you have
heard what takes place afterwards, when the Maori tribes have taken
prisoners?"
Jem shuddered, but Don made no sign.
"Ah! I see you know," continued the captain, "so I need say little
more. I am satisfied that you will neither of you be guilty of such an
act of madness as you contemplated, especially now that I tell you that
I stop at nothing which the law gives me power to do for the
preservation of the discipline of my ship. These two lads," he said,
turning to give an order, "will be placed in irons for the present."
He made a sign, and the two prisoners were taken below deck, and placed
in irons.
"Better than being hung, my lads," said the armourer gruffly; and soon
after they were alone, with a sentry on duty not far from where they
were seated.