HIMSELF A TRUMP.
The schooner had sailed!
When the dismay caused by this unlooked-for turn of events had somewhat
abated, Jack, catching sight of the black boy's lugubrious face, fell to
laughing heartily.
“After all,” said Don, following his chum's example, “it's no use crying
over spilt milk. I'm not sure but this is the best thing that could have
happened, Jack.”
“My opinion exactly. We began the quest without the guv's knowledge, and
_nolens volens_ we must continue it without his consent. What's the next
piece on the programme, old fellow?”
Don pondered for a moment.
“Why, first,” said he, “we must ascertain whether that fellow told us
the truth about the shark-charmer's having gone across the Strait. If
it turns out that he has, then I'm not exactly clear yet as to what our
next move will be, though I've an idea. You shall hear what it is later
on.”
“All right,” said Jack “whatever course you decide on, I'm with you
heart and fist, anyhow.”
Arrived in the vicinity of the bazaar, Puggles was at once despatched to
learn what he could of the shark-charmer's movements. In half an hour
he returned. His report confirmed that which they had already heard.
The shark-charmer had undoubtedly sailed for the opposite side of the
Strait.
Throwing himself upon his back in the shade of the banyan tree which
had witnessed the discovery of the pearls, Don drew his helmet over his
eyes, and pondered long and deeply.
“Jack,” said he at length, “how much money have you?”
Jack turned out his pockets.
“Barely a rupee and a half,” said he,
“And I,” added Don, turning out his own, “have four and a half.”
“Here one rupee got, sa'b,” cried Puggles, tugging at his waist-cloth.
“Me giving him heart and fist, anyhow.”
“That makes seven rupees, then,” said his master, laughing; “not much to
continue the quest on, eh, Jack?”
“We'll manage,” said Jack hopefully. “But, I say, you haven't told us
your plans yet, old fellow.”
“Oh, our course is as plain as a pikestaff. We'll hire a native boat,
and follow the shark-charmer across the Strait. The only question is,
where's enough money to come from?”
“Don't know,” said Jack, “unless we try to borrow it in the bazaar.”
At this juncture there occurred an interruption which, unlikely though
it may seem, was destined to lead to a most satisfactory solution of
this all-important and perplexing question.
While this conversation was in progress Puggles had seated himself at
a short distance behind his master, and throwing his turban aside,
proceeded to untie and dress the one tuft of hair which adorned the back
of his otherwise cleanly shaven head.
Directly above the spot where he sat there extended far out from the
trunk of the banyan a branch of great size, from which dangled numerous
rope-like air-roots, which, reaching to-within a few feet of the ground,
swayed to and fro in the morning breeze. Out along this branch crept a
large black monkey, which, after taking a cautious survey of Puggles and
his unconscious neighbours, glided noiselessly down one of the swinging
roots, and from its extremity dropped lightly to the ground within a
yard of the discarded turban. Cautiously, with his cunning ferret-eyes
fastened on the preoccupied Puggles, the monkey approached the coveted
prize, snatched it up, and with a shrill cry of triumph turned tail and
fled.
Looking quickly round at the cry, Puggles took in the situation at a
glance.
“Sa'b! Sar!” he shouted, invoking the aid of both his master and Jack in
one breath, “one black debil monkey me turban done hooking;” and leaping
to his feet he gave chase.
“Why,” said Jack, “the little beast is making a bee-line for the old
fort. It must be Bosin, Captain Mango's pet monkey.”
“Captain Mango!” cried Don, as though seized with some sudden
inspiration. “Never thought of him until this minute!” and, clapping on
his helmet, he set off at a run after Puggles and the monkey.
Away like the wind went the monkey, the stolen turban trailing after him
through the sand like a great serpent; and away went Puggles, his back
hair flying. But while Puggles was short of wind, the monkey was nimble
of foot. The race was, therefore, unequal from the start, its finish
more summary than satisfactory; for as Puggles ran, with his eyes
glued upon the scurrying monkey, and his mouth wide-stretched, his foot
unluckily came in contact with a tree-root, which lay directly across
his path. Immediately beyond was a bed of fine soft sand, and into this
he pitched, head foremost. Just then his master came up, with Jack at
his heels.
“Sa'b! Sar!” spluttered Puggles, knuckling his eyes and spitting sand
right and left, “debil monkey done stole turban. Where him going, sa'b?”
“Come on, Pug,” his master called out as he ran past; “your headgear's
all right--the monkey's taken it into the fort.”
The structure known as “the fort” occupied the summit of a sandy knoll,
about which grew a thick plantation of cocoanut palms, seemingly as
ancient as the fort itself. The walls of the enclosure had so crumbled
away in places as to afford glimpses of the buildings within. These
were two in number--one an ancient _godown_, as dilapidated as the
surrounding wall; the other, a bungalow in excellent repair, blazing in
all the glory of abundant whitewash.
Towards this building, after passing the tumble-down gateway, with its
turreted side-towers alive with pigeons, Don and his companion shaped
their course; for this was by no means their first visit to the fort.
A broad, low-eaved verandah shaded the front of the bungalow, and upon
this opened two or three low windows and a door. As they drew near
a shadow suddenly darkened the doorway, and there emerged upon the
verandah an individual whose pea-jacket and trousers of generous
nautical cut unmistakably proclaimed him to be a seafaring man. About
his throat a neckerchief of a deep marine blue was tied in a huge knot;
while from beneath the left leg of his wide pantaloons there projected
the end of a stout wooden substitute for the real limb.
On catching sight of his visitors an expression of mingled astonishment
and pleasure overspread his honest, bronzed features.
[Illustration: 0057]
“Shiver my binnacle!” roared he, advancing with a series of hitches and
extended hand to meet them. “Shiver my binnacle if it ain't Master Don
and Master Jack made port again! An' split my topsails, yonder's the
little nigger swab a-bearin' down under full sail out o' the offin! Lay
alongside the old hulk, my hearties, an' tell an old shipmate what may
be the meaning of it all. Where away might the schooner be, I axes?”
“To tell you the truth, Captain Mango,” said Don, shaking the old sailor
by the hand in hearty fashion, “on that point we're as much at sea as
yourself. We pulled ashore last night on a little matter of business of
our own--without the skipper's knowledge, you understand--and when we
returned here this morning the schooner had sailed.”
“Shiver my figger-head if ever I hear'd any yarn to beat that!” roared
the captain, gripping Jack by the hand in turn. “An' d'ye mean to say
now, as ye ain't atween decks, sound asleep in your bunks, when the
wessel gets under weigh?”
“Not we,” cried Jack, laughing at the captain's puzzled face and earnest
manner; “we were miles down the coast just then.”
“Belay there!” sang out the captain, rubbing his stubbly chin in greater
perplexity than ever. “Blow me if I'm able to make out what tack you're
on, lad. For, d'ye see, I lays alongside o' the wessel somewheres
about eight bells--arter they fires the signal gun, d'ye see--to pay my
'specks to the master like, and shiver my bulk-head, when I axes what
might _your_ bearin's be, lads, he ups an' says, 'The younkers be below
decks,' says he; an' so he weighs anchor, an' shapes his course for
Colombie.”
“It's plain there's been a double misunderstanding,” said Don; “_we_
knew nothing of the guv's intention to sail this morning, and _he_ knew
nothing of our absence from the schooner. He, of course, thought we were
below, and so sailed without us. As I hinted just now, we're ashore on
business of our own. Fact is, we're in a fix, and we want your advice.”
“Adwice is it?” cried the captain, leading his visitors indoors; “fire
away, lads, till I hears what manner o' stuff you wants, and the wery
best a water-logged old seaman can give ye, ye shall have--shiver my
figger-head if ye shan't! Howsomedever, afore we lays our heads together
like, I'll pipe the cook and order ye some wittles.” This hospitable
duty performed, the captain threw himself into a chair with his
“main-brace,” as he jocosely termed his wooden leg, extended before him,
and, bidding Don proceed with what he had to say, composed himself
to listen. Whereupon Don recounted the cause and manner of the
shark-charmer's punishment, the discovery and subsequent loss of the
pearls, together with their reasons for suspecting the shark-charmer of
the theft, as well as how they had been tricked by the latter's supposed
accomplice, and on making their way back to the beach had found, not the
schooner as they expected, but a deserted roadstead.
“The thief has crossed the Strait, there's no doubt about that,” he
concluded. “_We_ want to hire a boat and go in pursuit of him; but the
governor's sudden departure has placed us in a dilemma. The fact is,
captain, we haven't enough cash to----”
“Belay there!” roared the captain, stumping across the room to a
side-table. “Hold hard, lads, till I has a whiff o' the fragrant!
Shiver my maintop! there's nothing like tobackie for ilin' up a seaman's
runnin' gear, says you!”
Filling a meerschaum pipe of high colour and huge dimensions from a
pouch almost as large as a sailor's bag, the captain reseated himself,
and for some minutes puffed away in silence.
“Shiver my smokestack!” cried he at last, slapping his thigh
energetically with his disengaged hand, “the thing's as easy as boxin'
the compass, lads! You axes me for adwice: my adwice is, up anchor and
away as soon as ye can. Supplies is low, says you. What o' that? I axes.
There's a canvas bag in the old sea-chest yonder as'll charter all the
boats hereabouts, if so be as they're wanted, which they ain't, d'ye
mind me. Ye can dror on the canvas bag, lads, an' welcome--why not? I
axes. An' there's as tight a leetle cutter in the boat-house below as
ever ye clapped eyes on--which the _Jolly Tar's_ her name--what's at
your sarvice, shiver my main-brace if it ain't! An' blow me, as the
fog-horn says to the donkey-engine, I'll ship along with ye, lads!”
“An' a-sailin' we'll go, we'll go;
An' a-sailin' we will go-o-o!”
he concluded, with a stave of a rollicking old sea-song.
“Hurrah! You're a trump, captain, and no mistake!” cried Jack, while Don
sprang forward and gripped the old sailor's hand with a heartiness that
showed how thoroughly he appreciated this generous offer.
“Why, y'see, lads,” explained the captain apologetically, “'twould be
ekal to a-sendin' of ye to Davy Jones if I was to let ye go pokin” round
this 'ere Strait alone. Now me--rope-yarn an' marlin-spikes!--there
ain't a reef, nor a shool, nor yet a crik atween Colombie an' Jafna
P'int but what's laid down on this 'ere old chart o' mine,” tapping his
forehead significantly. “An' besides I'm a-spilin' for a bit o' the
briny, so with you I ships--an' why not? I axes.”
“And right glad of your company and assistance we'll be, captain,” said
Don. “The main difficulty will be, of course, to discover to what part
of the Indian coast the thief has gone.”
The captain puffed thoughtfully at his pipe.
“Why, as for that,” said he at length, “I've an idee as I knows his
reckonin', shiver my binnacle if I ain't! But that's neither here nor
there at this present speakin'. Ballast's the first consideration, lads;
so dror up your cheers an' tackle the perwisions.”
When they had complied with this welcome invitation to the entire
satisfaction of the captain and their own appetites, “Now, lads,” said
the old sailor gaily, “do ye turn in an' snatch a wink o' sleep, whiles
I goes an' gets the cutter ready for puttin' to sea. For, says you, look
alive's the word if so be as we wants to overhaul the warmint as took
the treasure in tow. Spike my guns!--we'll make him heave to in no
time!
“For all things is ready, an' nothing we want,
To fit out our ship as rides so close by;
Both wittles an' weapons, they be nothing scant,
Like worthy sea-dogs ourselves we will try!”
Trolling this ditty, the captain stumped away, while his guests made
themselves as comfortable as they could, and sought the slumber of which
they stood so much in need.
It was late in the afternoon when they woke. Puggles had disappeared.
Proceeding to the beach, they found the captain, assisted by a small
army of native servants, busily engaged in putting the-finishing touches
to his preparations for the proposed voyage. Just above the surf-line
lay the _Jolly Tar_--a trim little craft, fitted with mast-and sprit,
whose sharp, clean-cut lines betokened possibilities in the way of speed
that promised well for the issue of their enterprise. In the cuddy, amid
a bewildering array of pots, pans, and pannkins, Puggles had already
installed himself, his shining face a perfect picture of self-complacent
good-nature, whilst Bosin, newly released from durance vile, sat in the
stern-sheets, cracking nuts-and jabbering defiance at his black rival.
“A purty craft!” chuckled the captain, checking for a moment the song
that was always on his lips, as he led his visitors to the cutters side;
“stave my water-butt if there's anything can pull ahead of her in these
'ere parts. Everything shipshape 'an' ready to hand, d'ye see--wittles
for the woyage, an' drink for the woyagers. Likewise ammunitions o'
war,” cried he proudly, pointing out a number of muskets and shining
cutlasses, which a servant just then brought up and placed on board.
“Bath, wittles an' weapons, they be nothing scant,
So like worthy sea-dogs ourselves we will try.”
“What with the cutlasses and guns, and the captain's wooden leg, to
say nothing of our small-arms, Don,” said Jack, “we'd better set up for
buccaneers at once.”
“Shiver my main-brace! a wooden leg ain't sich a bad article arter all,”
rejoined the captain; “specially when a seaman falls overboard. With a
life-buoy o' that nater rove on to his starn-sheets, he's sartin to keep
one leg above water, says you.”
“No doubt of that, even if he goes down by the head,” assented Don,
laughing. “But, I say, captain, what's in the keg--spirits?”
“Avast there!” replied the captain, half shutting one eye and
contemplating the keg with the other, “that 'ere keg, lads, has stuff in
its hold what's a sight better'n spurts. Gunpowder, lads, that's what it
is; and spike my guns if we don't broach the same to the health of old
Salambo when we falls in with him. What say you, lads?
“We always be ready,
Steady, lads, steady;
We'll fight an' we'll conquer agin an' agin.”
“I hope we shan't have to do that, captain,” said Jack gravely. “But
powder or no powder, we'll pay the beggar out, anyhow.”
“Right, lad; so we'll just take the keg along with us in case of
emargencies like. Shiver my compass, there's no telling aforehand what
this 'ere wenture may lead to.”
To whatever the venture was destined to lead, preparations for its
successful inception went on apace, and by nightfall all was in
readiness. The captain declaring that he “couldn't abide the ways o'
them 'ere jabbering nigger swabs when afloat,” the only addition to
their numbers was a single trusty servant of the old sailor's, who was
taken along rather with a view to the cutter's safety when they should
be ashore than because his assistance was required in sailing her.
Don having despatched an overland messenger with a letter to his father,
explaining their absence and proposed undertaking, as the full moon rose
out of the eastern sea the cutter was launched.
Half an hour later, with her white sails bellying before the freshening
land-breeze, she bore away for the opposite shore of the Strait, on that
quest from which one at least of those on board was destined never to
return.
While her sails were yet visible in the moonlit offing, a native crept
down to the deserted beach. He was a dark-skinned, evil-featured fellow;
and the moonlight, falling upon his face, showed his left temple to
be swollen and discoloured as from a recent blow. On his shoulder he
carried a paddle-and a boathook.
“The wind will drop just before dawn,” he muttered, as he stood a moment
noting the strength and direction of the breeze. “Then, you white-devil,
then!” and he patted the boathook affectionately, as if between him and
it there existed some secret, dark understanding.
Selecting a _ballam_ or “dug-out” from amongst a number that lay there,
he placed the boathook carefully in the bottom of the frail skiff, and
launched it almost in the furrow which the cutter's keel had ploughed in
the yielding sand. Then springing in, and plying his paddle with rapid
strokes, he quickly disappeared in the cutter's wake.
[Illustration: 0067]