Dey coming, sar!” groaned Spottie; and even as he spoke the leaders of
the mob came tearing round the corner.
“Is it fight or run, Don?” said Jack quietly, adjusting his turban with
one hand and laying the other significantly upon his knife.
“No two ways about that! We could never stand against such odds; so we'll
run first and fight afterwards.”
“And reverse the old saying, eh?” laughed Jack. “I should dearly love to
have a whack at them; but if you say run, why--run it is, so here goes!”
Shaking his fist at the howling mob, he sprang up the steep hill-path,
followed closely by Don. Spottie had already made good use of his legs,
but they soon caught him up, whereupon Jack seized the terrified native
by the arm and dragged him over the brow of the ridge.
Down the further side they dashed, breathing easier now, for their
movements were here well concealed by the dense jungle through which the
pathway ran. As they emerged panting upon the sandy shore of the lagoon,
a yell from the hill behind told them that their pursuers had gained
the crest of the ridge. At the same instant Don pulled up abruptly, and
being too much out of breath to speak, pointed in the direction of the
canoe. Beside it stood a couple of natives, who, on seeing them, turned
and fled towards the jungle.
“The tall fellow!” shouted Jack. “Stop him! He's got the boathook!”
The boathook was their only means of propelling the canoe. That gone,
they were practically at the mercy of their enemies.
After the flying natives they dashed, Jack leading. He quickly came up
with the hinder-most, whom he dealt a blow that stretched him senseless
in the sand. But the fellow who carried the boathook was long of leg and
fresh of wind; while Jack was still a dozen yards in his rear, he gained
the jungle and disappeared.
“No good!” groaned Jack, as he relinquished the pursuit and turned back.
“There's nothing for it but to fight. I say, Don, what's up?”
Don lay sprawling in the sand.
“Tripped over that lazy beast,” said Don, picking himself up and aiming
a kick at an enormous turtle which was already heading for the water.
“Him bery nice soup making, sar!” cried Spottie, rubbing his brown hands
unctuously. But just then a fierce tumult of voices, rolling down from
the jungle path, put other thoughts than soup into Spottie's pate.
“The rope! Fetch the rope, Spottie!” cried Jack, throwing himself on the
turtle's back.
Don dragged him off.
“Come away!” cried he. “There's no time to fetch that beast along. Are
you out of your senses?”
Jack's only reply was to snatch the rope from Spottie's hands, rapidly
reeve a running knot at one end, and slip the loop around the body of
the giant chelonian, which had by this time reached the water's edge.
All this had occupied much less time than it takes to relate.
The shouts of the mob now sounded ominously near. Without loss of time
the canoe was launched, and at once Jack's purpose became apparent.
Seating himself in the bow of the canoe, he drew in the slack of the
rope until the turtle was within easy reach, and, holding it firmly so,
prodded it with his knife. This was a cruel act, but the stern necessity
of the moment outweighed all other considerations.
The turtle at once began making frantic efforts to escape from its
tormentor; and as its weight could not have been less than three or four
hundred pounds, and its strength in proportion, it easily and rapidly
drew the canoe through the water.
In a few minutes they were a stone's throw from shore--and not a moment
too soon, for at that instant the mob of natives rushed out of the
jungle path, and finding themselves outwitted, gave utterance to a
furious howl of disappointment and rage.
The canoe, thanks to the efforts of the turtle, was soon so far from
shore that Jack considered it safe to alter their course and steer for
the creek. No sooner did he do so than the natives set off at a run in
the same direction.
“Dey there canoe got, maybe,” observed Spottie, who had now recovered
from his fright.
“In that case we may have some fun yet,” laughed Jack, lashing the
turtle with the rope's end, as if anxious to be in time for the
anticipated sport.
By the time the creek was reached, however, not a native was to be seen;
so, congratulating themselves on having given their pursuers the slip,
they reached the cutter.
Here the old sailor, to say nothing of Puggles, was most anxiously
watching for their return.
“Shiver my mizzen!” shouted he, as they ran under the cutter's stern;
“ha' ye gone an' took a mermaid in tow, lads?”
“No; one of Spottie's turkles has taken us in tow, captain,” replied
Jack, setting the turtle free with a slash of his knife, in spite of
Spottie's protestations that the creature would make “bery nice soup.”
“Ugh, you cannibal!” he added, with a glance of disgust at the black's
chagrined face, “you wouldn't eat the beast after he has saved your
life, would you?”
“Belay there! what's this 'ere yarn about the warmint a-savin' o' your
lives, lads?” sang out the captain. “Hours ago,” continued he, as the
two young men, leaving Spottie to beach the canoe, scrambled on board
the cutter, “hours ago I says to myself, 'Mango, my boy,' says I, 'may
I never set tooth to salt junk agin if they younkers ain't all dead men
afore this.' says I. Howsomedever, here ye be safe an' sound; so let's
hear the whole on it, lads.”
In compliance with this request Don began to relate the adventures which
had befallen them since morning; but scarcely had he got fairly launched
upon his narrative, when:
“Sharks an' sea'-sarpents!” interrupted the captain, rising to his feet
with a lurch, and pointing up the creek, “what sort o' craft's this 'ere
a-bearin' down on us? I axes.”
A canoe, laden to the water's edge with natives, appeared round a bend
in the creek. Presently other canoes, to the number of half-a-dozen,
hove in sight in rapid succession, whose occupants, perceiving their
approach to be discovered, set up a shout that made the cliffs ring.
“Spottie was right,” cried Jack, catching up a musket, while Don and the
captain followed suit; “they've found canoes, and mean to board us.”
“Fire my magazine, but we'll give 'em a right warm welcome, then,” said
the captain. “Look to the primin', lads, an' hold hard when I says fire,
for blow me, these 'ere old muskets kicks like a passel o' lubberly
donkeys, d'ye see!”
“Captain,” Don hastily interposed, “why not draw the bullets and load
up with shot? The canoes are so deep in the water that a smart volley of
shot right into the midst of the rascals is sure to make them flop over.
We've just time to do it.”
This suggestion tickled the captain immensely, and without delay the
change was made. The canoes were now within easy range.
“Ready, lads,” cried the captain:
“We always be ready,
Steady, lads, steady!
We'll fight an' we'll conquer agin and agin!”
Up went the muskets. At sight of them the natives rested on their oars,
or rather paddles, and the canoes slowed down.
“Fire!”
The cliffs trembled beneath the treble report. Jack, who in his
excitement had forgotten the captain's caution, went sprawling backwards
over the thwarts.
“Ho, ho, ho! flint-locks an' small-shot, a wolley's the thing, lads,”
roared the captain, pointing up the creek as the smoke rolled, away.
“We ne'er see our foes but we wants 'em to stay,
An' they never see us but they wants us away;
When they runs, why, we follows an' runs 'em ashore,
For if they won't fight us, we can't do no more!”
The “wolley” had told. Driven frantic by the stinging shot, the
natives had leapt to their feet and overturned four out of the seven
deeply-laden canoes, whose late occupants were now struggling in the
water.
“They've a softer berth of it than I, anyway,” said Jack from the bottom
of the boat, as he rubbed his shoulder ruefully. “I shall get at the
muzzle end of your thundering old blunderbuss next time, captain. Hullo,
there's that rascally----”
The remainder of the exclamation was drowned in the creek, for as he
uttered it Jack took a header over the stern.
“Shift my ballast, what's the young dog arter now? I axes,” cried the
captain, gazing aghast at the spot where Jack had disappeared.
His speedy reappearance solved the riddle. By the queue he grasped a
dripping, half-naked native, whom he dragged after him to the beach. It
was the lascar.
“Hurrah! he's got him this time,” shouted Don, leaping out upon the
sands to lend a hand in landing the prize.
At first the lascar struggled fiercely for liberty; but as Jack was by
no means particular to keep his head above water, he soon quieted down,
and presently, with Dons assistance, was hauled out on the sands, where
he fell on his knees and began whining piteously for mercy.
“Your revolver, Don,” gasped Jack, with a watery side-wink at his
friend. “He shall tell us what he knows of the pearls, or die like the
dog he is.”
Don placed the revolver in his hand, ready cocked. The lascar grovelled
in the sand.
“Sa'b, sa'b!” he whined, “you no shoot, me telling anyting.”
“No doubt you will,” replied Jack significantly, pressing the muzzle of
the weapon to his forehead; “but what I want is the truth. Now, then,
has old Salambo sold the pearls yet? Come, out with it!”
“He n-n-no selling, sa'b,” stammered the terrified native, shrinking as
far away from the pistol as Jack's hold on his queue would permit “Where
are they, then? Come, look sharp!”
“He d-d-done hiding in Elephant Rock, s-s-sa'b,” confessed the lascar,
apparently on the point of fainting with terror.
“Don! Captain! Do you hear that?” cried Jack, half-turning, in the
excitement produced by this disclosure, towards his friends. “He says
old Salambo's hid the pearls in the ---- ------ Phew!”
He stopped, with a shrill whistle of dismay. By a quick upward stroke
of his arm the lascar had sent the revolver spinning, and at the same
instant wrenched himself free from his captor's grasp. Ere Jack could
stir hand or foot, he had plunged headlong into the creek.
“Let him go,” said Jack tranquilly, as the water closed over the
fellow's heels; “we've got an important clue out of him, anyhow.”
The captain slowly lowered the musket he had raised for a shot at
the fugitive should he comet to the surface within range, and said
approvingly:
“Right, lad! Spike my guns, I've heard tell as how that 'ere Elephant
Rock's riddled from main-deck to keelson, so to say, with gangways, and
air-wents, an' sich. Howsomedever, that's matter for arter reflection,
as the whale said to himself when he swallied Jonah. The warmints astarn
there”--indicating that part of the creek where the occupants of the
canoes had taken their involuntary bath--“the warmints astarn ha'
sheered off a p'int or two; so now, lads, let's tackle the perwisions
afore the wail o' night descends, an' then to work!”
The “wail o' night” was not long in descending, for the sun had
disappeared with the lascar. Ere they had done justice to the ample meal
which Puggles set before them, and exchanged the draggled pilgrim garb
for their everyday clothes, the shadows had crept silently from their
hiding-places beneath thicket and cliff, and blotted out the last
lingering touch of day from the bosom of the creek. Save the musical
chirping of some amorous tree-frog to his mate, or the lazy swish of
wings as some belated flying-fox swung slowly past, unbroken silence
reigned between the darkling cliffs.
In the captain's opinion, no immediate repetition of the recent attack
was to be feared. But the events of the day had made it only too plain
that their present position was far from being-one of security. To
remain on board the cutter would be to invite daily skirmishes with the
natives, which would not only deter the quest of the golden pearl, but
prove a source of constant annoyance and danger.
So far as the captain knew, the island afforded no safer retreat than
the hill of the Haunted Pagodas.
The natives of the island, he said, believed this hill to be the abode
of a witch in the form of a ferocious tiger, merely to look upon which
meant death. For this reason they would on no account venture near it.
So upon the Haunted Pagodas they resolved to fall back without delay.
But here an unforeseen difficulty arose.
With the path to the summit of the hill none of the party was acquainted
except the captain, and he was unwilling that the precious cutter should
be entrusted to the care of any one except himself while the several
journeys necessary for the removal of the stores were being made.
“Shiver my main-brace!” roared he, thumping the bottom of the boat with
his wooden leg after they had talked it all over. “Shiver my mainbrace!
I'll go the first trip with ye, lads, an' trust the old cutter to luck.”
“See here, captain,” said Jack persuasively “why not trust her to me?
It's for only one trip, as you say; and besides, there's not much danger
of an attack to-night. You said so yourself.”
To this arrangement the old sailor finally agreed. So Don, Spottie,
and Puggles loaded up with the stores and other necessaries for their
proposed sojourn on the summit of the hill, and a start was made, the
captain leading with musket and lantern.
“Good-bye, Jack!” Don called back, as he struck into the jungle at the
captain's heels. “'Fire a gun if you want help.”
“All right, old fellow,” was Jack's careless reply. “Good-bye till I see
you again!”
'So, with no other companion than Bosin, he was left alone to guard the
cutter.
And now the difficulties of the captain's party began in earnest. The
path before them was, it is true, scarce half a mile in length, but so
precipitous was the hillside, so overgrown the track, that every
furlong seemed a league. The tangled, overhanging jungle growth not only
completely shut out the rays of the moon, but by its thickness impeded
their progress at every step, as though determined to guard the abode
of the witch-tiger from all human intrusion. To make matters worse, they
had neglected to provide themselves with an axe.
“Shiver my main-brace!” the captain cried, as his wooden leg stuck fast
in a tangled mass of creepers. “These 'ere land trips be a pesky sight
worse nor a sea woyage, says you! Blow me! I'd ruther round the Horn in
mid-winter than wade through such wegetation as this 'ere in midnight
darkness! Howsomedever, the port's afore us, so up we goes, as Jonah
says to the whale when he bid the warmint adoo.”
Up they went accordingly, and after much stumbling and tough climbing,
reached the summit and the Haunted Pagodas. Finding here a clear space
and bright moonlight, they quickly relieved themselves of their loads.
“An' now, lads,” cried the captain, “wear ship an' back to the cutter,
says you. Fire my magazine! what's that? I axes.”
Sharp and distinct upon the night air there floated up from the darkness
of the ravine the report of a gun.
Don felt his heart stand still with dread, then race at lightning speed.
“An attack!” he cried hoarsely; “and Jack alone! Hurry, captain!--for
God's sake hurry!
Easier said than done. Haste only added to the difficulties of the way.
It seemed to Don that he should never shake off the retarding clutch of
the jungle.
At last their weary feet pressed again the sands of the little beach.
But now a new terror seized them. The beach was illuminated by a ruddy,
fitful glow..The cutter was on fire!
Don cleared the sands almost at a bound.
“Jack!” he shouted, leaping the cutter's rail, and with lightning glance
scanning the bottom of the boat, and then the cuddy, for some sign of
his friend. “Jack, where are you? Captain, he's not here! and--my God!
look at this!”
Upon the bottom of the boat, showing darkly crimson in the ruddy
firelight, lay a pool of blood, and beside it a discharged musket.