Ambergris, though used in the production of scent, has no smell or
only the faintest trace of odour when warmed; it is the ugliest stuff
in the world, and as valuable as gold. Harman’s bother was that he did
not know the weight of the lump. He reckoned, going by comparison with
pigs of small ballast, that it might be half a hundred-weight, but the
table of weights and measures barred him. He could not tell the number
of ounces in a half hundred-weight.
“Well, it don’t much matter,” said he at last. “If you’re not lyin’
and it’s worth twenty dollars an ounce, then it’s worth twenty times
its weight in dollars, and that’s good enough for us. Twenty bags of
dollars as heavy as that lump of muck is good enough for Billy Harman.
Say, it beats Jonah, don’t it? when you look at that stuff, which
isn’t more nor less than good dinners by the hundred and bottles of
fizz and girls by the raft-load. And to think of an old whale coughin’
it up; makes a chap b’lieve in the Scriptures, don’t it, seein’ what
it is and seein’ where it come from, and seein’ how Providence shoved
it right into our hands.”
“We haven’t cashed it yet,” said Davis.
“No, but we will,” replied the other. “I feel it in my bones. I’ve got
a hunch the luck ain’t runnin’ streaky this time. Somethin’ else is
comin’ along; you wait and see.”
He was right. Next morning, an hour after sunrise, a stain of smoke
showed on the south-eastern horizon.
Steamers in those days were fewer in the Pacific even than now, but
this was a steamer right enough.
“She’s coming dead for us,” said Davis, as the hull showed clear now
of smoke. “Brail up the sail and stand by to signal her—what you make
her out to be?”
“Mail boat,” said Harman. “Sydney-bound, I’ll bet a dollar. You’ll be
hearin’ the passengers linin’ up and cheerin’ when we’re took aboard,
and then it’ll be drinks and cigars and the best of good livin’ till
we touch Circular Wharf. But I ain’t goin’ in for hard drinks, not
till we cash in this ambergris, and not then, only may be a bottle of
fizz to wet the luck. No, sir, seein’ Providence has dealt with us
handsome, Billy’s goin’ to do likewise with her. Providence don’t hold
with the jag, which ain’t more nor less than buyin’ headaches, and
di’mond studs for bar tenders and sich. Providence is dead against the
drink, and don’t you forget that.”
“Why, you were talking only last night of buying a saloon in ’Frisco,”
said Davis.
“That ain’t buyin’ drink,” countered Mr. Harman. “Nor swallerin’ it,
which is what I’m arguin’ against—— Look at her how she’s liftin’.”
They said no more, watching the oncoming boat, now showing her bridge
canvas distinct from her hull. Then suddenly Davis spoke.
“That’s no mail boat,” said Davis, “not big enough, stove-pipe funnel,
and look at that canvas. She’s not even a B.P. boat—some old tub
carrying copra or trade.”
“Not she,” said Harman. “Steam don’t pay in the copra business,
bunkers have to be too big, seein’ there’s no coalin’ stations much in
the islands.”
“We’ll soon see,” said Davis, and they did.
The stranger came shearing along, showing up now as a five or six
hundred ton squat cargo boat, riding high and evidently in ballast,
with a rust-red stove-pipe funnel and a general air of neglect that
shouted across the sea.
Then the thud of the engines ceased, a yoop of her siren cut the air
like a whiplash, and a string of bunting blew out.
Harman waved his shirt, and as the stranger came gliding on to them he
got ready to catch the rope that a fellow was preparing to cast from
the bow.
As they came alongside, lifting and falling with the swell, a big
red-faced man, leaning over the bridge rail, began shouting
directions, whilst Davis, seizing the ladder which had been dropped,
climbed on deck, leaving Harman to manage the canoe.
The _Oskosh_ was the name of the hooker, and Billy Schumways was the
name of her master and owner. He was the big man on the bridge; seven
days out from Arafata Lagoon with a crew of Chinks and a Savage Island
bo’sun, makin’ down for Fuanatafi in a hurry. All of which he roared
at Davis from the bridge and at Harman from over the bridge side.
“Claw on and kim up,” cried Captain Schumways to the hesitating
Harman. “Cut that canoe adrift and come on deck, and don’t be wastin’
my time, or I’ll ring the injins on. What’s that you’re sayin’?
Ambergris, what’s ambergris? Ain’t got no time to be muckin’
about—there, bring it if you want to.” He paused whilst Harman,
having fastened a rope flung by Davis round the precious ambergris,
came on deck guiding it up. Then, when they were both over the rail,
Schumways, ringing the engines full speed ahead, came down from the
bridge.
“Where’d you get that muck?” asked Captain Schumways, after they’d
given their names and a yarn about having been drifted off an island
when fishing. “Picked it up, did you? Well, you can shove it in the
scupper if you’re set on keepin’ it, and now follow me down and I’ll
show you your quarters. I’m sufferin’ for extra help in the
engine-room and I reckon you’ve got to work your passage.”
He led the way to the saloon hatch and down to the saloon.
The _Oskosh_ had been a Farsite Enfield boat running from ’Frisco to
Seattle. Cargo, Klondyke diggers and, lastly, contraband had reduced
her from respectability and cleanliness to her present state. The
saloon was a wreck and ruin, the panelling split, the fittings gone,
bunks filled with raffle and oddments, the table covered with old
oil-cloth showing the marks of coffee cups, and over all a dank
throat-catching atmosphere of decay, cockroaches and dirty bunk
bedding.
Schumways inhabited the cabin aft. He pointed out two bunks to port
and starboard.
“Them’s yours,” said he, “and there’s beddin’ and to spare. You’ll
mess here, bein’ whites, and you’ll take your orders from me and
Sellers; when you’ve cleared out them bunks and got your beddin’ in
come along up and I’ll show you your job.”
He left them and went on deck, and Bud Davis sat down on the edge of a
bunk.
“Say, Billy,” said Bud, “how about those passengers lining up and
cheering? How about those soft drinks you were talking of?—or would
you sooner have a highball?—and we’re to take our orders from him and
Sellers. What I’m proposing to do is go up right now, catch him by the
hoofs, and dump him over side, scrag Sellers, whoever he is, and take
the ship. That’s how I’m feeling.”
“Ain’t no use,” said Harman. “Fightin’s a mug’s game. That chap’s a
sure enough tough and we haven’t no guns. Lay low is the word, more
especial as this packet is contraband and we’ve only to wait to get
’em by the short hairs. Contraband—look at her, guns or opium, with
blackbirdin’ maybe thrown in, that’s all there is to her.”
Davis assented. These two old Pacific hands had an eye from which no
ship could hide her character for sea-unworthiness or
disrespectability; Schumways matched his ship, and Sellers, when he
turned up, would be sure to match Schumways; the crew were Chinks, and
the case was plain. Not that it bothered Bud or Billy; their one
thought as they worked clearing the bunks and settling the bedding was
the ambergris.
Schumways knew nothing of ambergris or its value—that fact was quite
plain—but it would never do to leave it lying in the scupper, and
Harman having poked his head up through the hatch and found a clear
deck, they got it down, stowed it in a spare bunk occupied by a filthy
rug, a suit of oilskins and a paraffin tin, covering it with the rug.
Then they came on deck, and the captain of the _Oskosh_, coming down
from the bridge, introduced them to the engine-room and Sellers, a
wire-drawn Yankee, six feet two, who introduced them to the engines
and the stokehold.
“Chinks are firin’ her now,” said Sellers, “but you’ll hold yourself
ready to take a hand at the shovellin’ if wanted. I’ll larn you how to
shoot the stuff; that’s a pressure gauge—you’ll get to know it before
you’ve done—and that’s an ile can—you’ll get to know her too.” He
led the way down a passage four foot broad to a transverse passage
eight foot broad, where, under a swinging oil lamp, Chinks, naked to
the waist, were firing up. He opened the door of a long blazing tunnel
and seized a shovel, the coal came down a chute right on to the floor,
and taking a shovelful he demonstrated.
“Stokin’s not shootin’ coal into a fu’nace, it’s knowin’ where to
shoot it. Every fu’nace has hungry places: there’s one, that dull
patch up there, and there’s the food for it.” A shovelful of coal went
flying into the gehenna right on to the dull patch, and, dropping the
shovel, he seized an eight-foot bar of steel. “M’r’over, it’s not all
shovellin’, it’s rakin’. Here’s your rake and how to use it. Then
you’ve got to tend the ashlift, and when you’ve larnt not to stick
your head in the fire when she’s pitchin’ hard you’ll be a stoker;
ain’t nothin’ to it but the work an’ the will.”
“But see here, cully,” said Mr. Harman. “We ain’t signed on for
stokin’ in this packet; engine-room fiddlin’ is stretchin’ a point
with A.B.’s, but stokin’s outside the regulations. Clear, and by Board
o’ Trade rules——”
“That’s them on board the _Oskosh_,” said Sellers, producing a
revolver, which he exhibited lying flat in the palm of his huge hand
as though he were showing a curiosity. “Six rules an’ regulations,
soft-nosed—and don’t you forget it, son!”
Through days of blazing azure and nights of phosphorescent seas the
_Oskosh_ plugged steadily along on her course. She was square-rigged
on the foremast, and used sail-power to assist the engines when the
wind held, and always and ever, despite her dirt, her disorder, and
the general slovenliness of her handling, she kept a bright eye out
for strangers. When Schumways was not on the bridge using the
binoculars, they were in the hands of the Savage Island bo’sun—a fact
noted by Billy and Bud when those unfortunates had time to note
anything in the midst of their multitudinous occupations.
They were not always put to stoking in this horrible ship, where
things went anyhow and work was doubled for want of method. They would
be oiling in the engine-room under command of Sellers when, maybe, the
voice of Schumways would come ordering “them roustabouts” up to handle
the sails: sail-handling, greasing, emptying slush tubs, helping in
engine-room repairs, “lendin’ a hand in the stoke’old”—it was a mixed
meal of work that did not please the appetites of Billy or Bud. Yet
they had to swallow it. Kicking was no use. Harman tried it, and was
kicked by Sellers, and took the injury and insult without retaliating.
Fighting was a mug’s game, but deep in his soul Billy Harman
formulated an oath of revenge, swearing that somehow, somewhere, and
somewhen he would be even with the _Oskoshites_ to the ultimate limit
of their back teeth and the last short hairs of their persons.
He communicated this darkly to his fellow-sufferer, who laughed.
They were seated at breakfast feasting on the leavings of Schumways
and Sellers and Davis told him to close up.
“You give me the mullygrubs with your talk,” said Davis. “Whenever you
open your fool-mouth something happens wrong way about. This was a
passenger packet, wasn’t it, and we were to sit in the saloon bein’
admired by the passengers, weren’t we? And was it Fourth Street or
Fifth Street you were goin’ to open that whisky joint? And fighting is
a mug’s game, according to you, whereas if we’d wiped the engine-room
floor with Sellers first day instead of knuckling down to him we’d
have stood on this ship as men, instead of being a hog-driven pair of
roustabouts begging for scraps and emptying slush tubs. Too late now;
they’ve got the better of us and know our make, which is putty, owing
to you. Even with them! Why, I’ll bet twenty dollars to a nickel if
you try any of your home-made tricks they’ll be even with us. Talking
is all you’re good for—fighting’s a mug’s game!”
“So it is,” replied Mr. Harman. “Fool fightin’s no use; hittin’ out
and gettin’ belted’s one thing, but stragety’s another, and that’s
what I’m after, and if I don’t get my knife in these chaps’ ribs
behind their backs and unknownst to them, you can take me home and
bury me—and it won’t be long either!”
He was right.
That very evening they lifted Fuanatafi, their destination, a purple
cloud in the sunset glow and a cloud of ebony by night as they lay off
and on, listening to the far sound of the breakers till dawn revealed
the great island in all its splendour and isolation; for Fuanatafi,
like Nauru, has no harbour, just a landing beach to westward where
boats can put in, razor-backed reefs keep ships a mile from the shore
and make the place pretty useless for trade.
As the light broke full on the island Billy Harman, who had come on
deck and was standing with Davis by the lee rail, saw away to
southward another island with a peak-like summit, and to westward of
that two small islets circled with moving clouds—gulls.
“Why, Lord bless my soul,” said he, “I’ve been here before, six years
ago it was, and we took off a raft of turtle-shell for six cases of
gin. Christopher Island was the other name they give it, and it’s head
centre for all sorts of black doin’s. That island to suthard is
Levisca, and it’s been blackbirded till there ain’t scarcely no
Kanakas left on it. Now, I wonder what Schumways is landin’ here.”
As if in answer to his question two Chinks came aft carrying a long
deal box between them, which they dumped close by the foremast.
The main hatch was open, and they could see more boxes being brought
up, six in all, and each one, as it came on deck, was carried forward,
the whole being stacked in one pile and covered with a tarpaulin. The
engines ceased their dead-slow tramp: then came an order from the
bridge and the roar and rasp of the anchor chain filled the morning
air, echoing across the water and lifting the reef gulls in clanging
spirals.
Schumways dropped down from the bridge and Sellers rose from the
engine-room, wiping his hands with a piece of cotton waste; he had put
on his coat and wore an old panama on his head ready for shore. Then
at an order from Schumways the starboard quarter-boat was lowered,
Harman and Davis were ordered into it, and the Captain of the _Oskosh_
and his engineer took their places in the stern sheets.
Nothing could be more lovely than the morning light on the streets of
blue water between the reefs or the view of the great island washed by
the calm, ponded sea and waiting for the approaching boat, loveliness
that left no trace, however, on the minds of Bud and Billy labouring
at the oars, or of Schumways and Sellers smoking in the stern.
As they ran the boat’s nose on to the beach, out from the groves to
right and left stepped a dozen Kanakas armed with spears. Casting
their spears on the sand, they trod on them whilst Sellers and his
companion, walking up the beach with hands outstretched, greeted the
chief man, bright with palm oil, absolutely naked, and adorned simply
with half a willow-pattern soup plate worn as a pendant.
The Kanakas and the two whites seemed old friends, and the whole lot,
after a moment’s chatter, disappeared into the groves, leaving Bud and
Billy on the beach by the stranded boat.
“They’re off to the village,” said Harman. “Wonder what they’re up
to? Bargainin’ most like over them guns.”
“What guns?” asked Davis.
“Them cases we left on deck, them’s guns, or my name’s not Billy
Harman. There’s six guns in each of them cases, that’s thirty-six for
the lot, and I expect Schumways will be askin’ old Catch-em-alive-o
ten pound apiece for them in coin or shell—maybe in bêche-de-mer, for
that’s as good as bank notes. That’s three hundred and sixty pounds
and the durned things didn’t cost him sixty. I’ll bet——” He turned.
Someone came breaking through the trees; it was Sellers.
“Hike off back to the ship and bring them cases,” cried Sellers, “the
ones we’ve left on deck. If you can’t bring the whole six, bring four,
and you can go back for the other two. Now then, you lazy sweeps,
grease yourselves and get goin’.”
“Blast him!” said Davis as they pushed off across the inner lagoon
towards the reef break leading to the outer reef channels sparkling
blue in the sun.
“No use swearin’,” said Hannan, “it don’t cut no ice—— Bud, I’ve got
them.”
“What do you mean?” asked Davis.
“Got ’em all in the fryin’ pan, b’gosh. It’s only jumped into my head
this minute. Told you I’d get even with them at last, and now I’ve as
good as done it.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Bud.
“You never mind,” replied Billy, “you do as I’m askin’ you and I’ll
show you. Lay into your strokes now, and that’s all you have to do at
the present minit.”
He seemed delighted with himself as he rowed, chuckling and chortling
as though he already had the _Oskoshites_ down and out. Bud, who knew
Billy’s mentality from long practice and use, was not so elated. He
knew that Harman, amongst his other mental qualities, was likely to go
blind of one eye when seeing red or when ambition was at fever heat,
and Billy was undoubtedly seeing red. Full of the thirst for revenge
at having been made to work, at having been kicked and spoken to with
contumely, he was fit for anything just now.
“What is it that’s in your mind, Billy?” asked the other as they drew
up to the _Oskosh_.
“You wait and see,” said Harman; “say nuthin’ and follow my lead
prompt and we’ve got them on a split stick.”
The Chinks stood by the ladder as Harman went up it, leaving Davis to
mind the boat; then on deck he gave the Kanaka bo’sun his orders, and,
while the cases were being got into the boat, stepped below.
He came up in a few minutes and helped with the last case, then,
dropping into the boat beside Davis, he pushed off and they began
rowing towards the shore.
“Go slow,” said Harman, “and don’t pull hard. The breeze is backin’
into the north and I’ll have the mast up in a minute, then we can run
for Levisca. We could row there quick enough, but it’s easier to sail.
After we’ve taken on grub and water there we can push farther south.”
“What the blue blazes are you talking of?” said Davis. “You mean
running away in this boat?”
“Yep,” replied Harman.
“But, you fool, they’ll up steam and be after us before we’ve got
half-way there.”
“Not they,” replied the strategist, “you wait an’ see. You keep your
eye on the old _Oskosh_ and you’ll see somethin’ funny in a minute.”
He ceased rowing, so did Davis, and the boat rocked on the swell,
then, as he got the mast stepped and the sail shaken out, Davis, whose
eyes were fixed on the far-off ship, gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Why, she’s lying awfully low in the water.”
“Yes,” said Harman quite simply. “I’ve opened the sea-cocks.”
“You’ve _what_?” cried the other.
“Opened the sea-cocks when I went below. The Chinks haven’t twigged
yet that she’s sinkin’, she’s goin’ peaceful as a dyin’ Christian.
Look”—a column of steam was rising from the funnel of the sinking
ship—“they’ve twigged it now, but they don’t know what’s sinkin’ her,
and if they did they haven’t enough sense to know what to do. B’sides,
it’s too late. Look, they’re gettin’ out the boats; now help me to
dump these durned cases and bring the sheet aft.”
Davis did as he was told, then as the boat lay over, making a long
board for Levisca, he suddenly leant forward towards Harman, his face
injected with blood.
“You’ve done it, haven’t you?” shouted Davis.
“Yes, b’gosh I have,” said Harman complacently, his eyes fixed on the
_Oskosh_ sinking by the head and with her stem high in the air.
“Wouldn’t tell me your plans, would you? So full of hitting Schumways
you had no thought of anything else, weren’t you? Well, you sainted
fool, what about that ambergris?”
“What ambergris? Oh, Lord! the ambergris,” said the wretched Harman,
suddenly remembering. “We’ve left it behind!”
“You’ve left it, you mean. What would it have cost to have taken two
Chinks down and fetched it up and stowed it in the boat? Not a
nickel—and it was worth twenty thousand dollars.”
Harman said nothing. The _Oskosh_ was making her last plunge and the
over-loaded boats were making for shore, then his face slowly
brightened as the face of Sellers and the face of Schumways rose
before him—the two men who had forcibly introduced him to work. “It
was worth it,” said he; “if it was five hundred dollars an ounce, it
was worth it.”
“What was worth it?” asked Davis.
“Losin’ that ambergris,” replied Mr. Harman.