When Captain Scraggs, after abandoning all hope of salving the
bark _Chesapeake_, returned to the _Maggie_, the little craft
reminded him of nothing so much as the ward for the incorrigible
of an insane asylum. Due to Captain Scraggs's stupidity and the
general inefficiency of the _Maggie_, the new navigating officer
was of the opinion that he had been swindled out of his share of
the salvage, while the new engineer, furious at having been
engaged to baby such a ruin as the _Maggie's_ boiler turned out
to be, blamed Scraggs's parsimony for the loss of _his_ share of
the salvage. Therefore, both men aired with the utmost frankness
their opinion of their employer; even Neils Halvorsen was peeved.
Their depression and rage was nothing, however, compared with
that of Captain Scraggs's. He had recklessly jettisoned
approximately two hundred dollars' worth of vegetables; indeed
the loss might go higher, for all he knew. Also, he had lost his
skiff, and McGuffey and Gibney had practically blackmailed him
out of forty dollars. Then, to cap the climax, he had been forced
to abandon two thousand dollars to his enemies; and as the
_Maggie_ crept north at three knots an hour the knowledge that he
must, even against his desires, install a new boiler, overwhelmed
him to such an extent that he found it impossible to submit
silently to the nagging of the navigating officer. One word
borrowed another until diplomatic relations were severed and, in
the language of the classic, they "mixed it." They were fairly
well matched, and, to the credit of Captain Scraggs be it said,
whenever he believed himself to have a fighting chance Scraggs
would fight and fight well, under the Tom-cat rules of fisticuffs.
Following a bloody battle in the pilot house, he subdued the
mate; following his victory he was still war mad, so he went to
the engine-room hatch and abused the engineer. As a result of the
day's events, both men quit when the _Maggie_ was tied up at
Jackson Street wharf and once more Captain Scraggs was helpless.
In his extremity, he wished he hadn't been so hard on Mr. Gibney
and McGuffey, for he realized he could never hope to get them
back until their salvage money should be spent.
He had other tortures in addition. He could not afford to await
the construction of a new boiler, for if he did some other
skipper would cut in on the vegetable trade he had worked up, for
vegetables, being perishable, could not lie on the dock at
Halfmoon Bay longer than forty-eight hours. It behooved Scraggs,
therefore, to place an order for the new boiler and, in the
meantime, to get a gang down aboard the _Maggie_ immediately and
put in at least ten new tubes. By working night and day this job
might be accomplished in forty-eight hours, and, fortunately,
Sunday intervened. Scraggs shuddered at thought of the expense,
for in addition to being parsimonious he had very little ready
cash on hand and no credit.
When Mr. Gibney and McGuffey, wrapped in the calm thrall of their
new-found financial independence, arrived at the _Maggie's_
berth, they were inclined to levity. Indeed, they had come for
the express purpose of spoofing their late employer; to crow over
him and grind his poor soul into the dirt. Fortunately for
Scraggs, he was not aboard, but sounds of activity coming from
the engine room aroused McGuffey's curiosity to such an extent
that he descended thereto at great risk to a new suit of clothes
and discovered four men at work on the boiler. They had cut the
rivets and removed the head and at sight of the ruin disclosed
within, Mr. McGuffey was truly shocked--and awed. Why he hadn't
been blown to Kingdom Come months before was a profound mystery.
He came up and joined Mr. Gibney on a pile of old hemp hawser
coiled on the bulkhead. "Danged if I don't feel sorry for old
Scraggsy, for all his meanness," he declared. "It's goin' to cost
him five hundred dollars to patch up the old boiler an' keep the
_Maggie_ runnin' until he can ship a new boiler. The ol' fool
don't know a thing about the job himself an' there's four men
down there, without a foreman, soldierin' on him an' soakin' him
a dollar an' a half an hour overtime. He's in so deep now he
might as well jump into bankruptcy entirely an' put in a set o'
piston rings, repack the pumps an' the stuffin-box, shim up the
bearin's an' do a lot of little things the old _Maggie's_ just
hollerin' to have done."
"To err is human; to forgive divine," Mr. Gibney orated. "Come to
think of it, Mac, we give the old man all that was comin' to him
the other day--a little bit more, mebbe. He must be raw an'
bleedin', an' it wouldn't be sporty to plague him some more."
"Durned if I don't feel like jumpin' into a suit of dungarees an'
helpin' him out in that engine room, Gib."
"Troubles always comes in a flock, Bart. The Squarehead tells me
his new navigatin' officer an' the new engineer has jumped their
jobs. It's a dollar to a dime he asks us to come back if he sees
us half way willin' to be friendly an' forget the past."
"Well," the philosophical McGuffey declared. "Seein' as how we've
reformed, even with money in bank, we might just as well be
workin' as loafin'. There's more money in it. An' if it wasn't
that Scraggs is so ornery there's worse jobs than me an' you had
on the old _Maggie_."
"I been wonderin' if we couldn't reform Scraggsy by heapin' coals
of fire on his head, Bart."
"What d'ye mean? Heapin' coals o' fire on Scraggs'd sure keep an
ash hoist busy."
"Oh, I dunno, Bart. The old man has his troubles. There's Mrs.
Scraggs a-peckin' at him every time he goes home, an' the
_Maggie's_ a worry, not to mention the fact that there ain't much
more'n a decent livin' for him in the green-pea trade. An' he
ain't gittin' any younger, Bart. You got to bear that in mind."
"Yes, an' he's been disapp'inted in his ambitions," McGuffey
agreed. "On top o' that, the Ocean Shore Railroad is buildin'
down the coast an' as soon as the roadbed is completed over the
San Pedro Mountains them farmers'll haul their produce to the
railhead in motor trucks--an' there won't be no more business for
the _Maggie_. Three months more'll see the _Maggie_ laid up."
Mr. Gibney nodded. "It's just the sweet tenderness of Satan we'll
be flush when Scraggsy's broke, Bart."
"Dang it, Gib, I sure feel sorry for the old man after takin' a
look at that engine room. She's a holy fright."
"Well, we'll make up with him when he comes back, Bart, an' if he
shows a contrite sperrit--well, who knows? We might do somethin'
for him."
"He's got to have some financial help to get that engine turnin'
over again, that's a cinch."
"So I been thinkin'. We might lend him a coupler hundred bones at
ten per cent., secured by a mortgage on the _Maggie_, if he's up
agin it hard. Havin' money in bank is one thing but locatin' an
investment for it is another. I've kidded the old man a lot about
the _Maggie_, but she's worth two thousand dollars if somebody'd
spend a thousand on her inner works an' give her a dab o' paint
an' some new fire hose an' one thing an' another."
"We'll wait here until Scraggs shows up an' see what he says. If
he still says 'Good mornin', boys,' we'll answer him civil an'
see what it leads to, Gib."
Mr. Gibney grunted his approval and Mr. McGuffey, bringing out a
pocket knife, fell to manicuring his terrible finger nails and
paring the callous patches off his palms. Mr. Gibney lighted a
Sailor's Delight cigar and puffed meditatively, the while he
watched a gasoline tug kicking the little schooner _Tropic Bird_
into an adjacent berth. From the _Tropic Bird_ came an odour of
copra and pineapple and Mr. Gibney sighed; evidently that South
Sea fragrance aroused in him old memories, for presently he spat
overboard, watched his spittle float away on the tide, sighed
again, and declared, apropos of nothing:
"When I was a young man, Mac, I was a damned fine young man. I
had a bunch o' red whiskers an' a pair o' fists like two picnic
hams. I was a wonder."
Silently Mr. McGuffey nodded an endorsement of his comrade's
indicated horsepower and peculiar masculine beauty in the days of
the latter's vanished youth. He continued to prune his hands.
"I was six feet two in my socks, when I wore any, which wasn't
often," Mr. Gibney continued. "I've shrunk half an inch since
them days. I weighed a hundred an' ninety-seven pounds in the
buff an' my chest bulged like a goose-wing tops'l. In them days,
I was an evil man to monkey with. I could have taken two like
Scraggsy an' chewed 'em up, spittin' out their bones an' belt
buckles. I sure was a wonder."
"You must ha' been with them red whiskers on your face," McGuffey
agreed. He refrained from saying more, for instinct told him Mr.
Gibney was about to grow reminiscent and spin a yarn, and B.
McGuffey had a true seaman's reverence for a goodly tale, whether
true, half-true, or wholly fanciful.
Mr. Gibney sniffed again the subtle tang of the South Seas
drifting over from the _Tropic Bird_, and when a Kanaka, scantily
clad, came on deck, threw a couple of fenders overside and
retired to the forecastle singing one of those Hawaiian ballads
that are so mournfully sweet and funereal, Mr. Gibney sighed
again.
"Gawd!" he murmured. "I've sure made a hash o' my young life."
"What's bitin' you, Gib?" Mr. McGuffey's voice was molten with
sympathy.
"I was just thinkin'," replied Mr. Gibney, "just thinkin', Mac.
It's the pineapples as does it--the smell of the South Seas. Here
I am, big enough and old enough and ugly enough to know better,
and yet every time the _City Of Papeete_ or the _Tropic Bird_ or
the _Aorangi_ come into port and I see the Kanaka boys swabbin'
down decks and get a snifter o' that fine smell of the Island
trade, my innards wilt down like a mess o' cabbage an' I ain't
myself no more until after the fifth drink."
"Sorter what th' feller calls vain regrets," suggested McGuffey.
"Vain regrets is the word," mourned Mr. Gibney. "It all comes
back to me what I hove away when I was young an' foolish an'
didn't know when I was well off. If there'd only been some
good-hearted lad to advise me, I wouldn't be a-settin' here on a
hemp hawser, a blasted beachcombin' bucko mate and out of a job.
No, siree. I'd 'a' still been King Gibney, Mac, with power o'
life an' death over two thousand odd blackbirds, an' I'd 'a' had
a beautiful wife an' a dozen kids maybe, with pigs an' chickens
an' copra an' shell an' a big bungalow an' money. _That's_ what I
chucked away when I was young an' nobody to advise me."
McGuffey made no comment on Mr. Gibney's outburst. There are
moments in life when silence is the greatest sympathy one can
offer, and intuitively McGuffey felt that he was face to face
with a tragedy. When a shipmate's soul lay bare it was not for
the McGuffey to inspect it too closely.
"Yes, McGuffey, I was a king once. Some people might try to make
out as how I was only a chief, but you take it from me, Mac, I
was a king. I was King Gibney, the first, of Aranuka, in the
Gilberts, with the seat of government at Nonuti, which is a
blackbird village right under Hakatuea. No matter which way you
approach, you can't miss it. Hakatuea's a dead volcano, with
ashes on top and just enough fire inside to cast a glow against
the sky at night. There's a fair anchorage inside the reef, but
it takes a good man to land through the surf at high tide in a
whaleboat. I used to do it regular. Aranuka was a nice place,
with plenty of fresh water, and some of the Island schooners, and
once in a while a British gunboat would stop there. Gawd,
McGuffey, but when I was king, they used to pay dear for their
fresh water, except the gunboats, which of course came on and
helped themselves without askin' no questions of me and
parliament--which was both the same thing. I was in Aranuka first
in '88 and again in '89, and I was a fool for leavin' it."
"What was you doin' in this here Aranuka?" asked Mr. McGuffey.
"In '88 I was blackbirdin' and in '89 I was--why, what d'ye expect a
king does, anyhow? You don't suppose I _worked_, do you? Because I
didn't. I ate and drank and slept and went in swimmin' with the
court officers and did a little fishin' an' fightin'; and on
moonlight nights I used to sprawl in the grass out on the edge of
Hakatuea with my head in my queen's lap, rubberin' up at the
Southern Cross and watchin' the rollers breakin' white over the
reef. And everything'd be as still as death except for that eternal
swishin' of the surf on the beach, babblin' of 'Peace! Peace!
Peace!' an' maybe once in a while the royal voice lifted in one of
them sad slumber songs of the South Seas--creepy and dirgelike and
beautiful. My girl could sing circles around a sky lark. I taught
her how to sing 'John Brown's Body Lies A-Smoulderin' in th' Grave,'
though she didn't have no more notion o' what she was singin' than a
ring-tailed monkey."
"How d'ye come to pick up with her?" inquired McGuffey politely.
"I didn't come to pick up with her," answered Mr. Gibney. "She
took a fancy to them red whiskers o' mine, and picked up with me.
She used to stick hibiscus flowers in them red curtains and stand
off and admire me by the hour. You can imagine how gay I used to
feel with flowers in my whiskers. That was one of the reasons why
I left her finally.
"But them was the days! Me an' Bull McGinty was the two finest
men north or south of the Line. We was worth six ordinary white
men each, and twenty blacks, and we was respected. I first met
Bull McGinty in Shanghai Nelson's boarding house, over in Oregon
Street, not three blocks from where we're settin' now. I was
twenty years old an' holdin' a second mate's ticket, for I'd been
battin' around the world on clipper ships since I was fourteen,
an' I'd bit my way to the front quicker than most. Bull was a big
dark man, edgin' up onto the thirty mark. His great grandmother'd
been a half-breed Batavian nigger, and his father was Irish. Bull
himself was nothin', havin' been born at sea, a thousand miles
from the nearest land. However, that ain't got nothin' to do with
the story. Bull McGinty was skipper an' owner of the schooner
_Dashin' Wave_, 258 tons net register, when I met him in Shanghai
Nelson's place. Also he was broke, with the _Dashin' Wave_ lyin'
out in the stream off Mission Rock with a Honolulu Chinaman
aboard as crew and watchman, while Bull hustled around shore
tryin' to raise funds to outfit her for another trip to the
Islands. He'd been beachcombin' ten days when I met him, and we
took to each other right off.
"'Gib,' says Bull McGinty, 'I like you an' if I ever get money
enough to provision the _Dashin' Wave_, pay the clearance fee,
and put a thousand or two of trade aboard her, you must come mate
with me and if you should have a little money by, enough to fix
us up, I'll not only give you the mate's berth, but I'll put you
in on half the lay.'
"'Done,' says I. 'I ain't got ten cents Mex to my name, but I'll
outfit that vessel an' get her to sea inside two weeks, or my
name ain't Adelbert P. Gibney.'
"To look at me now, McGuffey, you'd never think that in them days
I was one of the smartest young bucks that ever boxed the
compass. I was born with a great imagination, Mac. All my life my
imagination's been my salvation. The ability to grab opportunity
by the tail and twist it was my long suit, so after my talk with
Bull McGinty I took a cruise along the docks, lookin' for an
idea, until I come to Sheeny Joe's place. He used to keep a
sailors' outfittin' joint at Howard and East streets, an' as I
stood in his doorway, the Great Idea sails up to Sheeny Joe's an'
lets go both anchors.
"What was this Idea? It was a waterfront reporter. It was three
waterfront reporters, from three mornin' papers, an' all lookin'
for news.
"'Joe,' says one little runt, all hair an' nose an' eyeglasses,
'there ain't enough news on the Front to-day to dust a hummin'
bird's eyebrow. Give me a story, Joe. Somethin' new an' brimmin'
with human interest. You must have somethin' up your sleeve,
ain't yuh?'
"Sheeny Joe is sellin' a Panama paraqueet a pair o' six-bit
dungarees for a dollar and a half, and he ain't got no time for
reporters, but he looks up an' he sees me lingerin' in the
doorway.
"'Gib,' says he, 'tell these reporter friends o' mine about the
time you was wrecked in the Straits o' Magellan, an' the fight
you had with them man-eatin' Patagonian cannibal savages.'
"Of course, I never was wrecked in no Straits o' Magellan, and as
for man-eatin' Patagonian cannibal savages, I wouldn't know one
if I met him in my grog. But seein' as how Sheeny Joe is busy an'
me owin' him quite a little bill, I have to make good, so I tells
them the most hair-raisin' story they ever listened to. I showed
'em an old scar on my left leg where I was vaccinated once, and
told 'em that's where they shot me with a bow an' arrer. While I
was tellin' my story Sheeny Joe has to run out in th' back yard
an' roll over three times, he's that fascinated with what I'm
tellin' his friends.
"Did them fellers eat it up? They did. The story comes out next
day with trimmin's on th' front page, an' I'm a hero. Of course
me an' Sheeny Joe knows I'm a liar, but what's a lie or two when
you're helpin' out a shipmate? But anyhow, the whole business
gives me the idee I'm lookin' for, an' I takes all three mornin'
papers down to Bull McGinty an' lets him read 'em.
"'Now,' says I, when Bull is through readin', 'you have a sample
of what publicity does for a man. I'm a hero. But that don't
outfit the schooner _Dashin' Wave_. A man don't get no wages as a
hero, Bull. Nevertheless,' says I, 'I have invented a story that
will bring in money,' an' I tell the story to Bull. I don't leave
him until I have that yarn drilled right inter his soul, an' then
I call on Sheeny Joe an' tell him to pass the word to all of his
reporter friends that if they want a good story to go down to
Shanghai Nelson's boardin' house an' ask for Bull McGinty,
skipper o' the schooner _Dashin' Wave_.
"Did they come? Mac, they came a-runnin'. The little nosy guy
with the hair chartered a hack, he was in such a hurry. An' when
they arrive, there sits Bull McGinty, smilin' an' affable, an' he
spills his yarn as easy an' graceful an' slick as a mess o' eels.
There's a island in the Society group, says Bull, which he
discovers on his last trip, an' which ain't in none o' the
British Admiralty notes. It's a regular island, with palms an'
breadfruit an' tamarinds an' mangoes an' such, fine an' fertile,
fifteen miles around the middle, an' plenty o' water. But th'
surprisin' thing about this here island is that it ain't got
nothin' livin' on it except the most beautiful women in all the
South Seas. Accordin' to Bull, there ain't a male man nowhere on
the horizon. Th' men has been fightin' among themselves until
every man Jack has been killed off. Nothin' left but women with
dreamy eyes an' long black hair an' pearly teeth. 'A man,' says
Bull McGinty, 'is at a premium. Over fifteen different girls fell
in love with him before he was ashore ten minutes, an' he had to
pull back to the schooner to escape 'em. At that, says Bull, as
much as a hundred an' twenty-seven of 'em, as near as he could
count, came swimmin' after him and chased the schooner until she
was hull down on the horizon, an' then they give up an' swam back
to home, sobbin' like babies.
"Bull explains that he's so dead stuck on the place he's goin'
back, just as soon as he can get together say a hundred smart
young lads to come in with him on the lay, outfit his schooner,
an' get to sea. Every man that wants to come in on th' deal must
be not less than twenty-one years old and not more than thirty,
an' must be examined by a doctor to see that he ain't afflicted
with no contagious sickness, like consumption, which just raises
fits with them natives, once it gets in amongst 'em. It's Bull's
plan to start a ideal colony, governed on new an' different
lines, an' every man must marry. He can have as many wives as he
can support after each man has had his choice of the herd. The
women are all beautiful, but in order that nobody will have a
kick comin' the choice of wives is to be determined by drawin'
lots. The island is to be fenced off an' each member o' the
expedition is to have so much land.
"In order to do everything shipshape, Bull explains that he has
formed a company to be known as the Brotherhood o' the South
Seas, capitalized for two hundred shares at $500 a share. Bull,
bein' owner o' th' schooner, an' possessin' the secret of the
latitude an' longitude o' the island, an' bein' the movin'
sperrit, so to speak, declares himself in on fifty-one per cent.
o' the capital stock. Stocksellin' will commence just as soon as
the printer can deliver the certificates.
"In the course of a somewhat checkered career, Mac, I've seen some
suckers, an' I've told some lies, but this here was th' crownin'
event of my life. We had applications for stock the next morning
before me an' Bull was out o' bed. Four hundred and thirty-one
would-be colonists comes flockin' around us, tryin' to hand us $500
each. Bull questions 'em all very closely, and outer the lot he
selects the biggest damn fools in evidence. He was careful to select
little skinny men whenever possible. They was a lot o' Willie boys
an' young bloods lookin' for adventure, an' me an' Bull McGinty was
just the lads to give it to 'em in bucketfuls. The little nosy
reporter with the hair was fair crazy to come, but McGinty gets a
jackleg doctor to examine him an' swear that he's sufferin' from
spatulation o' the medulla oblongata, housemaid's knee, and the
hives. We're mighty sorry, but it's agin the by-laws to bring him
along. He felt heartbroken, so just before we up hook with the
expedition, I had Bull give him an' the other newspaper boys a
hundred dollars each. They was fine lads, all three, an' give us
lots o' free advertisin'.
"Bull got greedy an' was for charterin' another schooner an'
givin' all comers a run for their money, but I was wise enough to
see the danger o' numbers, an' argued him out of it. I went mate
on the _Dashin' Wave_, as per program, an' on a lovely summer day
we towed out, with half San Francisco crowdin' the wharves an'
wishin' us bon voyage, which is French for a profitable trip.
"We had a nice lot o' sick children on our hands before we was
over th' Potato Patch. We didn't have a regular crew, exceptin'
Bull McGinty an' me an' the Chinaman who shipped as cook.
However, some of the brotherhood used to go yachting, an' they
was all the crew we needed. We had a fair run to Honolulu, where
we took on five thousand dollars in trade--beads, an' mouth
organs, an' calico, an' juice harps, an' dollar watches, an' a
lot of old army revolvers with the firin' pins filed off, and
what not.
"From Honolulu, we clears for Pago Pago, where all hands went
ashore an' enjoyed themselves visitin' the different points o'
interest. From Pago Pago, we goes to Tahiti, and from Tahiti to
Suva, and in general gives them adventurers as nice a little
summer vacation as they could have wished for. Bull was for
dumpin' the lot at Suva an' gettin' down to business--said he'd
fooled away enough time on the gang--but I argued that we'd took
their money--$50,000 of it, and they was entitled to some kind of
a run, an' if we marooned them, like as not they'd send a gunboat
after us, an' the fat'd be in the fire. Bull gave in to me
finally, though he growled a lot about the profits bein' all et
up by the brotherhood, appetites increasin' considerable at sea,
an' all that.
"Just after we leave Suva we butts into a mild little typhoon,
an' Bull scuds before it under bare poles, with just a wisp o' a
jib to steady her. An' when the brotherhood was pea-green with
seasickness I goes down into the bilges with a big auger an'
scuttles the ship. In about two hours the brother at the wheel
begins to complain that she's heavy an' draggin' like blazes, an'
he fears maybe her seams has opened up under the strain.
"'I shouldn't wonder a bit,' says Bull McGinty, 'she's been
jumpin' like a dolphin', and he goes below to investigate. Two
minutes later he prances up on deck like a lunatic.
"'All hands to the pumps,' he yells; 'there's four feet o' water
in the hold.' Aside he says to me, 'Gib, my boy, you're a jewel.
Not a drop of water in that forward compartment where we piled
the trade.'
"It was a terrible sad sight to see the seasick Brotherhood of
the South Seas staggerin' below to the pumps. We had four pumps,
an' feelin' that they might be able to pump her dry too soon, I
had removed the suction leather from two of them. What a howl
went up when Bull McGinty, roarin' like a sea lion, announces
that all hands is doomed, because two of the pumps is nix
comarous! Just about that time we ships a sea or two, and all
hands lets go the pumps and starts to pray or weep or whatever
they was minded to do under the circumstances. In the general
excitement I slips below an' plugs up one hole, an' forces two
men, at the point of a revolver that wasn't loaded, to pump ship.
They just managed to hold the water level, while up on deck Bull
is tearin' his hair an' cursin' somethin' frightful.
"Well, Mac, we kept that thing up for two days an' two nights,
while the gale lasted, an' when we finally gets under the lee of
an island, all hands are for throwin' up the sponge an' goin'
back home. Somehow or other, the expedition don't look so
enticin' as it did at first. We cleared away both whaleboats and
landed the brotherhood on the island, where there was a wharf an'
a big tradin' station. I forget what they call the place, but
steamers touch there regular. Me an' Bull McGinty and the
Chinaman stayed aboard, pumped out the ship, fixed the pumps, and
plugged the holes in her bottom so nobody could find out. Then we
figures out the price of a passage back to Frisco, second-class,
for the whole bunch, an' me an' Bull goes ashore with a big sack
of Chili dollars an' fixes it up with all hands to let go an'
call it square for the ticket home. They wasn't feelin' as sore
as much as you might imagine. None o' them had the brains or the
spunk of a mouse, and besides we'd give them a mighty good time
of it, all things considered. So, to make a long story short, we
picks up a crew of half a dozen black boys, pulls the two
whaleboats back to the ship, ups hook and sails away on our
legitimate business. We divides the spoils between us, an' my
share is eleven thousand cash an' a half interest in th' trade.
"We do a nice business in shell an' copra, an' such, an' in
Papeete we sell our cargo to a Jew trader an' clean up fifteen
hundred each additional on the voyage, after which Bull declares
he's tired of hucksterin' around like any bloomin' peddler, an'
we make up our minds to do a little blackbirdin'.
"Was you ever a blackbirder, McGuffey? No? Well, you didn't miss
nothin'. It's dirty business. You drop in at a island, an' you
invite the native chief aboard an' get him drunk, and make a
contract with him for so many blackbirds to work for three years
on some other island, or on the coffee or henequen plantations
in Central America, and you promise them big money and lots of
tobacco, and a free trip back when their time is up. What labour
you can't get by dealin' with the chief, you shanghai 'em, and
once in a while you can make a bully good deal, particularly in
the New Hebrides and New Guinea, after a fight when they have a
lot of prisoners on hand which they're goin' to eat until you
come along an' buy 'em for a stick o' tobacco.
"It ain't no fun, blackbirdin', McGuffey. After you've got 'em
aboard, they may take a notion to jump overboard and swim back,
so you get 'em down below an' clap the hatches on 'em until
you're out of sight o' land, an' the beggars howl an' there's
hell to pay.
"Me an' Bull McGinty headed for the Gilberts that first trip, an'
managed to pick up a fair consignment of labour. We touched in at
Nonuti the very last place, which, as I says, is on the island o'
Aranuka, right under the Hakatuea volcano. There was some
strappin' big buck native niggers there that would fetch $300 a
head Mex, an' so me an' Bull goes ashore to pow-wow with the
chief. He was a fat old boy named Poui-Slam-Bang, or some such
name, an' he received us as nice as you please. Me an' Bull
rubbed noses with Poui-Slam-Bang an' all the head men, and they
give a big feed in our honour. Roast pig an' roast duck an'
stewed chicken an' all the tropical trimmin's we had, Mac,
including a little barrel o' furniture polish that Bull brought
ashore, labelled Three Star Hennessy on the outside an' Three Ply
Deviltry inside.
"While we was at the feast, with everybody squattin' around on
their hind legs, pokin' their mits into a big wooden bowl,
Poui-Slam-Bang pipes up his only daughter, a lovely wench about
seventeen years old with a name that nobody can pronounce. I call
her Pinky, and of all the women I ever meets, black, white,
brown, red, or yellow, this Pinky is the loveliest, and has 'em
all hull down. She's wearin' a palm leaf petticoat and a string
o' shark's teeth around her neck with an empty sardine box for a
pendant. She has flowers in her hair, which is braided in
pig-tails, different from the other girls. Her eyes--McGuffey,
_them eyes_! Like a pair of fireflies floatin' in sorghum. And as
she stands there working her toes in th' sand, she never takes
her eyes off them fine red whiskers o' mine.
"Bull gives her a cigar, and it's plain that he's taken with her,
but she never so much as looks at Bull. My whiskers has done the
trick--so bimeby, when all hands is feeling jolly, including me
an' McGinty, I sidles up to Pinky an' sorter gives her to
understand that she wouldn't have to clap me in irons to fondle
them red whiskers o' mine. She sticks a flower in them, Mac,
s'help me, and then giggles foolish an' ducks into the bush.
"Well, we rigs up a deal with Poui-Slam-Bang and next afternoon
stand out for the entrance with forty odd head of labour in
excess of what we had when we arrived. We'd cleared the reef, and
was comin' about around Hakatuea Head, when what d'ye suppose we
sight? Nothin' more or less than Miss Pinky Poui-Slam-Bang
swimmin' right across our bows. She was more than a mile out an'
comin' like a shark, hand over hand. Before I could yell to the
boy at the wheel to luff up, so we wouldn't run the girl down,
we was right on top of her.
"'They'll have to revise the census of Aranuka,' says Bull
McGinty. I do believe we hit that girl an' drove her under.'
"We was both rubberin' astern an' to starboard an' port, but not
a sign o' the girl do we see. I got out my glasses an' searched
around for full half an hour, an' by that time we was five miles
out to sea, and it wasn't no use lookin' any more, an' besides I
had work to attend to.
"We sailed along all the afternoon, over a sea as smooth as a
dance-hall floor. Along about sunset I was up on the fo'castle
head singin' 'Nancy Brown' when who should pop up onto the
bowsprit but Pinky. She sat there a minute danglin' her legs an'
smilin' an' s'help me, Mac, if it hadn't been daylight still, I'd
a-swore she was a sperrit. I jumped two feet in the air an' came
down with my mouth open. Pinky hops up on the bowsprit, and runs
along to the fo'castle head, an' then I seen she was real. The
little cuss! She'd swung herself up into the martingale, an'
there she'd squatted all the afternoon until we was out o' sight
o' land. Of course, she got a ducking every few minutes, but
what's a duckin' to them kind o' people?
"I grabs hold o' Pinky, mighty glad to know we hadn't killed her,
and brings her before Bull McGinty.
"'She's in love with some one of these black bucks aboard,' says
Bull. 'That's why she's followed. Isn't she the likely lookin'
wench, Gib? I do believe I'll----'
"'No, you won't do no such thing, Bull,' says I. 'The fact o' the
matter is the girl's in love with me, an' if anybody's to have
her it'll be Adelbert P. Gibney.'
"'I'm not so sure o' that, Gib,' says Bull McGinty. 'I'm skipper
here.'
"'Well, I'm mate,' says I, 'with a half interest in this
expedition.'
"'I'll fight you for her,' says Bull very pleasantly.
"'No,' says I, 'I'm opposed t' fightin' a shipmate under such
circumstances, and moreover we're the only two white men aboard,
an' if we fight I think I'll kill you, an' then I'd be lonesome.
As a compromise, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll give Pinky
the freedom o' the ship, an' me an' you'll have a cribbage
tournament from now until we drop anchor at Santa Maria del Pilar
(that's a dog hole on the Guatemala coast). We'll play every
chance we get, an' the lad that's ahead when we let go the anchor
at Santa Maria del Pilar gets Pinky.'
"'Fair enough,' says Bull, 'an' here's my hand on it.'
"We had a smart passage o' fifteen days, and in that time me an'
Bull McGinty plays just one hundred and eighteen games. We had to
quit in the middle o' the last, with the score fifty-eight games
to fifty-nine in Bull's favour, in order to let go the anchor at
Santa Maria del Pilar. While we was up on deck, what do you
suppose Pinky goes and does? She slips down to the cabin and
fudges my peg three holes ahead. It seems that Bull, who talked
the island lingo, has been braggin' to her an' tellin' her what
we've been up to. The minute we have the anchor down, me an' Bull
returns to the game. It's nip an' tuck to the finish an' I win by
one point, Bull dyin' in the last hole, which makes the thing a
draw.
"Says I to Bull McGinty: 'Bull, we can't both have her.'
"Says Bull to me: 'I hereby declare this tournament no contest,
an' move that we sell the lady with the rest o' the herd, an' no
hard feelin's between shipmates.'
"Nothin' could be fairer than that an' I tells Bull I'm willin'.
So we sold Pinky for $200 Mex to Don Luiz Miguel y Oreña, an'
sailed away for another flock o' blackbirds.
"We had busy times for the next six months until we found
ourselves back at Santa Maria del Pilar with another cargo of
savages. But all that time I'd been feelin' a little sneaky on
account o' sellin' Pinky, an' as soon as we dropped anchor I had
the boys pull me ashore, an' I chartered a white mule an' shapes
my course for the hacienda of this Don Luiz Miguel y Oreña. I was
minded to see how Pinky was gettin' on.
"It was comin' on dusk when I rides into Oreña's place, an' all
th' hands was just in from the fields. The labour shacks was
built in a kind of square along with the warehouses, an' in the
centre o' this square was a snubbin' post, with bull rings, an'
hangin' to this snubbin' post, with her hands triced up to the
bull rings, was Pinky Poui-Slam-Bang with a little Colorado claro
man standing off swingin' a rope's end on poor little Pinky's
bare back.
"I'm not what you'd call a patient man, McGuffey, an' bein' o'
th' sea and not used to ridin' horses, not to speak o' white
mules, I was sore in more ways than one. I luffs up alongside o'
this dry land bo'sum an' punches once. Then I jumps off my white
mule, takes the swab by the heels, an' chucks him over the
warehouse into a cactus bush. Don Oreña was there an' he makes
objections to me gettin' fresh with his help so, I tucks Don
Oreña under my arm, lays him acrosst my knee, and gives him a
taste o' th' rope's end. He hollers murder, but I bats him around
until he can't let out another peep, after which I grabs a
machete that's handy an' chases the entire male population into
the jungle. When I gets back, Pinky is hanging to the bull rings,
about dead. I cuts her down, swings her on th' mule, an' makes
for the coast. We was aboard th' _Dashin' Wave_ next mornin'.
"Bull was settin' up on top o' th' house eatin' an orange when me
an' Pinky comes over th' rail.
"'Bull McGinty' says I, 'you're a sea captain. Come down off that
house an' marry me to Pinky Poui-Slam-Bang.'
"'With pleasure,' says Bull, an' he done it, announcin' us man
an' wife by all th' rules an' regulations o' th' Department o'
Commerce an' Labour, th' _Dashin' Wave_ being registered under
th' American flag.
"Six weeks later I sets Pinky down on the beach at Nonuti, an' we
both go up to her old man's shack for the parental blessin'. I
expected Poui-Slam-Bang would slaughter th' roasted hog upon th'
prodigal's return, but come t' find out, the old boy's been took
in a scrap with one o' the hill tribes, an' speculation's rife as
to his final disposition. Pinky allows that pa's been et up, an'
she havin' no brothers is by all the rules o' the game queen o'
Aranuka. Of course, me bein' her husband, I'm king. You can't get
around my rights to the job nohow. For all that Pinky stands in
with me, however, a big wild-eyed beggar makes up his mind that
he'll make a better king than Adelbert P. Gibney, an' he comes at
me with a four-foot war club, with two spikes drove crosswise
through the business end o' it. As he swings, I soaks him between
the eyes with a ripe breadfruit, with the result that his aim's
spoiled an' he misses. So I took his club away an' hugged him
until I broke three ribs, an' he was always good after that. I
wanted t' be king, but I didn't believe in sheddin' no blood for
the mere sake of office.
"Well, McGuffey, I was king of Aranuka for nearly six months. I
was a popular king, too, an' there was never no belly-achin' at
my decisions. I had a double-barrelled muzzle-loadin' shotgun, a
present from Bull McGinty. Bull was all broke up at me desertin'
the _Dashin' Wave_, but I promised to save all the Aranuka trade
for him an' for nobody else, an' he stood off for Suva to get
himself another mate.
"At first it was great business bein' king, an' I enjoyed it. I
learned Pinky to speak a little English an' she learned me her
lingo, an' we got along mighty fine. Pinky would lay awake
nights, snoopin' around listenin' to what the rest o' the gang
had to say about me, and twice she put me wise to uprisin's that
threatened my throne. I used to get the ring leaders in my arms
an' hug 'em, an' after one hug from Adelbert P. Gibney in them
days----
"Well, as I was sayin', it was nice enough until the novelty wore
off, an' there was nothin' to do that I hadn't done twenty times
before. I thought some o' goin' to war with the wild niggers in
the hills, an' avengin' my father-in-law's death, but I couldn't
get my army more than three miles inland, so I had to give that
up. Before three months had passed I wanted to abdicate the worst
way. I wanted to tread a deck again, an' rove around with Bull
McGinty. I wanted th' smell o' the open sea an' th' heave o' th'
_Dashin' Wave_ underfoot. I was tired o' breadfruit an' guavas
an' cocoanuts an' all th' rest o' th' blasted grub that Pinky was
feedin' me, an' most of all I was gettin' tired o' Pinky. She
_would_ put cocoanut oil in her hair. Yet (here Mr. Gibney's
voice vibrated with emotion as he conjured up these memories of
his lurid past) it never occurred to me, at the time, I was that
young an' foolish, that she was doin' it for _me_. She was as
beautiful as ever, an' Gawd knows nobody but a fool would get
tired o' such a fine woman, every inch a queen, but I was just
that foolish.
"I got so lonesome I wouldn't eat. I wished McGinty would show up
an' relieve me of my kingship. An' one night sure enough he came.
It was moonlight--you've been in the tropics, McGuffey, you know
what real moonlight is--an' I was lyin' out on th' edge of
Hakatuea overlookin' the beach. I'd spotted a sail at sunset an'
somethin' told me it was the _Dashin' Wave_. Pinky was with me,
rubbin' my head an' braidin' my whiskers an' cooin' over me like
a baby, as happy as any woman could be.
"Along about ten o'clock, I should say, here comes the _Dashin'
Wave_ around the headland. I could see her luff up an' come about
with her bow headed straight for the entrance between the reefs,
an' th' water purlin' under her forefoot. Everything was as still
as the grave, an' only the surf was swishin' up th' beach sobbin'
'Peace! Peace!' and there wasn't no peace for King Gibney. Pretty
soon I heard the creak of the blocks an' the smash o' th' mast
hoops as th' mains'l came flutterin' down--then th' sound o' the
cable rushin' through the hawsepipes as her hook took bottom. In
the moonlight I could see Bull McGinty standin' by the port
mizzen shrouds with a megaphone up to his face, and his voice
comes up to me like the bugle blast of Kingdom Come.
"'O, Gib! Are you there?'
"'Aye, aye, sir.'
"'Have ye et your full o' th' lotus?' says Bull.
"'Hard tack an' salt horse for King Gibney,' I yells back. 'I
ain't no vegetarian no more, Bull. Do you need a smart mate?'
"I could hear Bull McGinty chucklin' to himself.
"'You young whelp,' says Bull. 'I knew you'd outgrow it. They all
do, when they're as young as you. I'll send the whaleboat ashore.
Kiss Pinky good-bye for me, too,' he adds.
"Two minutes later I heard the boat splash over the stern davits
an' the black boys raisin' a song as they lay to their work. I
turns to Pinky, takes her in my arms an' kisses her for the first
time in three weeks, an' she knows that th' jig is up. She might
'a' slipped a dirk in me, but she wasn't that kind. Women is
women, McGuffey, the world over. Pinky just kissed me half a
hundred times an' cries a little, holdin' on to me all th' time,
for naturally she don't like to see me go. Finally I have to make
her break loose, an' I climbs down over the bluff an' wades out
to my waist to meet the boat. I was aboard th' _Dashin' Wave_ in
two twos, shakin' hands with Bull McGinty, an' ten minutes later
we had th' anchor up an' th' sails shook out, an' standin' off
for the open sea. An' the last I ever saw of Mrs. Pinky Gibney
was a shadowy figger in th' moonlight standin' out on th' edge o'
Hakatuea Head. The last I hear of her was a sob."
Mr. Gibney's voice was a trifle husky as he concluded his tale.
He opened and closed his clasp knife and was silent for several
minutes. Presently he sighed.
"When a feller's young, he never stops to think o' th' hurt he
does," continued the erstwhile king of Aranuka. "Sometimes I lay
awake at nights an' wonder whatever became o' Pinky. I can see
her yet, standin' in th' moonlight, as fine a figger o' a woman
as ever lived. Savage or no savage, she was true an' beautiful,
an' I was a mighty dirty dawg." Mr. Gibney wiped away a
suspicious moisture in his eyes and blew his nose unnecessarily
hard.
"You was," coincided McGuffey. "You was all o' that. What became
o' Bull McGinty?"
"He married a sugar plantation in Maui. He's all right for the
rest o' his life. An' as for me as gave him his start, look at
me. Ain't I a sight? Here I am, forty-two years old an' only a
thousand dollars in my pocket. Instead of bein' master of a
clipper ship, I'm mate on a dirty little bumboat. I fall asleep
on deck an' dream an' somethin' drops on my face an' wakes me up.
Is it a breadfruit, Mac? It is not. It's a head of cabbage. I
grab something to throw at Scraggs's cat. Is it a ripe mango? No,
it's a artichoke. In fancy I go to split open a milk cocoanut.
What happens? I slash my thumb on a can o' condensed cream.
Instead o' th' Island trade, I'm runnin' in th' green-pea trade,
twenty miles of coast, freightin' garden truck! My Gawd!"
Mr. Gibney stood up and dusted the seat of his new suit. He was
dry after his long recital and Captain Scraggs was too long
putting in an appearance, so he decided not to wait for him.
"Let's go an' stow away a glass of beer," he suggested to
McGuffey. "I'm thirstier'n a camel."
McGuffey was willing so they left the bulkhead for the more
convivial shelter of the Bowhead saloon.