Mr. Gibney had made a splendid job of changing the vessel's name,
and as she chugged lazily out of Panama Bay and lifted to the
long ground-swell of the Pacific, it is doubtful if even her late
Mexican commander would have recognized her. She was indeed a
beautiful craft, and Commodore Gibney's heart swelled with pride
as he stood aft, conning the man at the wheel, and looked her
over. It seemed like a sacrilege now, when he reflected how he
had trained the gun of the old _Maggie_ on her that day off the
Coronados, and it seemed to him now even a greater sacrilege to
have brazenly planned to enter her as a privateer in the
struggles of the republic of Colombia. The past tense is used
advisedly, for that project was now entirely off, much to the
secret delight of Captain Scraggs, who, if the hero of one naval
engagement, was not anxious to take part in another. In Panama
the freebooters of the _Maggie II_ learned that during Mr.
Gibney's absence on his filibustering trip the Colombian
revolutionists had risen and struck their blow. After the fashion
of a hot-headed and impetuous people, they had entered the
contest absolutely untrained. As a result, the war had lasted
just two weeks, the leaders had been incontinently shot, and the
white-winged dove of peace had once more spread her pinions along
the borders of the Gold Coast.
Commodore Gibney was disgusted beyond measure, and at a special
meeting of the syndicate, called in the cabin of the _Maggie II_
that same evening, it was finally decided that they should embark
on an indefinite trading cruise in the South Seas, or until such
time as it seemed their services must be required to free a
downtrodden people from a tyrant's yoke.
Captain Scraggs and McGuffey had never been in the South Seas,
but they had heard that a fair margin of profit was to be wrung
from trade in copra, shell, cocoanuts, and kindred tropical
products. They so expressed themselves. To this suggestion,
however, Commodore Gibney waved a deprecating paw.
"Legitimate tradin', boys," he said, "is a nice, sane, healthy
business, but the profits is slow. What we want is quick profits,
and while it ain't set down in black and white, one of the
principal objects of this syndicate is to lead a life of wild
adventure. In tradin', there ain't no adventure to speak of. We
ought to do a little blackbirdin', or raid some of those Jap
pearl fisheries off the northern coast of Formosa."
"But we'll be chased by real gunboats if we do that," objected
Captain Scraggs. "Those Jap gunboats shoot to kill. Can't you
think of somethin' else, Gib?"
"Well," said Mr. Gibney, "for a starter, I can. Suppose we just
head straight for Kandavu Island in the Fijis, and scheme around
for a cargo of black coral? It's only worth about fifty dollars a
pound. Kandavu lays somewhere in latitude 22 south, longitude 178
west, and when I was there last it was fair reekin' with cannibal
savages. But there's tons of black coral there, and nobody's ever
been able to sneak in and get away with it. Every time a boat
used to land at Kandavu, the native niggers would have a
white-man stew down on the beach, and it's got so that skippers
give the island a wide berth."
"Gib, my _dear_ boy," chattered Captain Scraggs, "I'm a man of
peace and I--I----"
"Scraggsy, old stick-in-the-mud," said Mr. Gibney, laying an
affectionate hand on the skipper's shoulder, "you're nothin' of
the sort. You're a fightin' tarantula, and nobody knows it
better'n Adelbert P. Gibney. I've seen you in action, Scraggsy.
Remember that. It's all right for you to say you're a man of
peace and advise me and McGuffey to keep out of the track of
trouble, but we know that away down low you're goin' around
lookin' for blood, and that once you're up agin the enemy, you
never bat an eyelash. Eh, McGuffey?"
McGuffey nodded; whereupon, Captain Scraggs, making but a poor
effort to conceal the pleasure which Mr. Gibney's rude compliment
afforded him, turned to the rail, glanced seaward, and started to
walk away to attend to some trifling detail connected with the
boat falls.
"All right, Gib, my lad," he said, affecting to resign himself to
the inevitable, "have it your own way. You're a commodore and I'm
only a plain captain, but I'll follow wherever you lead. I'll go
as far as the next man and we'll glom that black coral if we have
to slaughter every man, woman, and child on the island. Only,
when we're sizzlin' in a pot don't you up and say I never warned
you, because I did. How d'ye propose intimidatin' the natives,
Gib?"
"Scraggsy," said the commodore solemnly, "we've waged a private
war agin a friendly nation, licked 'em, and helped ourselves to
their ship. We've changed her name and rig and her official
number and letters and we're sailin' under bogus papers. That
makes us pirates, and that old _Maggie_ burgee floatin' at the
fore ain't nothin' more nor less than the Jolly Roger. All right!
Let's be pirates. Who cares? When we slip into M'galao harbour
we'll invite the king and his head men aboard for dinner. We'll
get 'em drunk, clap 'em in double irons, and surrender 'em to
their weepin' subjects when they've filled the hold of the
_Maggie II_ with black coral. If they refuse to come aboard we'll
shell the bush with that long gun and the Maxim rapid-fire guns
we've got below decks. That'll scare 'em so they'll leave us
alone and we can help ourselves to the coral."
Scraggs's cold blue eyes glistened. "Lord, Gib," he murmured,
"you've got a head."
"Like playin' post-office," was McGuffey's comment.
The commodore smiled. "I thought you boys would see it that way.
Now to-morrow I'm going ashore to buy three divin' outfits and
lay in a big stock of provisions for the voyage. In the meantime,
while the carpenters are gettin' the ship into shape, we'll leave
the first mate in charge while we go ashore and have a good time.
I've seen worse places than Panama."
As a result of this conference Mr. Gibney's suggestions were
acted upon, and they contrived to make their brief stay in Panama
very agreeable. They inspected the work on the canal, marvelled
at the stupendous engineering in the Culebra Cut, drank a little,
gambled a little. McGuffey whipped a bartender. He was ordered
arrested, and six spiggoty little policemen, sent to arrest him,
were also thrashed. The reserves were called out and a riot
ensued. Mr. Gibney, following the motto of the syndicate, i.e.,
All for one and one for all--
United we stand, divided we fall,
mixed in the conflict and presently found himself in durance
vile. Captain Scraggs, luckily, forgot the motto and escaped, but
inasmuch as he was on hand next morning to pay a fine of thirty
pesos levied against each of the culprits, he was instantly
forgiven. Mr. Gibney vowed that if a United States cruiser didn't
happen to be lying in the roadstead, he would have shelled the
town in retaliation.
But eventually the days passed, and the _Maggie II_, well found
and ready for sea, shook out her sails to a fair breeze and
sailed away for Kandavu. She kept well to the southwest until she
struck the southeast trades, when she swung around on her course,
headed straight for her destination. It was a pleasant voyage,
devoid of incident, and the health of all hands was excellent.
Mr. Gibney took daily observations, and was particular to make
daily entries in his log when he, Scraggs, and McGuffey were not
playing cribbage, a game of which all three were passionately
fond.
On the afternoon of the twenty-ninth day after leaving Panama the
lookout reported land. Through his glasses Mr. Gibney made out a
cluster of tall palms at the southerly end of the island, and as
the schooner held lazily on her course he could discern the
white breakers foaming over the reefs that guarded the entrance
to the harbour.
"That's Kandavu, all right," announced the commodore. "I was
there in '89 with Bull McGinty in the schooner _Dashin' Wave_.
There's the entrance to the harbour, with the Esk reefs to the
north and the Pearl reefs to the south. The channel's very
narrow--not more than three cables, if it's that, but there's
plenty of water and a good muddy bottom that'll hold. McGuffey,
lad, better run below and tune up your engines. It's too
dangerous a passage on an ebb-tide for a sailin' vessel, so we'll
run in under the power. Scraggsy, stand by and when I give the
word have your crew shorten sail."
Within a few minutes a long white streak opened up in the wake of
the schooner, announcing that McGuffey's engines were doing duty,
and a nice breeze springing up two points aft the beam, the
_Maggie_ heeled over and fairly flew through the water. Mr.
Gibney smiled an ecstatic smile as he took the wheel and guided
the schooner through the channel. He rounded her up in twelve
fathoms, and within five minutes every stitch of canvas was
clewed down hard and fast. The sun was setting as they dropped
anchor, and Mr. Gibney had lanterns hung along the rail so that
it would be impossible for any craft to approach the schooner and
board her without being seen. Also the watch on deck that night
carried Mauser rifles, six-shooters, and cutlasses. Mr. Gibney
was taking no chances.