On board the _Maggie II_ B. McGuffey, Esquire, had just gotten
into position the Maxim-Vickers "pom-pom" gun on top of the
house. The last bolt that held it in place had just been screwed
tight when clear and shrill over the tops of the jungle and
across the still surface of the little bay there floated to
McGuffey's ears the single word:
"Help!"
McGuffey leaned against the gun, and for the moment he was as
weak as a child. "Gawd," he muttered, "that was Scraggsy and
they're a-goin' to eat him up. Oh, Gib, Gib, old man, why
wouldn't you listen to me? Now they've got you, and what in
blazes I'm going to do to get you back, dead or alive, I dunno."
McGuffey could hear the cries and general uproar from the wari,
though he could not see what was taking place. In a minute or
two, however, all was once more silent, silence having descended
on the scene simultaneously with the descent of the earthenware
pot on Mr. Gibney's head.
"It's all over," said McGuffey sadly to the mate. "They've killed
'em both." Whereupon B. McGuffey, Esquire, sat down on the cabin
ventilator, pulled out a bandana handkerchief and wept into it,
for his honest Irish heart was breaking.
It was fully half an hour before poor McGuffey could pull
himself together, and when he did, his grief was superseded by a
fit of rage that was terrible to behold.
"Step lively, you blasted scum of the seas," he bawled to the
mate, and the crew gathered around the gun. "Lug up a case of
ammunition and we'll shell that bush until even a parrot won't be
left alive in it."
"Aye, aye, sir," responded the crew to a man, and sprang to their
task.
"I'm an old navy gunner," said the first mate quietly. "I'll
handle the gun. With a 'pom-pom' gun it's just like playing a
garden hose on them, only it's high-explosive shell instead of
water. I can search out every nook and cranny in the coast of
this island. Those guns are sighted up to 4,000 yards."
"Kill 'em all," raved McGuffey, "kill all the blasted niggers."
When Mr. Gibney fell under the impact of the earthenware pot he
was only partially stunned. As he tried to struggle to his feet
half a dozen hands were laid on him and in a trice he was lifted
and carried back of the wari to a clear space where a dozen heavy
teakwood posts stood in a row about four feet apart. Mr. Gibney
was quickly stripped of his clothing and bound hand and foot to
one of these posts. Three minutes later another delegation of
cannibals arrived, bearing the limp, naked body of Captain
Scraggs, whom they bound in similar fashion to the post beside
Mr. Gibney. Scraggs was very white and bloody, but conscious, and
his pale-blue eyes were flickering like a snake's.
"What's--what's--the meanin' of this, Gib?" he gasped.
"It means," replied the commodore, "that it's all off but the
shouting with me and you, Scraggsy. This fellow Tabu-Tabu is a
damned traitor, and his people are still cannibals. He's the
decoy to get white men ashore. They schemed to treat us nice and
be friendly until they could get the whole crew ashore, or enough
of them to leave the ship helpless, and then--O Gawd, Scraggsy,
old man, can you ever forgive me for gettin' you into this?"
Captain Scraggs hung his head and quivered like a hooked fish.
"Will they--eat--us?" he quavered, finally.
Mr. Gibney did not answer, only Captain Scraggs looked into his
horrified eyes and read the verdict.
"Die game, Scraggsy," was all Mr. Gibney could say. "Don't show
the white feather."
"D'ye think McGuffey could hear us from here if we was to yell
for help?" inquired Captain Scraggs hopefully.
"Don't yelp, for Gawd's sake," implored Mr. Gibney. "We got
ourselves into this, so let's pay the fiddler ourselves. If we
let out one yip and McGuffey hears it, he'll come ashore with his
crew and tackle this outfit, even if he knows he'll get killed.
And that's just what will happen to him if he comes. Let poor Mac
stay aboard. When we don't come back, he'll know it's all off,
and if he has time to think over it he'll realize it would be
foolish to try to do anything. But right now Mac's mad as a wet
hen, and if we holler for help--Scraggsy, please don't holler.
Die game."
Captain Scraggs turned his terrified glance on Mr. Gibney's
tortured face. Scraggs was certainly a coward at heart, but
there was something in Mr. Gibney's unselfishness that touched a
spot in his hard nature--a something he never knew he possessed.
He bowed his head and two big tears stole down his weatherbeaten
face.
"God bless you, Gib, my _dear_ boy," he said brokenly. "You're a
man."
At this juncture the king came up and thoughtfully felt of Captain
Scraggs in the short ribs, while Tabu-Tabu calculated the precise
amount of luscious tissue on Mr. Gibney's well-upholstered frame.
"Bimeby we eat white man," said Tabu-Tabu cheerfully.
"If you eat me, you bloody-handed beggar," snapped Captain
Scraggs, "I'll pizen you. I've chawed tobacco all my life, and my
meat's as bitter as wormwood."
It was too funny to hear Scraggs jesting with death. Mr. Gibney
forgot his own mental agony and roared with laughter in
Tabu-Tabu's face. The cannibal stood off a few feet and looked
searchingly in the commodore's eyes. He was not used to the brand
of white man who could laugh under such circumstances, and he
suspected treachery of some kind. He hurried over to join the
king and the two held a hurried conversation. As a result of
their conference, a huge savage was called over and given some
instructions. Tabu-Tabu handed him a war club and Mr. Gibney,
rightly conjecturing that this was the official executioner,
bowed his head and waited for the blow.
It came sooner than he expected. The earth seemed to rise up and
smite Adelbert P. Gibney across the face. There was a roar, as of
an explosion in his ears, and he fell forward on his face. He
had a confused notion that when he fell the post came with him.
For nearly a minute he lay there, semi-conscious, and then
something warm, dripping across his face, roused him. He moved,
and found that his feet were free, though his hands were still
bound to the post, which lay extended along his back. He rolled
over and glanced up. Captain Scraggs was shrieking. By degrees
the bells quit ringing in the commodore's ears, and this is what
he heard Captain Scraggs yelling:
"Oh, you McGuffey. Oh, you bully Irish terrier. Soak it to 'em,
Mac. Kill the beggars. You've got a dozen of 'em already. Plug
away, you good old hunk of Irish bacon."
Mr. Gibney was now himself once more. He struggled to his feet,
and as he did, something burst ten feet away and a little fleecy
cloud of smoke obscured his vision for a moment. Then he
understood. McGuffey had a rapid-fire gun trained on the wari,
and the savages, with frightful yells, were fleeing madly from
the little shells. Half a dozen of them lay dead and wounded
close by.
"Hooray," yelled Mr. Gibney, and dashed at the post which held
Captain Scraggs prisoner. He struck it a powerful blow with his
shoulder and Scraggs and the post crashed to the ground. In an
instant Mr. Gibney was on his knees, tearing at Scraggs's rope
shackles with his teeth. Five minutes later, Captain Scraggs's
hands were free. Then Scraggs did a like service for Gibney.
All the time the shells from the _Maggie II_ were bursting around
them every second or two, and it seemed as if they must be
killed before they could make their escape.
"Beat it, Scraggsy," yelled Mr. Gibney. He stood and picked up a
war club. "Arm yourself, Scraggsy. Take a spear. We may have a
little fighting to do on the beach," he yelled. Captain Scraggs
helped himself to a loose spear, and side by side they raced
through the jungle for the beach.
As they tore along through the jungle path Mr. Gibney's good
right eye (his left was obscured) detected two savages crouching
behind a clump of cocoa-palms.
"There's the king and Tabu-Tabu," yelled Scraggs. "Let's round
the beggars up."
"Sure," responded the commodore. "We'll need 'em for hostages if
we're to get that black coral. We'll turn 'em over to McGuffey."
* * * * *
"I'd better ease up a minute, sir," said the mate to Mr.
McGuffey. "The gun's getting fearful hot."
"Let her melt," raved McGuffey, "but keep her workin' for all
she's worth. I'll have revenge for Gib's death, or--_sufferin'
mackerel!_"
McGuffey once more sat down on the cabin ventilator. He pointed
dumbly to the beach, and there, paddling off to the _Maggie II_,
were two naked cannibals and two naked white men in a canoe. Five
minutes later they came alongside. McGuffey met them at the rail,
and he smiled and licked his lower lip as the trembling monarch
and his prime minister, in response to a severe application of
Mr. Gibney's hands and feet, came flying over the rail. Mr.
Gibney and Captain Scraggs followed.
"I'm much obliged to you, Mac," said Mr. Gibney, striving bravely
to appear jaunty. "One of your first shots came between my legs
and cut the rope that held me, and banged me and the post I was
tied to all over the lot. A fragment of the shell appears to have
taken away part of my ear, but I guess I'll recover. We're pretty
well shook up, Mac, old socks, and a jolt of whisky would be in
order after you've put the irons on these two cannibals."
"You're two nice bloody-lookin' villains, ain't you?" was
McGuffey's comment, as he surveyed the late arrivals.
"Which two do you mean?" inquired Mr. Gibney, with a touch of
asperity in his tones.
"I dunno," replied McGuffey. "It's pretty hard to distinguish
between niggers and folks that goes to work an' eats with 'em."
"Mac," said Captain Scraggs severely, "you're prejudiced."