WHEREIN TEMPEST STAYS BEHIND
Captain Peters went below to inspect the damage. His face looked
troubled when he returned.
“She’s piled up on top of high water,” he said, “and I’m afraid she’ll
stay there. It’s a lucky thing the sea is dead calm.”
About an hour too late a gentle breeze sprang up, brushing away the
veil of mist and revealing their position to the _Manihiki’s_ crew.
The reef on which she had struck was submerged at all states of the
tide, leaving nothing to disclose its existence but the dark color of
the water, which the mist had hidden. Half a mile away on the starboard
bow lay the island which the skipper had wanted to take his bearings
from. Even at that distance it presented a beautiful sight, lying low
like a vast, half-submerged emerald. At its highest point it did not
seem to rise much more than fifty feet out of the water, and the slope
down to the sea was covered with tropical growth.
As the tide went down, the slope on the steamer’s deck became more
apparent, and Captain Peters reluctantly ordered all hands ashore in
the boats.
“Gather together anything you want particularly,” he said. “You never
know when a gale is coming along here, and she may slip off suddenly,
but I guess we’ll have more time than we care about to take things
ashore.”
Two boats were lowered, and the men got into them with a strange
collection of bundles and things. Among the articles Dave took were his
binoculars.
The boats grounded on a silvery beach of sand which nestled in a little
bay that looked more fairylike than anything Dave had seen in his
travels through the South Seas. There were no tall trees near, but
foliage of wonderful colors covered most of the ground. As the men
stepped ashore, a flock of birds with gorgeous plumage flew up from the
bushes, uttering strident calls of indignation at the intrusion.
“It’s quite clear there’s nobody at home on this island,” Tempest said.
“I don’t expect those birds have ever seen a human being before. Well,
Dave, we’re all going to play a little game of _Robinson Crusoe_, so
cheer up. How would you like to spend the next ten years here?” It was
characteristic of Bruce Tempest that he was not in the least perturbed
by being marooned. Already he seemed perfectly at home, although he had
not been on the island five minutes.
“Ten years!” Dave said, looking at his friend to see whether he was
serious. A picture of the small house near the water in far-away
Brooklyn flashed into his brain at that second. “How long do you think
we might be stuck here?”
“Goodness knows,” replied Tempest; “but do let me persuade you not to
worry. That won’t get us off a minute sooner. The worst of it is that
we are just about as far off the track of vessels as we could well be,
and the wireless station on this benighted place doesn’t seem to be in
working order.”
“Then you really think we are likely to be here for a long time?”
Tempest glanced at the boy and saw no fear in his grey eyes, but very
natural concern.
“Some of us, yes,” he said. “I heard the mate saying something about
taking a chance in the long-boat, and I guess that is what will happen.
But, as you know, the long-boat won’t hold us all. It’s too early to
think about that yet, though. You’ll find we shall have a pretty busy
time at present getting all that’s wanted off the poor old _Manihiki_.”
There was, indeed, a strenuous time ahead. Although the weather was
so perfect, Captain Peters was reluctant to let a minute be wasted
in the task of fetching ashore everything that could possibly be
useful to them. Bedding and food were his first consideration, and
before nightfall both boats had made several trips, returning to shore
laden down almost to the gunwale. The longest spar obtainable was
rigged up on the highest point on the island, and a flag was sent up,
fluttering in the breeze, while near by, a great pile of dry brushwood
was gathered together, ready to send out a flaming signal in the very
unlikely event of the lights of a passing ship being observed at night.
When these operations had been concluded, Captain Peters realized that
he had done all that could be done, for the time being, to attract
attention. The shipwrecked crew established their quarters on a grassy
stretch of ground a little distance from the shore, and slept, that
first night, with the blue heaven for a roof, every man tired out.
Before dawn, however, they were up again, salving stores. The men
needed no driving. It was only too obvious to them what would happen
if they did not save enough provisions before the _Manihiki_ broke up
or sank. Barrels of biscuits, beef and flour, cases of canned goods,
tobacco, clothes from the slop-chest, the carpenter’s entire equipment,
and the navigation instruments, being the most important articles,
were first brought ashore, and then followed tackle of all sorts,
canvas from the sail-locker, and, finally, quantities of coal. The
chief engineer was desperately anxious to unship a donkey-engine and
convey that to the island; but as nobody could think of the remotest
possibility of using the thing, it was left behind, partly dismantled,
to crumble into rust.
Just ten days were occupied in stripping the steamer of everything
movable, including doors and glass which “Chips,” the ship’s carpenter,
welcomed, as he was already busily engaged erecting shelters from
the torrential downpours of rain which were to be expected in that
latitude.
By common consent the first hut finished was handed over to the cook.
His apparatus had been transferred bodily from the ship, and he dished
out meals as regularly and satisfactorily as before. He was the only
man of the party who had any real knowledge of that department, and
when he realized how much every one was dependent on him he developed a
slight touch of swollen head. Nobody minded that, however, so long as
he had something to cook and kept on cooking it.
Tempest’s first impression that the island was uninhabited proved
correct. Nor was there any sign of a ship or natives having visited
the place. The island was about a mile long and half a mile wide
in the centre. A clear spring bubbled near the camping-ground, so,
fortunately, no dread of thirst faced the men. Snakes were conspicuous
by their absence. The only animal they encountered was a small species
of wild hog. These creatures scurried about in the undergrowth, peeping
out in alarm when any one went near and then fleeing, squealing
loudly. How they ever came to be on the island was one of the mysteries
of the mysterious Pacific. Captain Peters and Bruce Tempest discussed
the point at great length, but were unable to come to any conclusion
except that the ancestors of the hogs must have landed there from some
wreck.
“What does it matter, anyway?” said Tempest, smiling. “We’re all fond
of roast pork whether we know its history or not.”
The twentieth day after the _Manihiki_ ran on the rocks saw the end of
her. One of those savage storms that come down so suddenly near the
equator burst over the island. Black clouds appeared as if by magic,
and long streamers of lightning lit up the boiling ocean. The air was
filled with spindrift which swept half-way over the land, and some of
the half-finished huts were torn down by the wind. Night fell while the
tempest was at its height, but before dawn it vanished as suddenly as
it had come. Not even a wisp of mist rested on the sea, and, as soon
as the sun rose, the sky was of the same brilliant blue as before.
Of the _Manihiki_, however, there was nothing to be seen. Lifted from
her rocky bed by giant waves, she had slid off the reef and now lay
many fathoms below the surface.
The men began to grow restless as time wore on. They did not face with
calmness the prospect of being marooned indefinitely.
“If we’ve got to die, we’d rather do it putting up a fight to get
somewhere in the long-boat than lying around here, Cap’n,” said one of
the men while the subject was being threshed out.
“I quite agree with you,” said the skipper, “though I wouldn’t give
much for the chances of the boat if another tornado like the last one
comes along and hits her. Still, it’s no use waiting here like rats in
a trap when there is a run of only about four hundred miles to Suva in
the Fijis.”
“How long do you reckon it should take us to make Suva, sir?”
“That’s a problem,” replied Captain Peters. “There isn’t any wind to
speak of most days, and, unless it happens to come from a favorable
quarter, we might be beating about for a month or more. Still, if
you’re all game, I’m ready to start as soon as you like.”
The project met with general approval. The only thing that remained to
be settled was who should stay behind. Even by taxing the boat to its
fullest capacity, consistent with safety, at least three of them would
have to remain on the island. It was decided to settle that question by
casting lots, and Captain Peters placed a number of slips of paper in a
hat. On all but three of the slips there was a cross; the others were
blank.
There was an air of anxiety about the crew as they clustered round the
skipper to pick their chance. Although the long trip in the boat would
be attended with much hardship and considerable danger, everybody
there preferred that to remaining marooned. Hopeless though it had
seemed with the whole crew there, the prospect of being left with only
two companions was regarded as considerably worse.
Captain Peters took the first slip out of the hat and grunted with
satisfaction. Although the men would have preferred to have him with
them on the trip, he had shared in the casting of lots. Dave watched
the men’s faces with curious interest as each dipped a hand into the
hat. Some did so with a jest; others grabbed a folded paper eagerly,
opening it in a feverish fashion. The first one to draw a blank was the
carpenter.
“Well,” he said, forcing a smile, “I’ll get you to take a message for
my wife and kids, sir.”
Dave’s fingers trembled a shade when his turn came. There was no cross
on his paper.
The third blank was drawn by a stolid Kanaka fireman, who shrugged his
shoulders, but said nothing. He was an islander by birth, and the idea
of being marooned did not seem so very terrible to him.
Dave looked at the colored fireman and the carpenter, and wondered how
long they were to be his companions on that lonely isle.
Once this ordeal was over, the men set to work enthusiastically,
preparing the boat for its journey. She was not built for sailing, but
a mast, jib-boom, and cleats were soon rigged. When ready she was taken
for a short trial-trip, and Captain Peters reported that she was good
for any distance in fair weather.
Provisions and water to last three weeks, with care, were placed
on board, and the castaways clambered into the boat while a steady
easterly breeze was blowing.
The Kanaka sat on a rock, digging his bare toes into the silvery sand
and looking utterly unmoved by these proceedings.
“Good-by, lads,” said the skipper. “Don’t get into mischief or spend
all your money. You won’t be here very long if we make Fiji all right.
I’ll pass the word along to the first trading-boat bound this way, and
they’ll pick you up. Come on, Tempest, get in.”
“I’m not going,” said Tempest, lighting his pipe and squatting
comfortably on the sand. “I’ve taken rather a fancy to the scenery
around here. You take the lad in my place.”
“I’m very much obliged to you, Tempest,” Dave said, looking his friend
squarely in the eyes, “but I can’t do that. We all picked our slips
fairly, and I was unlucky, that’s all.”
“Then you’d better go, Chips,” Tempest said casually to the carpenter,
with a wink.
“You’re certainly a white man,” said the carpenter, who realized
Tempest was making the sacrifice to stand by his friend. The two
gripped hands for an instant, and then the boat was quickly pushed off
the beach.
Dave, Tempest, and the Kanaka stood watching the boat glide away until
it was only a speck in the distance.
[Illustration: Dave, Tempest, and the Kanaka stood watching the boat
glide away]
“Well,” said Tempest, at last, “we’re both _Robinson Crusoes_ now, and
we only have one Man Friday between us.”