VELO, THE SAMOAN, PROPHESIES.
The advent of Mr. Billy Warner of Ponapé with his entourage of sixteen
truculent, evil-faced Solomon Islanders was not regarded with
enthusiasm by the chief officer and the native crew of the _Mahina_.
Warner himself was an insolent, overbearing ruffian of the first water,
and yet strangely enough his retinue, whom he at times treated with the
most savage brutality, were intensely devoted to him, and every one of
them would have cheerfully given up his life to protect the drunken,
foul-mouthed, and unmitigated scoundrel who knocked them about one day
and fraternised with them the next.
Velo, who, though a Samoan, was the acknowledged leader and mentor of
the native crew--men who mostly came from the Equatorial Islands of the
South and North Pacific--was quick to convey his impressions of the
newcomers to Barry, and expressed his fears for the future.
"Trouble will come to us through these black men, these woolly-haired
eaters of men's flesh," he said to the mate in Samoan, on the following
evening. "One of them--he with the hare-lip--can speak Fijian, and
this evening he was boasting to me of all that his master hath done, of
the men he hath killed, not only in the islands to the south, but here
in Ponapé."
"They're a bad lot, I believe, Velo," answered the mate in English,
"but you and the rest of the men must try and avoid quarrelling with
them."
Velo nodded. "Aye, but they are rude of speech, and will scarce move
out of our way; and our men from the Gilbert Islands are quick to
anger. Trouble will come."
Trouble did come, and much sooner than even Velo had anticipated.
At ten o'clock on the morning of the fifth day the calm still
continued, but there was a faint, fleecy wall of cloud to the
north-east which Barry knew meant wind in a few hours. Ponapé was
still in sight about forty miles distant.
The ship was very quiet, for the heat was so intense that beyond
washing down decks the crew had done nothing since sunrise, and the
watch were lying down under the topgallant foc's'le, smoking and
mending clothes. On the main-hatch was Warner's whaleboat, and sitting
around her were the savage crew, chewing betel-nut and expectorating
the scarlet juice in every direction. Mr. Warner himself was aft,
showing Rawlings the mechanism of a Vetterli rifle. Early as was the
hour he was already half-drunk, and every now and then would stagger
against the rail or knock against the wheel or skylight flaps.
Presently he stumbled along the deck towards Barry, and holding the
rifle in his left hand clapped the officer on the shoulder with his
right.
"You're a mighty solemn-faced cuss, young feller," he said, with
drunken hilarity; "have a drink with me, and don't be so ---- high and
mighty. I'm a damned good sort when you know me--ain't that so, Jim
Rawlings?"
"A very good sort indeed," answered the captain suavely; "but a bit too
convivial too early in the day."
"You be damned and let me be; don't try to put on frills, Jimmy, my
boy," and still clutching Barry's shoulder he grinned insolently at
Rawlings, whose dark, handsome face paled with sudden passion as he
turned away with an exclamation of anger.
By a sudden movement he freed himself from Warner's grasp, just as the
latter repeated his invitation to him to come below and have a drink.
"I don't want to drink with you or any one else when it is my watch on
deck," he said shortly.
Warner's coarse face grew purple with rage. "You don't say so! Why,
who the blazes are you any way? Don't you try to put on airs with me,
young feller, or you'll get hurt."
Boiling with anger as he was, the mate made no answer, and Warner, with
a snort of contempt at him, went below. In a minute or two he
reappeared with his pipe and a large plug of tobacco in his hand.
"Here, Tagaro, you rabbit-faced swine," he called, "come aft here and
cut me up a pipe of tobacco."
Tagaro, the huge savage with a hare-lip, jumped up from the main-hatch
where he was squatting and came aft, his hideous red lips twisting and
squirming like the tentacles of an octopus as he masticated a mouthful
of betel-nut. Taking the pipe and tobacco from his master he sat down
cross-legged beside the companion. Barry eyed him for an instant with
anger and disgust. He returned the look with an impertinent grin, and
then coolly spat out a stream of the acrid scarlet juice half-way
across the clean, white deck.
This was too much for the officer. His face whitened with rage, and
striding up to Warner he pointed to the befouled whiteness of the deck.
"Tell that nigger of yours to get a swab and clean up that mess in
double quick time," he said, trying to steady his voice.
"Swab it up yourself," was the insulting reply; "reckon it's about all
you're fit for."
A second later Mr. Billy Warner went down on his back with a crash as
Barry caught him a terrific blow on the chin, and then spinning round
on his heel he dealt the hare-lipped nigger a kick in the side that
cracked two of his ribs like pipe-stems and doubled him up in agony.
In less than half a minute pandemonium seemed to have broken loose, for
Warner's natives made a rush aft crying out that Barry had killed their
white man and Tagaro. They were met by the officer, two of the white
seamen, men named "Joe" and "Sam Button," and several of the Gilbert
Islanders, who beat them back with belaying-pins. Joe, who was an
immensely powerful man, knocked three of them senseless with successive
blows on their woolly pates, and his comrades did equally as well.
Then Rawlings darted on deck, followed by Barradas, and threatening the
Solomon Islanders with their revolvers, succeeded in relieving Barry
and his men, and driving their assailants up for'ard, where they were
met by the watch below, who at once attacked them, and again the two
parties began another struggle, using their knives freely.
Then it was that Barry's influence over the native crew was made
manifest to the captain. Followed by Velo and big Joe he sprang into
the midst of the half-maddened crew, and by blows, threats, and
entreaties to his own men, managed to effect a separation before murder
was done, Rawlings and Barradas aiding him by striking out right and
left with belaying-pins, for the chief officer kept calling out to them
not to fire.
The whole affair did not last more than ten minutes, and as soon as the
ship was quiet, Barry urged the captain to send Warner's men below into
the main hold. This was done, though the savages at first refused to
go until they were satisfied that their master was not dead. They were
allowed to go aft and see him. He was sitting up and barely able to
speak, for in falling he had struck his head heavily. Rawlings gave
him some brandy, which he drank, and then, supported by two seamen, he
was taken below to recover.
Barry then explained the cause of the disturbance to the captain and
Barradas, both of whom said that he could have acted in no other way.
"We shall want a couple of doctors soon if we have any more of this
cursed business," said Rawlings. "Here's the boatswain badly hurt;
Billy Onotoa, who you say is a good man, with a couple of knife holes
in his hide; Warner's head man with two stove-in ribs, and Warner
himself with a bad head; and now there's three or four more of these
black and brown devils cut about. Curse the whole thing!"
"I'm not at all sorry about that blackguard's head," said the mate,
with some degree of irritation; "he deserved all he got from me--much
more than that poor devil of a nigger of his."
"Come below, Mr. Barry," said the captain, seeing that his officer
resented his tone; "I don't think a drop of good brandy and water would
do any of us any harm."
"Certainly, sir," he answered, his good temper at once asserting
itself; "and, look over there--there's the breeze coming at last."
Before eight bells struck the vessel was slipping through the water
before a fresh, cool breeze; the Solomon Islanders were allowed to come
on deck, and Barry paid a round of visits to the wounded men, including
Mr. Billy Warner, who freely cursed him and frankly assured him of his
intention to "take it out" at the first opportunity that offered after
the ship reached Arrecifos.
"Right you are," was the reply, "but it will pay you better to leave me
alone, I think."
That night, however, the captain and Warner had a conversation, which
resulted in the red-bearded scoundrel coming up to the mate and
professing sorrow for what had occurred--his excuse of course being
that he was drunk at the time, and did not remember what he was saying.
Barry accepted his apologies coldly, but avoided the man as much as
possible without being actually uncivil to him.
The Greek was soon fit for duty again, and although the crew went about
their work willingly, it was evident that they had a deep distrust of
all the officers except the chief. Warner and Rawlings daily grew more
intimate, and it was very evident to Barry that they knew a great deal
about each other, for at times, especially when he had taken too much
to drink, the former would address the captain in such an insolently
familiar manner that his dark, handsome features would pale with
suppressed passion, though he appeared not to notice the man's manner.
As the days went by the chief officer spoke less and less to those
living aft, though Barradas made several renewed efforts to break
through his reserve; but finding that he met with no response he gave
up all further attempts, and attached himself when off duty to
Rawlings, the Greek, and Warner.