JACK HAS MISGIVINGS
After dinner that evening, as the two men were sitting in the hotel
garden smoking, and talking, of course, about the return of the Malolo
and the Lady Alicia, Jack, who had been unusually quiet and thoughtful,
came up to his father.
'Father, there has been something troubling me all day--ever since we
got Tom's letter from Mr. Biffen this morning. Let me have it, please,
to read again, and Captain Casalle's as well.'
'What is it, Jack, that is troubling you?'
'Let me read the letters first, dad, then I'll tell you.'
His father gave him both, and Jack, whose always serious face was now
more serious than ever, went quietly away into a sitting-room, and
placing them side by side, read them through carefully.
He sat considering for a few minutes, then went out again to the garden
with the letters in his hand.
'Father, I must tell you and Mr. Casalle what is troubling me. Don't
think me foolish.'
'Certainly not, my boy,' said Mr. Wallis, who knew that Jack must have
some good reason for speaking as he did.
'Well, come inside, and let us read those letters again. Father, it may
be that Tom is not on board Captain Hawkins's ship after all.'
'What!' cried Mr. Wallis in startled tones. 'What on earth makes you
think that, Jack?'
Entering the sitting-room and closing the door, the two men seated
themselves at the table, and looked expectantly at Jack, who stood, his
grey eyes filled with trouble.
'Father, this is what makes me think that some fresh mishap has come to
Tom. Now, listen; here is what Tom says in one part of his letter--
'"There is a Maori half-caste on board named Chester. He and I are
great friends."
'Now it is just those words which keep running in my head, because of
something in Captain Casalle's letter--that part about Bully Hayes and
his ship.' Then he read--
'"During the fighting she also took, or was set on, fire, and only for
another vessel (said to be a Sydney brig) coming to her assistance, the
niggers would have massacred every one of the crew. After this Hayes
touched at Fortuna Island for provisions, and while there fell foul of
one of his officers, a New Zealand half-caste, who seems to have been
lent to him by the Sydney brig, and was about to flog him, but in the
night this man, with a white sailor _and a young lad_, who was a
passenger (on the Leonie, I suppose), escaped in one of the boats, after
scuttling the brig in two places."
'Don't you think it strange, father, that Tom should speak of a "Maori
half-caste," and that a "New Zealand half-caste" was lent to Captain
Hayes by the captain of a Sydney brig?'
'It is certainly a coincidence, Jack; but surely it cannot be anything
more,' and Mr. Wallis looked at Casalle, as if wishing for confirmation
of his views.
The seaman nodded. 'A coincidence, sir, no doubt; but yet----' he
paused a moment, 'some very strange things do occur at times at sea.
Did not the captain of the Virago say that the Lady Alicia was going
northward to New Britain?'
'Yes.'
'And my brother in his letter says that Hayes was coming from New
Britain, bound to Samoa. Can it be that the two ships have met, and, by
some means, Tom and the half-caste officer left their own vessel and
went on board the Leonie?'
Mr. Wallis thought for a few moments before replying.
'It is very disturbing to think about. Your brother says there was
heavy fighting on board Hayes's ship, and that the Sydney brig lent
Hayes an officer; but then the young lad is spoken of as being a
passenger on board the Leonie--not on board Tom's ship. No; after all,
Jack, I do not think we need distress ourselves. But, anyway, let us
drive out to Mr. Biffen's house. He may be able to tell us if there are
any other brigs in the South Sea trade sailing out of Sydney.'
A short drive brought them to the agent's house, and Mr. Wallis at once
mentioned the suspicions which had arisen in Jack's mind, and asked him
if there were any other Sydney trading brigs likely to have been
cruising about the Solomons.
Mr. Biffen at once answered, 'No, no brigs; of that I'm certain. I know
every vessel sailing out of Sydney (and Melbourne as well) which is an
island trader. There would be about there at that time the barques Anna
and Lightning, and the schooner Meg Merrilies, but no brig. The only
other vessel of that rig besides Hawkins's ship which would be seen down
there, is the Mexicana, and she has been laid up here for the past six
months. It certainly is curious, I must admit, but it is only a
coincidence, as you surmise.'
But, in spite of this opinion, both Mr. Wallis and Jack left the agent's
house feeling somewhat depressed and anxious.
'We can only wait, Jack, and trust in God. The Lady Alicia may be here
in a few weeks now.'
As the time went by, however, even Jack ceased to let the matter trouble
him much, and, like all bush-bred boys, entered into the delights of
Sydney life with a zest. Unlike Tom, ships and sailors possessed no
interest for him beyond that which had lately become engendered in his
mind through Tom himself; nevertheless, he and Henry Casalle spent much
of their time in sailing about the harbour, watching the great merchant
clippers entering the Heads, or being towed to sea; at other times,
taking little Nita with them, they would spend the day fishing in one of
the countless bays of the Harbour, or on the bright waters of the
Parramatta River or Lane Cove.
Early one warm, drowsy afternoon, as Jack, accompanied by Nita only, was
returning homewards from a fishing excursion, and the boat was sailing
slowly between Goat Island and the Balmain shore, he saw that signals
were flying at the Observatory flagstaff, 'Ship from Fiji Islands.'
Knowing that the Malolo was due, Jack took down the sails, got out his
sculls, and sent the boat skimming over the water to town.
'Perhaps it is the Malolo, Nita.'
Nita's black eyes danced with delight, but, having something of her
father's grave manner, she did not pester Jack with childish questions.
Pulling in to Miller's Point, Jack left the boat with the owner, and in
a few minutes he and Nita were hurrying along the squalid streets
leading from the Point into the city proper. Almost as soon as he
entered the hotel, Mary Potter, Nita's nurse, ran up to him.
'Mr. Wallis and Mr. Casalle have gone down the Harbour, sir, in the
Customs launch; the Malolo is come in. And will you and Miss Nita
follow in a waterman's boat down to Woolloomooloo Bay, where the ship
will anchor? I won't be five minutes dressing, Miss Nita.'
The walk from Petty's Hotel to the Circular Quay only took a few
minutes, and as soon as the boat rounded Fort Macquarie Jack saw a large
white-painted barquentine, which he knew was the Malolo, just being cast
off by a tug, as she anchored between Lady Macquarie's Chair and Garden
Island. The moment the boat came alongside, Captain Casalle, who had
been talking to his brother and Mr. Wallis aft, ran down the gangway
ladder, and caught his child up in his arms.
'How are you, mister?' said a cheerful voice to Jack as soon as he
reached the deck; and his old acquaintance, Mr. Brooker, the mate, gave
him a hurried handshake as he passed along for'ard; 'here we are back
again, safe and sound, with our pockets full of dollars and our hearts
as sweet as honey, and right glad I am to see you again.'
Several native sailors, whose faces Jack at once recognised, rushed up
to him and shook hands. They were members of the old crew of the lost
Bandolier.
Going aft, Jack saw a pretty picture--the two brothers, whom fate had
thus brought together so strangely after more than twenty years, and
when each only thought of the other as dead, were walking the deck
together hand in hand, speaking in low but eager tones, with little Nita
clinging tightly to her father's disengaged hand, looking into his face
and drinking in every word he uttered.
As soon as possible the captain, his brother, Nita, and Mr. Wallis went
ashore, leaving Jack to spend an hour or so on board with the mate, and
then follow and join them at dinner.
Whilst the active mate (whose manner of addressing the crew Jack thought
to be extremely personal and vigorous) was getting the decks cleared,
and the ship made snug, before sitting down to chat, Jack had time to
have a better look at her. Next to the Virago, she was the largest
vessel he had ever boarded, and although externally her white-painted
hull was reddened and yellowed with rust stains, within board she was
spotlessly clean and neat, and her lofty pitch-pine spars were as bright
and smart-looking as those of a crack yacht. She carried three boats--a
long boat, which was stowed on the main hatch, and two beautifully
moulded whale-boats, one on each quarter. She was a flush-decked
vessel, and of great beam for her tonnage, with a sheer that would not
be perceived until one actually stood on her deck, either for'ard or
aft, and looked right along it.
Going below to the cabin, he was met by the steward, a brown-skinned,
smiling-faced Samoan, who, putting his arms around Jack's shoulders,
rubbed noses with him as he shook his hand.
'Don't you 'member me, Mister Jack? Oh, I never forget you and
Kooringa, never.'
'Of course I haven't forgotten you, Salu, but I thought you were a
sailor on the Bandolier. Now you are a steward.'
'Yes, sir. You see, sir, my sister Solepa was _fafine tausi teine_
(nurse) to Mrs. Casalle's Nita. And now Mrs. Casalle and Solepa are dead
and gone to God, and I am Salu, the steward to the captain; and now I am
glad, very glad, for I hav' hear that your brother never is dead.'
'No, Salu, he is not dead. He will soon be here in Sydney, I hope.'
The steward smiled delightedly. 'I am glad; every one on boar' this
ship is glad. Your fath' is a good man. Now, if you please, let me
make you some coffee.'
'No, thank you, Salu,' said Jack, shaking the man's hand, as he looked
around the cabin and noticed the number of Snider rifles and cutlasses
arranged in racks on both sides. 'What a lot of arms, Salu!'
'Yes, sir. We go to some bad places. Sometimes we _have_ to fight, but
Capt'en Casalle never want to fight. He always go ashore first when we
go to some new place where the natives is wild and we want to trade. He
won't let the covering boat come too close, because these wild peoples,
when they see the rifle and the cutlass, they get afraid and begin to
shoot poison' arrows. He just jump out of boat and walks up on th'
beach, with his han's in his trousers' pocket, and smokin' his pipe; an'
he says to those wild people, "What's the matter with you? I hav' come
to talk an' trade, not to fight. I am not a fighting man. I wan' to
buy your copra an' ivory nuts. See, I have no little gun," and then he
lifts up his pyjama pocket and show them his bare skin, wis'out no
revolver strapped to his waist. Oh, he is a fine man, a good man.'
Mr. Brooker came rattling down the companion way.
'Oh, here you are, Jack. Now, look here, here's the whole lot of the
old Bandolier's crew wants to shake hands with you again. And so do I,
Jack,' and he seized Jack's hand in his and wrung it vigorously. 'I
reckon I've got some new ideas about British people since I struck Port
Kooringa. I was brought up pious enough by a father and mother who
believed that the only good people ever produced by Great Britain were
the Mayflower folks; and then in the village school I was taught to
consider the Britishers of those times as inhuman bein's, who with a mob
of Hanoverian or other Dutch-bred soldiers jest delighted to kill
American farmers, and their wimmen folk and children, by sticking
bayonets into them as a sorter light amusement. Yes, thet is so, Jack.
I come from Martha's Vineyard, and us boys were always taught to hate
Britishers. We are a mighty poor lot of people down thet way, and the
farming folk are the poorest of all--only get a square meal once a week.
They'd look sour at a barrel of cider for working after twelve o'clock
on Saturday night, and kick a cat for catching a mouse on Sunday
morning. But, say, let's get on deck again; these men want to see you
mighty bad before you go ashore again. They hev' got something to give
you.'
Lighting a huge cheroot, he led the way.
All the crew of the Malolo were gathered together on the main deck,
awaiting Jack's appearance. Every man had a present of some kind--a
bundle of Solomon Island spears, bows and arrows, baskets of magnificent
shells, snowy white coral, clubs, native fish hooks, made from
iridescent pearl shell, a whale's tooth, necklaces of porpoise teeth,
shell armlets, carved coco-nut shells, and many other curios from the
savage islands of Melanesia. Placing them upon the deck at Jack's feet,
they drew back, and their spokesman, a sturdy, square-built native of
Rotumah Island, made a short speech--
'All these things here me and my shipmates bring you because we want to
give you something. All the time we stop at Kooringa, your father and
you and old man Mr. Foster very kind to us all, and woman with red hair
give us plenty _kai-kai_.[#] That woman is good woman, and me and my
shipmates very sorry we can' see her no more. So if you please, sir,
good afternoon, and very much oblige'.'
[#] Food.
Simple as were the man's words, their sincerity was very pleasing to
Jack, who thanked them individually, shaking hands with them all. Most
of them were natives of the South Sea Islands; one came from beautiful
and verdant Rotumah; another from lonely Easter Island in the far
eastern Pacific; two from Nuie--the 'Savage Island' of Captain Cook; one
from Yasawa in Fiji; and the remainder from various island groups in the
South Pacific.
Mr. Brooker regarded them with a good-natured smile before telling them
to go for'ard again; then he turned to Jack, and said quietly--
'I was taught to despise niggers of any kind or breed, but this sort of
thing jest jumps up and hits me in the face. I never yet saw many white
sailors show any gratitude or remembrance for a good turn. Jack Tar is
generally Jack Dog, and a darned or'nary yellow dog, with nary a good
point about him. Why, every one of these natives aboard is a Christian,
and lives clean in mind and body. You should see 'em in the evenings
sitting on the main hatch, every man with his Samoan Bible or hymn-book
in his hand, and waitin' for Salu the steward to begin the service.
It's jest good to hear 'em sing! Where is the crowd of white sailors
who'd have the courage, even if they had the inclination, to do as these
men do, night after night! And every one of 'em is a right down smart
sailor man. Now come below into my cabin, and we can hev' some talk. I
want to hear all about your brother Tom, and where in thunder the
skipper's brother come from, and all about the folks at Port Kooringa.
Come on; the second mate will look after the ship.'