GOOD-BY TO HONOLULU
“So you want to ship on board of the _Columbia_, lad? Well, I don’t
know. I’ve never had quite such a young hand as you, and the trip to
Hong Kong is a long one, and, at this time of the year, it may be
mighty rough.”
“I am willing to take what comes,” answered Larry. “I think I am nearly
as strong as the average man.”
Larry and Captain Ponsberry were standing near the companionway of
the schooner. Luke Striker had just spoken to the captain of Larry’s
desire, and Hobson had put in a good word, and the skipper had called
the youth from his labors.
“He works as good as any of us, cap’n,” said Striker. “He’s a likely
lad, an’――excuse me for a-sayin’ of it――but I don’t think you can do
better.”
At this instant the Rev. Martin Wells joined the group, having come
aboard to see that proper care was taken of a box of books he desired
shipped.
“Captain Ponsberry, this young man would like to ship with you, and I
promised to say a good word in his favor. If you――”
“No use to say more, parson,” was the good-natured interruption. “All
seem to be in favor of it, and the lad can go if he’s set on it. But,
Russell, remember what I told you about its being a rough trip, and
remember, too, you ship as a regular foremast hand, working as they
work and living as they live.”
“I understand it all, sir,” answered Larry, with a happy smile,
which was increased when he beheld a good-natured twinkle in Captain
Ponsberry’s eye. He knew he was making no mistake, and that the captain
would prove as good a man to sail under as there was to be found. “I’ll
do my level best, and you won’t find me skulking when I’m wanted.”
“If I do, I’ll rope-end you,” was the answer, but the threat only made
Striker and Hobson laugh. “I never seen the old man with a rope-end
yet,” whispered the Yankee into Larry’s ear.
So it was all settled, and that noon Larry signed articles to sail
under Captain Ponsberry in an immediate trip to Hong Kong, China, and
back, said round trip to last not longer than seven months, barring
accident, the lad to receive twelve dollars per month and found.
“And now I’m booked to visit the heathen Chinee, after all,” murmured
the youth, as he turned away to continue his work on the cargo; but
never for an instant did he dream of all that was to happen before his
eyes beheld the coast of China.
Larry had told his newly made friends all about Kuola and Wakari, and
they, especially Striker and Hobson, had promised to keep a weather
eye open for the two rascals. “I’ll pitch into ’em fust sight, douse
my toplight if I don’t,” was the manner in which the Yankee expressed
himself. “Ain’t nothin’ so healthy fur these furiners as to teach ’em a
wholesome lesson.”
But keeping a “weather eye open” was quite useless; not but that
Kuola and Wakari would have been only too glad to visit harm upon
Larry’s head. The fact of the matter was, after beating a retreat upon
the appearance of the Rev. Martin Wells, the two rascals had sought
consolation in drink, with the result that both had swallowed more than
was good for them, engaged in a free fight with others in the resort
they visited, and Kuola was now laid up in bed with a broken head,
while Wakari was in the local jail, serving out a sentence of sixty
days.
Larry was looking out not merely for the natives. He had the Norwegian
who had robbed him still in mind, and several idle hours in the evening
were spent in trying to hunt this fellow down, but without result. He
had told Striker, Hobson, and the others of the affair, and they were
justly indignant.
“Such a fellow is no better nor them Kanakas,” growled Luke Striker.
“It’s a pity they couldn’t ship in some craft as was bound for Davy
Jones’ locker. Now the cap’n’s took one furiner aboard as I don’t like
the looks of, but he’s signed, an’ that’s an end on it, I reckon.
Hobson, have you heard anything of this Oleson?”
“Tom Grandon said he wasn’t coming aboard till the day we sailed,”
responded the English sailor. “No, I didn’t like his looks either. Wish
the captain had taken an Englishman or an American instead. I can’t
bear those Norwegians nor Poles nor Russians.”
In another day the cargo was entirely removed, and then the _Columbia_
lost no time in taking on her new load for Hong Kong,――a miscellaneous
collection of articles, some of them rather heavy. This work was very
laborious, and Larry and the other workers perspired freely under the
tropical sun.
“Oh! but it’s hot!” he said once, as he stopped to run the perspiration
from his forehead with the side of his finger. “We don’t catch anything
like this in the States, at least not up North.”
“This is nothing,” answered Hobson. “Wait till we get down just to the
north of the Philippine Islands, right in the China Sea; you’ll find it
hot enough to boil eggs in a dipper on deck, and you won’t dare to go
barefooted, for fear the hot tar will burn you up.”
“I’ll agree with Hobson on that,” answered Luke Striker. “I once
shipped to the Philippines, and we spent four weeks at Aparri, on the
northeast coast of Luzon, the main island, and in Manila Bay, on the
southwest coast, and, phew! but wasn’t it a corker! We were in Manila
Bay right in August, and a man didn’t hardly dare to walk across the
deck at midday for fear of getting sunstruck.”
“If that’s true, then I don’t want much of Manila Bay,” laughed Larry;
and then they resumed their work with all the energy that was left in
them, for Captain Ponsberry had promised them a holiday at his expense
if they finished up one day before the time set for sailing.
On a Tuesday night the work came to an end, and hatches were closed
with a will. The _Columbia_ was to sail at nine o’clock Thursday
morning, so the crew would have all day Wednesday to themselves. What
to do was solved by Captain Ponsberry, who hired a big stage and took
all hands down to the dazzling white beach at Waikiki, but a few miles
outside of Honolulu. Here there is the best of surf bathing, just
inside of the reefs, with all the proper accommodations, and there is
likewise a beautiful park, where the society of the seaport city takes
its afternoon drives. Larry enjoyed a dip in the surf very much, having
Striker with him, and the bath gave both a tremendous appetite for the
seashore dinner, which Captain Ponsberry kind-heartedly provided at the
casino nearby.
“Good-by to Honolulu,” cried Larry, as the party started on its return.
“Take it all in all, it’s a pretty place, and one might do much worse
than to settle here for the remainder of one’s life. It won’t be a bad
job done if the United States annexes the islands.”
“Just what I say,” said Tom Grandon, who sat beside the boy. “Folks
talk about the place being half-civilized and all that sort of thing,
but they seem to forget that it’s more civilized than Texas and New
Mexico were when we took hold of them, or Alaska.”
That night was the first Larry spent on board of the _Columbia_, for
he had removed his chest to the craft before starting on the day’s
outing. To be sure, the forecastle of the schooner was dark and dingy,
as forecastles usually are, but the apartment was clean and in order,
and did not smell half so strongly of tar and oakum, tobacco and
bilge-water, as other places like it of which he knew. Moreover, his
berth was near to the door, so he was likely to get the full benefit of
all cool and fresh air which was stirring.
Hobson’s berth was next to Larry’s, with Luke Striker’s just opposite.
Then came the berths of Cal Vincent, Maurice Roddmann, and several
other sailors, for the _Columbia_ carried all the men she required. In
the rear was the berth of the Norwegian, who was not to come on board
until the last moment, on account of the sickness of one of his former
messmates, so he had explained.
Thursday dawned clear and bright, with a stiff breeze blowing from
just the quarter Captain Ponsberry wanted it. The Rev. Martin Wells and
two other passengers came aboard directly after breakfast, a score of
friends with them to see them off. Larry had already informed Captain
Morgan of the change he had made and bidden his former sailing-master
good-by, and there was no one else to see.
At nine o’clock sharp the lines were unloosed and Larry flew with the
rest to set first one sail and then another. Everything was, of course,
strange to the boy, for ships are not built alike, and he paid strict
attention to business, feeling that the eyes of Captain Ponsberry and
Tom Grandon must be on him. He heard Grandon speak to a newcomer, and
knew it must be the belated Norwegian sailor, but did not just then
catch sight of the man. If he had, there might have been a row then and
there, and Larry’s future adventures would have had a vastly different
cast.
Only the jib and mainsail were set as the _Columbia_ crept down through
the coral channel leading from Honolulu harbor to the mighty ocean
beyond. The lighthouse was soon passed, and then the schooner pointed
almost westward, passing Barber’s Point on her starboard, the last
point of land to be sighted for many days to come. Once clear of the
reefs, top and foresail went up, along with every other available
stitch of canvas, and the _Columbia_ bowled along gayly, sending the
spray flying in every direction.
Previous to sailing, every rope and every inch of canvas had been
thoroughly overhauled, while the _Columbia_ had been cleaned as neat
as “my lady’s parlor,” to use Hobson’s words, so now there was little
to do but to arrange matters in the forecastle, and once the Point had
faded away in the blue-gray haze, Larry turned to what was to be his
“house” during the voyage.
Yet even here there was very little to occupy his mind. He had arranged
his berth the night before. He pulled out his chest, unlocked it, and
began to sort over and shake out his clothing, hanging on a nearby hook
those for which he might have an early call.
He was thus engaged when a shadow fell beside him, and a bulky form
in the doorway shut out much of the light entering the forecastle. He
looked up, expecting to see Striker or some one of the other sailors
with whom he had become acquainted. But the newcomer was a stranger, a
sour-looking, clean-shaven man of foreign birth.
“Ah!” came in a rough voice, and Larry leaped to his feet. Then, as the
newcomer came closer, the boy recognized him, in spite of the fact that
he had shaved off his beard. It was Olan Oleson, the man who had robbed
him.