"The motion of the ship, you donkey."
"But I declare I saw a white face peep in."
"Here--here--drink this quickly, or you'll have those 'D.T.'s' again."
Adolphus had slipped speedily back, and he declared to Kep that should
he live till doomsday he would not forget the expression on that evil
mate's face.
The ship was steered south and away now, and every day the weather got
colder and colder. Adolphus had been long at sea, and probably knew as
much about plain-sailing as the mate himself, and every time he had a
chance he studied the chart, the compass, and the mate's reckoning
slate.
"It cannot be long now," he told Kep one evening; "the wind is going
down. We'll be becalmed to-morrow, mark my words, not far from the spot
where the deed is to be done--the ship scuttled."
He was right, and next morning there was almost a complete calm. A
round heaving swell, however, was coming in from the south-east, and the
vessel rolled and pitched in a very uncomfortable fashion. The third
mate came down below to report that she was making more water than ever.
"Strained herself, I suppose," growled the skipper. "She's only a bally
old clothes'-basket at best. Waal, put more hands to the spare pumps
and keep the engine going."
The third mate went on deck, and almost immediately after there was a
hail from the mast-head.
"Land on the port bow!"
A long, low, cloud-like streak, with here and there a conical hill, that
is all the men saw, and probably only the captain and mate knew what
that land really was.
There was a gloom over the ship this forenoon that not even the bright
sunshine could dispel. Now and then the land was obscured as if by
rising clouds or fog.
Hardly a sound to be heard save that of the pumps at work. Never a word
of command. The idle men in groups here and there about the fo'c'sle or
ship's waist, but all silent and moody, though they cast wondering
glances aft occasionally to where on the poop the skipper was walking up
and down with the mate.
The quiet to-day seemed ominous. Nature herself appeared to be waiting
and waiting for something to happen.
The skipper paused in his walk to leisurely fill his pipe, casting now
and then furtive glances at the mate.
"God! sir," cried the latter at last, "don't look at me like that. See,
sir, we--that is you and I--are both shareholders in this ship. If our
plan succeeds we will win the stakes, but if I thought you meant to play
me false, by heavens! I'd scupper you on the spot. You say it is all
square between us? Then--don't eye me again like that."
"It is all right, mate, and you know it. There! don't be a fool. Go
below and have some rum to straighten you out a bit."
"I've had too much. I'll be seeing things soon."
"Hillo! Dolphin. What do you want?"
"I came to know if I should draw enough grog to splice the main-brace."
"Do as you please. Go to the devil if you like."
The steward said no more. Leaving the two together, he hurried below,
and entered the skipper's state-room. The spirit-room door was already
open, and Kep was waiting for the men's grog. Dolphin opened a drawer,
the keys of which had been left in it, and quickly and quietly possessed
himself of a pair of revolvers and several ugly-looking knives. These he
put in the pantry, and, returning, secured a hammer and chisel which
were under the little chart-table.
That was all. The skipper came below and looked at him somewhat
suspiciously.
"Been making your bed, sir. Shall you want some 'fizz'?"
"Yes. Ah! you know my little ways and weaknesses."
"I do," said Dolphin to himself.
The grog was served out, and, as usual, Kep piped to the crew while they
ate their dinners. And so the afternoon wore on till within an hour of
sunset.
Dolphin was forward again with a huge can containing double allowance of
rum.
"Saturday night, gentlemen, and the captain says it is his birthday, and
you are to drink his health."
Kep served out the double dose. Dolphin was talking down in the galley,
talking seriously, but somewhat excitedly, with Kruger, Slogger, and the
Turk.
"There must be no blood. We'll do things better than that. I'll give
the signal."
Good luck or the devil seemed to be playing into Dolphin's hands, for
just as he entered the saloon again he noticed the door of the skipper's
state-room being silently shut. Both he and the mate were in there.
Like a tiger on its prey, he sprang silently aft, and next moment the
door was locked--the conspirators were prisoners.
They had heard the click of the lock, however, and at once began shaking
the door.
"What in thunder does this mean?" roared the mate. "Dolphin, you devil,
I'll have your life's blood."
"Listen!" replied Dolphin calmly; "if you remain quiet you will be safe;
if not, I cannot be accountable for your lives."
The men by this time were fully alive to the horror of the situation.
The ship was slowly sinking. By either mate or master or by both she
had been scuttled, and now these men were prisoners. They must get out
the boats and leave her and those devils to their doom. Why work the
pumps a moment longer?
There were many discontented voices, but evil took the lead, and
Slogger, the terrible-looking negro, took command--the black would rule
the white as an evil spirit ruled all.
"Aft, men; aft!" he shouted. "Let us up with the boats, get provisions
and arms, and down with the men who would prevent us."
The brute bared his arm and flourished a knife as he spoke.
The Turk had run towards the saloon just as the mischief began to brew.
"You won't be safe, friend boy," he cried to poor Kep. Then he hurried
the lad into his little cabin and locked the door.
He met the leader and mutineers as they were making aft.
"No blood," he cried. "Shed no blood."
The black man dashed him to the deck. Not stunned though, it would take
a deal to quiet so powerful a Turk, he was on his feet in a moment;
knives glittered, and the two were in deadly embrace. Both fell, but
only one rose, and a rivulet of blood was straggling towards a scupper
hole. The black man was triumphant.
It was the spirit-room that was first stormed, and soon the rum began to
do its deadly work. Kep trembled in his den to hear the singing,
shouting, and stamping. But there were wiser men on deck, and very
quickly and even orderly the boats were hoisted to the davits and
loaded. Some of the cases were opened, and found to contain sand, not
specie.
I do not wish to redden my pages by describing the fearful scenes that
followed, when the mutineers in the saloon quarrelled and fought.
Sounds of thuds and blows and shrieks and groans! It must indeed have
been a terrible pandemonium.
After this, silence for a time. A consultation was evidently being held
on deck. It was followed by a rush of feet down into the saloon again,
and Kep could hear that the captain's stateroom was being opened--could
hear the captain's voice, too, appealing for mercy.
Mercy from mutineers! He was being dragged on deck. A wild scream and
a splash alongside--that was the mercy.
But for the mate a more ghastly doom was reserved. Dead men tell no
tales, but a derelict ship may. The _Macbeth_ might not sink soon
enough. She might float till sunrise and be found by the islanders, the
very islanders on whose shores the mutineers were to land with a lie on
their lips.
The mate, then, was gagged and bound and laid on the state-room deck.
Not far from him was placed a barrel of gunpowder, and in this a lighted
candle was stuck. When it tilted or fell, or when it burned down say in
two hours' time, the gunpowder would explode and the mate, who had
kicked the poor young sailor off the poop, would go to his doom, and the
ship be blown to pieces.
A whole hour went past, such a silent, such a nightmare hour, and Kep
knew he was alone in a sinking ship with the dead.
Poor boy! he could do nothing there but weep and pray.
But he started up presently; there was a scuffling, rasping noise
overhead, and coming nearer and nearer to the companion. Now he could
hear a groan, then some one staggered or half fell down the companion.
The key was turned in Kep's cabin-door, and next moment he was free.
"Thank Allah! I could not come before." It was the voice of the poor
faithful Turk.
He never spoke more. He lay there dead and still in the passage.
*CHAPTER VI*
*THE HURRICANE--CRUSOES IN GREAT SNAKE ISLAND.*
Kep stepped lightly over the body of his friend, and found his way into
the saloon. He sat down there, burying his face in his hands, and
thanking God for something he hardly knew what.
Then the glimmer of the candle alight in the skipper's state-room
attracted his attention. It was shining through the partially open
doorway, and on tiptoe fearfully he approached it.
He saw at a glance what had happened and what had been intended.
Steadily now, slowly, almost mechanically he lifted out the guttering
candle.
A little flat red crust had formed on the top of the wick, and this fell
off just as he entered the saloon again.
Then the poor lad fainted.
Daylight was streaming in through the skylight when Kep re-opened his
eyes, and found Dolphin himself bending over him.
"Oh, it is all so terrible!" were the first words Kep uttered when
Dolphin helped him on deck, and the fresh air revived him.
"There is hope though," said the steward.
"Hope?"
"Yes, hope, friend, hope. They had locked me in forward, but I forced
my way out and came aft. I thought you dead, so passed you by and
entered the store-room. The mutineers had rifled this, and in doing so
severed a rope and saved the ship."
"I do not understand?"
"No; but I will tell you. It was, of course, by mere accident that the
rope was severed, and the men could not have known what they had done;
but that rope communicates with a sea-valve in the bilge--a hellish
contrivance. I got down to the hold with the electric light, and when I
pulled that rope the water was at once agitated as if by a huge spring
beneath; when I let slack all was quiet again.
"And now, Kep, there are no living responsible beings on this ship but
ourselves. For the mate----"
"Ah! yes; he is dead, is he not?"
"No; he was simply bound and gagged, but now, oh, horror, he is a
gibbering maniac. He had been watching that candle getting shorter and
shorter, knowing well what must follow. Is it any wonder he went mad?"
For long weeks Kep and the steward drifted to and fro with wind or tide
in the derelict ship. They had managed to get up the dead from the
charnel-house saloon, and, one by one, they were thrown overboard.
But over the Turk, who seemed peacefully sleeping, Kep shed many tears,
and he was the only one they sewed up in a hammock and ballasted so that
it might sink speedily down to the bottom, beyond the reach of the blue
sharks with which this region abounds.
Then the mate. Well, they had cast off the ropes, for though he
jabbered, he was quiet. He had apparently lost all memory, and it was
sad to see him smile as he wandered about the deck touching things and
trying to speak.
But on the third day he died, and was at once thrown overboard.
Strange it is, reader, that though the saying "Murder will out" does not
often come true on shore, at sea it is nearly always so, and murders and
mutinies on the high seas have been discovered in the most miraculous
ways.
Well Dolphin, or Adolphus, as we had best now call him, in order to get
the odour of that ghastly ship out of our thoughts, had taken the
bearings of the land near to which the tragedy had occurred, as well
as--from the mate's own slate--its latitude and longitude.
After a time, the weather being clear and fine, Adolphus and Kep managed
to set a jib and a bit of square canvas also, and glad enough they were
to find that she obeyed her helm.
So they took trick and trick at the wheel, and all day long were for
ever on the watch for a sail.
But they had somehow drifted far out of ocean highways, and it was weeks
before they could possibly get near one again, for they were doing
little more than three knots an hour.
In their spare time they did all they could to clean ship, but the
terrible stench still hung around the after cabin or saloon, and so they
concluded to bunk aft. This was more cheerful, and Kep found heart
enough to play on his marvellous piccolo again.
He called himself Captain Vanderdecken, and so baptized the ship the
_Flying Dutchman_.
"Ah," he would say, "I fear, Adolph, we will never round the Cape."
* * * * *
One day the sky grew thick and dark to windward and the barometer went
down and down, the mercury column sinking cup-shaped, and rapidly.
Something was coming.
And something did come too, with a vengeance. Cold, bitterly cold; so
cold that Adolphus had to blow on his hands at the wheel; dark, too,
though it was but mid-day, and hail, which was accompanied by a storm of
thunder and lightning, lay on the deck inches deep.
But the strength of the two of them could not command that wheel when
the tempest began to blow and roar in earnest. Their bits of sails were
soon torn into rattling rags, and they themselves, drenched and worn
out, sought refuge below.
Would she founder?
They expected her to almost at any moment, but the _Macbeth_ was heavily
ballasted and broad in beam; she tumbled and rolled like a log or a dead
porpoise, but staggered on or was driven on. They had managed to batten
down fore and aft, and perhaps that saved her, for overcome by fatigue
both slept at last, and when Kep, who was first awake, managed to get up
on deck, he saw that his _Flying Dutchman_ was sadly battered; bulwarks
like sheep hurdles and yards fallen; but he saw something else that
astonished him still more, for around the wreck were high rocks and
cliffs, with bushes on top, and upon and among these rocks the ship was
hard and fast, but on a very even keel.
It did not take him long to awaken Adolphus.
"Adolph," he shouted, as he let himself down the ladder. "Come on deck.
Come at once. Here is a sight! Here is a plight!"
Adolph was quickly by his side.
"Well," he said, after a glance about him, "this is really better than
foundering, Kep."
"Yes," admitted Kep, "we are still above the crust; but what are we
going to do? What----"
"What--indeed. There are so many 'what's' about it, that I don't know
which what to ask first. You've never seen a tidal wave, Kep?"
"Aren't all waves tidal?"
"Well, I don't know. The tides are caused by the suction of the sun and
moon, a German philosopher told me once. Especially the moon; and I
think it was suction he said. Never mind. Sometimes a black spot grows
suddenly up in the sun--that is the sun-mouth perhaps. Then he takes a
bigger suck than usual, and this raises up tornadoes and whirlwinds and
big, big tidal waves down below in the world here."
"I understand."
"Well, then, here is just what has happened. A huge, great tidal wave
has been raised during the hurricane, and has rushed in up here into a
kind of dry dock. It has gone now, and such another wave may not come
again for a hundred years."
"You are much wiser than I thought, Adolph."
"No doubt, Kep; but no ordinary tide can touch us or poop us here, so we
are not so badly off. We have provisions enough to last us for a year
and more."
"But we are a kind of Crusoes, aren't we, comrade?"
"Kind of ----. Yes, true."
"And there will be a bit of fun in being Crusoes, won't there?"
"No doubts of that."
"And mayn't there be some savages on this island, if it be an island?
Mayn't there?"
"There may be."
"And that would mean some danger, wouldn't it, Adolph?"
"Yes--yes--yes. But really, from the way you talk, Kep, one would think
you really wanted savages and danger too."
"Oh, if we are to be Crusoes, I should like everything ship-shape, and
even the mark of the naked foot in the sand."
"I suppose, Kep, you could manage to get up the cliffs?"
"Dear me, yes, Adolphus," answered Kep somewhat proudly; "my sister
Madge and I were awfully good cragsmen. Oh, shouldn't I like if Madge
and Bounder were here."
"Well, Madge isn't here, and you can't write home if you wished to. So
content you."
"But goodness knows, Adolph, there are scores and scores of empty
bottles on board. Suppose we write scores and scores of letters and
send them adrift in the scores and scores of bottles?"
"What would be the use?"
"Oh, some would be picked up, and then a ship would be sent to take us
off."
"Off? Do you know where we are, latitude and longitude and all that?
If not, how could you tell them where to come to?"
Kep scratched his wise head. "I daresay that is the drawback," he said.
"We'll just have to wait till the ship comes, Kep, as patiently as a
penguin on a rock."
"But the ship is sure to come, ain't it?"
"I reckon it will, some day."
"And we'll take turns at lighting fires on the rocks, and make a broom
and hoist it. I think, Adolph, we can look forward to some real good
fun."
"I wouldn't be too sure. But, I say, let us go below now, and I'll cook
a nice comfortable bit of breakfast, and then we'll go on shore and spy
out the land."
"That's it--spy out the land. We'll take our guns and creep from bush
to bush like real wild Cuscorora Indians, and if we meet a savage we
will say, 'O golly, foh true!' and he'll say 'Ugh!'"
"Well, here are some nice red herrings and hard biscuits, and preserved
eggs and coffee."
"Any butter, waiter?" Kep was lively now.
"Yes, sir; butter, sir. Can't quite recommend it though. Has been to
sea, sir, three times before."
These two shipwrecked mariners threw over a Jacob's ladder and descended
one at a time. Adolph went first, but found he had to jump fully eight
feet to the rock below.
"Hold on, Kep," he cried. "Don't you jump, else you will never get up
again. Haul up the Jacob and lash a rope to it; we can shin up that."
The lad slung their rifles, and they found it easy enough to get up the
rocks, though they were inhabited by malicious-looking snakes, who had
come out to sun themselves.
Now, as I like to adhere most strictly to the truth, it is my duty to
inform the reader that from a Crusoe point of view this island was a
trifle disappointing.
First and foremost, it was only about two miles wide by three long, one
bare and inhospitable-looking hill in the centre, which, from its
conical shape and table-top, had doubtless been at one time, volcanic.
With the exception of this hill, all the rest of the land was covered
with dense thick scrub and alive with snakes.
But there was a little lake of remarkably cool water, that was no doubt
fed by springs from the higher and more hilly land they could see lying
like clouds upon the horizon.
There was very little sand at the foot of the cliffs, so the mark of the
savage's foot was not likely to be traced.
No inhabitants; nothing much to speak of in the fauna line, bar a
species of rock rabbit and the snakes. Birds on the rocks though, and in
some parts of the woods flowers of rare beauty.
"I'm disheartened, Adolph," said Kep.
"Yes; you look so."
Then the boy brightened up.
"I say, Adolph, my ancient mariner. Yonder is land, isn't there?"
"That is land. Bigger islands, I reckon, than ours."
"Well, it might be that Crusoes might come from there. And if there were
too many we could retire to our ship and give them fits from over the
bulwarks. I'm just spoiling for some fun, Adolph. Here, I know what
I'll do. You saw that big grey snake that darted into a hole in yonder
hillock? Well, just see if I can't entice him out again."
Out came the boy's piccolo. Down he sat, and began to play some
melodies from _Faust_.
No effect.
"You'd better," said Adolph, "switch on Wagner."
Kep did, and the effect seemed magical. Not one, but three of these
grey horrors appeared, and their horrid though graceful movements showed
that for the time they were really fascinated.
"Come back on board," cried Adolph, "else I shall dream of these all
night long."
I'm not sorry, however, that Kep did not find the Isle of Snakes
altogether to his taste, because this is not a Crusoe story. Suffice it
to say, after a few weeks they found the dead and awful monotony of the
place almost unbearable. Moreover, there were but few books to read, no
sport to speak of, and positively nothing to do.
But weeks and weeks passed by, and still came no sail in sight. They
kept fires burning as much as they could, but neither the pillar of fire
by night nor the pillar of smoke by day attracted anything.
Several times they thought they saw ships in the far distance, but
looking at them through a telescope these turned out to be either
floating sea-birds or the dorsal fins of some solitary basking shark,
with birds perching on his back.
"Why," said Kep one day, "it is three whole months since we were cast
away on this dreary shore, and never one single vessel has come near us.
I tell you what it is, Dolphin, I am very weary of it all. Being a
Crusoe is not half such good fun as I thought it would be."
"And I, too," said Adolph, "am weary."
"Tired of shooting those big tasteless rabbit-things; tired even of
catching fish, though they are nice to eat, and so are rock oysters."
"But I say, Kep, I have a plan."
"Oh, have you? How delightful!"
"Well, you know we have had many a wild storm since we settled here, and
you remember how the ship shook with the wind only last week."
"I won't forget that."
"No; and there is a bit of a list on her. She has heeled over a little
to starboard."
"Yes."
"And the next storm that comes from the same direction will blow her
over."
"Yes."
"Yes; and there where will we be, Kep?"
"Why, we'll be--we'll be blown over."
"You don't know the real danger, Kep. She won't simply heel over on her
beam ends; she will go clean and clear over this cliff where the tidal
wave drydocked her so neatly, and ten to one we will never get out
again. We should be buried alive."
"Oh, I should hate being buried alive. Couldn't we find a cave
somewhere among the cliffs here, and shift our camp, in case of an
accident."
"But," said Adolph, "I have found one already. Yesterday, when you were
fishing from a boulder; only, you know----"
"What, only?"
"There will be the snakes to contend with."
"Yes; that is it, and they're thicker than the rock-rabbits. Do you
think," he added, "I could lure them away somewhere with my little
flute, and murder them?"
"Well, you might try; only don't let them get too familiar with you,
else they'll follow you everywhere, and get into your bed at night."
"We can do our best, anyhow, Adolph. A fire in the cave to begin with
would start them. Whatever men dare they can do. And there is nothing
charms these snakes like Wagner."
"Umph! Wagner never charmed me, Kep."
"It's all a matter of idiosyncracy, comrade. It wouldn't do if we all
went in for Bach or Beethoven nor even for 'Annie Laurie.' But now let
us go on shore and see that cave of yours. A change is what we both
need."
*CHAPTER VII*
*SUNKEN GOLD--JACK'S CAREER IN SIDNEY*
"The cave seems first class," cried Kep, looking round him delightedly.
"We shall be troglodytes now, Adolphus."
"What are they? some kind of frog aren't they?"
"No, people who live in caves, although frogs might be troglodytes, and
sometimes are."
They now set to work at once. Though, to begin with, Kep tried Wagner
just outside the cave. No snakes came out to dance, but behind them
they heard a hissing noise, and found about half a score of the terrible
reptiles had come from other rocks to be entertained. So that plan
wouldn't work.
The cave was about half-way up the cliff, so, withered wood being very
plentiful, a lot was gathered, and a big fire lighted in the centre of
the floor of the place, Kep and Adolph taking good care to get outside
when it began to crackle and burn.
But they stood by with fowling pieces, and as the reptiles came hurrying
out, they took pot-shots, and killed quite a heap of them.
The ants of the shore picked the bones of these bare in two hours' time.
When the fire was out, and the cave swept, they set about getting things
on shore, principally hammocks, provisions, a small cooking stove, boxes
of candles, and in fact everything usually needed to make life enjoyable
in tents.
They slept on board that night, and it took all next day to finish
furnishing.
They slung hammocks and passed next night in the cave. But I cannot say
that, after the light was put out, Kep felt particularly comfortable.
He had an eerie creepie-creepie feeling, and more than once ere morning
felt sure that serpents were crawling over him. Towards morning he put
down his hand and touched something cold and round, He started with a
shriek, and next moment heard the thud of something falling on the
floor.
He had brought an electric telescope-shaped flashlight with him, and
placed it in the hammock, and early in the morning--he hadn't slept
again--he looked down, and saw it lying on the soft floor. So that was
Kep's poisonous serpent.
Only the place seemed so hideously associated with these scaly horrors,
that both Adolph and he made up their minds to use it only by day, and
continue for a time to bunk aboard at night, taking all risks.
But they slept soundly. The ship had never moved.
It was Kep's turn next day to be struck with a new idea. He believed it
possible, he said, to get out the one remaining boat, and pass her, by
means of the davits over the side. Luckily, the latter had been left by
the hurricane in good working order.
Kep was very strong and hard for his age, and Adolphus was a man. Yet
it took many hours to overcome the difficulties they had to encounter.
Things had been terribly jammed and knocked about, but at last the boat
hung straight, and clear right over the rocks and then they began
cautiously to lower away.
It was found, after all, that the ropes or guys running through the
blocks were not long enough. The boat hung twixt heaven and earth, like
Mahomed's coffin.
There was nothing for it but to haul up again, and belay.
But further operations were stayed by fatigue and hunger, so they went
on shore to dine in the cave.
Adolphus was cook, and there was some splendid fish to-day, to broil or
roast over a clear fire, and they had found some plantains in a grove on
the other side of the island. Of course there was very little romance
about Adolph just at present, there never is when one is cooking in
either cave or camp. But the day was so dreamily beautiful that the
glamour of old ocean held Kep spell-bound. There was brightness and
music everywhere; the brightness of sun on wave, the azure blue of the
cloudless sky, the wild music of seabirds, and the music of the sea
itself, breaking listlessly, drowsily on the rocks.
The boy seated himself high on a boulder, that was shaped for all the
world like an arm-chair, and the white-winged gulls swept nearer and
nearer as he played "Low and sweet, Sweet and low."
A song of Bret Harte's came into his mind as he watched the birds. Only
a simple thing. As simple and sweet as the soul of the bard himself.
Sauntering hither on listless wings,
Careless vagabond of the sea,
Little thou heed'st the surf that sings,
The bar that thunders, the shale that rings.
Little thou hast, old friend, that's new,
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee,
Sick am I of those changes too;
Little to care for, little to rue,
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.
Lazily rocking on ocean's breast,
Something in common old friend have we;
Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest,
I to the waters look for rest,
I on the shore, thou on the sea.
But Kep now began to think, to dream of home. What a long, long time had
elapsed, reckoning by events, since he sailed away from the white cliffs
of England. What would his brave, proud father be doing at this moment,
and dear Madge and her playmate Bounder; Madge would be missing her
letters, she would be praying for him too, every night. Wonder if ever
she went up alone to his turret chamber, high above the waving elms.
Wonder if Bob, the great white owl, ever came more now to look in of a
night, or if he had forgotten Kep entirely. Wonder how long it would
take a sea gull to fly to England. If _he_ had wings he wondered
if--if----
"Koo--ee--ee!"
He started to his feet. He had fallen asleep in that grey old
arm-chair.
"Koo-ee!"
"Coming, Adolph; coming, comrade, coming?"
That dinner was very good to eat.
But now they gat them back to the ship, and it took all the afternoon to
lengthen the guys, by splicing on additional pieces, for the work had to
be very strong to stand the strain.
The boat was lowered and launched next day, and it really was new life
for them to paddle around the coast in her.
The boat was anchored in a little cove every night now, and in her they
slept. It was a capital arrangement, and they had no more bother with
the snakes.
But on nights when the sea was rough--which was not very often, because
when it blew, it did so in dead earnest, and soon had done with it--they
hauled her well up on the sand, and slept peacefully as usual.
They went to the hill-top almost every day--but no, no, no, they never
saw a sail, and they began to think they would live and die on Great
Snake Island.
But as far as the boat was concerned, they grew bolder and bolder.
They stepped a little mast and a brief jib-boom, and set sail therein,
and when the wind was favourable went quite a long way out. At last
they determined to visit the far off and greater island. So one day,
when the wind was favourable, they loaded up with everything needful,
hoisted their canvas and started.
They had taken their rifles and plenty of ammunition with them, but Kep
prayed that they might not have to use them.
This prayer was heard. But they found no savages on the islands, which
they reached at last, nor was there any other land visible all the wide
horizon around.
So they slept in their boat as usual, and next day set out to explore,
and to climb the hills.
Everything most unsatisfactory. No beauty nor romance anywhere, except
that of the sea itself.
So they determined to return next morning. But the wind had died down
to a perfect calm, which held for three days, the stars at night blazing
with a brilliancy such as Kep had never witnessed before in all his long
life, of "fourteen years, and begun again."
On the third day of their imprisonment on this new island the sun shone
with greater fierceness than ever, and Kep, who was a most daring
swimmer and diver, stripped and dashed head first from a rock, down,
down fathoms and fathoms into a blue-green pool beneath.
For just three minutes this boy had trained himself to hold his breath
beneath the water. At the bottom he clutched at and held on to
something, and for seconds remained motionless.
But what had he clutched at? Why, it was a piece of shell-encrusted
iron--a ring-bolt. He stood on the deck of a sunken ship, and one, too,
of olden build, and olden times.
All thought of returning to Great Snake Island was for the time
abandoned, and about once an hour, until quite exhausted, Kep dived
down, and each time returned to the surface with something strange and
stranger to tell. She had sea-worn guns on board. She looked like an
old Spanish galleon, or a pirate, or a specie ship.
This last guess proved to be right; for the wreckage about the decks
proved that the seamen, whoever they may have been, had tried to save
heavy boxes, and from the side of one of these, a piece of gold had
fallen, only a small bar, but this the boy took up with him.
He was tremendously excited. "Oh Adolph!" he cried, "we have discovered
a treasure ship."
"_You_ have, Kep, not I."
"But we shall be rich, Adolph. Rich beyond compare. In that blue-green
pool millions may be awaiting us. Are you not glad?"
"We'll get back to our Island of Snakes, Kep, and when the ship that
must come some day, arrives, they will tell us the latitude and
longitude, which at present we can't even guess. Then, some day,
perhaps--we may return and raise the gold. But there is many a slip,
Kep, twixt the cup and the lip."
Kep wouldn't hear of slips and lips; he was very young and very buoyant.
Yet he had grit in him. "Look here, Adolph," he said, "I'm a man of
determination. If ever we leave these regions alive, depend upon it we
shall return. This is as certain as sunrise. So there!"
Well, the boy really said what he thought, and meant all he said.
A fair wind at last, rather much of it, but life had suddenly become
more joyful and hopeful, and they had no fear, when they hoisted their
jib and little mainsail, that they would get safely across.
But, alas! the wind changed almost suddenly, and they had to tack. This
was slow work, and dangerous too, for they shipped much water, and had
they not baled and kept on baling, their boat would have been swamped.
Darkness came on. They had nothing now to guide them, for they had not
thought of bringing a compass.
They had the electric lantern, a strong one, and this they flashed from
time to time across the awful sea, the waves of which looked doubly
dreadful in the darkness.
It must have been some time past midnight, when suddenly Kep clutched at
his comrade's arm.
"Adolph, Adolph! O God! what is that?"
It was a light. No, but lights, steadily advancing towards them.
They shouted now, yelled and shrieked, and flashed their light.
Was it seen? Were they heard? Yes, yes, even as God Himself hears
prayer.
In less than ten minutes they were on board a strange Australian-bound
ship, and telling their marvellous adventures to passengers and crew.
But, it is needless to say, that one portion of their adventures they
kept silent about, the discovery of the sunken treasure.
And more of sunken gold, I do believe, lies in the sea, or hidden on
islands, than we are aware of.
In dim green depths rot ingot laden ships,
While gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,
Lie nestled to the ocean-flowers' bell
With love's gemmed rings once kissed by now dead lips.
And round some wrought-gold cup, the sea-grass whips,
And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell,
Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell,
And seek dim sunlight with their countless tips.
But adventures so terrible were not altogether credited by the skipper
of the _Wampiri_, nor by his few passengers either. Else the
probability is, that the former would have gone some distance out of his
way to salvage a portion of the _Macbeth's_ cargo.
He was on a passage, and bad weather had blown him considerably out of
his way. It would have been folly, therefore, to have delayed.
This ship was outward bound, and had rounded the Horn, and was under all
sail for Adelaide and Sidney.
Sidney, why, the very name of the place made Kep's heart jump for joy.
The _Breezy_ might be there!
Both Adolph and Kep lived forward with the men, and were very snugly
bunked indeed. They had come to like each other very much, and Kep felt
a little sad when he thought that in the ordinary course of things they
might soon be parted. In one thing they swore to each other to be true.
Namely, that neither should divulge the secret of the ingot-laden ship
unless the other consented. Something grand might come of this secret,
but it must, for the present, be theirs and theirs only.
Once more, even in the _Wampiri_, Kep's flute found him friends. The
ship was a clipper of an almost obsolete type, and really belonged to
one old man. She was good enough to have had engines put into her, but
her owner, who had been at sea himself in his younger days, would not
hear of his beautiful white-winged ship being turned into a blessed
smoke-jack, and she never would be.
Suffice it to say, she got there all the same, and so Kep and his
comrade were at last safely landed at Sidney.
And this beautiful and busy city, with its beautiful and busy great
harbour, crowded with the ships of all nations, its streets thronged
with well dressed people, its spacious public buildings, and its street
cars, what a change all was from life on the lonesome ocean, and the
death-life of those inhospitable and barren islands.
How Kep, in his boyish gratitude, thanked God for all He had done for
them.
Sidney, but no _Breezy_.
And yet, somewhere in or about these seas, or on the shore of Eastern
Africa, or the coral coast of New Guinea itself, something told Kep that
the _Breezy_ was. He had never forgotten the kind smiling face of the
young lieutenant, who had taken him down to the wardroom; no, nor the
reception that had been accorded him by the crew forward. He still
harboured the impression that his fate would be to get appointed to the
_Breezy_ in some capacity or another.
But now he remembered that he must seek for employment of some kind. He
had some money left, but this he shared with Adolph. He could not see
his comrade badly off, and they meant to try hard to get berths in the
same ship again.
It would have been easy for Adolph to book as steward's assistant, or
even as steward in some homeward bound ship, but no one seemed to need
Kep's peculiar talents.
His appointment to the _Macbeth_ appeared to him, now, to have been but
a fluke. Heigho! would he ever make such a fluke again.
Adolph got a position at last, as waiter in a good hotel, and Keppel
Drummond, the son of a lord of an English manor, a place--as what? Why,
as a boy to clean the knives and run messages at a neighbouring
restaurant.
What a downfall! But really, such downfalls, if in cases such as Kep's
they can be called so, are by no means uncommon in Australia. And,
after all, honest work is no disgrace.
So he kept up his heart, and was happy, and even hopeful--wasn't the
_Breezy_ coming some day. He had written to Madge during the voyage in
the _Wampiri_, a mail-bag from which went home by a passing steamer. He
had told her all his joys, but never a word about the horrors of the
_Macbeth_. He would not shock her.
He was expecting a letter almost every day, and the time seemed long
indeed. But then anything might have happened to prevent the delivery
of his own letter to her. The address he had given was simply Poste
Restante, Sidney. He went there every day for weeks, and noticing his
woe-begone expressive face, a kindly clerk at last took pity on him, and
promised in the event of a letter coming, to forward it at once to his
lodgings.
But wonders will never cease, and one day, while hurrying to send off a
telegram, who should Kep see coming, swinging along the street on the
opposite pavement, but Jack Stormalong himself.
What a happy meeting! Kep begged a whole day off, namely, that evening
and next forenoon, and he got it too.
"I knew we'd meet, my little friend. By the way, is your name still
Bowser. And you haven't repented yet, and become a prodigal son."
"Well, I can't easily be a prodigal son, Jack, on ten shillings a week,
and a tip once in a blue moon. But how is Katie and her mother?"
"Splendidiferous sonny, simply splendidiferous. Going to get married at
the end of my time."
"Why, I thought _I_ was going to marry Katie, and that you would marry
the mother!"
Jack laughed so heartily that people looked at him and laughed too.
"You precockshious boy! But hold on a few years, my youngkie, and we'll
raise and rear another Katie specially for you."
"But how came you here, Jack?"
"Well, you know, I couldn't well walk, and I like this station, so I
volunteered like for the _Newt_, and yonder's the _Newt_, two guns,
square and trig, and a regular one to jump the seas. And I'm one of the
gunners, and good pay too. You've just got to wait a bit, and something
will turn. Oh yes, sonny, something is sure to turn up. I say,
though--I--I--that is, I am overflowing with useless money, lad, can I
give you some?"
"Oh, thanks, a thousand times, Jack, but no, it ain't pride, Jack, it
ain't pride. But I've sworn to work up the rigging of life without a
helping hand, and I mean to do it. Why, Jack, since I saw you last,
I've learned another language--the Arabic," he added.
"Why, you be a freak, sonny, and Jack Stormalong is proud to know you.
And you've still the little black flute, and its ribbon blue. Strike me
lucky, lad, if I don't think you have a bit of a sweetheart in Old
England."
Kep was merry to-day, madly merry.
"Look here, Jack, I've never done such a thing before, but just for a
lark, I'll try the passers-by with a bit of Wagner, and see the effect.
You stand by, will you? Don't laugh, but I've charmed snakes before
to-day."
Kep was in beautiful form. He stood a yard or two off the pavement, it
was a rather quiet street, and began.
Then goodness me, readers, how the music and melodies of the great
composer did bubble and gush, and ripple and rush, from out the little
black flute! He had a well-dressed crowd of listeners around him in a
brace of shakes.
He finished off with a low, sweet, mournful air, that thrilled the
listeners. Then, with downcast eyes and face a little red, he appeared
to be putting back the flute in order to walk away.
"Here," cried a gentlemen in the crowd, "none of that. Over-modesty
never pays, boy."
Off came his straw hat. He tossed a big silver bit into it, Jack threw
in a shilling, and in less than a minute at least, five shillings found
its way into the boy's pocket from out that hat.
But Kep's face was like a burning coal now. He bowed and thanked all
hands, and Jack was following Kep, when the same gentleman tapped him on
the shoulder.
"You seem to know the lad?"
"Yes, and his story too."
"Give me his address, there's a good sailor man."
Jack did so, and neither he nor Kep thought any more about it.
"By the way," said the latter, as if it did not matter much whether he
received an answer or not, "ever hear anything about the _Breezy_?"
"Why," cried Jack, "the _Breezy_ has been on this station for months, or
here and hereabouts. She is going to do big licks," he added, "when the
time comes, the _Breezy_ is."
Well, they spent some jolly hours together, and as long as the _Newt_
was in the harbour, they managed to see each other every evening.
But one day, soon after the street adventure, a gentleman called and
asked to see Kep. He was the same who had collected the coin for the
boy that day on which he had played on the street.
Very straight and business-like was this Mr. Howe, and concluded the
interview in a few minutes.
"Wanted to know if you can manage to come to my house at seven, and play
a bit to my wife and me."
Kep told him he would be very pleased indeed to do so.
"Here is my card then."
And this is what came of it. Kep was engaged at one of the best music
halls in the city, to play solos, and not only this, but to tell in his
own simple language, the terribly tragic story of the ship _Macbeth_, at
a salary of three pounds a week.
Few believed the terrible tale. People seldom will believe what is
true; but flowing so winningly and well from the lips of the handsome
dark-eyed sailor boy, it was a bait.
Kep cleaned no more knives nor boots.
But his music hall career came to a conclusion almost as suddenly as it
had commenced. Anyhow, his old pal, Jack Stormalong, had brought him
good luck, and things looked brighter now, for he had a letter from his
sister, and the _Breezy_ came in.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*A BREEZY SHIP, A BREEZY CAPTAIN, AND A BREEZY CREW*
A sailor is quite within his rights in boasting about his ship. So is
an author. Well I modestly advance that I have some little claim to be
called sailor and author both. You must forgive me, then, if I do brag
a little about my ship--the _Breezy_, and presently I will tell you how
she came to be known by that name. Even a landsman would naturally
conclude that a craft with such a name must be an airy and brisk little
bit of steel. A naval officer might possibly think twice before coming
to any such conclusion, for I myself have known tubs of things with
pretty high-sounding "tallies," built let us say for coast defence, that
went snorting and snoring round our shores, with the water gurgling up
their "nostrils," as a boy once called the hawse-holes, and out of which
no commander ever yet succeeded in knocking eight knots an hour.
But on the other hand our British Navy ships are generally well-named.
The small craft have wicked wee names, and many are called after insects
and birds. In my own earlier days in the service there was a _Wasp_, and
she was a wasp too, and made it hot many and many a time for gentlemen
Arab slave dhows.
Well, there is a _Hornet_ to-day, a 240-ton torpedo destroyer. And a
twin-screw gunboat yclept the _Kite_. A bigger one is the _Landrail_,
and of course there is a _Locust_ and a _Lively_ and a _Lizard_. You
get to something higher when you find the _Orion_, higher and heavier is
the _Hawke_. But such names as the _Implacable_ 15,000 tons, the
_Irresistible_, the _Majestic_, or _Bulwark_ thrill you to the marrow if
it be a soul you have at all and not a gizzard.
I love that name _Bulwark_. It is grand. It is ringing, and brings to
your memory the most splendid sea poem that has ever been written,
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep.
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
Well, Britannia has one _Bulwark_, and woe betide the first enemy's ship
she talks to in anger.
But about the _Breezy_. You won't find her in the present Navy List
because you are supposed to be reading a story of 1907. Yet, for all
that, I have to use the past sense.
Well, Jack the ordinary seaman, or Able seaman, I mean--doesn't like a
long name. So when this war-vessel was nearly all ready to slip off
into the water a name had to be sought for her, and somebody suggested
_Briareus_.
"Sounds well," said the Admiral, father of the little tottie who was
going to baptize her, touch a button and let her go free.
"Sounds well," he said, "but what was _Briareus_?"
"Oh," was the answer, "he was a terrible Greek giant of bygone times,
who wandered over the mountains and by the sad sea shore and was
possessed of one hundred arms, and fifty heads."
"My word," said the Admiral, "he must have been a bruiser!"
"Well, Admiral, if he had fifty heads the probability is that he had
nearly a hundred eyes, though a few of them had no doubt got knocked
out, but for all that he must have been able to see well. And this ship
is built for special surveying service, do you understand, sir.
"Capital! _Briareus_? A hundred eyes. First rate!"
There was only one hitch, and, not for the life of her could little
Marie remember the word, though she lay awake half the night saying it
over and over to herself.
She thought she had it at last, yet when the time came and just at the
last moment, as one of the smartest sailors was holding her up in his
arms to enable her to push the button, she forgot it again.
"Oh, what is it dear sailor," she whispered.
And Jack whispered too. "Call her the _Breezy_, my love, and be blowed
to her."
And to the astonishment of everyone near by, Marie lisped out these very
words: "The _Breezy_ and _be blowed to her_."
* * * * *
Now when the _Breezy_ left Plymouth Sound she was starting on her very
first cruise--newly commissioned.
She had new guns, six of them; none very large but all fearful
spitfires. She was steel--steel all over, but this same steel whether
in masts, or tops, or decks, or plates, was a new invention, and to all
intents and purposes impenetrable. There was no wood about her that was
inflammable, and the officers' cabins were lined with a species of newly
invented papier-mache, which by itself could resist rifle bullets. But
above all, the marines or bluejackets who might be wanted to fight in
exposed positions had light shields and breast-plates of this same
marvellous material.
The _Breezy_ was going surveying, but she had moreover special diving
machines, of which more anon.
I have always looked upon a ship as a living, sensitive thing, and it
seems right to call her "she," especially if she is sprightly and
beautiful and obeys her helm well (I was very nearly saying "obeys her
husband").
I am sure of one thing; that when on that bright and sunny morning the
_Breezy_ went clipping through the water and heading for the waves, she
knew she was the cynosure of all eyes and every opera glass on the Hoe.
She was as proud as a girl with a pink silk petticoat, as a sailor
observed.
* * * * *
They were all young in the _Breezy's_ wardroom, and the Commander
himself, who, as befitted his rank lived in solitary grandeur in his
quarters farther aft, was considerably under thirty.
To a great extent the grey-beards, as they were somewhat irreverently
called, were cleared out of the Service as far as smaller ships on
foreign stations were concerned. That is they had been placed on the
retired list.
It was found that old men, though possessed of more experience, more
grey matter on the brain, were hardly active enough in their lower
extremities. They had the courage right enough, but they were somewhat
deficient in dash and go.
In the wardroom there lived and moved and ate their beef, two
lieutenants, a marine officer usually called our "soldier," the engineer
lieutenant, the assistant pay-master in charge, and last, but certainly
not least, for he stood six feet one inch in his home made hose--the
Surgeon.
When I tell you that the Captain--a Commander he really was in rank--was
one of the jolliest round-faced and boyish-looking officers in the
service, you will understand how pleasant it was to sail with him.
But his name was, or rather had been, Brazier before he took over the
_Breezy_.
"Don't much like that name," said Jack Jewell, a sturdy built A.B. "Do
you, Tom?"