So far as Jack could judge, his uncle had fallen under the influence
of the man, Terrill, to a considerable extent. This was shown when
the boy broached the subject of making a stop at Skull Island to
pick up the castaways.
“I don’t see how we can do that,” declared Terrill, “we lost several
weeks’ time since the start repairing our schooner, the _Morning
Star_; she sprung a leak and we had to put into Portland, Maine, for
repairs.”
“Oh! I wondered why you were so long in getting this far north,”
said Jack, “but, uncle, if you’ll give me the chart I’ll show you
your direct course for Skull Island.”
“Those persons can get off without our aid,” demurred Terrill. “They
have plenty of food and water and the _Thespis_ knows of their
plight. Depend upon it, they will be rescued without our making any
more delays. My business suffers all the time I am away.”
Jack ignored him and turned to his uncle.
“Uncle Toby, you are the sailing master of the _Morning Star_?”
“Yes--er--that is Mr. Terrill--yes, decidedly so, my lad. What’s in
the wind?”
“I want you to shape a course for Skull Island. It won’t delay you
more than a few hours. It’s your bounden duty as a seaman to go to
the aid of distressed mariners.”
“Um--er--that’s so, Mr. Terrill, you know,” stuttered Uncle Toby
with a look at the other, who as drumming his long, bony fingers on
the table in a devil’s tattoo.
“I know nothing about all that. I’m a business man. Time is money,”
snapped Mr. Terrill.
“I’d like to do it,” said Uncle Toby, “yes, sir, I’d like to do
that--everything but----”
“See here, Uncle Toby,” cut in Jack, “haven’t you often told me of
your shipwrecks and how gallantly you have been rescued. Didn’t you
say that no man worthy to tread the quarter deck of a ship would
ever ignore a call for help?”
“Humph!--yes, that’s so. And I think so, too,” rejoined Uncle Toby,
with a flash of his old spirit, “set the chart, Jack.”
Jack, seeing that he had touched the right chord and gained a
momentary ascendency over Terrill, hastened to get the great paper
roll from the rack where it was kept.
“Here’s Skull Island,” he said. “If you follow a direct course you
can be there by daylight.”
“By chowder, that’s true enough, lad,” cried Uncle Toby. He brought
his withered fist down on the table with a bang. “I’ll do it,
Terrill. It won’t delay us much and, consarn it all, man, it’s
nothing more than common humanity.”
“That may be, but it’s not common sense,” grumbled Terrill, and
retired to his cabin, leaving Jack with a victory on his hands.
Before they turned in Jack and Uncle Toby went on deck and the
latter gave orders for the course to be shaped for Skull Island.
“Call me as soon as its sighted,” he said, “you should pick it up
about daybreak.”
“If only I had saved my wireless,” thought Jack, as he turned in
that night. “As things are now I can’t let Captain Simms know of
what has happened and he’ll think something has gone wrong, either
through carelessness or some other cause. Oh, well, after all
Raynor, by some wonderful means, has got a radio set, and I can use
that. I wish it was morning, I can hardly wait till we sight Skull
Island. Good old Raynor, something told me right along that he would
turn up safe and sound, and he has.”
* * * * *
“I’m going up to the flagstaff to keep a lookout,” said Raynor as he
shook himself out of his blankets the next morning. “Jack ought to
be heaving in sight any time now.”
“Dat’s so,” agreed Noddy, “an’ dat old canary cage of a wireless did
de trick after all. Well, I take it all back. Frum now on I b’live
all I hear.”
The two lads dressed quickly and made their way to the flagstaff. In
the meantime Pompey set to work to build a fire. He hacked
vigorously at the tough wood which he had gathered from the
wind-twisted brush patches that dotted the island.
“Mah goodness alive,” he muttered to himself as he worked, “dis wood
am as tuff as a thirty-year-ole rooster. Dere! Take dat yo’ ole
stick. Gollyumption, ef I hit as hard as dat agin I’m li’bul ter
chop a hole in de flo’ ob dis ole hut. But ah don’ care ef I do. We
alls is gwine away froum hyah ter-day. Dat hair-oil machine done do
de job.”
The negro poised his axe to give a stick laid across two others a
mighty blow which should break it in half.
Smash! The axe fell with all the strength of the negro’s arms behind
it. The next instant there was a crash and simultaneously a yell
broke from Pompey. One fragment of the wood had flown up and hit him
in the eye.
The other had hurtled across the room and crashed against the
delicate coherer of the wireless set, rendering it useless. Pompey
forgot about his swelling eye as he saw this.
“Mah goodness, dat stick done bust dat hair-oil machine!” he gasped.
“Gollyumption, what’ll ah do? Gracious hyah comes de boys now too.
Dey am running. Dey mus’ hab news. What am it?” he exclaimed as
Raynor and Noddy burst into the hut.
“It’s a schooner. A schooner making straight for the island!” panted
Raynor.
“But I thought yo’ frens was coming in a lilly gasolene boat?” said
Pompey.
“So did I. I can’t make it out. The schooner is coming for the
island sure enough, though. She’ll be dropping anchor in half an
hour. But where on earth can Jack be? Guess I’ll see if I can pick
anything up by wireless.”
“Uh-uh-uh, Massa Raynor,” sputtered Pompey, clutching his sleeve
nervously, “ah-ah-ah----”
“What’s the matter? Are you choking?”
“Nun-nun-no, sah. But de fac’ is dat a bit ob wood jump up frum whar
ah wuz chopping it an’----”
“Great Scott, the detector’s broken and the wireless is out of
commission. Confound you, Pompey, I’ve a great mind to----”
“B-o-o-m!”
The sound of a heavy report came from seaward.
“Gee! a choint cracker!” exclaimed Noddy.
“No, that was a gun. The schooner is firing to attract our
attention,” cried Raynor, “come on, Noddy.”
Both boys raced from the hut, their eyes aglow with excitement.
Pompey stood still just as they had left him. He didn’t look
comfortable. He began casting anxious glances about the hut as if
looking for some place to hide.
“Gollyumption, ah don’ see no place ob concealment in de occurrents
dat dey is pirates or somethin’ like dat,” he muttered in an alarmed
tone, “ah wish ah’d nebber shipped on dat _Polly Ann_, das what ah
do.”
The crashing sound of another gun made the negro jump almost out of
his skin.
“Mah goodness, ah’ll turn white if dey keeps up dat,” he sputtered,
“dat ain’t de way no fren’ly party greets yo’. No, sah, dat firin’
ob guns means, ‘Look out, dere. We alls got it in fo’ yoalls.’ Guess
ah’ll hide under de blankets. Dere ain’t no udder place ter go.”