When Chris awoke he saw that Amos had already stolen out of the cabin,
for his hammock was rolled up and put away. By the strength of the sun
and the heat that seeped even through the boards of the ship, Chris
judged that the morning was well advanced.
Dressing was rapid, for Chris, like the rest of the sailors in the
tropic heat, wore only his breeches. His bare chest and shoulders were
tanned and healthy and the soles of his bare feet as tough as shoe
leather.
Running up to the bridge he was startled at first, at coming on deck,
at the sudden green shade everywhere. Then looking up he saw that to
their very peaks the masts and rigging of the _Mirabelle_ had been
hidden with palm fronds. That side of the ship that could be seen from
the sea through the narrow channel entrance had been completely
covered with green. The work was not yet finished, but most of the
crew were sleeping during the hot hours, while a handful had
volunteered to complete the job.
[Illustration]
The cove by daylight was even lovelier than it had seemed by starlight
the night before. The deep water, with a white base of coral sand,
flashed in emerald, turquoise, or sapphire blue. Its clarity and
sparkling colors put the Jewel Tree into Chris's head and he had a
moment's throb of fright when he realized that it was this very night
that he must board the _Venture_ to impede her progress toward the
Chinese prize.
He put these thoughts from his mind until the time came, and decided
to tackle what was most pressing. The most urgent matter that first
claimed his attention was breakfast, and when he reached the bridge he
was delighted to see fruits from the island piled in shady corners.
These and bread and cheese made up his meal, which he ate while
watching the final leaves and fronds put in place on the sides of the
_Mirabelle_.
Captain Blizzard came up to him, his hands clasped behind his back,
and nodded toward the men pulling themselves slowly over the ship's
side and falling exhausted into the shade to sleep for a few hours.
"They will be fresh enough in a while," he said, "and then we shall
one and all row ashore to see what we shall see."
He paused, and Chris, looking up, saw that the Captain's gaze was
fixed on Zachary Heigh. Zachary was obviously not only far from
sleeping, but was restless, jumping up to look out to sea and then
sitting down again. It would be only a few minutes more before up he
would jump once more to pace the deck or lean at the ship's rail.
"It would seem," the Captain said casually, "that Zachary has
something on his mind."
Mr. Finney joined Chris and the Captain at that moment, and looking
down at Zachary nodded his long sad face in lugubrious agreement.
Chris opened his mouth to say something to the Captain of what he had
seen Zachary doing. Before the words could leave his mouth, he was
interrupted by the appearance of red-faced Ned Cilley. Cheerful as a
sand flea at the prospect of going ashore, Ned had come from his rest
with a small company of the sailors to ask permission of the Captain
if they might leave the ship.
"Well, why not?" the Captain demanded. "And why not take along the
rest too? We were all to go ashore presently, in any case. Those who
still want to sleep can do so even more comfortably on the shady sand
under the palms."
So in an instant the decks of the _Mirabelle_ were crowded with
laughing jostling men, duties over for that day, tumbling down the
ladders to the dinghies in which they rowed ashore.
Chris and Amos were shoved along with their friends, Chris hiking up
his breeches to cover the coil of the magic rope around his waist; the
leathern bag hanging in plain sight about his neck. The sailors had
often teased him about it, saying that he kept his riches there, but
they made no attempt to snatch it from him. There had been no time to
warn the Captain, but as the last boatload of sailors leaped into
shallow water and scattered under the shade of the trees, Chris
searched and searched again for three faces among the crowd that he
did not find. Zachary Heigh, the Captain, and Mr. Finney were not to
be found.
Aghast, as he understood now what Zachary's plan was--to blow up the
_Mirabelle_ just as the _Venture_ and its crew came near enough to
shoot down the unarmed men--Chris rushed back to the water's edge and
stood there hesitating in the powerful sun. How could he change
himself to a fish or other shape, unobserved? The sailors from the
_Mirabelle_ were everywhere--in the thickets for the shade, as well as
along the edge of the cove where he now stood, indecisive. To use the
rope was just as impossible, for the beach was broad and Chris was
acutely aware that he stood out like a single tree in a field, there
on the white sand in the broiling sun.
"Better come outen that sun, Chris!" someone called to him. "There's
too much of heat in it to be good for unkivered heads!"
Chris knew the voice of the sailor was right, and was on the point of
jumping into one of the dinghies, where they lay pulled up on the
beach.
Far out on the cove, the decks of the _Mirabelle_ were deserted and
unlike themselves, so empty of life. Sweat started out on Chris's
forehead, as he imagined Zachary in the hold lighting the fuse, and he
wondered where the good Captain and Mr. Finney might be. He wondered
too if he could row over in time, or if he would be blown up with the
ship.
The boy had his hands on the scorching wood of a dinghy, his muscles
tensed to thrust it into the waters of the cove, when out over the
still harbor, jangling in the heat, came a prolonged and piercing
scream. Hot as he was, Chris felt himself go cold at the sound. He
knew instantly, although he had never heard it before, that this was
the death cry of a man. The scream came a second time, terrified and
despairing, and out over the water following it came a low, scattered
rumble.
Silence fell for several frozen seconds, and then all at once Chris
became aware as he stood rigid with horror by the boat that the
sailors of the _Mirabelle_ had rushed out from the coolness of the
shore to stand stiff and appalled beside him. A babble of voices broke
out, and one by one the boats were hastily launched, heading back to
the ship, leaving Chris shaking and unnerved on the sand. Over the
water as brawny backs bent to the oars the words came floating back:
"Someone's dead for sartin sure--"
"Who was left on board, you say?"
"Leave the lads--no sight for young-uns."
"_Pull_, you lazy lubbers! The Capt'n and Mr. Finney bean't among
us!"
It was a little later that Chris remembered Amos having taken his arm
and led him into the shade, and of how sick he was--the heat and the
scream, the fear, and a sense of having failed in warning the Captain,
combining to churn his insides into a queasy place that violently
rejected his pleasant breakfast of so short a time before. Then weak,
but somehow feeling better, Chris lay in the cool while Amos found a
cold pool of water with which he bathed his friend's face, and then
sat fanning him without a word.
Chris must have dozed, for when he came to himself the light had
changed, and men were carrying a shapeless bundle wrapped in canvas to
a grave dug in the sand. Chris started up and joined the men gathered
solemnly about the grave, and as he searched among them, knew a great
sense of relief and joy when he saw, standing at the grave head, the
Captain and Mr. Finney. As Chris came up to them, Captain Blizzard was
speaking, a Bible in his hand.
"Men of the _Mirabelle_, by rights as captain of the vessel I should
read the burial service for Zachary Heigh, that met his death by
accident, boxes and crates killing him in the hold the way they did.
But," and the Captain scanned the tough weather-beaten faces near him
slowly, one by one, "you that helped to uncover him know what he meant
to do. We harbored a viper, men, who meant to destroy our ship and
cargo and leave us to who knows what fate? Had not the bung of that
keg of molasses above the lighted fuse most providentially fallen out
and the fuse been put out by the sirup, no doubt neither Mr. Finney
nor I nor the _Mirabelle_ would be here to tell the tale."
He paused again, but there was not a stir from his audience. From
under their dirty headkerchiefs or straggly unkempt hair, the men who
knew no other life but the sea, no happiness or danger unconnected
with it, never took their eyes from their captain.
"So, men," Captain Blizzard resumed, "the gunpowder that was meant to
be the end of our fine ship is now safe and out of harm's way, and the
traitor who intended this infamous deed has been dealt with by fate
and killed in a tomb of his own finding. Therefore, feeling as I do
for my ship and my men, I cannot bring myself to read the holy words
over this man who had no charity in his heart."
[Illustration]
Captain Blizzard handed the Bible to Ned Cilley and stood with his
hands behind him, nodding his head as if to stress his words.
"Yet," he said, "he is being buried far from home and kith or kin. It
is not proper that he should be left without even a token of
respect." He gestured with his plump hand to the Bible. "Do you settle
among yourselves who shall do the reading, but pardon me that I am so
small a man, that I cannot forgive a villain!"
So saying he turned slowly away, followed by Mr. Finney, who was more
than usually sober and solemn. Into the dry clatter of palm fronds
rose the rough voice of Ned Cilley laboriously reading.
"I am the Resurrection and the Life--"
But Chris, watching the disappearing backs of the Captain and first
mate, was thinking what a curious and fortunate thing it was that the
bales had fallen on Zachary just at the right time, and when there was
not a ripple on the cove.
Chris watched the fat short man and the tall lean one go, resolution
and anger still evident even in the set of their shoulders. The boy
was thoughtful, thinking back over what Ned had said of them, that
first day on the docks: Faithful! he seemed to hear Ned say, that's
true of the two of 'em! Whatever they can do for Mr. Wicker is law for
Elisha Finney and Captain Blizzard.
Chris thought them two very remarkable men indeed.