A light, cool breeze, which had set in at daylight, was blowing when
Mary Corwell boarded the _Ceres_. Totten and Harris met her at the
gangway, caps in hand. Poor Sam, their former shipmate, had died of
fever a month before. They were delighted to hear that she intended to
remain on board, and Harris at once told Miguel, the scoundrelly-faced
Manila cook, to get breakfast ready.
“And you must have your breakfast with me,” said Mary, “and after that
you must obey _my_ orders. I am to be captain to-day.”
* * * * *
As she and the two seamen sat aft under the awning, at their breakfast,
Selak, the leading Malay, and his fellows squatted on the fore-hatch and
talked in whispers.
“I tell thee,” said Selak, “that I have seen it. On the evening of the
day when the man Sam died and was buried, I was sitting outside the
house. It was dark, and the Tuan Korwal thought I had returned to the
ship. I crept near and listened. They were speaking of what should be
done with the dead man's share of the gold. Then I looked through the
cave side of the house, and--dost remember that white basin of thine,
Miguel?”
The Manila man nodded.
“The white woman, at a sign from her husband, went into the inner room
and brought it out and placed it on the table. It was full to the brim
with gold! and there was more in a bag!”
His listeners drew nearer to him, their dark eyes gleaming with avarice.
“Then the Tuan said, 'None of Sam's gold will I or my wife touch. Let it
be divided among you three. It is but fair.'
“They talked again, and then Mallet said to the Tuan, 'Captain, it shall
be as you wish. But let it all go together till the time comes for thee
to give us our share.'
“I watched the white woman take the basin and the bag, put them into
a box, and place the box in a hole in the ground in her sleeping-room.
Then I came away, for my heart was on fire with the wrong that hath been
done to us.”
He rose to his feet and peered round the corner of the galley. Mary and
the two seamen were eating very leisurely.
“Three of them are here now and will sleep aboard to-night. God hath
given them into our hands!”
“And what of the other two?--they are strong men,” asked a wizen,
monkey-faced Malay, nicknamed Nakoda (the captain).
“Bah! What is a giant if he sleeps and a kriss is swept across his
throat, or a spear is thrust into his back from behind? They, too, shall
die as quickly as these who sit near us. Now listen. But sit thou out on
the deck, Miguel, so that thou canst warn us if either of those accursed
dogs approach.”
The cook obeyed him silently.
“_This_ it is to be. To-night these three here shall die in their sleep,
silently and without a sound. Then we, all but thou, Nakoda, shall take
the boat and go to the house. Both the Tuan and Mallet sleep heavily,
and”--he drew his hand swiftly across his tawny throat.
“And then?” queried Nakoda.
“And then the gold--the gold, or our share of which we have been
robbed--is ours, and the ship is ours, and I, Selak, will guide ye all
to Dobbo in the Aru Islands, where we shall be safe, and become great
men.”
“But,” muttered another man, “what if these black sons of Shaitan here
of the Island turn upon us after we have slain the white men?”
Selak laughed scornfully. “The sound of a gun terrifies them. They are
cowards, and will not seek to interfere with us.”
*****
Night had fallen. The two white seamen, tired out with their day's work,
had spread their mats on the poop, and were sound in slumber. Below in
the cabin, the captain's wife lay reading by the light of a lamp; and
Selak, standing in the waist, could see its faint reflection shining
through the cabin door, which opened on to the main deck. Sitting on
the fore-deck, with their hands clutching their knives, his companions
watched him.
At last the light was lowered, and Mary closed her eyes and slept.
The Malay waited patiently. One by one the remaining native fires on the
shore went out; and, presently, a chill gust of air swept down from the
mountains, and looking shoreward he saw that the sky to the eastward
was quickly darkening and hiding the stars--a heavy downpour of rain was
near.
He drew his kriss from its tortoiseshell sheath and felt the edge, made
a gesture to the crouching tigers for'ard, and then stepped lightly
along the deck to the open cabin door; the other four crept after him,
then stopped and waited--for less than a minute.
A faint, choking cry came from the cabin, and then Selak came out, his
kriss streaming with blood.
“It is done,” he whispered, and pointing to the poop he sprang up.
“Hi, there! what's the matter?” cried Totten, who had heard the feint
cry; and then, too late, he drew his pistol from his belt and fired--as
Selak's kriss plunged into his chest. Poor Harris was slaughtered ere he
had opened his eyes.
Spurning Totten's body with his naked foot, Selak cursed it. “Accursed
Christian dog! Would I could bring thee to life so that I might kill
thee again!” Then, as he heard the rushing hum of the coming rain
squall, and saw that the shore was hidden from view, as if a solid wall
of white stone had suddenly arisen between it and the ship, he grinned.
“Bah! what does it matter? Had it been a cannon instead of a pistol it
could scarce have been heard on the shore in such a din.”
Ordering the bodies of the two seamen to be thrown overboard, Selak, the
most courageous, entered the cabin, took a couple of muskets from the
rack, and some powder and ball from the mate's berth, and returning to
his followers, bade them bring the boat alongside.
“Throw the woman after them,” he cried to Nakoda, as the boat pushed off
into the darkness, just as the hissing rain began. “We shall return ere
it is dawn.”
Nakoda would have sprung over the side after the boat, but he feared the
sharks even more than Selak's kriss; so running for'ard, he crept into
his bunk and lay there, too terrified to move.
* * * * *
Mallet and Corwell, with the natives, worked hard till near sunset, and
then ceased.
“There's nearly five ounces in that lot, Mallet,” said the captain,
pointing to two buckets of wash-dirt. “Let us have a bathe, and then get
something to eat before it is too dark.”
“The natives say we ought to get back to the house, sir, instead of
sleeping here tonight. They say a heavy storm is coming on, and we'll be
washed out of the camp.”
“Very well, Mallet I don't want to stay here, I can assure you. Tell
them to hurry up, then. Get the shovels and other gear, and let us start
as quickly as possible. It will take us a good three hours to get back
to the house.”
By sunset they started, walking in single file along the narrow,
dangerous mountain-path, a false step on which meant a fall of hundreds
of feet.
Half-way down, the storm overtook them, but guided by the surefooted
natives they pressed steadily on, gained the level ground, and at last
reached the house about ten o'clock.
“Now that we have come so far we might as well go on board and give
my wife a surprise,” said Corwell to Mallet. “Look, the rain is taking
off.”
“Not for long, sir. But if we start at once we may get aboard afore it
starts again.”
Two willing natives, wet and shivering as they were, quickly baled out
a canoe, and in a few minutes they were off, paddling down towards the
sea. But scarce had they gone a few hundred yards when another sudden
downpour of rain blotted out everything around them. But the natives
paddled steadily on amid the deafening roar; the river was wide, and
there was no danger of striking anything harder than the hanging branch
of a tree or the soft banks.
“I thought I heard voices just now,” shouted Mallet.
“Natives been out fishing,” replied Corwell.
As the canoe shot out through the mouth of the river into the open bay
the rain ceased as suddenly as it began, and the _Ceres_ loomed up right
ahead.
“Don't hail them, Mallet. Let us go aboard quietly.”
They clambered up the side, the two natives following, and, wet and
dripping, entered the cabin.
Corwell stepped to the swinging lamp, which burnt dimly, and pricked up
the wick. His wife seemed to be sound asleep on the cushioned transom
locker.
“Mary,” he cried, “wake up, dearest. We---- ... Oh my God,Mallet!”
He sprang to her side, and kneeling beside the still figure, placed his
hand on the blood-stained bosom.
“Dead! Dead! Murdered!” He rose to his feet, and stared wildly at
Mallet, swayed to and fro, and then fell heavily forward.
As the two natives stood at the cabin door, gazing in wondering horror
at the scene, they heard a splash. Nakoda had jumped overboard and was
swimming ashore.
*****
Long before dawn the native war-drums began to beat, and when Selak
and his fellow-murderers reached the mouth of the river they ran into a
fleet of canoes which waited for them. They fought like the tigers they
were, but were soon overcome and made prisoners, tied hand and foot, and
carried ashore to the “House of the Young Men.” The gold was taken care
of by the chief, who brought it on board to Corwell.
“When do these men die?” he asked,
“To-day,” replied Corwell huskily; “to-day, after I have buried my
wife.”
On a little island just within the barrier reef, she was laid to rest,
with the never-ending cry of the surf for her requiem.
At sunset, Corwell and Mallet left the ship and landed at the village,
and as their feet touched the sand the war-drums broke out with
deafening clamour. They each carried a cutlass, and walked quickly
through the thronging natives to the “House of the Young Men.”
“Bring them out,” said Corwell hoarsely to the chief.
One by one Selak and his fellow-prisoners were brought out and placed
on their feet, the bonds that held them were cut, and their hands
seized and held widely apart. And then Corwell and Mallet thrust their
cutlasses through the cruel hearts.
*****